If they did, I would have willed Lucas to love me a long time ago.
By the time I get inside, my mom isn’t around; she probably went upstairs. I shut off the lights downstairs, and gather up the documents she left scattered on the counter. There are a few printout photos of a storefront, so I carry them over to the faint night light glowing near the stove and picture her space being there. It’s the perfect size, with an old-fashioned awning over a huge window and green door. The inside is empty except for the black and white checkered tiles and a single barber’s chair in the middle. I’m sure she’ll have to redo the inside, but I kind of hope that chair sticks around.
I leave the photos on the stack of forms and round the corner, racing up the stairs two at a time because I don’t like the dark. My mom is asleep sideways on her bed, still wearing her jeans and the business blazer she says makes her look professional. I don’t want to disturb her, so I turn her light off and close her door so she has quiet. I’ll make sure she’s up when I leave for work in the morning.
My room glows from the small mood lamp that is never off in the corner of my room. The blue light is just enough to see by, and it calms my active imagination whenever I’m alone. I pull my phone, cash and school ID from my back pocket and toss it on my bed, kicking my shoes off and rolling my socks from my feet with my toes. I move to my window to close my shutters, but I tilt them enough to look into Lucas’s yard before I shut them completely.
The lights are off now. I push the slats closed, but a ticking sound rattles against the other side of the glass. I hold my breath to hear it more clearly, and just when I think maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, I hear it again. This time, it’s more of a scattering sound—pebbles. I open the slats and look down, my pulse racing. I manage to catch a view of Lucas’s next throw. This time, it’s a dozen tiny rocks clinking against my metal frame, the vinyl siding, and the glass.
I pull both sides of my shutters open and lift the window open so I can hear him.
“What are you doing? You can’t run away to here. I mean, he’ll find you,” I joke.
“You were never a mistake,” he says, not even reacting to my words.
I stare at him with my mouth agape, not sure what to make of this gesture or this big revelation that’s so important he has to throw rocks at my window at eleven-thirty at night.
“Okay,” I say, grinning with a thumbs up.
“No, June . . .” He holds up a finger then rushes forward. Lucas used to climb up the eaves on our porch to tap on my window all the time. He was like Spiderman, his hands sticky and feet stickier. His body is a lot bulkier now, and the sounds of his shoes on the lower angles of the roof are clunky, but his height makes up for his lack of agility. His hands grip my window ledge within seconds, and he lifts his body up easily as I back away.
The racing in my chest is nonstop, and it’s no longer fear of a boogeyman or the dark. I’m afraid of this not being what I think it is—what I hope it is. Lucas pulls his body through my window a leg at a time until he’s literally the air I’m breathing. He looks almost lost, standing right inside my window, his hands not sure whether they should relax or move to illustrate his point. His eyes blink rapidly at first, then his gaze locks on mine and his teeth hold the tip of his tongue as he breathes out a nervous laugh.
“When you said those things, about how no girl wants to be a mistake.” He shakes his head but his eyes never leave mine. “You meant you. You weren’t talking about Ava.”
He steps toward me and my hands ball into fists at my hips. I bang them against my skin anxiously as I glance to the side, to my mirror that still has pictures of me and Lucas taped to it.
“I’m sorry, June,” he says, and even though I feel him stepping closer, I don’t look. I can’t look. If my eyes meet his right now, I’ll sob, and I don’t want to break down in front of Lucas Fuller. That’s not how this goes.
“You are not a mistake,” he repeats, his body close enough that heat radiates from his chest, blocking the cool breeze streaming in through my open window.
“Got it. Thanks,” I say, belittling his honesty. I thought this is what I want, but now that it’s happening, it’s too hard. There’s too much attention on me, too many things stripped away.
His fingertips tickle against my chin and with slight pressure, he coaxes my gaze toward him. Fighting it would be childish, but looking him in the eyes feels deeply impossible. I’m not sure I’ll survive it.
He takes away that choice.
With both of his hands cupping my cheeks, Lucas erases the few inches left between us, tilting my chin up so I’m forced to meet his eyes. They’re even bluer in my light, blue like the midnight sky.
“You are not a mistake,” he says, his eyes holding mine hostage to make sure they see every word formed on his lips.
I nod, a shaky movement on the verge of falling apart in a breath.
“Okay,” he says through a crooked smile. I’m too close to see the dimple it forms, but I don’t need to, I’ve memorized it.
His thumb sweeps away the moisture forming under my right eye and I croak out, “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says, repeating the touch on my left cheek.
I’ve held my breath so long, through my words and his, that the sensation makes my head float and my chest burn. I’m afraid of the sound I’ll make, but if I don’t get air, I’ll die here. This would be a good death.
My lips part with a quaver, and the light gasp is the last thing I remember before Lucas’s eyes dart to the slight movement. His right thumb traces along my cheek, over my top lip and onto my bottom one, stroking along it slowly until my eyes have no choice but to close. I sense his body moving before his lips touch mine, a feather-light brush of both of his lips along the plumpness of my bottom one.
Another tear is forming, and I have no choice but to accept it. My hands relax at my sides and move forward until I find the softness of his shirt. I grip it, bunching it tightly against his chest.
Lucas’s nose brushes the side of mine as he cocks his head the other way, his mouth taking a gentle taste of my upper lip this time. My mouth on autopilot, my lips beg to move with his. I’m not sure whether I’m the one who deepens the kiss or he is, but as my hands let go of his shirt and snake their way up his chest and around his neck, his palms move to the back of my head and draw me close to taste me fully. His tongue teases against mine, the softness meeting the sharp edges of my teeth. I nibble at his top lip as he sucks in my bottom one, running his tongue along the delicate skin. I wait for him to walk me backward, for him to lift me up and force my legs to wrap around him. All of my fantasies over the last two years rush my senses at once, but I let him be the guide. I’m still not certain this is real.
Only when he’s out of breath does he release his mouth’s hold on mine. I chance opening my eyes when his forehead rests against mine, and I look up to see his eyelids closed tightly as he rocks us back and forth where we stand.
“That was not a mistake,” he whispers, his body sending me zero signs that he plans to move from this position any time soon.
“Okay,” I whisper back, stepping up on my toes and chastely pressing my lips to his. This time, his are the ones to break and tremble. I hold our kiss still, my teeth grazing against his bottom lip when I finally let go.