Page 92 of All the way home

And Lucas focused a lot. That was good. Siobhan had told her that sometimes when two people studied together it was more of an excuse to hang out than anything else, but Lucas actually studied. And observed her, sometimes, which she could feel even when her eyes were on her page.

“I mean, I have to study,” Lucas had told her. “My brother is in med school and he says it stinks, so I don’t think I want to be a doctor. But being a nurse sounds cool.”

She agreed.

And it worked out quite pleasantly that Lucas was very good at biology, because it was her weakest subject, and he was good at explaining things without being condescending. She wasn’t as good at explaining chemistry—which he was hopeless with—but he was a great listener anyway.

So the maybe-dates had stayed firmly in maybe territory until one afternoon, with papers scattered across her dining-room table, Rena got tired of wondering and asked, “Are we on a date right now?”

Lucas flushed bright red, which was very cute. He seemed embarrassed to talk about it bluntly, just like he’d been embarrassed after he’d kissed her, but he stumbled through it valiantly anyway. “I hadn’t, um. I mean, if you wanted—I don’t know? That would be nice?”

“It would,” Rena said.

And then they were dates. More important, almost everyone in her life was happy for her—even Mum, who’d up to that point done some very real hand wringing about the concept of her children dating.

Almost everyone was happy.

The first time Lucas came over on a Friday night, Kieran stood in the doorway nearly the whole time, being a general nuisance and shooting what Rena felt sure was a vaguely menacing glower Lucas’s way every few minutes.

“I don’t think he likes me,” Lucas said ruefully after Kieran had finally left them alone, staring at the empty spot where he’d been loitering.

“He likes you.” It was the first lie she’d ever told him. “He likes everyone. He’s just a pest is all.”

That part was true. Kieran was arguably best known for being a pest.

Later, Siobhan scrolled through an article on Cosmopolitan’s website in search of answers on whether or not Lucas was Rena’s boyfriend. “You have to read his body language.”

Pointedly, Rena reminded her, “That is not one of my skills.”

Which wasn’t strictly accurate. Rena observed body language just fine. The input wasn’t the problem—frankly, she observed too much about body language. The difficulty was in decoding what it all meant.

“See if you can catch him looking at your mouth,” Siobhan suggested, then sighed deeply, combing her fingers through her wild hair. “Ugh. You lucky duck. He’s so cute.”

He was. And once Rena learned that she was supposed to find out if he was ever looking at her mouth, it became obvious that he’d been doing it the whole time, and she just hadn’t noticed.

So, one afternoon, she told him, “I don’t like being touched very much.”

Lucas glanced over from where he sat at his kitchen counter hunched over his biology textbook. Pale wintry light flooded the white marble countertop and the rich wooden flooring. “Okay?”

“But mostly just when it’s a surprise.”

“Okay.” His nonchalance about it was either encouraging or disappointing—Rena would decide later.

She continued, “So if you’re going to kiss me again I would like you to tell me first. But you can.”

Lucas, who had been reaching for his glass of water, nearly knocked it over. “Right. Yes. Okay.”

Later that afternoon, when she was in the mudroom preparing to go home, he leaned against the doorframe, waiting to say goodbye. When she finished lacing her boots, he pushed off the door.

“You asked me to tell you first if I was going to kiss you again.”

“I did.”

“Well, I’m doing that.” As though he were telling himself as much as he was telling her, he said, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Rena nodded. “Okay.”

And then he did.