He was making a good argument. But he wasn't raising his voice. So, was it an actual argument? What Luke had described between his parents sounded far different than what she'd experienced with her parents.
Gentleness. Kindness. Consideration.
Elaine preferred her parents apart than together. Their simpering anger was better than their wild passion. In any case, she didn't want to talk about love or passion anymore.
Luke had been guiding her, walking on the outside of the street. Actually, crossing over to the outside of the street each time they turned a corner. Seems he was determined if a car should hop the curb, it would hit him first. He was taking this hero thing a little too far. But she didn't say anything about it. She kept in step with him between her neighbor’s picket fences and his strong shoulders.
He’d gone silent as they came up to the restaurant. He pulled the door of Castro’s Mexican Cuisine open. Juan stopped in his tracks when he saw them.
“It’s not a date,” Elaine said as Juan tossed their menus on the table. “He’s thanking me for saving his life.”
Juan still gave Luke the stank eye as he took his order. Elaine winced when Luke asked for a substitution. Juan was usually annoyed at any alteration to his menu.
“I’m worried there might be a sneeze in your burrito,” said Elaine, trying for the brevity they’d shared on the way here. But Luke seemed distracted. “Juan and I have never dated, in case you’re wondering.”
Luke turned back to her. She noted his body posture was rigid. He was sucking in his cheeks, as though he was trying to hold his tongue. His body was turned at an angle, as though he were shielding himself from her. Elaine realized she preferred his open chest from when he walked on the outside of the sidewalk.
“I’ve never dated anyone,” she clarified. “Not that I wasn’t asked. I just—”
“You don’t believe in love.”
Elaine nodded, but her head felt light like it was disconnected from her neck. Her hands fidgeted, and she wished she was holding a book. But she hadn’t brought one with her tonight.
“You also don’t appear to appreciate any literature that was written in the twenty-first century.” He speared a tortilla chip into the bowl of salsa.
“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m a librarian. Of course, I love books. You have something against libraries?"
"No, they are one of my favorite places in the world."
"Mine, too. I spent many an after school day there."
"Because of your parents?"
Why had she told him about her parents? Now, he'd think of her as some wounded animal. Which she was not.
She decided to change the subject. “Hey, what book were you reading when I saved your life?"
“The first Walker Skye book.”
"Oh," she sighed. Her heart rate slowed. Her blood flow evened out until it was closer to still waters. Had he said a classic, any classic, it might have skipped a beat.
"Oh?" He leaned forward. Not quite crowding her space, but definitely crossing the line.
Elaine shrugged, not wanting to disparage the author like she promised Mary. Here was one of his fans, and Mr. Skye was coming to the library to talk. She might as well invite Luke to meet him. "He's doing a signing at the library tomorrow. You should come to meet him."
"I think I will come,” he said. “But you don't seem excited to meet him."
"Military Science Fiction is not my cup of tea."
"Right, you're a Hardy girl."
"Hardy wrote important works about struggle and morality and the futility of love." She didn't mean to jump back on that subject. But here they were again.
"Futile is definitely a word I'd use to describe those books,” said Luke. “There's no justice for Tess. She pays a hefty price because of what others did to her."
Now Elaine leaned forward, stepping over into Luke’s territory. “No, it shows that if you succumb to passion, you will suffer."
"I think we read two entirely different books. I read a book where an abused woman finds love. But that love casts her off because of what someone else did to her. If you love someone, you're there through thick and thin. It says so in the vows."
"Not everyone keeps their promises." Elaine broke a tortilla chip in half and crumpled the pieces into the salsa bowl.
"That's a very sad fact. But it doesn't apply to all people." Luke scooped up the broken bits with a whole chip and plopped it all into his mouth.
She wouldn't hold his gaze. “You think Walker Skye’s space war books are better. Those books are entirely unrealistic.”
“Again, I disagree,” Luke said after a sip of water. “They show the triumph of the human spirit. They show that an underdog can win, especially if he or she is backed by a support system. It shows that every person has value. At least that’s what I get out of them.”
“You’re very passionate about these books.”
“I read Tess of the d’Ubervilles and am making an informed comparison. I think you should give Walker Skye a try. To be fair.”
Elaine brushed the crumbs and residual oil of the chips off her hands. “I suppose I should read a few chapters since the author is coming to my place of business.”
Juan arrived then with their burritos. Luke offered the cook a smile, which was not returned. They ate in companionable silence. Luke steered the conversation away from love and books. He told her instead about his time in the military. He asked her questions about the town and its people. He listened more than he talked. He leaned forward, asking for details. If the military didn’t work out, he might have a career in small-town journalism or detective work with the way he paid attention.
When the check came, Elaine reached for it. He held up his hands as if in defeat. His grin caught her off guard.
“No argument?” she said.
“I’m secure enough in my masculinity to have a woman pay for a five-dollar burrito.” Luke waggled his eyebrows.
Elaine had to fight back a smile at the facial expression. She was finding it endearing.
“It was actually seven because you got extra guacamole.” She counted out the cash, including a sizable tip for Juan for showing a modicum of civility.
“Looks like I’m a cheap date.” Luke held up his hands. “Oops, sorry. Not a date.”
“Right.” But the word felt thick as guacamole on Elaine’s tongue.
Luke offered her his arm as they walked out. “This is a gentlemanly gesture,” he said when she hesitated. “It was very popular in the Victorian age.”
Instead of arguing, Elaine found herself taking Luke’s arm. They walked in silence for a few moments; bellies full, safe topics exhausted. The silence was easy. She liked the warmth of his body. The strength of his forearm. The certainty of his stride. And then she was being crushed against his body.
The dinging bell of a cyclist whizzed in her ear. Her nose was crushed into the side of Luke’s neck. She got a strong whiff of aftershave, cilantro, and male. Her belly grumbled as though it was nowhere near full and was hankering for a large helping of dessert.
“I saved your life that time,” he said.
“So, we’re even?” she asked, her voice breathy as she gazed up at him.
The way he smiled at her made her take another whiff of him. She felt her blood flow increase and pool in her fingertips and cheeks. Her heart didn't skip a beat, but she became acutely aware of its pounding.
“Yes,” he said.
His gaze was on her lips. His hands held her elbows. There was an inch between them, but she could still feel his heart.
“We’re even,” he said.
Disappointment washed through her, causing her to shiver. What reason would they have to see each other again now?
“You cold?” Luke pulled his jacket off.
Elaine ducked away from the romantic gesture. The last thing she needed was to have his scent embedded in her clothes. “Just tired. I think I need to lie down.”
“Of course.” Concern shone through his gaze. “Let’s get you home.”
He slipped back into his jacket and wrapped an arm around her waist. She knew the arm was to support her, though she didn’t need it. Still, she didn’t shrug it off.
Elaine couldn’t remember the last time she’d been held, hugged. She felt Luke’s pulse thrumming as his hand rested on her hip. She felt his heart beating where her shoulder met his chest. For a moment, her world tuned to the sounds of another.
She walked to his rhythm all the way to her house, her safe haven. They climbed the steps together. There was still some dirt from the spilled pot. But the plant was fine, not wilting at all.
Elaine turned to Luke at the top of the stair. He had stepped down a rung. So they were eye level.
“Tonight was fun,” he said.
“You argue literature with all your friends?”
“No, most of my friends prefer hack military science fiction to literature,” he said the word literature with a snotty accent.
Elaine felt like a snob. She wished she’d behaved better. That she’d kept some of her opinions to herself. She didn’t want him thinking badly about her.
Because they were going to be friends.
Should she invite him inside for coffee? No, that’s what someone on a date would do. What would a friend do?
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Luke said, stepping down one stair.
“Tomorrow?”
“For the signing with the hack author.” There was a bite behind his smile.
“He’s probably not a hack,” Elaine admitted.
“Hang on a second.” Luke ran to his truck. He was back in a moment with a book. “See for yourself.”
It was a copy of Walker Skye’s first book. “So, now I have homework.”
“That’s how dinner with friends ends. Had this been a date, there might have been a kiss.”
She held his gaze this time. Sweat collected in the palm of her hands. Her fingertips tingled with the need to touch. And then his hand was between them.
“Goodnight, Elaine.”
Elaine put her hand in his. Her palms were clammy. His were damp too. But there was heat between them. That heat evaporated the droplets.
Luke took the last few steps down the stairs and hopped in his truck. Elaine stayed for a few moments on the front steps, holding the book to her chest. Then she cracked open the cover.