Page 35 of Trustfall

With the fans cleared out, I start prying up the old floorboards. Flooring was one of the first home renovation projects I learned from my dad. Our old Emberfield house needed a lot of work, so he renovated it bit by bit. Even though I was just fourteen, he wanted me to learn some basic home improvement skills.

It hasn’t escaped me that it’s been weeks since I moved back, and I haven’t seen him yet. He’s still in an inpatient program at the hospital. The same one Emory works at. I’m glad she works in the ER and most likely wouldn’t have any reason to go to the psych floor. I don’t want to go there with her yet. Nate is the only person I’ve ever told about my dad. It’s not that I’m embarrassed, but it’s complicated.

Mom told me Dad is doing a ten-week program to get all his meds adjusted before he's discharged. She said the group and private therapy are helping too. I know I should visit him. I know I should see him. It makes me feel guilty and like a piece of shit son, but somehow, that's still not enough to make me go. I'm running his business, which has to count for something. Besides my dislike of hospitals, our last meeting didn't end well, so I'll keep doing my part from a distance. For now.

It's almost noon when a light thud startles me, and I see a water bottle lying near where I'm working on the floor. I look up to see Allie standing there, holding a plate with a sandwich on it. She slowly crouches down and sets the plate beside the water bottle. Then she looks me straight in the eye and says, “If you break her heart, I'll cut off your dick and bury it where nobody will ever find it.” This is the second time this chick has threatened my manhood. I've said it before, and I'll say it again—Lord help the person who ends up in a relationship with Allie Montgomery.

“Noted,” I say before taking a long swig of water. “Thanks for this,” I gesture to the sandwich.

“Thanks for fixing the floor,” she replies curtly, then turns on her heel and strides out of the room.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and inspect the sandwich. She wouldn’t have poisoned it, right? She saidifI broke Emory’s heart. Which I haven’t. And I don’t plan on it. If anyone’s heart is getting broken, it will most likely be mine. Which is insane because I can’t even think of a time when I’ve had actual feelings for someone outside of sex. Emory and I haven’t even had sex, and I’m already falling for her. Jesus, what is wrong with me?

I decide to push aside the fact that I just admitted that little truth to myself and take a bite of the sandwich—and what kind of sorcery is this? This is hands down the best sandwich I've had in my entire life. It has perfectly seasoned grilled chicken with roasted tomatoes and pesto. Is that a hint of rosemary in there? I devour the whole thing in about two minutes. Okay, maybe Allie's future partner won't have it that bad after all.

Having satisfied my hunger and thirst, I return to work, hoping to finish the floor before Emory gets home so she can have a clear kitchen without my tools scattered everywhere.

Then I get an idea. Maybe I can prove to her that I meant what I said last night. I want her—all of her, not just her body. I have no idea how she feels about that, but I’m going to find out.

13

EMORY

After gettinga total of two hours of sleep last night, I am beyond thankful for an easy shift. It’s so dead, I even get in a quick nap in the nurse’s lounge. After signing out the few patients I still have to the nurses on the night shift, I head to the locker room to change into new scrubs. I’m tying my pants when my phone vibrates.

Luke: I have a surprise for you. Two actually. See you soon, Little Wells.

He ends the text with a winky face. Those simple words on my phone are enough to make my knees weak and my heart race. I hurry out of the locker room and rush to my car. I hope the surprise involves his hands on me and ends with another glorious orgasm. I push the thought aside as I pull out of my parking spot. The last thing I need is to get into an accident while daydreaming about all the ways I want Luke to touch me.

What is it about driving that makes you dwell on all the annoying things you've been putting off all day? Like remembering it's my turn to go grocery shopping, which I've been avoiding for two days now. Or the fact that Luke and I haven't clarified what's going on between us or what it means. I know we need to talk about it, but I don't want to ruin the excitement either.

I push all the nagging car thoughts out of my head as I pull into my driveway. As soon as I enter the house, I’m greeted by the delicious aroma of Italian food.

“In the kitchen,” Luke calls out. I walk in to see him mimicking the motion of chopping some already-chopped onions. The stove is cluttered with multiple pots and pans, and something is baking in the oven. The floor shines, the fans are nowhere to be seen, and a small yellow flower in a mason jar sits between two place settings on the kitchen island.

“What’s going on?”

“What does it look like? I’m cooking you dinner, Little Wells.” He flashes a devastating smile, complete with that godforsaken dimple.

“Oh, really?”

“Yep.”

“Why are you pretending to cut onions?”

He looks up sheepishly. “Okay, Allie did most of it before she left for her date. These are prop onions. But I spread the garlic and butter on the bread and put it in the oven,” he says proudly.

I take a seat at the island. “Well, it all smells delicious, especially the garlic bread.”

Now that his chopping charade is over, he sets the knife down and walks around the island. He carefully cups my face, placing a soft kiss on my lips. He may have meant it as a casual greeting, but it feels like the temperature in the room just shot up ten degrees.

Luke takes the plates from the island and starts filling them with what appears to be spaghetti carbonara and Caesar salad. The salad has toasted quinoa on top, which is a dead giveaway that Allie made it. According to Allie, the quinoa adds a nice crunch without being too obvious, unlike croutons. Luke sets my plate in front of me and then opens the oven to get the garlic bread. He slices it up and puts it in a wicker basket lined with a white cloth that Allie must have left out for him.

“This looks amazing,” I say as I lift my fork to dig in.

“Oh, wait. I forgot.” He goes to the fridge and grabs a bottle of Chablis, opens it, and pours it into each of our glasses. I laugh to myself. Allie again. I can just picture her saying, “The acidity cuts the richness of the carbonara sauce.”

I take a sip of wine and twirl some pasta on my fork. I moan as the creamy, savory sauce hits my taste buds, and Luke arches an eyebrow. Then he chuckles to himself and digs into the pasta.

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