Page 88 of Lucas & Melissa Falling in Love
“Lucas?” I rasp his name, panicked that I lost him when that was the last thing I wanted to do.
“I’m here,” he says, sounding spent, sleepy, his voice low and quiet. And happy. But I could be projecting, because I’m definitely happy at this moment.
“Did you hear me come?”
“Did you hear me?” he says.
“I think so.” I laugh one of those naughty, lazy laughs.
“You’re a wicked woman, Melissa.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He yawns. “Remind me to call you every time I can’t sleep.”
Now I laugh for real. “Glad I could help.”
“Come over for dinner with me and Margo and George tomorrow night?” I half ask, more like beg.
“I will. I can’t wait to see you again. What time? I’m working late.”
“Me too. How about 7-ish?”
“I’ll see you then and I’ll be dreaming of you in the meantime.”
“Good night, Lucas.” We hang up and I throw my phone onto the nightstand. The thing probably doesn’t need charging after all that crazy electricity buzzing through it.
I shut my eyes and see Lucas and that’s enough to relax me into a contented sleep.
* * *
Proud of myselffor getting into work by six thirty after the night I had—which turned out to be more satisfying than I’d hoped for—I get to my half-cube without another soul in sight. Then I work my butt off all day until after seven. By the time Lucas picks me up in front of the bank, it’s almost seven thirty. We’re running late for dinner and I’m not feeling well. Probably due to lack of sleep. I hope I haven’t got myself run down enough to catch something.
When we finally arrive, almost before Walter takes our coats, Margo grabs us each by the arm and ushers us into the dining room.
“Something smells delicious,” Lucas says. Meanwhile I’m trying not to barf.
“I cooked Italian special for you tonight, Lucas,” Margo says.
He’s delighted as we take our seats next to each other and across from Margo and George. George is pouring us some red wine. Normally I’d kiss him for it, but tonight my stomach isn’t up for it. I’d forgotten to eat lunch, so I go for a breadstick.
“This is delightful, Margo,” Lucas says as he surveys the table.
“Were you expecting more people?” I say. Like twenty or thirty more. There’s a lasagna, angel hair pasta laden with red sauce, meatballs and other assorted unidentifiable meats, garlic bread, salad, and some creamy yellow dish.
“You made polenta?” Lucas says. Margo jumps to her feet and passes him the bowl. Mystery solved. I should know that. I catalogue it for future reference.
“This does smell delicious, Marg. You cooked all this?” I ask.
She bounces her head in a nod. George grins at her.
“She’s on a domestic run and I’m enjoying the ride while I can,” he says.
“Let’s dig in family-style,” she says.
I serve up some salad for me and Lucas and hope no one will notice if I skip the pasta. I’m not even sure if I can stomach the lettuce. I settle for croutons.
We’re all eating and George asks Lucas how his opening is going.
