“And . . . there she is,” she teases.
I reach for her phone in playful retaliation, but before I can catch her, there’s a soft knock at the door. Lucas’s mom slips in and holds her palms to her face. She shakes her head at the sight of the four of us, all done up as if we’re heading to a royal ball.
“So, this is what it’s like to have daughters,” she says, genuine awe in her expression. I reach for her hand and squeeze it the moment she gives it to me. I still haven’t let Lucas read the letter she wrote me after everything went down, but he knows she gave it to me. She spent two pages apologizing for believing I could be anything other than someone special. I cried when I read it, not realizing how much it hurt to have her think poorly of me because of something she believed my mom did. Her list of my best qualities was exhaustive, but it was also deeply personal and purposeful. She wasn’t generic about a single thing, and described moments when Lucas and I were together as kids. She credited me for him finally finding his own voice, but I don’t know that I did anything other than rip the tape from his mouth. Lucas was already near to breaking free of his father’s expectations. All I did was give him a tiny shove.
“The guys are ready, ladies,” she says, pausing at the door and lining us up to walk down one at a time. I know my mom’s drill, and we will be repeating this sequence about eight more times to make sure she gets the perfect shot. But this first time will be the one that counts the most for me. It will be the first time Lucas looks up and sees me as more than the girl next door. A sexy, mature, driven and confident almost eighteen-year-old is about to walk down the steps and take his hand. I’ll know exactly what our immediate future holds by that initial reaction. I’m ready for it.
Abby walks down the steps first, and we all giggle at the cat calls and whistles the boys deliver down below. We decided to go together as a group tonight since Lucas and I are the only real couple, but I know for a fact Tory sees Abby with the same colored glasses Lucas does me. He’s just not quite ready to grow up and admit it.
Lola and Naomi go next, and I watch through the cracked doorway as they stop to pose on nearly every step. My mom is hysterical with laughter, but deep down, she actually thinks some of the poses they strike might work for commercial purposes. Her business hat is never far away.
My heart beats wildly the farther down the steps the girls go, and when the eyes staring from below all dart up to the doorway I’m hiding behind, my palms begin to sweat.
“I’m nervous,” I whisper, giggling for Lucas’s mom.
“You’re stunning,” she says. Without giving me more time to panic, she pushes the door open and steps back so I’m the only thing there for Lucas to see. He came dressed as promised, his straight black pants, dark gray V-neck sweater, crisp white shirt, and black tie. The preppy look may very well only work on him for me. It does work, though. It works without exception, and it works quickly. My insides shift from being anxious to being amorous. I step onto the landing, wrap my hand around the railing, and look down on the blue eyes peering up.
“You are beautiful,” Lucas mouths, and my mouth stretches into a smile, the satin feeling of the deep red color on my lips making it easy to shine with happiness. He moves forward, away from the seven other guys here with him, and as I take the stairs one at a time, praying I don’t fall in these shoes that are way too high for my novice feet to navigate in, he climbs to meet me.
My mother’s cameras click rapidly, and as silly as I thought she was with some of this, I’m glad she’s capturing this moment. If Lucas never looks up at me again, I’ll always have the way he’s looking at me now.
With only three steps left between us, Lucas takes one final stride, clearing them all until we share the same stair. He stands close, his hands bracing my elbows as I hold on to his biceps, not towering over me as he usually does thanks to the stupid amount of height added by my shoes.
“Look who’s all grown up,” he says through a playful smirk. His eyes are crystal waters against the dark gray of his sweater. I breathe in his scent and instantly am drunk on the warm vanilla and burning wood notes. Lucas takes advantage of my liquid state by tipping up my chin and possessively dropping his mouth on mine. His hand snakes around my back, landing low enough for his fingers to dip inside the fabric that drapes above my ass. He leans me back, and someone in the room whistles. I blush from being the center of attention, but I’m also rushed with heat from his touch.
I lean all of my weight into his strong hand as he holds me perilously over the cascading stairs, tethering us to gravity with his other hand on the banister. When he pulls away, I smile against his lips, happy to etch this moment in stone. One more heartbeat, though, makes it another milestone in my life.
“I love you, too,” he says, his lips playfully brushing against the nape of my neck. He raises me and our gazes lock, his serious despite the flirtatious lilt of his lips, which are a little pink from my lip stick.
“I love you,” I mouth, knowing nobody below can see me. His cheek indents briefly, a hint of his dimple appearing like a sign to let me know he read my lips . . . just as he heard me slip up and say those words before, way too early.
As I predict, my mom, the consummate professional, makes us repeat every single thing we do three more times, then she spends an hour taking shots of couples and groups on the stairs and in front of her plain backdrop. Before she shuts down her lights, though, I make her do one thing she hates but will thank me for down the road.
I drag my resistant mother outside to stand with me in front of our middle-finger garage door, and we stand together, embracing, her in her ripped jeans and Tommy sweatshirt and me in my two-hundred-dollar cocktail dress that my mom said I deserved despite my argument that it cost too much.
I had prepared Lucas’s mom for the job, and from the digital proofs I checked on my mom’s laptop, I’d say she came through beautifully. I will take that image of her and me together with me everywhere I go, and no matter how much life changes, my relationship with her will be my one true constant. My rock. That paint will soon be covered up, but the badass who did it? She’s forever.
I expect attention when Lucas and I finally walk into the homecoming dance. Not because of the rumors swirling about everything that went down, but because of the epic performance he had on the field last night. His dad still showed up for the game, though his mother sat with us while his dad stood alone down by the fence. He didn’t leave, because as broken as his relationship with his son is, he can’t give up the high he gets from watching him do things he never could. Lucas is gifted on the field. He also happens to have a gifted mind, and for the boy I love, that’s far more inspiring.
A few players stop us as we make our way toward the dance floor, handshakes and bro hugs take place with me at Lucas’s side. But when the first slow song begins to play, everything—and everyone else—disappears. I find a home against Lucas’s chest, and I intend on staying here until he takes me somewhere to be alone. The sensual touch of his hand on my bare back keeps my nerves firing no matter how slow or soft the song is we dance to, and I know we’ve been indulged when the DJ announces one more before he turns things up a notch. I don’t quite expect this, though.