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Just as the front door closed behind us, we let our backs fall against the wooden surface.
“That was… intense,” I whispered. “And a little heartbreaking.”
“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice lacking his usual liveliness. I glanced at him over my shoulder, finding him with his eyes closed. He continued, “But that’s life for you. Intense and heartbreaking.”
The shadow I had seen cross his face a few times returned.
Before I knew what I was doing, the words were leaving mymouth, “Was your heart broken, Lucas? Is that why you’re here, away from Spain?”
Lucas’s eyes opened and fell heavily on me.
“Yes and no,” he admitted in a low voice. “Only no one broke my heart, Rosie. I don’t think anyone ever got the chance to.”
Gazes locked, I pondered what his answer meant. Had he never been in love, then? Was he or was he not escaping a broken heart? And if he was, and no one was responsible for it, thenwhathad caused it?
Lucas broke the silence. “Abuelo had Alzheimer’s. He used to confuse me with his little brother. At some point I stopped correcting him and pretended there was nothing wrong with his assumption. So even if I didn’t know if Adele could have been experiencing the same, I…”
“Did that with her, too,” I finished for him. “I’m sorry, Lucas. Going through something like that can’t have been easy.” And I wasn’t sure if it was because of this or his earlier admission, but his words left a spot so tender, so exposed in my chest that I found myself reaching out and setting my hand on his arm. “I think you made Adele happy today. Even if just for a little while.”
Lucas looked down at where my fingers rested against his forearm, and I focused on how warm he felt beneath the sleeve of his sweater. He seemed to consider something, and then, without any kind of warning, he moved and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a hug.
“I really fucking hope this is okay,” he murmured somewhere close to my temple, warmth surrounding me as an odd sense of comfort mixed with the shock. “Is it, Graham?”
“I… huh, yes?” I mumbled. Then closed my eyes. “Yes. It’s more than okay.”
“Good.” And one hard and fast squeeze later, I was released and left there, watching Lucas turn and stalk in the direction of the kitchen as if nothing had happened.
He opened a drawer and pulled a pan out. “I’m thinking frittata,roomie. Then, I have a couple of ideas for a white chocolate cheesecake I’ve been dying to try.”
With head and chest scrambling for composure after his hug attack, it took me a couple of seconds to make my vocal cords work. “Sounds okay.”
“Rosalyn Graham,” Lucas said, throwing the fridge open. “Your lack of enthusiasm is appalling.” He pulled out a cardboard of eggs and a few veggies before turning and pinning me with a hard look. “You’re doubting my frittata, and what’s worse, my white chocolate cheesecake.” He pointed a whisk in my direction. “And I accept the challenge. You just wait and see. You’ll love everything.”
Oh, I didn’t need to wait and see a single thing.
I was starting to understand that where Lucas Martín was concerned, chances were, I’d never find anything I didn’t like.
And what was much, much worse, nothing I wouldn’t love.
We had been about to start the third consecutive episode ofourshow—as Lucas had called it—when Netflix decided to shut down our improvised binge party.
ARE YOU STILL WATCHING?My temporary roommate scoffed, reading the message on the screen in front of us. “Of course we’re still watching. They just killed one of the main characters and without thatgoddamnmagical cure they just lost because of some stupid mind game, she’s not coming back to life anytime soon!”
I chuckled, amused by his frustration. “I warned you,” I said from my side of the couch, still finding it hard to believe that he was this invested in the paranormal teen drama. “I told you not to get attached to any of the characters…” I trailed off, needing to muffle a yawn. “Especially not her.”
I glanced over at him and found his eyes on me. “You tired?”
I wanted to say no, but unable to stop it this time, my mouth opened widely of its own accord.
Lucas laughed. “Okay,Bella Durmiente.”
Bella Durmiente.
The words sounded like a spell conjured just for my ears, alluring and distracting, and I knew I probably felt that way about them only because they had come from Lucas. “What does that mean?”
“Sleeping Beauty,” he translated, and before I could even process that, Lucas was stretching in my direction.
One second, he’d been right there, in his corner, sitting at a safe, conservative distance of three feet, and the next, he had closed the distance and his chest was pressed against my side.
