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I laugh and wrangle free.
“I pick up damaged soul everywhere I visit.”
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
She follows me into the kitchen. “You cook?” she asks, her voice dubious.
I laugh and nod. I’ve been cooking for myself since I was old enough to reach the stove. It was either that or starve.
“Okay, sure. What’s your specialty?”
I open the fridge. “Eggs and bacon?”
“Sounds yum,” she says, planting herself on a stool at the counter.
I cook enough for the two of us and Harry, just in case he decides to join the land of the living. Eva watches me with interest.
“So, where to from here?” I ask her.
“From Australia?” she asks. She shrugs and looks thoughtful. “America, I think. I’ve been everywhere else but there.”
“When was the last time you were home?” I ask. “Do you miss your family?”
She laughs, her eyes sparkling. “You ask a lot of questions, Lucas. I love my family, but I can’t handle being in one place for very long. I get anxious. I’m at my best when I’m out there, seeing the world.” She sighs dreamily. “Life is too short to waste.”
“Do you think you’ll ever settle down?” I ask, flipping the bacon. “In the one place, I mean?”
She shrugs. “Maybe. I want a family of my own someday. I’m just not sure how they fit into everything yet.” Her eyes fixate on mine. “What about you? Do you have a five-year plan, Lucas?” she teases.
I chuckle. “I’m happy if I can plan till the next week.”
“Ah, that must frustrate those around you.” Eva grins. “Do you have a good relationship with your family?”
“That’s complicated,” I say, hesitating. For some reason I feel like I can talk to Eva, but there’s shit I don’t tell anyone. Not even Lacey.
“Complicated can be good,” Eva says.
“Not this kind of complicated.” I grin, even though I’m not in the least bit amused. I let out a sigh and carry our food over to the table. Eva brings over the two juices I’ve just poured, and our cutlery. We sit down and help ourselves.
“You don’t like talking about yourself,” she observes. “Tell me something. Something nobody else knows.”
I snort. Where do I even start?
“I’m pretty sure my father is fucking my best friend.”
Eva whistles, her eyes widening. Holy shit. Where the fuck did that confession come from? That is the most honest thing I’ve said in years. I drop my fork and rub my forehead.
“Oh wait—I forgot to add that I’m in love with her.”
Wow. Admitting that aloud feels weird and confronting. It’s so less threatening in my head. Shit, my life sucks.
“Wait, your father? Your father is sleeping with the girl you’re pining over? The one at the restaurant the other night? Lucas, you didn’t tell me the other man was your father.”
“Does it make a difference?” I laugh bitterly.
“Of course it does,” she exclaims. “That’s all the more reason to tell her how you feel.”
I don’t answer, choosing to stare at my hands instead. It’s not that easy. If I tell her, then she’ll have questions. Even if we managed to get past all that, I’m still too chickenshit to actually take a chance and be with her. That hasn’t changed.
