Page 48 of All's Well that Friends Well
“Jules,” Aurora says into my ear, only I’m barely paying attention, and she’s hard to hear. “You left on foot and now it’s raining. Do I need to send out a search party? You’ve been gone a long time. Are you in a rain gutter somewhere?”
“Um…” I answer, my voice trailing off, becausewhat an entranceLuca has made.
He is shirtless. I repeat:Luca Slater is shirtless. He is without a shirt, and there are abs and shoulders on display, and I might start drooling?—
But no time for that. I begin tapping on the window as hard as I can. His head whips toward me at the sound, his eyes going wide, his jaw dropping when he spots me.
“Jules?” Aurora says, her voice sharper now. “Please just tell me if you’re okay. Do we need to come get you? It’s raining really hard.”
“I’m fine,” I say faintly as my eyes trail over Luca, noticing the sheen of his skin and the shirt draped over his arm. “I took shelter at Mom and Dad’s.”
“Oh, good,” Aurora says, but then she pauses. “Wait. Did Luca Slater let you come in?”
“He will,” I say, because Luca’s already hurrying out of the living room and toward the sliding door in the kitchen. “I have to go. I’ll be home later.”
And then I hang up, without waiting for Aurora’s reply. She won’t be thrilled about that, but she’ll get over it.
I shuffle to the sliding door justas it lurches open, and before Luca can say anything or invite me in, I’ve launched myself over the threshold. I scoot inside just enough that he can slam the door shut again, and we’re plunged into silence—save for the steadydrip, drip, dripcoming from my soaking clothes.
I clear my throat as my eyes finally travel up and meet Luca’s, only to find his expression darkening.
We’re close enough that I can see him with perfect clarity. I can see the droplets of rain on his glasses, his wet hair, the faint color entering his cheeks as his gaze holds mine. His posture stiffens slightly as he looks me over, and it’s only then that I remember how I must look.
Awful. Horrible. That’s how I look, I have no doubt. And my crumble bars, my poor crumble bars—even the plastic wrap I put over them couldn’t save them from this wind and rain. They’re still on the front porch, a sad little platter that was already wilted and soppy before I came around the back.
There are goosebumps breaking out all over my body now that I’m inside, and I shift my weight from one foot to the other as my gaze darts awkwardly around the kitchen. Then I force myself to look back at the man whose eyes still haven’t left me.
“I brought you peach bars,” I say in a small voice.
He takes his glasses off slowly, letting them dangle from one hand as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I told you not to,” he finally says. His words are almost as quiet as mine.
I clear my throat. “I know,” I say. “But I actually was already here at your door when I called you.”
His brows pull low. “What—an hour ago? An hour and a half? You were already here?”
My shoulders twitch into a shaky shrug, because I’mdrenched, and it’s cold. “Something like that. So I waited for a while, and then it started to rain, see?” I point unnecessarily at the window. “So I stayed on the porch for a little bit? But then it kept raining, and I was really wet, and I walked here so I didn’t have my car, and I thought under the circumstances”—I’m shivering now—“you wouldn’t mind letting me wait things out.”
His gaze darts over me. “Where are they? The peach bars?”
“Still on the porch,” I admit. “Inedible and sopping wet. I can go?—”
But he stops me with a twitch of his hand. “I’ll bring them in,” Luca says, still looking at me. He blinks at me once, twice, and then his frown deepens. He puts his glasses back on and peers down at me. “Are your—good grief.” His eyes close for a second like he’s collecting himself, and then they fly open again. “Are yourteethchattering?”
“It’s very cold,” I say apologetically.
He grunts, his gaze still lingering on me. “You look horrible.”
“I know,” I say, my voice fervent even as my heart sinks. This was not what I had in mind for this evening. Not at all. So I sigh. “If you’re all right with it, I actually would like to go upstairs and shower and put on different clothes.” Then I let my gaze travel slowly over his bare chest. “You should do the same, or I might find myself swooning.”
This gets a rough exhale from him, something I might almost call laughter. He turns away and strides quickly from the room. “Do what you want,” he says over his shoulder, his footsteps thudding down the hall. “Just stay out of my way.”
My heart beats faster in my chest as I answer, adelightful idea springing into my mind. “Do you have clothes I can borrow?”
Those footsteps stop abruptly, plunging us into silence. Then, finally, he says, “Don’t you have a closet full of your own clothes?”
“I don’t, actually,” I say, my voice light. It’s not even a lie. I took my sweaters a while ago; everything else left in my room is breezy and summery, nothing that will help me warm up.
My sisters probably have a few things I could wear here, but that’s not what he asked—and it’s not what I want.
