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We pass the alleyway where we met, and he pulls me in closer to him. Neither of us comments. I’m never going down that alley again, but I don’t mind the extra time under his arm while we take the long way. It’s crazy how easy this is. I feel like I’ve known him forever. He drops his arm as we approach the door, and I already miss it. He takes my hand again when we get in the elevator, and I wrap my fingers around his. Once we’re inside, I flip on the light and he follows me in, locking the door behind him. My studio apartment is small and seems extra tiny with his large frame standing in it. “It’s not much, but it’s mine.”
He looks around the small space. “It’s cozy. I like it.”
“Beer or water?”
“Water please.”
I pour us each a glass and try to settle my nerves. Will he kiss me? Do I want him to? What if it goes further? Would he want that? Do I? I blink and give myself a mental kick to knock it off.
I turn and find him inspecting the painting of a group of sparrows hanging on the wall next to the fridge. I hand him his glass and he thanks me.
“Do you like birds?” He gestures to the artwork with the cup in his hand. His other hand sits in his pocket, but gone is the uncomfortable vibe I was getting from him earlier at the bar.
“I’m not a bird watcher or anything. It’s a long story. I got it at the county fair after my mom left us.”
He follows me to the couch. “I’d love to hear that story, if you’re willing to share.”
The couch isn’t big, so we don’t have any choice but to sit close. I take off my shoes and toss them aside, tucking my left foot underneath me and turn towards him.
I consider him for a moment. He watches me with what appears to be genuine interest. I think of John and Vera’s words about opening up again. It hits me like a bolt of lightning. I want to open up to him. The thought gives me goosebumps and a nervous energy settles in my gut.
“Or we can talk about something else?” He offers.
I blink and give my head a little shake. I don't know why, but I know I can trust him.
“When my mom left us, I spent a lot of time in our backyard. It gave me the alone time I needed to process. John and my dad took good care of me, but not having a mom…” I look over at the painting.
I set my glass down on the coffee table and face him. “The sparrows were mesmerizing in their movements, flitting from branch to branch, going about their day. Their life seemed so simple compared to mine. It helped to calm my thoughts.”
I fiddle with the strap of my dress on my shoulder and rest my elbow on the back of the couch. I chuckle and shrug. “It’s stupid kid stuff.”
I meet his eyes and blink at the intensity I find. He looks into my soul for a minute, then over at the painting. “Do you still watch them?”
I nod. “John bought the house off of my dad when he retired to Texas. It’s the first thing I did after I caught Jeremy cheating on me with his personal assistant.”
Luke’s entire face seems to soften. “I don’t think it’s stupid. I think it makes sense.”
“Sorry. That’s not stuff you’re supposed to talk about on a date,” I say.
His lips quirk up at the corners. “Don’t apologize. I enjoy talking about this stuff. It’s real. It’s you.”
He doesn’t seem put off. He’s not making an excuse about needing to water his plants. I adjust my legs, putting both feet on the ground. I think Luke means what he says. He’s not trying to impress me, he’s just being himself. It’s scary how much I like it.
I reach for my glass and sip. The silence stretches on as I get pulled into my memories of my failed marriage. Am I making the same mistake? I dismiss the idea. Luke is so different from Jeremy, it’s hard to even compare them. Luke exudes compassion and kindness and a confidence that makes you just want to be near him. It’s not arrogant, it’s just him. It’s his nature.
A tear slips out, and I scrub it away. Damn these stupid emotions.
“Gah, sorry. You’d think I could handle my shit after all this time.”
Luke adjusts in his seat and his knee touches mine. He puts his arm on the back of the couch so he can face me better. “Pain like that is sticky. It dulls, but never goes away. It leaves a little tattoo on your heart that you carry around with you.”
When my mom left us, I felt like the gaping wound in my heart would never heal. He is so right. It healed, but the scar remains.
“Some tattoos are bigger than others.”
He nods. “I agree. But it’s because of them we’re able to connect with each other. We all have them. If you look close enough, you can appreciate what the person has become despite it. Yours, for example. It’s beautiful that you’ve been through that kind of pain, but can still be open with me about it.”
I smile at him. “Wow, Luke. That’s deep.”
