please?â heralds a delicate, musical voice from several houses away. We glance up to see a tiny silhouette standing on her top step, haloed by a yellowish light. âEllie Levine? Is that you?â
âYeah, Mrs. Patel,â I say, moving closer so she can see me, shielding my eyes from flamingo spotlights. âItâs me. And Luke.â
âLuke? My goodness, you two gave me a fright!â
âSorry, Mrs. P.,â Luke calls out. âI just startled her, I guess. Itâs okay.â
The woman shuffles back inside her front door as Luke grabs my arms and crosses the street, making me hotfoot it beside him. Like all the Scardinares, Lukeâs not particularly tallâmaybe five-eightâbut heâs built like Fort Knox and heâs got a grip like iron. Especially when heâs pissed. Which is my guess, at the moment.
âWhereâre we going?â
âBack to your place. Iâm freezing my ass off out here. Whatâs in the box?â
âTina brought me éclairs. Youâre getting Napoleons. Which she expects you to be home for when she gets there,â I point out. The cold has exponentially expanded the Coke in my bladder, my urgent need to pee distracting me from the potentially disastrous track this conversation could take if Iâm not careful. Not that I have any intention of blabbing her secret, but Luke has been able to see inside my brain before we were potty trained.
Maybe I shouldnât think about potties right now.
âSo if you knew where we were,â I say, âwhy didnât you just come inside?â
He snorts. âLike sheâd be real happy to know I followed her, for one thing. And like it wouldâve done any good, for another. I figure Iâve got a much better chance worming the truth out of youâhey!â
I may be short, but these thunder thighs come in handy for sudden stops.
âAnd if thatâs what you really think, busterââ I say, peering up at him from underneath the slouched beret, my arms crossedâsorta, this coat is kind of bulky ââyou can just haul your butt right back home.â
He gives me one of his sullen, hooded looks, shakes his head and turns back around, continuing down the block. I wrap my scarf more tightly around my neck and trudge after him. When we get to my steps, he stops, his breath puffing in front of his face.
âCan I come in?â
âI told you, Iâm notââ
His gaze slams into mine, knocking my breath on its butt.
âAnd maybe I just need to talk, okay? To somebody who might actually listen. But who wonât go nuts on me, either.â
Iâm starving, PMSing and my best friend has just dumped a secret on me I have no idea what to do with. Heâs assuming a lot here.
âFine,â I say, pushing past him and on up the stairs, wondering just how long Iâd hold up in an interrogation type situation.
Guess Iâm about to find out.
Â
Funny. Luke and I talk probably two or three times a week, but Iâm just now realizing we havenât been alone together since before he and Tina got married. Not really a conscious decision, I donât think, as just something we naturally fell into, considering the situation. No sense giving tongues a reason to wag and all that. So itâs been a long time since Lukeâs been in my kitchen without Tina being there, too. The last time beingâ¦gee, I guess not too long after I realized I was pregnant.
I open the fridge to get the brisket; he reaches around me to get a bottle of grape juice, his arm grazing my shoulder. I smell the cold on him, his aftershave, the residue scent from his leather jacket, which heâs draped across the back of the kitchen chair just like he has for the past ten years. He smells like a man, not the hot, sweaty boy who used to pin me down and tickle me mercilessly when we were kids.
We separate, him to find a glass, me to
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