Page 55 of Honeymoon Phase
“Go outside,” he repeats again. “Get on a forklift and move some shit around.”
I frown and glance out the window with confusion. “Why?”
“Because you need to touch some fucking grass, and for you I think that means operating heavy machinery. Get away from the wedding planning shit. I’m on my way back from Denver now and I’m coming to see you. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“You don’t have to come here. You’re probably busy. I shouldn’t have called.”
“Roe.”
“Fine, I’m going.” I huff and hang up the phone.
He might be right. Just looking out the window at the guys working makes me feel better. But a loud engine would help me relax even further. So I follow Luke’s instructions and head out to join the crew, fully intent on kicking Bullhead off his forklift so I can have some sort of weird-ass lumberyard-chick therapy session.
Sounds kind of dirty.
The fresh air is healing and I lose track of time unloading a shipment of plywood that came in from one of our suppliers. I’m snapped back to reality when I hear Bullhead yelling my name, so I pull the noise-canceling headphones off my ears and glance down to where he’s waving up at me.
“You have someone in your office, boss!” he shouts and cuts a look over to a couple other guys nearby. “It’s loverboy,” Bullhead adds and makes a gross hip thrusting action. That is something I really did not need to see on a sixty-year-old man today. He hooks his thumb to the building. “Get off my rig so I can get back to work.”
I shut down the engine and slide down off the equipment, giving the guys a wave as I make my way into the buildingcenter. My heart rate starts increasing all over again and I wonder if perhaps I should have stayed on the forklift a bit longer, although I don’t think my change in blood pressure is because of wedding planning.
It’s because my husband is here.
God, that’s weird to say.
Luke stands in front of my desk all tall, flannel and adorable with his little mustache and backward hat, but the concern in his eyes when I walk through my office doorway has me feeling guilty for calling him earlier.
“I’m so sorry you had to come here,” I say, pulling my jacket and gloves off and flopping them on a nearby chair.
“Don’t be,” he says, moving over to me and putting his hands on my shoulders. He crouches down in front of me to get a good look at me. “You feeling better?”
“I am,” I reply with a sheepish smile. “I got to drive the forklift.”
He chuckles and stands up straight, looking down at me with a sexy smirk. “Remind me to show you how to operate the tractor this winter.”
My eyes light up. “Hell yes.” Seems my husband knows me well.
Of course he does, Roe, he’s your best friend. Good God.
He shakes his head and walks over to my desk. “Is this my mom’s binder?”
“That’s the one.” I shudder just looking at it.
He picks it up and slides it under his arm. “I can handle this.”
“But how are you going to know if baby’s breath is tacky or classic?” I deadpan, then frown when I realize I’m kind of serious.
“Roe.” Luke licks his lips and fights away a smile, revealing a dimple that I never noticed before. “It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. Whatever we do is just for show. Remember?”
“Oh yeah... right...” I murmur, my brows furrowing as I look back into the showroom and notice the banner on the ceiling has fallen down on one side. It feels ominous in a strange way. I clear my throat and look back at him. “This isn’t real.”
I swallow the painful knot in my throat, hating how those words feel on my tongue. After the gift from the yard guys and Luke’s mom acting all sweet and caring and now Luke coming here all protective and chivalrous, I guess I’m feeling a bit like... all of this feels pretty damn real to me.
“Come here.” Luke holds his hands out to me as I walk over to where he pulls me in for a big hug. As our bodies press together, I feel myself instantly start to calm down as my breaths synchronize with his. He doesn’t smell like gasoline and chew, but he smells familiar all the same. I swear he’s like a weighted blanket that just makes all the noise go away. How the hell does he do that?
He rubs the back of my head and murmurs, “Feel better?”
“Much,” I reply with a dopey smile up at him.
