Sultry with a Twist

by Macy Beckett

  Luke squirmed on the hard wooden pew and folded his arms across his chest, trying to hide a shiver. A bonfire probably sounded great to him right about now. From time to time, he’d glance over at his jacket with a longing expression, but June knew he’d stand naked in the snow before asking her to return it.

  June pulled off the jacket and scooted over a few inches until her bare arm brushed Luke’s starched, white shirt sleeve. He stiffened and gave her a questioning glance. Linking her arm through his, she whispered, “Here, take this side,” and reached over to tuck the heavy, lined jacket over both of them like a blanket. When Luke tugged his arm free, June thought he would object, but instead, he wrapped it around her shoulder and pulled their bodies close. June’s heart lurched inside her chest. He’d never held her like this, not even after they’d made love. She relaxed into his warmth and rested her head against the side of his solid chest. It felt so good that for the first time in June’s life, she wanted the sermon to last forever.

  From her peripheral vision, June noticed Grammy watching them with a discreet smile on her face. He needs someone to teach him to love. Think on that.

  And then, as if God Himself were conspiring against her, the pastor began to preach about love. “The Lord’s plan for you, my brothers and sisters,” he said in his slow drawl, “is to love one another. And that love must start in the home…”

  Is that what Grammy had meant when she’d said Luke’s mama had set a poor example? Had Luke struggled with emotions because there’d been no love in his home, until he’d come to live with Gram? June reflected on their childhood and realized Luke had never used the word. He’d avoided saying “love” like it was the granddaddy of all swears. When they’d exchanged Christmas or birthday cards, he’d signed them simply, “Luke,” or if he was feeling particularly generous, “Your friend, Luke.” And, of course, he’d practically bolted into the next county when she’d said “I love you” at the pond all those years ago.

  With his strong arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder, it was so easy to pretend Luke already cherished her, and June wanted it to be true so badly it hurt to breathe. Could she really teach him to love? And, more importantly, was she brave enough to try? She’d never shied away from risks before. Heck, she’d invested her entire life’s savings in Luquos—she’d even sold her home to bring that dream to fruition. But with Luke, she’d be risking more than just money. Cash lost could always be earned again, but the pain of heartbreak lingered for years.

  June nestled deeper against Luke’s chest and placed her palm lightly on his thigh. When he covered her hand with his own and rested his cheek atop her head, June made up her mind right then. To hell with the risks. If there was even the slightest chance Luke could hold her like this for the rest of her life, it was worth it. Somehow, in the next two weeks, she’d teach him to love her, and they’d work out the logistics of a long-distance relationship, until one of them could relocate. And since Luke didn’t respond to words, she’d have to use actions. Desperate for ideas, she tuned back in to Pastor McMahon’s sermon.

  “…that love isn’t a feeling, it’s a choice, an action, a show of goodwill. It’s about serving our brother, listening to him and supporting him without benefit to ourselves. It’s believing the best about someone who’s wronged us. And love never quits, never abandons in a time of need…”

  Pretty vague, but it was a good start.

  ***

  Luke tore at the silk knot squeezing his windpipe and then ripped the tie from around his neck and flung it to the bedroom floor. He yanked his arms free of his jacket with so much force the sleeves turned inside out. Then, right as he tensed his shoulder to hurl the coat through the air, he hesitated and brought it to his nose. The collar still smelled like June’s sweet, floral perfume, and Luke’s stomach knotted like a pretzel. He fisted the material and threw it against the wall, where it thudded softly and swished to the floor beside his tie.

  It had felt so good—too damned good—to pull June’s warm, soft body against him and hold her close through the whole sermon, feeling her deep breaths and the tickle of her hair against his cheek. But when she’d rested her little head against his chest and held his hand, he’d done something really stupid—closed his eyes and imagined she belonged to him.

  The images his mind conjured were so vivid, he could almost feel his palm smooth across June’s tight, round belly, swollen with his child. He could almost hear the rustling of their other children fidgeting on the hard pew beside them. And when the daydream ended, the force of loss knocked his breath loose like he’d taken a soccer ball to the gut. He had no right to fantasize about a family with June—or anyone else for that matter. Like his parents before him, Luke would just ruin a child. And if all that weren’t bad enough, he’d been forced to listen to the pastor drone on about love for another half hour. The old guy got one thing right: I love you were the most overused words on earth, and most people didn’t understand or mean them.

  Now what could’ve been a fine day was ruined by his pissy mood. Luke changed into jeans and a gray, long-sleeved T-shirt. Maybe he’d head over to get some work done on his house. A little physical labor might lift his spirits. Besides, time was getting away from him, and he needed to get the place sold. Maybe he’d never have June or a family of his own, but at least he’d have his land—something solid and secure that nobody could ever take away.

  Pru called from downstairs, and Luke pulled his boots on and shoved his wallet in his back pocket. She’d probably give him hell for skipping out before supper, but he’d make it up to her another time. When he rushed into the kitchen and opened his mouth to say good-bye, he had to stop short to keep from knocking June over.

  “For you,” she said with a smile, holding out a steaming mug.

  The tangy scent of spiced cider wafted up, making his mouth water. He accepted her gift, taking a reluctant sip while scanning her over the top of his cup. She’d changed into skintight jeans that hugged those wide hips for dear life, paired with a thin, pink sweater unbuttoned low enough that Luke could see cleavage if he looked at just the right angle. Which he did.

  “To celebrate your first Sunday without getting the wooden spoon,” she said, padding on bare feet to the kitchen table. She lifted the lid on Pru’s wicker picnic basket and stuffed a handful of napkins inside.

  “Thanks,” he said, “but I’m on my way—”

  “I packed lunch. We can eat by the pond.” She slipped her little feet into a pair of flip-flops and nodded at the counter. “Grab that blanket, will you?”

  Before Luke could say no, Pru walked in and waved two white envelopes in the air.

  “You coming, Grammy?” June asked.

  Pru shook her head. “I’m headin’ back to the church hall. We’re makin’ pies and cookies to sell at the fair tomorrow.” She handed both envelopes to Luke and patted his shoulder with her big, bony hand. “But take these with you.”

  He recognized his name scrawled in his own clumsy handwriting on one, and June’s name in loopy cursive on the other.

  “It’s still a little early,” Pru explained. “I wasn’t s’posed to give you these till spring. But with June goin’ back home in a couple weeks, heaven knows when we’ll see her again. Thought you might like to open these together.”

  “Oh, no.” June’s shoulders drooped an inch or two, and her brown curls shook right along with her head. “I don’t want mine. I already know what it says.”

  “What’s in here?” Luke asked.

  “Don’t you remember?” June asked. “In senior English, Mrs. Moore made us write letters to ourselves ten years into the future. We had to predict where we’d be and all that.”

  “Junebug, I can’t even remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday.” He folded the letters in half and tucked them behind his wallet. “Sounds like fun though.”

  “Well, you have a blast. I’m throwing mine out.”

  “Must be some juicy stuff in there.” He had no intentio
n of trashing it, at least not until he’d read it first. To hell with work, he’d play hooky with June the rest of the day. Like Pru had said, June would leave soon, and who knew when she’d come to visit again? He flipped the blanket around his neck and held the door open for her.

  In Luke’s perfect world, every day would feel exactly like this one—cool and crisp with the gentle sun barely warming the tops of his shoulders. It was that perfect, narrow window between seasons when he could spend all day outside and never feel uncomfortable. He’d been away from the pond too long and forgotten how much he missed the scents of wet earth and stagnant water. The smell of carefree youth. He pulled a deep breath through his nose and sighed slowly.

  With the new chill in the air, Luke decided to spread the blanket in a patch of sunlight beside the tall reeds. While June knelt down and unpacked the picnic basket, he pulled his envelope out and tore it open. He didn’t recall the assignment, but Luke had a feeling he’d written the bare minimum, and he didn’t expect a long letter from his eighteen-year-old self. Once he unfolded the paper, he snickered. One short paragraph, just as he thought.

  “Hey there, you good-looking son of a bitch,” Luke read. An immediate grin formed on his lips. That sounded a lot like him back then. “Right now, you’re bored as hell writing a dumb-ass letter to yourself. But since the teacher’s watching, and you need this credit to graduate, I’ll go ahead and tell your future. You’re a Green Beret squadron leader, traveling the world to kick ass and take names. Your elite team of men has just been assigned a top secret mission to rescue a yacht-load of naked supermodels…”—Luke laughed, while he crumpled the paper and tossed it into the wicker basket—“I’ll spare you the rest. Jesus, was I really that much of an idiot?”

  “No.” June uncovered a plate of cold fried chicken. She snatched a drumstick and pointed it at him. “You were worse.”

  Luke scoffed, pretending she’d offended him, and then stretched out on the blanket and dangled June’s envelope in front of her face. “Let’s read yours now.”

  “No! Give it here.” She dove over a plastic bowl of potato salad and landed on top of him, before straddling his chest and making a frantic grab at the letter. “Mine’s embarrassing.”

  “Sweet! I can’t wait.” Luke kept it out of her reach and laughed, while trying to find the leverage to flip her over. It didn’t take long to roll June onto her back, and unfortunately, right into the potato salad.

  She gasped like he’d just tossed her into a tub full of ice cubes. “My hair!” Mustard-yellow clumps matted June’s curls against one side of her head, and Luke tried—swear to God, he really did—to keep a straight face. But he could only take so much, and eventually, he convulsed into hysterical laughter, flopping onto his back and holding his sides.

  June reached beside her head and grabbed a handful of goop, then smeared it across the side of his face. “Not so funny now, is it?” But it still was, and he chuckled while using one finger to push a creamy bite into his mouth. She leaned over him to make another grab at the letter. “Gimme!”

  Luke fisted the envelope and rolled to his feet before she could get a good grip on it. Then he backed away from the blanket a few paces. “No way. I let you listen to mine. Now it’s your turn.”

  June groaned and started picking potato chunks from her hair. “You’re so mean.” She threw one glob in his direction, and it landed on his boot.

  “Okay,” Luke said, sliding his finger along the seal, “the moment of truth.” He pulled June’s stationery out and unfolded it, then cleared his throat and began. “Dear June, if you’re reading this, then ten years have passed. I hope you had fun in college and made some new friends…” Luke rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Sounds just like a girl.” He continued reading aloud. “By now, you’ve earned your doctoral degree, and you’re practicing psychology as Dr. Gallagher, PhD—” Luke’s eyes widened, frozen on the page. He glanced at June, whose face flushed ten shades of crimson. She looked like she wanted to crawl into a mud hole and die. He read the next few sentences in silence, which detailed their wedding—a casual ceremony at the pond in which she’d worn her mother’s dress—and went on to describe each of their three children, all boys who looked exactly like him. June had predicted he’d leave the army after his first enlistment and then earn a living as a civil engineer.

  Luke’s throat tightened, and he swallowed a cherry-sized lump. No wonder she hadn’t wanted him to read her letter. “Don’t feel bad, Junebug,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I didn’t get what I wanted either.”

  Judging from the look of mortification in her wide, brown eyes, that wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear, so he tried again. “You dodged a bullet. If this came true”—he held up the letter—“I’d’ve dragged you down with me, and trust me when I say it was a damned hard fall.” Luke knelt on the blanket in front of June and laid the letter in her lap. “You deserve better than that. Wait for the right guy, and don’t settle.” The words burned his throat like bleach.

  June tilted her head to the side. “You don’t think very highly of yourself. Why is that?”

  It seemed obvious to Luke, since he’d felt like a reject his whole life. Hell, his own mama couldn’t even stand him. He shrugged a shoulder. “I’m a screw-up, Junebug. Always have been.”

  “Well, I don’t see it.” June pushed the picnic basket into the grass and crawled forward until their knees touched. She took one of his hands in hers. “You could’ve done anything with the money Morris Howard left you, but you started a charity—”

  “Nonprofit. And how’d you know about the money?”

  “Grammy told me. And look at all the good you do, not just for people who need help with their homes, but for those guys who need a second chance. Look at what you did for Pauly last night. And you must have the patience of a saint to put up with Karl. I couldn’t even stand him for one day.”

  “A lot of people do more good than me.”

  “But most people do less.” She linked their fingers and gazed at him intently, despite the globs of potato salad beginning to dry in her hair.

  As much as it warmed his heart to see June cared, Luke didn’t appreciate people blowing sunshine up his butt crack. He knew who and what he was, and he was okay with it. “Stop trying to make me out to be some kind of hero. I’m still the same horse’s ass I was when I wrote that letter.”

  “Hey.” She leaned in and took his face firmly between her palms. “Nobody talks about my best friend like that.” With fire burning behind her gaze, she inched forward, until Luke felt her warm breath on his skin. “Take it back.”

  Luke’s stomach flashed hot and lurched against his ribs. June’s eyes were on his mouth, while her hands and quickening breaths caressed his face. “What’re you doing, Junebug?” His mind clogged with warring emotions, part of him needing her to pull back and an even larger part needing to gather her close and never let go.

  “Take it back.”

  “Okay, I take it back.”

  The sliver of air between them crackled with electric tension. June eliminated the space, until her lips whispered against his, “Repeat after me. Luke Gallagher is a good man.”

  With his heart thundering inside his chest, he swallowed hard and stammered, “Luke Galla—”

  And then she kissed him in one tender, simple motion that shook him to the soles of his feet. The touch of her lips was just as soft and sweet as he remembered, one gentle graze, and then another and another. Her fingertips tangled in his hair, grasping little handfuls and angling his face to deepen the kiss, and then her warm tongue swept across his lower lip more delicately than a water strider gliding along the surface of the pond. June’s heady scent caught in his lungs, and before Luke could stop himself, he crushed her body against his chest, fisting her sweater in one hand and stroking her cheek with the other.

  But he couldn’t let this go too far, both for his sake and hers. The taste of June’s wet mouth, her scent filling his nostrils, ta
unted him as things he could never have. And if her childhood crush was still burning, it wasn’t fair to add kindling to the fire. Luke forced his hands to cup June’s face, and he pushed her gently away, breaking the kiss.

  “We’d better stop,” he whispered in a shaky breath. Her eyes fluttered open, and her lips, still glistening from their kiss, parted into a wide smile. She practically glowed from the inside out, so damn beautiful it made him ache. “I don’t want to ruin things again,” he said.

  June’s glow dimmed, and her smile faltered a moment, but she bit her lip and nodded. “Right.” She remained in his arms a few seconds longer before backing up to dish out their lunch on white paper plates.

  For the next several minutes, they ate in awkward silence, dining on cold chicken, leftover biscuits from breakfast, and coleslaw. A bullfrog croaked to announce his presence before splashing into the pond, and June brought a startled hand to her breast. That’s when Luke knew he needed to break the ice.

  “What’d you want to talk about last night?” he asked around a mouthful of chicken.

  “Hmm?”

  “Last night at Shooters. You said you wanted to talk.”

  “Oh, right.” June lowered her bite of coleslaw and chewed the inside of her cheek instead. Clearing her throat, she began idly lifting containers and putting them back down.

  “Spit it out, Junebug. There’s nothing you can’t say to me.”

  With a smirk, she opened her mouth to reply, but pressed her lips together, biting short whatever smart-ass barb she’d intended to launch. He wished she wouldn’t bottle it up. He liked her sharp tongue, her biting remarks. Strange as it was, he liked her anger.

  “It’s no big deal,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “But, about the other night at your house, before we almost…well, I want you to know there’s no grudge. I’m not mad about what happened here.” She gestured to the shady patch of grass where they’d had sex all those years ago. “But you were right when you said I hadn’t really forgiven you yet. I worked through it though, and I can forgive you now.”