Some Bright Someday (Maple Valley #2) - Melissa Tagg Page 0,68

and she was hunched over the sketch of the gardens, squinting to make out his rough drawing under the subdued glow of the string of patio lights overhead, the fire nearby, a sliver of moonlight.

She seemed so . . . comfortable.

Somehow he’d just known earlier. The moment he’d opened her back door and she’d appeared with a bag of marshmallows in hand, declaring it was the perfect night for a fire, he’d known he’d tell her tonight.

Because Mariana was right. There was something he wanted more than Bridgewell. But it was something he could never have if he couldn’t bring himself to be honest.

And if Noah could share his story with someone he’d only known a week, Lucas should be able to tell the truth to a friend he’d known for years.

“I love what you’re planning to do with the different levels and the little rock walls. And it makes sense because the land already slopes a little there.” Jenessa propped her chin on her hand, her fleece sleeve pulled over her knuckles.

“Are you cold? We can go inside.”

She looked up. “I’m not that cold. Mostly I’m feeling a little guilty for doing a fire without the kids. They would’ve loved this.”

“Yeah, but you probably would’ve spent the whole time trying to keep Cade away from the fireplace and you’d have ended the night picking sticky marshmallow out of Violet’s hair.”

Instead, she’d end the night . . . how? As disappointed in him as Sam was?

Or maybe—was it possible?—that hearing his story would open up a new pathway between them? Wasn’t that what had happened with Noah earlier today? All the way back to Maple Valley, they’d talked about his friend, his experiences in the Army, the trouble Noah had gotten into over the winter.

How Flagg had found him in a jail cell not all that different from Lucas’s.

“So we’ll mostly bring in potted plants and flowers for the night of the gala, but you’re thinking we can at least plant some hardy grasses and bushes?”

He blinked. Stuffed a marshmallow in his mouth to give himself time to refocus. “Yeah. With it being October, planting flowers is iffy. We’ll seed a few areas that’ll bloom next spring, though.”

Next spring. Did the thought of the future that far down the road bring as many questions to her mind as it did his? Did she think of the kids and where they’d be? Or was there any chance . . . ?

“Lucas?”

He had to stop letting himself get distracted. He’d never find the words he needed to say otherwise. Or maybe she’d help him out and give him the opening he needed. Ask about his scars or his friends or Noah. “Hmm?”

“Want another marshmallow?”

Or maybe he’d have to man up and make his own opening. “Sure.” He reached for a roasting stick and plopped a marshmallow on the end. “Am I doing one for you too?”

“How’d you know?” She grinned and handed him a second marshmallow. “You seem quiet tonight.”

“I thought I was always quiet.” He reached the roaster into the fireplace, dangling it over a flame.

“That’s what everyone thinks about you, sure. But I’ve been around you a lot lately. You can be downright chatty at times. And after that loquacious text today, I might go so far as to call you garrulous.”

“I feel like you had that locked and loaded.”

“I might’ve used a thesaurus app earlier. But my point is, tonight you seem a little extra pensive.”

Well, he’d wanted an opening. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to—”

“It’s on fire, Luke.”

He pulled the stick from the fire, blowing on the marshmallows until the flames died. “That was fast.” Two charred, black blobs barely clung to the roaster.

“It’s okay, I like them that way.” She grabbed one of the small plates she’d brought out and used her fingers to pry the top marshmallow loose.

“You like them so singed you can taste the ash? No, I’ll make you a new one.”

But before he could move, she grasped his wrist. “Really. I like them well done.”

The scarred skin of his wrist went warm at her touch. “More of a medium-rare guy myself.” He fairly rasped the words.

She realized in that moment it wasn’t his sleeve she gripped. He watched it dawn on her face, the fire lighting her eyes with awareness and . . . apology? Her fingers slipped away. “Sorry.”

“No, actually . . .” He let his scorched marshmallow fall into the fire and set the roaster aside. He wetted his lips. “I