Page 50 of Love… It's Messy
My hand is on the door, and I clench the wooden frame, bracing myself for what he’s about say. Because when a man calls your name with the amount of urgency and conviction as Luke just did, you brace yourself to be blown away.
“I lied to you.”
Peeking my head in, I tell Ainsley to put her pajamas on and that I’ll be up in a moment. As I go back to the curb, Luke is standing in the dark, rubbing his eyes and blinking back his emotions. I steady the quake inside my chest and walk to him with my arms crossed and my chin up, waiting for him to explain exactly what he lied to me about.
“In the car, you asked if I had any regrets—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” I say, trying to stop him. Not because I don’t want to hear what he’s about to say. It’s because I fear what he says will render me immobile from having him. “What happened between us in the past needs to stay there. All that matters now is Ainsley.”
“I understand.”
I turn around and walk into my house, leaving part of my heart on the curb and hope he doesn’t crush it.
“And … Jillian?”
I pause, my heart rising to my throat, and I turn around and face him.
“Yes?” I breathe.
“I’ll see you next week for your date.”
I lift my eyes to the sky as I slide off his jacket and toss it to him … rather aggressively.
He catches it in the air. As he walks to his car, I’m pretty sure I catch him sniffing it as well.
thirteen
I’M RUMMAGING THROUGH MYcloset for a proper dress to wear on a second date.
Appropriate attire for wedding planning is simple and comfortable. That’s fine and dandy when you’re trying to blend in. Tonight, however, I’d like to not look like I’m about to rob a bank.
The few brightly colored dresses I have are party dresses and a bit too fancy or too sexy for dinner. I enjoyed Eric’s company, but I’m not willing to give him the wrong impression with my breasts falling out of my dress or a slit so far up my right thigh that it gives serious Angelina Jolie vibes. I have some pretty camisoles, but I don’t want to wear pants either.
My hands stop on a dress on a hanger, still in the dry-cleaning bag and meant to be returned. The long-sleeved brown jersey dress Luke’s neighbor Stella lent me is still in my closet. I hold it up and appraise the simple dress. I recall Luke’s pupils dilating as they raked over the modest yet revealing neckline.
“At least it’s not black,” I muse as I pull it on and assess the clingy fabric. It’s flattering, and I feel good in it, which is the most important thing.
Deciding this is the best option, I slide on a pair of gold peep-toe heels and matching earrings. I choose to leave my cleavage bare of jewelry, but insert long, dangling earrings that peek through my blown-out hair.
As I do one final look in the mirror, I stare back at the woman I see. Auburn hair, green eyes, and a complexion that is youthful, thanks to my strict sunscreen regimen. I’m not blind. On the outside, I’m an attractive, well-put-together woman. Butterflies swarm through my belly as I wish my insides matched my outsides. Anxiety has always bubbled low under the surface, yet I push it down year after year.
I force the smiles, keep my head down, and do the right thing. If I didn’t, my parents would have thought I was crazy when I decided to become a wedding planner after college. They knew I had a vision for my future and the work ethic to balance it. Plus, in their eyes, I was going to marry a physician or a politician and quit my job to rear his babies and be a woman of society.
Clearly, they miscalculated their daughter.
With a nod to myself in the mirror, I walk downstairs and see Luke in the kitchen with Ainsley. They’re making chicken cutlets, which Luke has declared his favorite meal in the world.
My nerves sizzle as I watch him teach Ainsley how to roll raw chicken in egg and then in the breadcrumbs. She’s giggling at the grossness of the mixture, yet she wants to keep going. While she giggles, Luke looks at her with glistening eyes and a flush to his cheeks despite his smile. He rubs the heel of his palm against his eye and then helps her clean her hands in the sink.
Joe, the cat, who made an appearance at my doorstep tonight with Luke, is on the counter near them, padding his own paw in the flowing faucet.
The three are cleaning up as I make my presence known.
Luke’s eyes go from crinkling to completely open as he looks over at me. His chest rises and stays there for a beat longer than a normal breath. His lips are parted as he stares at my dress, starting at my hips and doing a quick yet purposeful appraisal of my attire, stopping briefly at my neck and then landing on my face.
Luke’s gaze has me twisting my fingers around each other, and then I wipe my palms down my hips. His eyes roam down and stare at my hands.
“You sure do clean up well,” he says, to which Ainsley nods in agreement.