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He paused, the rim of his beer bottle at his lips. At his raised eyebrows, she grinned wide. “You’re kidding me? But the lawyer thing?”
Lucie shrugged, but she still had this need to share her vulnerabilities with him. “It wasn’t easy to convince my dad to let me change career plans. But my mum was behind me every step of the way. Some stuff went on after that weekend, and I ended up travelling for a bit and studying at Brighton University.” There was so much more she could tell him—about the drama with her dad and the reasons for it. Maybe she couldbroach how the “some stuff” after that weekend was partly why they’d never seen each other again. But Chris was a stranger, wasn’t he?
Chris banged down his beer bottle, sending froth sloshing down the glass and onto the table. His smile was broad and his dimples deep enough for the tips of her fingers. “This is the best news ever. You went travelling?”
Lucie nodded. Few people would understand how significant that was. University friends had no idea how bereft of confidence she’d been at the age of seventeen. But Chris knew. They’d shared so much of who they were that weekend.
“I have a lot of questions.”
“Then ask away. I know it sounds cheesy, but you inspired me.” Lucie fought the temptation to cover her face. She nibbled at her lip as he looked over at her.
“Cheesy is good,” he said with a smile before taking her hands in his. Her skin flushed with heat, and the memories of her shaky legs and tingling arms at seventeen came rushing back. “I may have made you think about things when we met, but you were the one who wanted to achieve something and then pushed yourself to do it. Your passion and hope were incredible, but they were a little hidden from the world.”
She said softly, “You helped me find them and own them. You changed my life in all sorts of ways.” She eased her hands out of his, and briefly, his mouth turned down. He hid it quickly with a smile, but his eyes didn’t twinkle, and there were no dimples. Did he think she didn’t want his touch? Lucie pushed up her sleeve to show him the tattoo she ran her thumb across when anxious. “Be the Exception” was written in italics across her wrist. “You helped me be the exception, and I’m grateful for that.”
Chris placed a hand on his heart and sighed. His action drew her attention to his tie, which had little white heartsscattered all over it. She smiled. The confidence he’d helped her find was still there. Would many other twenty-six-year-old men wear hearts on their tie without trying to pass it off as a joke? She quickly reviewed the guys she’d dated over the last year. None of them would have worn it, unless ironically, and if they had worn it ironically, they would have mentioned it within the first five minutes of meeting. Bradley wore braces because he’d seen them in articles from London Fashion Week, and all his hipster friends wore them. He hated missing out on clothing trends. He’d proudly told her about the boiler suit he once wore to a wedding. Why did she date him for so long?
Maybe Chris was going somewhere romantic. Disappointment threaded through her, and the marks across her heart throbbed. She shook her head. It was okay if he’d found his “the one.” He was her first love, but she couldn’t expect it to be the same for him. She didn’t wait for him, so why wouldn’t he be in a relationship? Every moment she spent with him reminded her he was someone special. He deserved happiness. Whoever he was with was lucky.
“I can’t believe you got that phrase as a tattoo. That is so cool,” Chris followed up before Lucie had the opportunity to regret showing him her inking. “I have to show you something.”
He eased his suit jacket off his shoulders and rolled up a sleeve, revealing a muscular forearm. Women were always swooning over men with strong forearms in the rugby romances she read, but none of the heroes in those stories had anything on Chris. Dark hairs covered his tanned skin. It was another reminder that he’d become a man since their time together. Lucie’s stomach clenched as she studied every inch, from the lines in his hands to the veins that threaded up his forearms. She got a glance before he held up the back of his arm, but she committed every glimpse of his skin to memory.
“See,” he said, pointing out his tattoo. On the back of his forearm, below his elbow, was an intricate star. It was made up of swirls and surrounded by shading as if it was flying.
Lucie’s gasp was so loud that strangers from a nearby table looked over. It was her star.
“How do you have that star? I drew that. Didn’t I?” she whispered. The strangers continued their chatter.
“You added it to your drawing of me. You showed me the Saturday we spent together. The tattoo artist copied it. He told me that it was one of the most beautiful and artistic stars he’d ever seen, and he’d tattooed a lot of them.”
“I considered designing tattoos, but I didn’t think they’d look as good in reality. The person who did this was a true artist,” she replied, fascinated by the inking in front of her. It was a carbon copy of her drawing. Her hand hovered near Chris’s tattoo. It was as if he understood her unspoken request to touch it when he nodded. Slowly she traced the image. “Hold on. I put the piece of paper with the star drawing on it in the bin, near that café. How did you get it?”
“I took it back out when you’d gone and kept it.” He rolled his sleeve back down and reached for his wallet. She missed touching his skin already. It was smooth and soft. He pulled a worn piece of A4 paper out of his tired leather wallet. He unfolded the paper, slowly revealing the jagged edge from where she’d ripped it out the pad. The creases in the folds caught her eye as he slid it across to her. There were other lighter creases too, from where she’d scrunched it up and chucked it in the bin at the holiday park. The memory was vivid. She recalled the worn red bin next to the coffee shop and the shame she’d been filled with when she binned it before running away. She’d revisited the pain of that moment several times over the last eight years. The shame had gone. If she had stayed and dealtwith what had happened, how different would her life have been?
“Do you remember why you drew that particular image and our time that afternoon?” he asked gently, his deep voice cutting through her thoughts.
Her ears were burning with embarrassment. Why didn’t Chris ask her what he wanted to know? His question was about her anxiety. She needed to tell him what had changed. Lucie gulped a mouthful of wine, desperate to prevent the dryness clogging her throat. The wine was ice cold, and it froze her gullet.
Was it finally the time to tell him what happened that weekend?
Chapter Fourteen, Eight Years Earlier, Saturday
It had rained throughout the night, a deluge her mum commented on when Lucie found her staring out the French window at seven that morning. Lucie was always up early, although usually to study before school. She kept the routine throughout the school holidays too. But, that morning, as Lucie watched the downpour, with her pink fleece dressing gown wrapped tightly around her and a cup of tea in her hand, she admitted to herself that studying was the last thing on her mind. Her belly was a mixture of churning guilt interspersed with tiny butterflies sneaking in to tell her that she liked Chris. Since dawn, she’d lain awake, remembering every word from the bowling alley.
Last night after the incident, Lucie’s dad made her mum escort her back to the lodge to “reflect on her actions and choices” but not before forbidding her from seeing Chris again. Normally she would have accepted the decision and avoided Chris at all costs, but the butterflies told her to defy her dad and go. He wouldn’t find out. But even if Chris was attracted to her or wanted to be her friend, he wouldn’t be at the beach because she’d treated him so badly at the bowling alley.
Lucie checked her watch before staring in the mirror. She could walk near the beach around nine, and if he wasn’t there, she’d be okay with that. Her dad wouldn’t be up for ages based on the alcohol fumes that had wafted through the lodge when Lucie fetched a glass of water in the night.
What if Chris was at the beach and didn’t want to speak to her? She had to give it a chance. But that led to more questions. Should she put a lot of make-up on or be more natural? It wasn’t a date, and she didn’t have any make-up anyway. How could she make an effort without looking like she hadn’t bothered? She could go into Emma’s room to get her opinion on her plannedoutfit, but then Jess and Emma would continue the Chris being trouble stories again, and Emma would stop Lucie from going. Last night she’d grumbled about how he was the reason their dad had shouted at them and how the drama wouldn’t have happened if not for him. It was out of character for her not to side with Lucie, but then even Emma had moments of behaving in order to keep from pushing their dad too far. No one in the family liked it when he started shouting.
Lucie glimpsed at her watch again. It was 8:30 now. What if her dad surprised everyone and got up? If she were early, it wouldn’t matter if Chris came or not because she’d be there. The butterflies fluttered harder as she grabbed her bag and slipped out the front door. Was this the most rebellious thing she’d ever done? As she ran down the road from the lodge, she was sure eyes were on her back. Every step took her farther away from the safety of her dull life and closer to danger. Her fingers tingled with excitement while her belly told her she was about to throw up. The voices in her head were ramping up her anxiety, reminding her of the trouble she would be in if her dad found out where she’d gone.
Her feet thudded the ground as she sped up. It was the only sound in the forest and wasn’t drowning out the anxiety that clung to every part of her brain.
“Shut up. Shut the hell up.” Her shouts echoed through the forest. Usually, she was happy to be alone, but not when her thoughts spiralled. She eased her earphones into her ears as a mum in black leggings and a loose jumper hopped into her path. Leggings and baggy jumpers made up the day uniform of the skinny jeans–wearing Stepford wives.
Lucie dodged her and ran faster as “Black and White Town” by The Doves filled her ears. Maybe that woman had been at the beach yesterday and at the bowling alley last night. She probably thought Lucie was crazy, but at least she didn’t thinkshe was boring. Unexpected giggles sprang free. People at the holiday park probably didn’t consider her boring.
