Page 109 of Lost Love on 6th Street

This sucks.

“Are we going to talk about . . .”

“I don’t really think so,” he says in a cool tone.

I’ve never known this side of him. I didn’t even know he was capable of being distant and cold. I know it has nothing to do with me. His world has turned upside down. The man he admired his whole life betrayed him.

Not talking about it, though, isn’t going to help.

“I know this is weird, Luke, but Claire’s great,” I say. “I like her.”

Luke says nothing. He chews on his upper lip and looks off to the side.

“You know, she seems like she might be . . .” What? A good addition to the family? A nice friend? “I’m just proud of both of you for how you handled that. Not everyone would be so calm about it.”

He purses his lips.

I don’t know if I’m making things worse or better. “I really admire you, Luke. You’re a good man.”

“Eleanor, stop it,” he murmurs.

I look down at my half-eaten plate of tacos. Now I don’t feel hungry. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Yeah, well it’s not fucking helping,” he says.

I widen my eyes. I wish I could get up and leave, but I’m his ride home. “Don’t be mean to me.”

“I’m not trying to be mean to you, I’m—"

“You know, you should be grateful I even invited you to come with me today because I’m still pissed off at you,” I say.

Luke looks at me again, his blue eyes searing. “I should be grateful you brought me to meet my dad’s secret baby?”

“I’m just saying, you should be grateful I wanted to see you because I’m—because you—” I huff, balling up my napkin. “Never mind.”

Luke slams his fist against the table.

I jump out of my skin. Where did that come from?

He leans across the table and spits out his words low and quick so no one nearby can hear. “I don’t feel fucking lucky. I’m pissed off. Because everything I thought I knew is fucking destroyed. So, you don’t need to comfort me. And you don’t need to remind me that I’m a fucking asshole who ruined our relationship.”

“So, I should just shut up?” I shoot back.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

My jaw falls open. “Wow.”

Luke shuts his mouth, taking his own advice. He leans an elbow on the table and rests his head in his hand.

“I want to go home,” I say.

“Nor, wait.” His hand shoots out across the table and grabs mine. His touch still does it for me, still makes my body feel like I shouldn’t run away.

When will my body catch up with my mind? When will it start to be unsure?

He peers at me from over his hand. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t accept his apology.

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