Page 107 of All's Well that Friends Well
“If you hadn’t canceled the wedding, she would have, Luca, sweetie. She didn’t share much with us about—aboutfeelings, but I do know that she didn’t feel like she could marry you. She knew in her heart that she wasn’t ready for marriage—to anyone.”
I’m not sure how I manage to speak, because every part of me is frozen in place. “She—was she going to break thingsoff?” Was that why she looked relieved? Because I had done it, and so she wouldn’t have to?
“She would have,” Mrs. Delaney says with a sniffle. She strokes my face with gentle, motherly hands and goes on, “We’ve never loved you because we thought you were going to be our son-in-law. We love you because you’re a wonderful, caring person. And I was so happy to feed you and give you hugs and make sure you were doing okay.” A blanket of sadness settles over her now, her hands dropping into her lap. “I don’t know why Maura swerved off that road, whether it was on accident or on purpose,” she admits, her gaze far away. “But it had nothing to do with you.”
And at these words, one tear trickles down my face—one, and then one more, and then another. Juliet would be so excited, and sad, and proud of me, too; she would feel all those things at once, because she’s an endless well of emotions.
“Let me ask you, sweetie,” Mrs. Delaney says as something brighter sparks in her eyes. She glances at Mr. Delaney and then back to me. “If you’re telling us these things, it must mean—” She breaks off, fidgets, and then goes on. “Is there someone special in your life? Someone new?”
“There could be,” I say honestly, and an absurd bubble of laughter tries to escape my chest. “Maybe.”
In the corner of my vision, Mr. Delaney straightens up, and Mrs. Delaney does the same, a genuine smile spreading over her lips. “Well, go on, then,” she says, beaming. “Tell us everything!”
LUCA
When I leave the Delaneys’house, I’m a mess. And yet, somehow…it’s agoodmess.
I can’t even describe it. I’m sad and happy and heavy and light, more feelings bouncing around in my chest than I know what to do with.
The Delaneys and I agreed that I would still come see them for dinner a couple times a year. They were the ones who suggested this change, for which I’m infinitely grateful, because I don’t know how I would have asked.
I take a deep breath as I drive home, and the oxygen fills my lungs with ease. It’s a warm, clear night, bright stars and low humidity, and the scent of mountain pine drifts on the breeze.
I think I’ve never appreciated the very air I breathe until this exact moment. I’ve never appreciated what it feels like to inhale without the sensation of a boulder on my chest.
In fact, I’m not sure I was even aware of how heavy thatboulder was. Of how fragile my ribs had become, trying to withstand the pain and the pressure trying to crush my body. Myheart.
I let my head lean toward the window as I roll it down, feeling the breeze on my skin. Then, after thinking for a second, I make a phone call.
“Hello, Handsome,” Juliet’s bright voice says when she answers. “I was just thinking about you.”
My lips curl into a slow smile. “Were you?”
She hums. “I was. But I’m always thinking about you, you know? So it’s nothing new.”
A bark of laughter slips past my lips. “Did you know that you’re shameless, Miss Marigold?”
“I’ve been told,” she says. She pauses and then adds, “You seem like you’re in a good mood.”
“I am,” I admit as my pulse picks up. I take a deep breath, clear my throat, and spit the words out. “I’m headed back to Lucky. Let’s go for a walk.”
I’m not really a walking guy. I don’t take walks for fun. But…it sounds nice on a night like this, when everything inside of me is light—when Juliet can be near, her presence soothing and restful despite her never-ending energy.
“I’ll go on a walk with you,” she says after what I think is a surprised silence. “But you’ll need to ask nicely, and you’ll need to call me something other thanMiss Marigold.”
My heart skips a beat, my fingers tightening on the steering wheel. She’s taking a step forward, inviting me to come with her. “I can ask nicely,” I find myself murmuring, “but I get to choose what to call you.”
She hums, a sound that sends shivers through me. “Go ahead, then,” she says. “Ask nicely.”
I bite back my smile as I turn into my neighborhood. “Will youpleasecome on a walk with me?”
“Yes, obviously,” she says, and something about her voice brings to mind the image of her clasping her hands under her chin, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “When? Where? Is this a date?”
“This is not a date,” I say, and it’s mostly true.
I just want to walk with her. Whatever that is, I want to do it.
“It’s not a date,” I repeat. “So don’t get all dressed up.”
