I grinned. “From the moment you said ‘bean’.”
We shared other childhood stories after that. Me and Glen getting in trouble together ever since we met in kindergarten, and Luke growing up at his family farm. We were so different in every level. He’d grown up fast, while I’d been a bit of a brat for the longest time. He followed rules and always listened to his parents, while I dodged being grounded by sneaking out and staying at Glen’s until my mum organised a search party in her panic. He went after the girl he thought he loved, while I avoided all of my highschool crushes like the plague. Luke getting his heart broken, me getting myself broadcasted all over the internet when I finally thought I was ready for something—I didn’t tell him, of course. It would’ve been the perfect opportunity, but I didn’t tell him. I just couldn’t.
While we talked for hours after we’d finished eating, we focussed so deeply on the past that we said nothing about the future. Not a thing. And while I was avoiding bringing up Luke’s leaving again, I expected him to at least offer his ideas about making it work, because I saw the distance as an unbreachable obstacle.
Talking to Luke was nice, don’t get me wrong. It was very, very nice, but each and every time I got worried, or scared or lost in my stupid trauma, it took touch to bring me out of it. Luke brushing my tears away, hugging me, kissing me. And distance made all of that impossible. How was I to cope with any irrational fears—that were bound to become my constant tormentor—if I couldn’t look at him across the kitchen island and see the spark in his eyes when he stared back at me? Urghhh.
“Let me walk you to your apartment.” Like every evening since we first kissed, those were the final words from Luke, right before a kiss goodnight at the door and “I will dream about you.”
Tonight wasn’t really a night to change that habit either, even if I felt braver after our love confessions. He wasn’t going to take advantage of me, knowing all too well he wasn’t going to be here by the end of next week, and I wasn’t going to throw myself at him for the same exact reason. I just hoped we would have a chance to talk about it before he left.
I also hoped that the heartache I already felt would go away and let me enjoy the kiss goodnight. For in that moment we were breathing the same air. We were as close as we could be without ripping each other’s clothes off. His lips were worshiping mine, slow and needy, before he pulled away and rested his forehead against mine.
“I love you,” he rasped. His eyes were hooded, and his breath tickled my lips. His fingers gripped my hair, keeping us locked in this moment.
I shivered against him and wrapped my arms tighter around his back. “I don’t want you to go.”
For a moment, we just stood in the hallway, wrapped in each other.
“The day I leave you, I will be a dead man walking. I will not leave you, Haylee.”
It is safe to say that Glen and I were not squealing on the couch together that evening, even after I recounted all the times Luke had said ‘I love you’ to me. It was exactly ten, if you were wondering.
“What are you going to do?” Glen asked.
I shrugged pathetically. “I really don’t know.”
“Maybe you can make it work.”
I laughed dryly. “Maybe you’re right.”
And then I fell asleep, crying on her shoulder.
I avoided Luke on Tuesday. I wasn’t quite sure what I would say, and my emotions were unbelievably unstable. It was better to eat ice cream for dinner and mope on the sofa with Glen while watching Dirty Dancing. Okay, maybe it wasn’t better, but it’s what I ended up doing anyway.
I was more than ready to take the world by its horns on Wednesday, but a girl in Turtle Bay called in sick, and I got stuck with the late shift. I’d already punished myself with a bloody good workout before I heard the news and stood behind the counter, wobbling on my feet when the time came.
The restaurant was buzzing with activity, as was normal for that hour, and the bar side was beginning to get rowdy. I counted the minutes in my head until the end of the shift, with my tip in my pocket.
I didn’t enjoy waitressing. That fact became clearer as I was waiting for the food for table five and checking the progress of tables seven and ten. Table six had just sat down and stared at their menu with boredom. My feet hurt from standing, and my stomach growled since I’d yet to have my own dinner. It would likely be something gross either way. Who knew I’d become so dependent on Luke’s cooking in such a short time? Thinking about fixing something up for myself made my stomach roll, because I knew—I knew!—nothing I made would ever compare to his meals.
That train of thought got depressing really quickly, so I headed over to table six to see if they’d decided on what they wanted. I stood there blabbering out the specials when the door to the restaurant opened, and a group of men pushed through. Five of them. They weren’t big or anything, but they were cocky and loud. In fact, they walked in as if they owned the place, but that wasn’t what got me hiding behind my notebook. Very small, very uncovering notebook. It was only meant to scribble down orders, after all.
Smartphones in their hands pointed every which way, capturing the buzzing restaurant on camera, because why the hell not? Snickering followed them to table nine, and I squeezed my eyes shut while taking deep breaths. I already hated today with vengeance, now I wished I was the one who had called in sick, not the girl I covered for.
I rushed to take the order of the couple by table six and hurried to the kitchen as if the room had caught fire. Ripping the scribbles out of my notebook, I slipped it among the previous ones.
I hid in the midst of clanking utensils and dishes and shouted commands longer than was totally necessary while trying to get my heartbeat to slow down. No real luck with that, but at least table five’s food was ready by the time I finished my breathing exercises.
I walked back into the restaurant, carrying three plates, with my head held high, hoping to manifest the confidence I didn’t really feel. It was hopeless, really. By the time I placed the plates down and grabbed menus for the group of influencers, my stomach was tied in knots.
I gripped the booklets between my fingers and kept telling myself to breathe. I would survive this. Worse things happened in the world than serving the person who had ruined my life. This was fine. He probably didn’t remember me anyway. It was two years ago, and we hadn’t seen each other since. While Jay had been a pretty significant incident in my life, I most likely was a little bit of fun in his, and he’d probably moved on to tormenting some other poor girl. Yeah, that must’ve been it. It would be fine.
When I reached the fateful table, my knuckles had turned white, and my face was likely just as pale. I swallowed hard and placed the first two menus down without anyone paying much attention to me. When I handed Jay one, his eyes widened, and my lungs stopped working.
He remembered me after all.
“Haylee? I didn’t know you worked here.”
