He shrugs, his mouth lifting on one side.
“As much as I’d love for you to come back in August,” he admits, “I still think your photography is worthy of being on display—don’t tell me you have a fear of compliments, too.”
I laugh lightly.
He just smiles.
“No, I’m not afraid of compliments—I like them more than I’m willing to admit.” I glance downward, feeling weird about saying that out loud, trying to keep my smile to a minimum.
“Well, that’s a good thing,” he says, and I feel his fingers press gently around my biceps, “because that’s just not something I can go easy on you about.” He leans in and presses his lips against my forehead, and my heart leaps and does flips and I feel like I want to fall into his arms.
Luke pulls away slowly, letting his hands slide away from my arms with reluctance.
“But as far as that real fear of yours,” he says, “I’ve got plans for it.”
I’m not sure I like that subtle look of mischief playing in his eyes.
I swallow nervously.
“Plans for it?” I ask hesitantly, and I’m beginning to wonder why he’s so intent on helping me overcome my fear of heights. Not that it bothers me—I couldn’t be more grateful—but I still have to wonder where it’s coming from, why he’s so, dare I say it, exactly what I’ve needed in that regard.
“Yep.” He nods.
I don’t wonder for long—now I’m just worried about what he has in store. “What kind of plans?” I ask. Am I grimacing? I’m totally grimacing. I probably look petrified. Luke is unfazed.
He curls his fingers around mine and says, “You’ll see,” as he walks us out of the building.
Luke
I ask her to trust me and not ask questions about where I want to take her. It’s definitely going to be a surprise, but I’m not one hundred percent confident that it’ll be a welcome one—I’m leaning toward no, but it’s worth a shot. She’s been awesome at going headfirst into facing her fear of flying, sitting by the window and looking out, but I can see the change taking shape within her already, the unmistakable confidence, her unbending strength.
I wish I was as strong as her.
I wish I could face my own fear—accepting Landon’s death and moving on with my life.
But maybe I am finally beginning to find my way again. Since Sienna walked into my life, I’ve felt lately like … I can breathe again. When I’m around her, I forget about everything else: the news from China, the funeral, the nightmares, the denial … but mostly the pain.
“Well, at least tell me if I’m dressed for the … occasion,” she says with a fearful tenor in her voice—I come back into the moment, the backs of my eyes burning with tears, and I adjust my expression quickly so she doesn’t notice.
She looks down at her outfit: cute blue shorts, pink tee, and white and hot pink running shoes.
“What you’re wearing is fine,” I assure her.
She’s so nervous sitting beside me on the bus on our way to the airport, the way she wrings her hands together on her lap.
“Well, do I need anything?” she asks. “Like maybe a … parachute or something?”
I laugh because it was certainly a joke, told by a beautiful, timid girl who was definitely not smiling in the least bit when she said it.
“No,” I say, patting her bare leg and leaving my hand there. “But you’ve got your camera, right?”
Her face lights up and it makes my stomach feel like a warm ball of, I dunno, something mushy and feminine, and all I’m waiting for now is to see a burst of little hearts shoot from my ears. I shake it off, laughing quietly to myself.
“No,” she says, “but we can stop by your house and pick it up first, right?” She looks hopeful and doe-eyed—damn; what this girl is doing to me!
As if she really needed to ask. She may not know it, but I am one hundred percent at her service.