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Will Be Yours Ch. 01

By: LoneGirl



Dear readers, this is a special story for me. I think it begins slow, and it doesn't have sex in every other page, but as you'll know by now, my stories have a lot more than just eroticism. I hope it resonates with you for some reason. Do let me know what you think of it! Love, LG.

P.S: The title is inspired by the Boyzone song of the same name.

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It was pure vindictiveness on the part of Scott to put me in charge of his boys and pure foolishness on my part to have offered to pick them up from the station. 'They're only kids,' their mother never missed any opportunity to innocently point it out time and again, while their dad sniggered behind her.

Kids!

Oh well!

I had no idea if Carrie needed her eyes checked but I was quite sure that if we didn't reach home in the next few minutes, I'd need a new head, since this one was already half-chewn.

The drive from the station to Velmont Town would usually take only two and a half hours but the boys made me stop several times on the way, and even tried to sabotage the car when I refused.

Well, I ask you!

Just because they were taller than me didn't mean they could bully me! And I thought Scott was my friend.

Jacob and Joshua were a couple of years apart- Jake, the older one was 13, and Josh was about 11. And together they could easily outdo a train full of kids. Jake was already a few inches taller than me, my petite self having stopped growing at five feet two inches, and Josh was on his way to take him over. They were returning from a certain excursion arranged by their school and parents had been asked to collect their wards from the station.

At 24, I had no intention of being a parent. Definitely not to brats like these. But Scott had other plans it seemed.

We had barely driven a few metres from the station when the boys complained the food on the train was horrible and they were still hungry. We stopped at a roadside café, where I had to buy burgers and soft drinks for them. The boys literally lived on burgers and Carrie often compared them to hungry crocodiles. 

After the meal, when we finally took the highway leading to Velmont Town, the long traffic jam made us stop- for a good thirty five minutes. I wondered why this was still called a 'town' when the traffic would beat any city. The boys grew restless and started pacing up and down the side of the road, complaining that they'd reach home before the snarl cleared. They probably would have but I couldn't let them take off on their own, so I had to run after them and herd them back into the car.

When we got moving again, Jake started feeling sick, the burgers having been far from fresh, and Josh realised he had left his bag behind. So I had to stop again and administer first aid to the older one, while the younger one (thankfully) found his bag.

At the next stop, where we were again held up by traffic, Josh very kindly asked me if I'd like a beer.

"No," I snapped, "Why do you ask?"

"There's a brewery here," he pointed down the road. "Dad says they make excellent beer."

"In that case, I have to make sure you don't get down here at any cost."

"Right," he nodded, and got down to see that his brother followed my order. Somewhere down the road, a lemonade cart passed and Jake had some and promptly fell asleep!

"Must've been some beer in it," Josh observed.

And then it began to snow.

And snowed and snowed.

For pity's sake, it was March!

I had to make sure the boys remained in the car while we waited for the snowing to stop. Scott called (how kind of him!) to find out how far we were and asked me to wait for it to clear. I would have to wait anyway. The car would go one inch forward and three inches backward on the snow. The boys never missed an opportunity to brag that they could drive better than me.

These kids already knew so much, that in a few more years there'd be nothing you could teach them.

We finally reached home at four in the evening, almost six hours behind schedule. Well, not home exactly. Both Scott and his wife Carrie ran their own businesses respectively- Scott Wilson was the owner of 8th Day, the busiest and most popular café in town, thronged by everyone from tourists to locals, children to their grandparents, and Carrie ran the ever bustling Thai restaurant some distance away. The boys hopped out and ran inside the cafe, where a hearty meal of fried eggs on toast, sausages, and crispy bacon with fried tomatoes awaited them. I remained in the car, impatient to go home, have a shower and then a roll in bed.

"I hope they weren't trouble," Scott came up to the car window and asked, trying to hide a chuckle. Though only 39, he looked older because of his bulky form. With the towel on his shoulder, the familiar apron donned over his large belly, and the radiant smile on his chubby face, he was a picture of happiness, of a man doing what he loved.

"Don't tell me," I rolled my eyes, turning on the combustion again. "They're getting wilder by the day. What does their mom feed them?"

Scott laughed his hearty laugh, making me smile for the first time that day. Scott had this unique ability to take anything serious and turn it into something easy and light-hearted. And that laugh.... it was probably the sexiest sound of laughter I'd ever heard.

"They're my kids after all," he smiled, "And what are kids without a little trouble?"

"A little," I grumbled, backing the car. "I'm tired. I'm going home."

"Grab a bite and go."

"No, I need a shower. Bye Scott."

"We're having an old friend for dinner tonight. Join us, please."

"I don't eat humans."

Scott laughed again, drawing some curious onlookers.

"I'm inviting you to dinner to say thank you," he said.

"Thank you?"

"For today. I know they can be difficult."

My shoulders drooped. "You don't have to thank me. I love them, nevertheless."

"I know. But we still want you to come over. I'll make peppered fillet steak with parsley potatoes, with some white wine to go with it. Carrie and the boys are also baking a cake for tea."

The mention of cake made a course of silent laughter run through my body. The last time the boys had baked a cake, the spatula had melted and become part of the mixture, and the guests had happily eaten away, commenting that the cake had an interesting flavour. Only I was privy to the secret.

I wanted to see if they did something similar tonight. That, and the fact that Scott made amazing steak, made it difficult for me to refuse.

"Okay," I said with a smile, "I'll close early and be home."

"Great. See you tonight then."

In the years that I'd known Scott and his business, the café had never had a slow day. Shelves always emptied fast and there would be hardly any vacant seat in the evenings, prompting the takeaway sales to go up. Scott was smart. He knew how to read the young consumers' pulse. So every six months or so, he revamped the menu, removed the items that weren't selling well, added twists to the ones that were, and introduced new items. 8th Day was the café with the most varied menu. While the spicy, sticky, and much-loved cinnamon rolls were something you couldn't find in any other coffee shop, the bagels, cupcakes, apple pie, and sesame purple tarts were the most ordered items with green tea, latte, or espresso. For takeaways, cheese and sundried tomato quiche, club sandwiches, burritos, and fish rolls were the highest selling items, along with coffee. The combo platters and the on-toast section from the breakfast menu was a favourite with the crowd. Carrie also made delicious Alphonso Mango Jam that was sold on a first-come, first-served basis.

But most importantly, Scott was more than just a friend to me. He and his family were the only people I called my own here. This was Scott's hometown, the place he loved the most despite having travelled across the country as part of the military. When he retired at 33, he returned to Velmont Town and started doing what he believed he was always meant to do- make people eat. I wasn't big on eating but I loved the café as much as I loved him, for the amazing aromas, and also for the lovely ambience.

The front porch of my one bedroom house was covered in a thin layer of snow and the plants on the window sills looked like little Christmas trees. I opened the front door and turned on the lights, heaving a contented sigh when my familiar living room came into view.

I crashed into the sofa and closed my eyes, exhausted from the day long sojourn. Scott had done so much for me over the years. I could do that much for him.

When I'd first moved to the town, Scott had suggested I take up a bigger house. He had said something about needs and situations changing with time and a small house couldn't be stretched to enlarge. But I'd lost my heart to this little house from the moment I first laid my eyes on it, mainly because of how warm and cosy it looked and also because it was right next to Scott's place. I was single, then and now, and more than three years later, I still hadn't felt the need for a bigger house.

Living right next door to Scott came with its own share of benefits and disadvantages. The benefits would need a separate chapter of their own but the disadvantages weren't any less glaring. Most of my mornings began with Carrie shouting and running after the boys to get them ready for school, while Scott watered his lawn and sang audibly in his trademark style. In the evenings, till either of their parents came home, they'd play video games, or cycle on the lawn (much to Scott's annoyance), or have pillow fights. So far, they had managed to break two aquariums, about a dozen flower vases, numerous light bulbs, and my spectacles. Scott had reprimanded them and paid for my new glasses, but the feathers had made me sneeze for a week.

Scott also had guests very often. Sometimes it made me think that the whole Velmont Town was his friend. He knew almost everybody and everybody knew him. And gatherings at his place meant laughter and frolic, along with food and drinks flowing till late in the night. I was in the habit of hitting the bed early and often the noises from his house made me lay awake for a long time. I'd stare at the ceiling and think to myself, 'At least, I don't have rowdy neighbours who have noisy sex.'

The thought always made me smile. Honestly, I loved this charming little town and our happy locality. No wild parties, no screaming sex, no drunken brawl. Having gone without sex for more years than I cared to count, noisy coitus next doors would be sheer torture for me.

Stretching my aching arms and legs, I dragged myself out of the sofa and went into my bedroom. The ornate design leant a very feminine feel to the room. There were two windows in the room, and when I felt tired, I loved to gaze at the sky. On a clear day, the skies mostly remained blue with occasional patches of clouds drifting across, and as the day progressed, the changing hues of the firmament mesmerised me.

In that dainty house of my own, I felt freer than anywhere else.

Really wanting to soak in a hot water bath, I undressed and went into the bathroom to fill the tub. The water was cold to the point of freezing and it took some time before it became warm enough to step in. I relaxed, dropped my head back, and sighed softly.

Home. The best place in the world.



I reached my flower shop about an hour later. I had sent the others away early and was making an inventory list when the happy tinkle of the bell behind the front door made me come out of the back room. I smoothed my hands over the fabric of my black pencil skirt and fixed my hair a little. Rehearsing my customer-friendly smile one more time, I stepped out the door.

I looked quickly across the room and found a tall, brown haired man standing there, in the middle of my flower shop, looking intently at the fresh flowers all around, the floral arrangements, and the yet-to-bloom buds I kept in the little freezer. My flower shop looked straight out of a fairytale, with its pretty decorations and the happy vibe. Even someone with pollen allergy could get lost without realising.

"Hello," I said in a friendly but soft tone, not wanting to startle him. "May I help you?"

The man turned, a hint of a smile on the corners of his well-defined lips. I was used to dealing with all kinds of customers- rich, good-looking, high-profile. But there was something about this man that made me take notice. His clean shaven face was a combination of masculinity and boyish charm. His eyes were a cross between brown and hazel, and the chiselled jawline with a dimpled chin made him devastatingly handsome. And that body... The jacket was stylish and the t-shirt underneath it clung to his chest and torso, and the tight-fitted jeans defined his firm arse, cutting a sexy, alluring, picture. 

I was sure a man like that had never set foot in Velmont Town, let alone in my shop.

"Yeah, hi," he cleared his throat and spoke slowly in his deep voice, "I was looking for some flowers and I thought this was just another flower shop..."

"It is," I said, trying to not smile.

"Uh-huh." He glanced at the ceiling, and the lights from the small chandelier sparkled on his face. "I'd have walked out with a random bouquet by now at any other shop. I wouldn't be so..." he hunted for the right word, "...entranced."

"Well, thank you," I finally smiled, "What kind of flowers are you looking for?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket. "I'm on my way to a friend's place for dinner. I wanted to take some flowers along."

"I'd recommend this." I carefully picked up a colourful bouquet of carnations, geraniums, and heliotropes that I'd made. "The flowers here symbolize friendship and warm affection."

"Really?" he smiled, giving me a fleeting glance. "It's lovely. Did you make it?"

"Yes. Would you want it?"

"Sure. Umm... I'm driving. Will this remain alright?"

"Oh yes. Just make sure you keep it upright."

I packed the bouquet and handed it to him. He held it in both hands, admiration flashing in his eyes. "I've never seen such a colourful floral arrangement," he said softly but loud enough for me to hear.

And I'd never seen such a gorgeous man up close in a long time. Of course I didn't say that out loud.

I only smiled in response and took his credit card when he handed it to me. Luke Harris, it read. Without much thought, I made the transaction and gave back the card, along with the receipt.

"Thanks," he smiled as he took one last glance around my shop, before turning to leave. He looked angelic when he smiled. Something told me he was a kind man.

"You're welcome," I smiled back, watching his smart gait as he strode out of my shop, carefully holding the bouquet. I sank into the cushioned chair behind the counter and started to fix a dozen white roses on a tall crystal vase. 

I had grown to love flowers since my very early childhood, while tending to my mother's rose bushes and daisies. I could totally see myself running a flower shop, although it had appeared to be a little out of my league when I first began. As someone who had always dreamed of being a corporate hot-shot, coming to a small town and selling flowers was like a bucket of cold water on my ambitions. Scott had said that I could look for a management job in some other city once I was fit enough but I was already in love with this place by then. So I stayed. I was glad I did.

I glanced at the clock on the wall and took off my apron. A costumer came through the door. The same one that had called an hour ago to place the order for the white roses. I gave him his arrangement; he expressed his gratitude and paid. I followed him to the door, flipped the CLOSED sign and locked up.

A smile crept on my lips as I leaned against the closed door. Scott or his family hadn't abandoned me even after knowing my mistakes. And this place gave me hope and reason to live again. Maybe I had finally healed. Who knew, perhaps, my second chance began that very moment?

***

She had caught his eye the moment she'd emerged from the small room in the flower shop. In the last three and a half years, he had not looked at any other woman. But when he saw her there, surrounded by the beautiful flowers all around, he had just one word to describe her- stunning.

He wasn't at all expecting to see her again, at the house of his good old friend, where he'd come for the first time. He couldn't believe that she was known to him or that she lived right next doors. Despite her slender, petite form, she seemed to fill her pencil skirt and white ruffle blouse mighty fine. Her black hair, that had been loose at the shop, had now been pulled in a delicate bun at the nape of her neck, just giving a glimpse of absolutely flawless creamy skin over the collar of her blouse. Her eyes were a dark shade of brown, Large and luminous, they seemed to talk and dance, and transfix people at once, even from behind those spectacles.

Incapable of looking any other way, he watched over to see her waltz through the room, Scott and Carrie on either side of her. His gaze followed each of her movements as she walked slowly, her body fluid and graceful. He watched her hands as they took off the shrug and placed it around the back of a wicker chair, then straightened the sleeves of her blouse.

He was sure he hadn't seen anyone so intently ever since Diana. And for some reason, she seemed to remind him of her.

"Luke, I'd like you to meet a very special friend of ours," Scott smiled as he held her close by his side, "Although I think you've already met her."

"I have, actually," he smiled, rising from the sofa and uncrossing his arms. His eyes darted at the flowers he had bought from her shop, which now adorned the centre table. They must have been a dead giveaway.

"There aren't many flower shops around," Scott laughed, "Hers is the best here."

Luke's eyes widened a little. "Hers?" he asked, and then looked at her. "That's your shop?"

She laughed softly, glancing at Carrie as she placed the tray of tea and cake on the table. Then she looked back at him, looked into his eyes and extended her hand.

"I'm Cynthia," she said, "Cynthia Adamson."

"Luke Harris," he gave his hand in hers. It was short and quick, barely a handshake. But the warmth of her hand lingered on his palm for some time. "Although you might have known it already. I'm sorry, I thought you just work at the shop."

"You didn't know," she shrugged coolly, motioning him to sit. Luke returned to where he was seated till she arrived and Cynthia made herself comfortable on the small sofa in the other end, beside Jake and Josh. They looked close, the three of them. Cynthia was very young. She could easily pass off as their sister.

"Luke's new here," Carrie told her, pouring the tea, "Maybe you can show him around the place when you have time."

"Sure," she smiled, "How long are you here?"

"I'm not sure." He thanked Carrie, took the cup of tea she was offering him, and held it between his palms. "Maybe a week or two."

"Two weeks is long enough," she said.

"Long enough to educate you about flowers," Scott chuckled quietly, pretending to blow on the coffee. Luke smiled, visibly amused by the warmth radiating from the people in the room.

"I wouldn't mind," he said. Of course, he wouldn't. Diana too loved flowers. White lilies were her favourite.

"Luke's from Birmingham," Jake piped from her side, "Isn't that where you're from too?"

For a brief moment, Cynthia looked upset and every speck of colour seemed to flee from her face. But she was quick to pull herself together and smile.

"Really?" she said, but he thought the question was half-hearted.

"Yes, we met while I was posted there," Scott explained, "We soon became buddies."


Will Be Yours Ch. 01



"We even attended two of his brothers' weddings," Carrie added.

"Oh man, you should hear him sing," Scott continued, "Too bad he became a business consultant and not a singer."

"You're a business consultant?" she straightened herself, "You mean you help people start their own businesses?"

"Sort of," he smiled, keeping the coffee mug down. "I'm a growth coach."

"I see." She sank back again. "The frequent-flying, iPhone totting, swashbuckling kind?"

Her words made him and everyone else in the room laugh. She was intelligent. Not many knew what a growth coach was.

"Frequent-flying, iPhone totting, yes," he said, "Swashbuckling, not really."

Luke watched her face relax slightly as she crossed her legs. The she took a long sip of the tea and swallowed slowly, watching Carrie cut the cake.

"My sons baked this," Carrie beamed as she handed Luke a piece.

"Seriously?" he smiled affectionately, "Wow! The last time I saw them, they were smaller."

"They're racing each other, as far as height is concerned," Cynthia chipped in, earning giggles from the two boys seated on either side of her. Luke took a bite, and for a moment, he thought it tasted... interesting. More salty than sweet, more bitter than tangy, and even a little hot.

The boys had baked it, hadn't they?

"This is great," he praised the cake, eating up the rest of the piece as if it was the tastiest delicacy he'd ever had, "When had we last met, Scott? Your kids have grown to be so... talented, over these years."

From the corner of his eyes, he clearly saw the disappointment on the boys' faces. Cynthia still held the cup close to her face with both hands but her eyes twinkled with amusement as they alternated between the two boys. Luke's smile was soft but triumphant.

"Scott has taught them everything," she said, "From driving to swimming to baking." Her face telegraphed affection as she looked at each of them in turn. "I'm sure they'd be real men when they grow up. Capable, independent."

Diana said that a lot. Real men were the ones who didn't depend on women for everything.

"So which part of Birmingham are you from?" he asked her, "I'm from West Midlands."

He saw her face tense up again. She shifted in the sofa, put the mug down and joined her palms, as though she was suddenly very cold. What was it about Birmingham that made her so uncomfortable?

"Anyone hungry?" Carrie cut in, obviously trying to ease her discomfort. They cared about her. It was so visible. And she was a sweet girl. He didn't like the prospect of tormenting her any further. So he dropped the subject.

"I am," he laughed easily, turning to look at Carrie, "I haven't eaten anything since lunch."

And so Carrie rose, Scott following her, and he vaguely heard Cynthia whispering to Jake exactly what had gone into the cake. In reply, the boys giggled and followed their parents into the kitchen.

Over dinner, Cynthia remained mostly silent, only smiling and making occasional comments. Luke had met Scott only once in the last two years but one bite of the steak and he needed no telling that Scott had made it. He always had a magical hand at cooking. No wonder he ran the most popular café in town.

Luke didn't ask how long they had known Cynthia; it would be out of context. But there was definitely something about her. True, he hadn't thought of or looked at another woman since Diana left, but he hadn't felt right with anyone either. For the last six months or so, his friends and sisters had set him up for about half a dozen dates. One girl was a GQ model, with long legs and chiselled cheeks, while another was a twice divorced mother of two. Hell, one of them also turned out to be a lesbian. Nothing progressed beyond dinner. On all cases, he had dropped the girl home, and returned to his apartment. There had been no spark, no intelligent conversation, and nothing to tell his sisters the next morning. He had felt like a total moron.

He didn't even know the girl sitting in front of him at the table, quietly chatting with the boys and contributing to the conversation when it felt right. But her smile reached his heart and her words stirred his mind. Although she had agreed to show him around the place, she didn't seem much interested in him. Maybe she was shy with strangers, he thought.

He was wrong.

"Where are you putting up?" she asked him after dinner.

"Moore's Lodge," he replied, "I wonder why they call it a lodge. It's a lovely place."

"I know," she smiled, and he couldn't help but notice she looked more beautiful when she did. There was no shyness, none at all. Only a warm openness that seemed to welcome him. "It's pretty close to my shop. Are you free tomorrow?"

"Yes, I arrived this morning. Apart from a few lunches and dinners, I'm free." He studied her face. "Why do you ask?"

"If you could drop into my shop tomorrow," she said, "I'd be happy to take you around the town."

"I wouldn't like to disturb you at work."

"It's okay. I have to go to the flower market, anyway. I can spare a couple of hours. Don't bring your car. I'm going to drive."

Luke smiled, nodding quietly. They spoke for a few minutes after that, and Luke noticed that she liked to touch people. Every time someone got close enough, she reached out and brushed a hand over their arm or shoulder or kissed a cheek. He saw her doing it with the boys, even more with Scott, and also with Carrie. But he almost jumped out of the chair- and his skin- when she leaned in and gave him a gentle hug while leaving.

That was like a zap of electricity, he had never ever felt. Not since Diana, at least.

"See ya," she said, and he could only manage a feeble smile in reply. "Goodnight, folks," she called out to everyone as she disappeared out of the front door. Everybody replied except him. What was wrong with him?

"Come on, Luke," Carrie called as Scott put a friendly arm around his shoulder. "Nightcap is ready. Do you want some more of the cake?"

Cake? What cake? His gaze was still fixed on the wooden front door of Scott's house.

"And we want to hear you sing." It was Jake, ready with his guitar. Luke's senses finally shook him into action and he tore his gaze away from the door. Six months ago, when he announced to his friends that he'd moved on and was ready to live his life again, everyone had breathed a sigh of relief. But when none of his dates worked, when he just failed to find that connection with anyone, it was obvious that he was still holding on to the past. No one confronted him about that but they just knew. As did he.

Luke happily obliged the boys with one of his favourite songs— 'I'm Moving On' by Rascal Flatts.

Because there was something in the air of Velmont Town. Maybe he was finally ready to really move on.

***



Will Be Yours Ch. 02



Thank you everyone for the lovely comments on the first chapter! I was overwhelmed by the response! I'm trying to write a little novella, complete with all kinds of emotions. Those who are awaiting the 'hot stuff', well, the wait will soon be over. *wink*

Enjoy!

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Red chilli powder, bitter gourd seeds, and a generous helping of eggshells— that was what had gone into yesterday's cake.

Scott's boys mostly fought with each other, but when it came to mischief, they were partners in crime. I wondered if everybody was alright after eating the cake. Luke, in particular.

After I returned home and slipped between the covers for a nice, warm sleep, I heard someone singing in Scott's house. Scott himself had a very sexy voice and he often sang out loud. But this time it was somebody else. I guessed it was Luke, singing along with the low strumming of the guitar. As I closed my eyes and started to drift away, I agreed with Scott that Luke should've been a singer. Because only a singer had the right to such a buttery voice.

The day was clear when I started out from home for my shop. The sun was hazy but warm, and the sky was a dull combination of grey and blue with a few streaks of clouds. I hoped it wouldn't rain or snow that day. I was supposed to go to the flower market to pick out some special flowers for an expensive order. Rain or snow both would be bad for the delicate blooms.

"Look who's glowing today," a sharp, female voice drew my attention. I looked up from the bunch of flowers I was wrapping in bright purple cellophane. Becky walked in through the door and flung her arms around me, holding me in a fierce embrace. Becky was my assistant-cum-storekeeper, a green-eyed red-head, who was a screwball and a motormouth. She had been with me for as long as I'd been associated with the shop and I could never deny the fact that she was the life of the shop and a great friend to me, someone who always made me smile with her idiosyncrasies.

"Hi Becky," I smiled, putting the bouquet aside, "Been caught up, have we?"

"Ah well!" she sank into the chair behind me and crossed her legs, twirling a lock of hair in her fingers, "Since you ask. I wasn't feeling too well this morning."

Something in her voice caught my attention. I turned around and cocked an eyebrow at her. "So you had Martin fever?"

Becky cracked up, roaring with laughter. Two customers came in, one to fetch an order and another to pick up a small bunch of roses. Once they had left, Becky threw her jacket aside and came up to me.

"Hmm-mm," she put her arms around me again, this time from behind. Becky was quite a few inches taller than me and she loved to hug me. "The best ever."

"Oh yeah? And I was beginning to worry when you said you'd be late. Looks like I needn't have been. You were busy frolicking with Allen."

Allen Martin was her long-time boyfriend who she shared a home and a steamy romance with. Sometimes it made me jealous. And it was only in those moments I found my chest aching again, in the part where it had been stabbed years ago.

"Shhh!" she slapped my arm, "Someone's going to hear you!"

I giggled, beginning to arrange a few sticks of amaryllis in an ornate, slender vase. Leah, my accountant, came to show me some calculations. I took a good look and okayed it, and she returned to the computer in the backroom. It was usually just the three of us in the store. On busy days, we had a tough time to manage the flow of customers but all three of us could work really quickly when needed. On slow days, we liked to sit down and chat and have a good laugh.

"So how was dinner last night at Scott's place?" Becky asked, getting down to work with a bucket of red dahlias. Her prying tone wasn't unfamiliar to me. She always craved to know if there had been any development in my love life. But that side of my life didn't even exist.

"Great," I said, but then I remembered the cake and laughed. "You wouldn't believe. Jake and Josh had put in—"

The bell behind the front door tinkled and I looked up mid-sentence to see Luke walk in. The grey t-shirt and black unbuttoned plaid shirt made a stylish combination with the blue denims, the chunky belt, the wrist band and the pair of shades dangling from the collar of the t-shirt only upping the cool quotient. 

I tried to be normal and not stare, but for heavens' sake, who could resist staring at a man-candy like that?! I knew a lot of Scott's friends. He never mentioned that one of them looked like an angel from above.

"Hi," he smiled, stopping hesitantly at the door. His gaze rolled over me and I felt my heart skipping multiple beats. The white tunic hugged me in the right places, and I had left my hair loose as it had been wet from the shower I took that morning. I had even forgotten to put on the apron. 

"Hi," I returned the greeting, turning to look at Becky, who was staring wide-eyed. Luke's intense gaze shifted to her and conveyed something that made my nosy friend snap up in attention.

"Umm... I think... I better go back there, have things to do."

Surprised, I watched my usually imperturbable and level-headed friend practically trip over herself to get out of the way. That wasn't like her at all.

I reappraised the man in front of me. Besides sexy, gorgeous, and an awesome singer, he had some kind of magical talent. I'd have to figure out what trick he'd used to make Becky leave without complaining.

"Am I late or early?" he asked, moving a little further inside the shop.

"Right on time," I smiled, trying to ignore how his low, sexy voice scraped over my nerve endings like an emery board, leaving me feeling raw and exposed and strangely out of sorts. I could smell his cologne. It was musky, just what suited a man like him. And it made matters worse.

You're not a naive little girl, I told myself. So stop pretending this is the first man you've ever seen.

He stopped in front of a display with already made arrangements and leaned forward to smell one of the bouquets of red and yellow tulips I'd made earlier that morning.

"Your shop is nice," he said all of the sudden. "But you must be hell to date."

I raised one eyebrow at that last comment and waited patiently on the same spot for him to explain what he meant.

"What kind of flower does a man give a florist? She clearly has seen them all." Luke asked and I wondered if he was asking me or saying random things out loud.

"The right man would know," I chuckled inwardly at my cryptic reply.

I had sensed something about this man the moment he entered the shop yesterday. Over dinner at Scott's place, I had felt too tired for a proper conversation but from the little that we had spoken and from the exchanges between him and Scott, I could safely conclude that he was a fun man to be with. Someone intelligent, accomplished, yet far from boring.

But there was something else too that I had noticed in his eyes. Sadness.

Of course, he was an attractive man and he knew it. But my own experience seemed to tell me that there was something he tried to camouflage with that smile, with that charming personality. Or was it my imagination? Did I think everybody had some suppressed sorrow?

"So when are we leaving?" he said, as though he hadn't heard my last reply.

"Oh, right. Just give me a moment." I hurried inside the backroom, where Becky rounded on me.

"He's hot!" she exclaimed on a whisper, grabbing my arm. "Is that Scott's friend?"

"Yes," I replied, anxious to get out of her grasp.

"So that's why you're glowing today!" she giggled, "You had dinner with that gorgeous man last night!"

"Stop it!" I pushed her hand away and picked up my bag, "I'm going to the flower market, and then I may show Luke around town. I'll send the flowers for the wedding order, okay?"

Becky shook her head, giggling uncontrollably. Then she turned me around and pushed me out of the door. "Have fun," she smiled shamelessly, "We'll take care of everything."

"I'll call if I'm late," I said while walking back to the store.

"Oh, don't bother." Becky giggled again, only louder. I shot her a death-glare and came out to the store front, where Luke was admiring some flowers in the freezer. When he saw me approaching, he straightened himself and smiled. I studied his face again and my breath seemed to catch. He was a treat to look at.

"Let's go," I smiled, stepping aside as two customers entered the shop. Wordlessly, Luke escorted me outside with a gentle hand on my midriff and I almost tripped at the sensation.

"Easy," he steadied me in time by grabbing my arm and smiled comfortingly to see the embarrassment on my face. We made the short walk to my car in silence but on the way to the flower market, we gradually began to talk.

"How long have you known Scott?" I asked him. He had been gazing outside at the mountains in the distance, his face looking meditative. I knew that feeling. When I first came here, fresh from the big city, I too had difficulty believing that I could see mountains from my window.

"Long time," he said with a smile, "About nine years now, if I remember correctly. Birmingham was one of his first postings. We met through a cousin of mine who was also in the Army."

He looked at me. "How long have you known him?"

"About six years," I replied, keeping my eyes on the road. When I didn't add anything more, from the corner of my eyes I found his gaze turning intense. There was something in his eyes that made me feel so exposed. And I knew practically nothing about him!

"You sing really well," I turned my face and looked straight into his eyes. His features softened and he gave a shy smile, like a boy caught stealing candies.

"You heard," he ran a hand through his hair and gazed outside again.

"Have you ever sung professionally?"

"Yes, I used to be in a band. The Homecoming. I don't know if you've heard of it."

"I haven't."

"It lasted only five years. Maybe you can find some old videos online."

"Do you still perform?" I asked.

"Only at private gigs at pubs or clubs sometimes. Though I haven't done that in many years now."

"So a business consultant who sings, huh? That's interesting." I chuckled a little and he responded with a laugh.

"I run the firm jointly with my elder brother," he explained, "We also race horses."

A handsome business consultant who sang and raced horses. Now that was something.

"I'd wanted to learn horse-riding when I was a kid," I said, slowing down as we approached a long row of vehicles before us. Then I looked at him and laughed. "But I never got further than a pony. I was told I'm too short for a horse."

"That's ridiculous," he shook his head, "I used to think I'm too short for racing. I'm 5'8" by the way. But I race mighty fine. I've grown up on horses." Then he gave a little sigh. "Although they did reject me from the school football team because of my height."

He looked at me again. "I can teach you, if you like," he offered, "We have dozens of horses, about ten of them are into racing."

I sank into the seat and rolled my eyes at the traffic in front of me. Luke noticed, and he smiled at my annoyance.

"Is the place always so busy?" he asked, poking his head out of the window to see how long the congestion was.

"It's tourist season," I sighed, "But there are too few roads to accommodate the heavy traffic."

"I can see that." He eased himself on the seat again. "How long have you been here?"

"Three and a half years." The vehicles started moving slowly, and I picked up speed. Luke hummed softly but it was loud enough for me to hear. The song was one of my favourites, 'Rocky Mountain High'. I used to sing that often in my early days here, still getting used to the mountains. It didn't matter all that much now. The mountains had become family to me.

The flower mart was a busy wholesale market, with noisy flower sellers, haggling customers, and swarms of tourists who just couldn't get enough of the amazing flowers. Even when I was still parking the car, Luke looked a little daunted by the prospect of having to enter that crowded place.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed softly, trying his best to not appear nervous, "The roads aren't the only busy place in town."

I laughed, tightening my boots as I walked towards the entrance of the market. "There's only one flower mart here," I told him, "Customers from this and the neighbouring towns depend on this market for flowers. And you do get the best blooms here."

We stepped past some customers loading flowers in a big jeep near the entrance, where Luke happened to accidently step into a small puddle.

"Oh shit." He mumbled quietly, although he did seem horrified to have his pristine white canvas shoes smeared with mud. Suppressing a laugh, I held his forearm. It felt hairy.

"Careful," I smiled, guiding him to a side, "Watch your step, okay? The place is always muddy."

Luke gathered his wits together and nodded, following me like a love sick puppy. A peculiar blend of all kinds of floral fragrances filled the air, along with the smell of drenched earth. There were flowers stalls on both sides with a narrow aisle in between, leaving people to jostle for space to walk. I kept my hold on Luke's arm, afraid that he might trip or bump into something. We made our way through the crowd to where I knew I'd find the best Casablanca Lilies and peonies, two of the most expensive flowers I'd require for a bridal arrangement. The flower market was all too familiar to me. Even before I officially took over the flower shop, I'd come here to buy potted plants for my home and grass seeds for my lawn. By now, I knew almost every stall and seller, and they knew me.

"How often do you come here?" Luke asked when we had finally reached the relative safety of the lily stall. He had mostly remained quiet through our journey through the crowd, apart from an occasional mumble or gasp. The flower seller greeted me with a smile, and I finally let go of Luke's arm.

"At least once every week," I said, putting my hair up in a bun. "We get regular supply of flowers but when we need something more expensive or rare, we need to come and place an order to have them delivered."

"You know, I cannot imagine a city girl moving to a small town and doing this." He looked down at our feet. His shoes were barely recognisable, while my black boots successfully camouflaged their disfiguration. "I mean, your shop's lovely," he added, "But this seems too much work."

I sorted through the lilies, smelling some as I took my pick. "I'm sorry," I said, "I shouldn't have brought you here. I should've known—"

"I didn't mean that," he interjected, his voice apologetic, "I just don't understand why a city girl would want to do this." He paused. "You're from Birmingham, aren't you?"

I instructed the seller on the number of stems to pack. Then I looked up at him with sad eyes, even though my lips curled into a smile.

"It's called fate, Luke. Sometimes your dream isn't what life has planned for you."

***

His name sounded beautiful on her lips.

Although he did feel a little guilty about hurting her feelings with his thoughtless comments, Luke was moved by her sad eyes and the way it made his heart lurch when she said his name. She also had very nice lips. Her upper lip was like Cupid's bow. She never seemed to wear any makeup but her lips looked very pink, nevertheless.

"I'm sorry," he gently held her arms and looked at her face. "I didn't mean to hurt you—"

"It's okay," she smiled, and he felt her body relaxing. "You said nothing hurtful. I just don't think I should've brought you here. It's crowded and muddy, I know."

"You can't do anything about that, can you?" he smiled, removing his hands away from her arms. "What flowers are these?"

She turned her attention back to the lilies. "Lilium Casablanca," she said, "Casablanca Lily colloquially. They feature among the world's most expensive flowers. This is the only seller in the whole market who keeps these..."

Her words vaguely reached him. He was too busy noticing her interaction with the sellers. She was certainly shorter than average but something radiated from within her that made her irresistible to both sexes. Women courted her friendship; he realised this as he followed her through the market and watched the people she met on the way. In between showing him flowers and plants, she greeted everyone she met by their names and hugged the women, inquiring after their well-being. When one young woman told her about her cat, Fluffy, losing one of its legs in an accident, Luke noticed her face registering pain, as though she'd cry any moment. She promised to visit Fluffy and even bought her a stick of rose. He noticed that men found her attractive, because they just couldn't stop talking to her. She obliged everyone, greeting them, asking about their work and kids. A little later, they encountered a middle-aged man carrying a potted plant. On recognising him, she stopped, took a look at the plant, and rattled off instructions on how to care for it, even without being asked. The man didn't mind. Though she didn't hug men so readily, she did touch their arms and shake hands.

When she had finished placing the orders for the flowers, they walked out of the market. Luke had folded his jeans and could negotiate his way a little more easily on the return.

"Do you want to take a look around the place?" she asked him. Her hair had got loose and was now scattered all over her shoulders. Straight and shiny, it bounced with the rhythm of her feet.

"Sure," he smiled, "The place seems great when it's not crowded."

She straightened her spectacles and smiled, walking back to the car. When they had got in, she looked at him.

"We can stop if you feel hungry," she said, "We can grab lunch somewhere."

"Sounds great." He smiled easily, opening the folds of his jeans. The muddy shoes had stopped bothering him now. In fact, he felt good about it. Diana had this habit of dragging him out whenever it rained and they'd always end up with soaking clothes and muddy shoes. This was a sort of reminder of that. A bittersweet reminder.

He dropped his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. What was happening to him? Why did this woman affect him so much?

"Are you alright?" she asked softly, concern in her voice. Luke opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Oh yes," he gave her a smile. "Uh, is that a lake?"

She turned and gazed out of the window. "Yes," she beamed, and moments later the car had come to a stop. "Do you want to take a walk? There are some interesting things here."

Luke didn't need a second invitation. For the next thirty minutes or so, they walked around, as she familiarised him with the place. The lake seemed a top draw with the local people. Even during the day, there were quite a few people taking a stroll, walking their dogs or kids, or just enjoying the serenity. The water was blue and lush greenery surrounded the banks.

"I wish I had brought my guitar along," he mused, touching the bark of a tall, shady tree, "I could spend hours here, just singing."

"I come here when I need some peace of mind," she said, folding her arms as they strolled around the lake. "It's so calm here, it feels like a different world."

She suddenly grabbed his arm and led him to another side. "Come on, there's more to see."

And with that, she took him around the other side of the street. They passed by a monastery that he had heard a lot about from Scott, movie halls old and new, mobile vegetable markets, heritage buildings like the Astley Hall, now turned into a smart shopping complex, and lots and lots of small shops. Luke hadn't come prepared for shopping so he only took pictures on his phone, determined to come and shop some time from the quirky shops selling knick-knacks. There was also a restaurant called The Orchard, where she stopped.




Will Be Yours Ch. 02



"Are you hungry?" she asked, glancing up and down the inviting building, "This is a nice Chinese restaurant. Their Szechuan chicken and pork fried rice is a great platter."

"Now I'm hungry," he smiled, "I love Chinese food. Shall we go in?"

So in they went. Luke was surprised at how big the restaurant was, although it didn't seem so from outside. Luke inhaled and licked his lips at the exotic aromas emanating from the place. When they were seated, a waiter came to take their orders and she confirmed with him again and asked for Szechuan chicken and pork fried rice. It was already late afternoon and the sun was about to set in a while.

"Carrie was saying that you have a number of nieces and nephews," she smiled, folding her arms on the table. "Tell me about them."

Affection washed over his face. "I have six siblings," he said, "Three brothers, three sisters. We have eight children right now. Five nephews and three nieces." He smiled. "We're a big family."

"I like that," she said, "You're the youngest?"

"Yes. And pampered. My eldest brother is 15 years older than me. It helped to have such older brothers. No one in school dared to bully me!"

They laughed, probably the loudest he'd ever seen her laugh yet. She had nice teeth too. And the amazing thing was that she was disarmingly unaware of her beauty. In her simplicity, she was striking. From the little he had seen of her, she seemed an easy person to get along with. She was kind and courteous towards people, helping those around her to relax and be happy with what they had. In her company, he felt warm, as if he'd been bathed in summer rays, regardless of the season.

A delectable aroma filled their sense when the food arrived. The scented rice was heavenly and the chicken looked palatable. Luke noticed she was a small eater because she took just a little more than one-fourth of the rice on the large plate in the middle, leaving the rest for him. Or was she not hungry? Did he make her nervous?

"You look close to Jake and Josh," he said while they enjoyed their meal, "Have they grown more mischievous?"

"Just hang around for a little longer," she chuckled, "You'll know."

He laughed, cutting a piece of chicken with the fork. "When Josh was small," he said, "about a year or two, he had this weird fascination for worms. He used to crawl on the lawn outside their quarters, pick up worms of all kinds, and force Scott to eat them!"

She almost choked on her food. "Seriously? That's disgusting! I didn't know he was such a feral baby."

"Oh, I have more such stories about them. Some of them they wouldn't even remember. Just wait till I take the mickey out of them."

"We've got many kids in the neighbourhood," she laughed, gently moving the empty plate aside, "But these two certainly take the cake."

Her phone rang just then and she excused herself before fishing her cellphone out of her bag.

"Hi Carrie," she smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Luke leaned back in the chair and watched her as she talked. But her face gradually turned serious, and then lacklustre.

"I can't do this," she pressed her lips together and breathed through the nose. He watched her hand as she fiercely grabbed a hapless napkin, trying her best to not lose control. Then she closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling faster now.

"Carrie, I'm not going," she insisted, her voice rising. She was now crushing the napkin. Luke sat up straight, worried.

"I said I'm not going!" her voice rose and then fell, like a flash of lightning. She disconnected the call and hung her head low, her breaths coming in short, quick bursts. Luke hesitated to say anything, afraid of troubling her further.

When she looked up, her face looked tired. Finally letting go of the crushed napkin, she apologetically gazed at him.

"Will you excuse me for a minute?" she murmured, her voice trembling, "I think I—"

Before he could even come up with a response, she had left her seat and rushed off in the direction of the washrooms in the far end of the restaurant. Luke remained put in his seat. As worried as he felt, he couldn't follow her into a ladies restroom. So he waited. One minute turned two. Then five. And then ten. Impatient, he called the waiter, paid the bill, and had just risen from the chair, when he found her walking back. Something seemed to collapse inside him when he saw her sad face.

"I'm sorry," she said in a broken voice when she was close enough, "I—"

"Are you okay?" he gently held her and studied her face. Her eyes were red and slightly puffy, her cheeks were dark. She had clearly been crying in the loo.

"I'm fine," she nodded, although she looked far from it, "The bill—"

"I've paid it," he said, giving her some water, "What's wrong? Are you feeling alright?"

"I am." She took two sips and kept the glass back on the table. "Can we go home?"

"You're not fit to drive. Give me the keys."

"Luke—"

"Give me the keys, Cynthia. I'm not letting you drive in this condition."

He had no clue what Carrie had said that made her upset but he knew better than to let her drive when her hands just wouldn't stop trembling. 

Without arguing anymore, she looked inside her bag for her car keys and placed them on his open palm. Luke held her hand as they left the restaurant, not because it felt good to hold her but because she looked like she'd break down right there.

"You don't look good to me," he said while he drove her home. It was evening and a slight drizzle had begun. "Are you going to be okay? Do you want me to call Scott?"

"No." She sank back in the seat and closed her eyes. "Why don't you head to your hotel first? I can drive back home."

"I told you I'm not letting you drive like this." He gave her one of his stern looks. "Why don't you try to relax? I promise I'm not going to ruin your car."

She seemed to remember something. She reached for her phone and made a call.

"Becky, have the flowers arrived?" she asked and it made him smile. She never forgot to take care of things that were important. "Alright, listen, I'm going to take the rest of the day off if that's okay with you. I don't feel too good. No, I'll be okay. You don't have to come over." She paused and breathed. "Thanks, hun. See you tomorrow."

When they entered the familiar lane of her neighbourhood, she pointed out her house and asked him to stop. Then he looked at his face and gave a small smile.

"Thank you," she said, "Take the car. You can return it later."

"It's okay, Cyn. I'm going to take a taxi."

It was a slip. He had heard Scott calling her Cindy affectionately, and the others calling her Cyn. But it was really accidental on his part. He didn't know her well enough to call her that. Or did he?

"You have to walk all the way to the main street for a taxi," she shook her head. "Please take the car."

"Relax, okay?" He got out of the car like the seat was on fire. Then he held the door open for her. "I can walk all the way to the hotel if necessary. But I'm more concerned about you."

"I'll be fine." Disappointment shone on her face. "I'm sorry about this. The day wasn't meant to end this way."

"Oh, come on, I had fun," he smiled, "The day was great."

"Take this at least." She grabbed a big umbrella from the backseat and handed it to him. "It's unpredictable here. You never know when the drizzle turns into a downpour. And you've to walk quite a few metres."

He could let her do that much for him. Luke gratefully took the umbrella and saw her to the door of her little cottage-like house. He even gave her a light goodnight kiss on the cheek. Then he started walking, holding the open umbrella above his head. It hadn't been like that with him in years. With Diana gone, he'd closed himself to the world, convinced that there never could be anybody else. All of those nights when he'd returned home from his failed dates, he burned in guilt for days after. Not because the aftermath was still too raw, but because he didn't believe someone else could fill the void in his life. So why was he even trying?

He felt a spark of attraction to Cynthia, reminding him of what he once had. And he hadn't even tried. That night after he returned from Scott's place, he'd waited for the guilt and self-reproach to come back. But they never came. Instead, it felt okay. It felt good. It meant he had finally healed.

He hailed a passing taxi and hopped in, folding the wet umbrella. Giving instructions to the driver, he leaned back in the seat and gazed out of the window. Cynthia was younger than him and more reserved than Diana had been. But it pained him to see her sad, the same way it'd have pained him to see Diana sad. What had Carrie said that made her so upset? He was not going to ask any question, though. He didn't know her well and she was entitled to her privacy. But he also knew that he wanted to know her better.

Luke measured the umbrella in his hand, a jubilant smile breaking out on his face. He knew he had to call his eldest sister to thank her when he reached the lodge. She had convinced him to make this trip. And he already felt it was the best thing he'd done in a long time.

***



Will Be Yours Ch. 03



Velmont Town is a fictional place based on one of my favourite hill-stations. Some of the names of restaurants and places have also been borrowed from real places. Certain things about Birmingham are real, others are imaginary. Readers' discretion requested. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Luke was up early the next morning. He'd stayed in after returning home the previous evening, read a few magazines, drunk some fine tea, and marvelled at the sound of the drizzle. Then he had cleaned his shoes and they now occupied pride of place in one corner beside the bathroom. After dinner, he had spoken to his sister Marielle, telling her that he already loved Velmont Town. Marielle, of course, had known it from beforehand. Like most sisters, she doted on her brother and most often knew what was right for him. 

He didn't know why he hadn't visited this place earlier, despite having a number of friends here, including Scott. His friends were frequent visitors to Birmingham, where they often met and had fun. Here, in this cheery, hilly town, he just knew he'd have more than just fun. 

The morning was clear; bright and breezy, it seemed a great day for a walk. So after breakfast, he took Cynthia's umbrella and set out for her home. He had hesitated through the night if calling on her would be the right thing to do; he'd wondered if she'd be upset till morning and if his unannounced appearance would annoy her. But he also had to return the umbrella. He decided to take a chance. If he found her upset, he'd give back the umbrella and come away. 

When her picturesque house came into view, Luke stopped and discreetly ran a hand through his hair, before making sure his clothes were okay. Then he slowly walked up to the black iron gate, overlooking the small lawn. Luke noticed that she shared a common boundary with Scott's house. The boys were nowhere to be seen that morning; he remembered it was Saturday and they were probably sleeping late. 

His gaze crossed over the lawn and found Cynthia sitting on the front porch of her house, coffee mug in hand. She looked different from the last two days. Dressed in a comfy t-shirt and a pair of houndstooth printed pyjamas, with her hair fallen over her face, she looked haunting. But she also looked exhausted, like some old burden weighed upon her shoulders. Her head was low, and though her eyes were locked on the green grass of the lawn, she was actually staring at nothing. 

Luke inhaled deeply. He was here to return the umbrella, he reminded himself. But he also wanted to check if she was okay. He couldn't deny that he'd been worried about her through the night. 

Without readily opening the gate, he first knocked on it to make a slight noise, enough to draw her attention. It worked and she looked at him. 

"Good morning," he smiled, finally opening the gate. She smiled back and silently motioned him to come in. That was a good sign. She didn't turn him away. 

He walked in, closing the gate behind him. There were trees, potted plants, flowers, and shrubs adorning various parts of the lawn. Her house itself was adorable, like having popped right out of a picture postcard. 

"Hey," he said, when he was standing in front of her. She tapped the space beside her and he hesitantly obliged by sitting. 

Up close, without her glasses, she looked fragile. That was the first time he seemed to notice a different side to her- the side that was vulnerable and weak. 

"I came to return this," he held up the umbrella and kept it behind them, on the porch. 

"You needn't have hurried," she smiled, "It's only an umbrella." 

She looked at him. "Would you like some coffee?" 

"I've had breakfast, so don't bother," he shook his head. "Are you alright?" 

She nodded quietly, staring inside the coffee mug. Her face was small and sweet and the dense, lustrous mane seemed to engulf her dainty profile. Without thinking, he raised a finger and removed a few locks of hair from her eyes, tucking them behind her ear. She flinched slightly but remained unmoved, only heaving a deep, tired sigh. 

"It's your first time at my house," she said, "You must have something." 

"I won't mind having a conversation with you." 

"Over some coffee?" 

Despite himself, Luke laughed. "Alright," he conceded, "But just one cup, okay?" 

She nodded with a smile and pulled herself to her feet. She had only taken two steps towards the door leading inside her house when she raised a hand to her temple, swayed and then bent over as if she was about to fall. Luke sprang to her rescue, holding her by an elbow and breaking her fall. 

"Are you okay?" he pulled her close, so that she was leaning against his chest. Her body felt unusually warm. "Are you dizzy? Do you want me to give a shout out to Scott?" 

"No, I'm fine," she mumbled, still holding her head. Luke took the mug from her hand. 

"You're anything but fine," he announced, putting an arm around her waist. "Let's go in, come on. I think you're running a temperature." 

She remained quiet as he helped her inside the house and made her sit on the sofa. He kept the mug on the centre table and took a seat beside her. 

"Look, I don't want to know what's wrong," he explained, "But you're not well. What are you going to do about it? Is there a doctor around here? Someone I can call...?" 

"Luke," she straightened her body and looked at him, "It's nothing, please. Don't get worked up." 

"I'm not getting worked up. But you're unwell and need a doctor." 

"And I was supposed to make coffee for you," she grumbled, sinking back in the sofa. Luke realised that like all women, she hated being weak in front of others. 

"Are you always so stubborn?" he laughed a little, earning a mock glare from her. He put an arm around the back of the sofa, moving closer to her. "Is there anything I can do for you right now?" 

"Yes, allow me to make you the damn coffee!" 

She rose from the sofa, stumbling, but steadied herself in time. Luke watched her walk into the kitchen, putting her hair up in a loose bun. He surveyed the living room; neutral shades on the walls, darker, contrasting hues on the doors and window frames, and the pretty curtains made up this very feminine sanctuary. She obviously loved flowers a lot. Not only did different varieties of blooms adorn the window sills, but the curtains and the upholstery too were floral printed. Although quite small, the house was lovely. Just like the doll's house his sisters played with as kids. 

"Sugar?" she asked from the kitchen. 

"Yes, one teaspoon." He rose and walked up to the living room window, where a row of potted plants had caught his attention. He recognised three of the flowers- yellow roses, globe amaranths, and... white lilies. Almost unknowingly, a smile broke out on his face. Diana loved white lilies. Even today, he could picture her bringing a lily to her nose and smelling it. Ever since she left, he'd been trying to avoid her favourite things. But with a florist around, he knew he could hardly escape the white lilies. 

But that was a beginning as well. He couldn't recall having ever smiled at Diana's memory before. 

"Coffee." Cynthia had quietly turned up beside him, and was holding out a large-ish coffee mug to him. He smiled, took the mug, and thanked her. 

"Do you love lilies?" she asked him, having noticed him staring whenever there were white lilies around. Luke shook his head. 

"Diana did," he blurted, "They were her favourite." 

"Diana?" 

Luke pinched the bridge of his nose, as if to stifle the memory. He wished he hadn't said that out loud. 

"My long-time girlfriend," he said softly, looking away, as though that would make him strong enough to talk about it, "I lost her three and a half years ago." 

When he looked back at her, her face reflected surprise and compassion. 

"I'm sorry," she reached out to touch his arm. "I... I could never have imagined you've been through such a colossal loss." 

He smiled gratefully, shaking the contents of the mug. He had never spoken to anybody about it. Those who knew... just knew without having to be told. 

"Let's sit," he told her, "I don't want you to fall off again." 

She rolled her eyes, but followed him to the sofa nevertheless. A deliberate pause hung in the air, as if both of them wanted to say something but couldn't find the right words. 

"If you don't mind," she spoke, hesitation thick in her voice, "What had happened?" Then she quickly added, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to." 

"Car accident," he said, acknowledging her consideration. "She'd fallen asleep at the wheel and the car had hit a tree." He paused and took a long sip of the coffee. "And it's okay. I think I'm over it." 

"Are you?" 

Luke looked at her; she was staring at her feet, a soft, knowing smile on her lips. 

"Yes," he said. "I'm a lot better now. Even a year after her passing, I was going through a really bad depression. I not only grieved for her, but also felt guilty for what had happened to some degree." 

"Why?" she asked, "You weren't responsible for what happened." 

Luke kept the coffee on the centre table and clasped his hands, leaning forward in the sofa. No, he wasn't. But those difficult nights after Diana's death, he had blamed himself for having let her drive that day, for being unable to save her in time. He had loved her more than life and yet, like the hapless bloke that he was, he could do nothing to keep her with him. She was gone, just like that. No ceremony, no goodbye. 

She had left him as unexpectedly as she had appeared in his life and turned it upside down. 

"I know what it is," a quiet voice spoke beside him. Reality kicked in and he looked at Cynthia. "You blamed yourself for being unable to save her." 

Luke felt his throat tighten with emotion. Cynthia knew what he felt. Everybody else so far, as considerate and supportive as they had been, hadn't been able to understand the logic behind why he felt the way he did. She did. Either she could read his heart or she had experienced something similar. 

"Yes," he straightened his body, "I still feel my love wasn't enough to make her stay." 

"I think you're being too hard on yourself," she said, "No matter how much we love someone, we can do nothing to protect them from being hurt. It's just... fate." 

"I guess you're right," he sighed, "We're helpless at the hands of fate." 

He didn't know why he was having this conversation. She didn't have to know any of it. But something seemed to compel him to talk about it. Perhaps it was her beautiful eyes, or the feelings he was beginning to have for her. It just felt so natural talking to her about it. 

"Did you have grief counselling?" she asked quietly after sometime. 

"Yes. I had therapy for more than a year. The reason why the man sitting beside you is still sane." 

"I think I understand what you must have gone through, to some extent," she sighed. 

"You lost someone you love?" he angled himself towards her. 

"Let's just say I know how it feels to love somebody and not being able to be with that person anymore." A sad smile spread over her face. "Not because you stopped loving that person, but because it was impossible." 

"And are you over it?" 

"It was hard. But I've moved on." 

A bell went inside his head. Her words from the previous day rang in his ears. Sometimes your dream isn't what life has planned for you. 

That was it. Something must have happened in Birmingham. Something that still made her upset and uncomfortable. Because she was clearly not over it yet. 

"I have moved on as well," he smiled at her. "Living a life of suspended animation wasn't what Diana would have wanted for me. It wasn't what my loved ones wanted for me." 

"At least you had people to hold you and support you through the difficult time," her voice dropped lower, as if she didn't want to say the words. "You had- have- a family who loves you." 

She was still staring at the floor but Luke noticed the corners of her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He hadn't come here to talk about this, or to bring up old memories for any of them. But now that they were talking, he seemed to figure out the reason why she was here, in Velmont Town, running a flower shop. She wanted to escape from Birmingham for some reason. He couldn't put a finger on the reason, but he now had a fair idea. 

Luke placed an affectionate hand on her knee. "You have friends here," she said, "And they love you so much." 

She nodded, surreptitiously wiping a falling tear from the corner of her eye. "How long were you together?" she asked, obviously trying to change the subject. 

"About six years." He sighed, dropping his head back. "You'd think we should've been married by that time." 

"No." She turned her face and gazed out of the window. "Marriage is a confirmation of a relationship to a lot of people. But for some people, that confirmation isn't necessary, as long as they love each other." She looked at him again. "What do you think?" 

"I think I was a fool to have not married her." The words came out more strongly than he intended them to be. "We both always kept so busy with work and other commitments. We hardly took time off. So we said it didn't matter if we didn't get married, a piece of paper is not what's important. We were still young, we had all the time in the world. But if I'd asked her to marry me, if we'd settled down properly, we'd probably have children now... and I'd have... something. A part of her, here with me. I wouldn't be so..." 

"Alone?" she filled in when he trailed off. He looked at her and nodded with a small sad smile. 

"So you've been single since..." She resisted finishing the sentence. She didn't want to keep reminding him of his loss. 

"Yes, though I've only recently begun to feel ready for another relationship. I don't want to jump headlong into anything, but if it happens, I'll let it happen." 

"Velmont Town has a lot of pretty women, many of them single," her smile this time was mischievous, "If you're interested, I can set you up on a blind date." 

Luke laughed aloud, unable to keep a straight face at those words. "Look who's talking," he said, "If there are single women here, then there must be men too. Why are you still single?" 

"What makes you think I'm single?" she retorted. 

"Well, for one thing, a woman who's not single wouldn't readily agree to show another man, a stranger, around the town. Or have lunch with him. Or let him inside her house early in the morning." He took a quick glance around the house again. "I'd also think couples are more likely to co-habit in small towns like this." 

"You're a friend, not a stranger." She reached out for his coffee mug and attempted to stand, but she faltered and landed back on to the sofa with a soft thud. Luke threw his hands up in exasperation. 

"See?" he sighed, moving closer to her, "You're really not okay. Why don't you take the day off?" 

"I can't," she said, rubbing her temples. "I have many arrangements to make and send them by the end of the day." 

"Then listen to me and let me drop you to work," he insisted, "Please." 

"It's going to be okay. I'll take a paracetamol before leaving for work." 

"You're not going to drive." 

"Luke," she sounded exhausted, "This isn't the first time I've been unwell. What's your problem?" 

"Well, for a start, you admitted you're unwell." He crossed his arms and gave her a hard stare. "Ever since Diana died, and the way she died, I think twice before letting anyone drive when they're not completely fine or in their senses. I lost the love of my life. I wouldn't want anybody else to go through the same pain." 

"Then you need not worry about me." She rose from the sofa and made her way back to the kitchen. "There's no one to mourn my loss if I'm gone." 

"Hey!" Luke intercepted her mid-way, "Who told you that? You never know who cares about you and how deeply." 

Her shoulders sagged and she held her head again. Luke waited for her to retort but she never did. Inching closer, he gently held her by the arms. 

"You don't have to do this," she murmured, her eyes closed. 

"Because your boyfriend wouldn't like it?" 

"I don't have a boyfriend." 

Her eyes darted at him and she found an impish grin on his face. Boy, you're quite a devil! 

"You're a rascal," she huffed, jerking his hands away, "Just like Scott." 

"They call me the good-looking rascal," he chuckled, as she started to walk away from him, "Where are you going?" 

"To get dressed." 

"Okay, I'm right here." 

Before she could come up with another sharp retort, he quickly added. "You're Scott's friend. So you're my friend too." When she looked at him, he smiled. "In fact, you're more than just Scott's friend. You're almost family to them. If he finds out that I did nothing despite knowing you're unwell, he's going to berate me heavily. He's a scary guy when he's angry." 

"He's sexy when he's angry," she giggled softly. 

"Uh-huh?" he gave a naughty half-smile, "You like him a lot, don't you?" 

"I crushed on him someday," she giggled again. 

"And I thought you love him like a brother." 

She laughed. "I used to say that to him back in the day, that I love him like a brother, just so his wife wouldn't hammer me. But he'd become very annoyed and say that having one sister is enough." 

"I have three," he rolled his eyes. When he looked down at her face, he found her lost in thought. She looked lovelier when pensive. He exhaled deeply and repeated his question, adding, "We're going to take a taxi. You'll get down at your shop and I'll go over to a friend's place. Are we clear?" 

She didn't protest. Instead, she nodded very slowly. "You'd have to wait while I dress. Is that okay?" 

Luke laughed at her courteousness. She seemed very well-bred. 

"Take all the time you want, Cynthia," he smiled, "I'm right here." 

"Thank you," she smoothed her hand through her hair and stepped back. "And please, feel free to call me Cyn." 

*** 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have broken the news to you so hastily," Carrie said while she poured me another cup of coffee that evening. "That phone call got me so flustered, really. Who would think them getting in touch so many years later and after what they did to you?" 

I was seated on the wooden settee in Scott's lounge, where Carrie had already made me three cups of coffee. I had returned home a little past seven. My temperature had gone down after the paracetamol I'd taken in the morning but I still felt a little weak. I thought it was because of the news yesterday, and not the fever. 

Luke had very kindly accompanied me to work that morning, and Becky and Leah had had a hard time trying to stop giggling and gushing. I didn't care, though. I enjoyed Luke's company for some reason. I liked the way he talked, so warm, smooth, and insightful. I loved his adorable smile; I didn't know his age, although he would be a lot older than me, but when he smiled, he could easily pass off as a 20-something. But what I loved most about him was the way he made me smile and helped me loosen up. He could also be funny. Just that morning, as our taxi stopped at traffic, he decided to start a little conversation with the man at the wheel of the car right beside ours. 

"Hi Mr Lewis, how are you? How is Mrs Lewis? Is Joe still playing for the college football team? And what about Aunt Maria? Was the toothache cured or was extraction needed? Is Ava still sucking her thumb or is the habit gone? Tell Mrs Lewis you met Richard Henley's son Harry on the way... And what about your Irritable Bowel Syndrome? I highly recommend alternative medicine..." 

The signal turned green and we moved on. In the meantime, I was beside myself with laughter. Our cabbie too was finding it hard to keep a straight face. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 03



"What... was... that?" I managed to ask between laughing. He gave me a mischievous wink and relaxed in the seat. 

"I've killed his peace for the day and his sleep for tonight. Now he'll keep trying to remember who was that Harry? Since when does he know him? And who were the other people he mentioned...?" 

I liked people who could make others laugh. Scott always did that, and now Luke had joined the list. 

The bridal arrangement order had been made and delivered successfully and by closing time we'd also received a thank you card from the client, commending our great work. The day had certainly gone well, despite my being ill and slightly upset. 

"Cyn?" Carrie gently tapped my shoulder, "Are you alright?" 

I must've been smiling to myself because Carrie was staring very suspiciously at me. 

"Yes, I'm fine," I said, lifting the cup to my mouth. "Where did the boys go?" 

"The kids wanted some goldfish for the new fountain we're inaugurating tomorrow," she smiled, swishing her sandy hair around, "Scott took them to the pet shop near the Clock Tower, where they also sell fish." 

She paused, and I knew she wanted to ask something. I didn't give her a chance. 

"I'm not going, Carrie," I said, firmly. "I can't do this." 

"At least, call her back," she gently told me, "If you don't want to go, then let her know that too." 

"Why should I let her know that I'm not going?" I shrugged. "I had left without informing anyone, remember?" 

"I'll tell you what?" she sighed, crossing her arms, "You gave up your rightful place without a fight. Now is the time to reclaim it, I say." 

I pinched my forehead, as though the whole conversation was giving me a headache. I was tired of fighting. What was mine would remain mine, even without a fight. And what wasn't... would never be. 

I recalled how hard it all had been. Torn between the pain of giving up on my dreams and the humiliation of returning home, I had found help and support in Scott, who had stood by me even when my own family refused to call me their own any longer. Many years had passed, I knew, but the memories were still fresh. Showing up would mean ripping the scab off an old wound. 

"I should've remembered that you fall ill when you're upset," Carried sounded apologetic again, "But then, I didn't think you'd get so worked up..." 

"It was a blast from the past." I gave a small chuckle. "And I'm still not going." 

"Why not?" Scott asked from the door of the lounge, as he and the boys carried two bucketsful of goldfish inside. 

"Why not?" I frowned, indignantly, "After what happened to me there, you expect me to go back? Don't I have any dignity?" 

Carrie moved closer to me and put an arm around my shoulders. "She's unwell," she told Scott, as she gently rubbed my arms, "Let it be, if she doesn't want to go—" 

"Look, I know it's her call," Scott instructed his sons to get fresh before walking into the room and sitting on a wicker chair next to the settee, "But I don't see any reason why she shouldn't or cannot go. It's just a weekend, right? And showing up in all your glory will be a slap on their faces." 

"I think I agree on this one," Carrie added, "They left you to be miserable for the rest of your life but they should see you've moved on." 

I didn't know if I had really moved on. If that was the case, why did I still feel so afraid about going back, even if only for a weekend? 

"Anyway," Carrie rose from the settee and made her way towards the door, "You freshen up." She told Scott. "I've made spring rolls and beef ball soup. Come on, boys!" 

Scott decided to drop the subject at hand, because he shifted to the place beside me and put his arm around the back of the settee. 

"I heard Luke dropped you to work this morning," he smiled. 

"Hmm-mm." I kept the empty cup on the centre table and pulled the stole snugly around myself. "I came to know about Diana." 

Scott nodded very calmly and sighed. "He told you, huh?" 

"Yes. We were talking about flowers and the conversation drifted." I paused and looked at him. "You knew her?" 

"Oh yes." His smile was full of affection. "What a girl, really. She loved fearlessly, gave selflessly, and always made sure everyone was happy and alright. She was a perfect foil for Luke. He was this happy-go-lucky guy who worked hard and partied harder, and she was this funny and thoughtful girl who kept him firmly on the ground. And that laughter..." 

"It was precious to hear her laugh," Carrie re-entered the room, carrying a cup of coffee for Scott. "She was always there for everyone, offering friendship, support, and advice. I still remember her flaming red unruly hair." 

"Sometimes we feared Luke would never get over the sorrow and the anguish," he said, "For the first couple of months, all his friends took turns... keeping an eye on him. Making sure he was alright. Making sure he didn't do anything stupid." He looked at me. "He was going through a really bad depression. His family was worried sick." 

"We all wished he'd stop living like a zombie," Carrie added. 

"We're so happy he's finally moved on," Scott smiled, "And that he's strong enough to talk about it." 

"He's never talked about it. With anyone," she said, "It was like a part of life he wanted to shut away." 

"He seemed quite okay talking about it," I said, "When I told him that he need not talk if it still hurts, he said he's over it." 

"He sure looks so," Scott nodded, rising, "Now we only hope he's able to find someone he can love again. Someone who'll make him whole again." He leisurely strolled out of the room, hands in the pocket of his pants, "He still has a lot of love to give. And all of his life ahead." 

For some peculiar reason, I thought the words were directed at me. When I looked at Carrie, she was trying to hide her smile. I had known them for a long time. Over the past couple of years they had made a determined effort to try and find a man who could make me forget all about my emotional baggage. A man that would make me happy again. They simply couldn't accept that such a man didn't exist. It had been in vain trying to explain that I would rather be alone than with the wrong man, or worse, a series of them. And that I was very careful not to let myself board the crazy lust-love-crash roller coaster. Whenever I felt like I was in line for that ride I just stepped aside. No more heartache for me, please. I had had enough. 

But I also felt for Luke. Yes, I too had lost someone I loved, along with my family, but death was more forgiving than having the black mark of disgrace forever stamped on you. 

"So you're still not going?" Carrie asked me with an innocent expression, crossing her legs. "And I was thinking we could go shopping for dresses." She gave me a naughty smile. "It's a wedding, after all." 

"Carrie—" 

"Okay, forget fighting." She was now sitting beside me. "How about amicability? Fine, don't put up at the house. Find a hotel. Then attend the wedding like any other guest and come back. Things can be done with a smile." 

"They never did things with a smile," I bit on my lip to keep it from quivering, "They made it ugly. They didn't even give me a chance to defend or explain myself. They just... disowned me." 

I looked at her. "You think they will not talk about me, judge me, deride me once I'm there? And they never got to know the whole story. If they did..." 

"To hell if they did!" she gave me a little jerk, "I'm not asking you to not remain a stranger anymore. Be indifferent but courteous. Show them that you chose to walk away from the nonsense with your head held high but have not forgotten your civility." 

"When they'd been far from civil—" 

"That's the difference between you and them. It's time to show them that." 

"I second that!" Scott responded from the dining room, amid sounds of crockery and silverware, "Now hurry up, or we're going to eat up all that is here." 

"Yes, we're famished," Josh complained, "Dad didn't buy us burgers." 

"I'd asked him not to," Carrie rolled her eyes, as we finally left our seats and walked out, "You have too much of burgers anyway." 

"Hey Cyn, we're inaugurating the fountain tomorrow morning," Jake sounded very excited, "You must grace the occasion." 

Josh sniggered beside him at the phrase they'd often hear at school. 

"We've also asked Mrs Goldsmith, the Tanners, and the Remingtons to come over," he added, "Also Luke." 

"It'll be great with him around," Scott smiled, "What do you think?" he asked me. 

"Oh, you don't have to ask her," Carrie's reflexes were faster than mine. "She likes him." 

I looked for a place to hide, preferably under the table. From the moment he'd stepped into my shop, I had noticed something different about Luke. Not because he was the most gorgeous and sensuous man I'd ever seen. For heavens' sake, I dealt with good-looking men on a daily basis. What was so new about deep eyes, a fit body, and a great smile? And not even because he was kind and warm and funny. But because I found a connection with him. His handshake had been firm, precise and brief, but it had felt as if an electric current was running through my veins. And everytime he touched me, it made the fire burn a little more. Which was crazy, because I never reacted like that to anyone. I'd dated in college, fallen in love, been in relationships, but it had never been like that. I had never had such an immediate attraction to anybody. So why now? And why this man? 

I didn't know. I just didn't know. 

(to be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 04



Jake and Josh were all set early next morning to inaugurate the new fountain and introduce the goldfish into it. My shop remained closed on Sundays, allowing me a leisurely roll in bed till late in the day. But that morning was going to be different. The boys, and their parents, were already busy getting everything ready for the grand inauguration and the voices and noises had woken me up long before I intended to. There was no point in lazing around any longer. I decided to get things done at home and then join the boys in the fun. 

Did I say fun? Oh well. That was the effect of Velmont Town. Back in the day, I used to be the serious sort, synonymous with thick books, projects, straight 'A's and ambitious career goals. There was time- or desire- for fun. 

I transformed once I settled here. Scott and his family were always having fun and living right next doors it rubbed off on me too. Here I had done things I never thought I'd do. From cycling up the hills, to dancing crazy in the rain, to bathing under the waterfall, to fishing in the river, to playing a mean game of soccer with the boys, to strolling down a thread-like bridge upon the stream and losing a shoe- I'd done it all. I'd also managed the counter at 8th Day on busy days. 

I could totally picture myself getting down in the fountain (it was big enough for three) and dancing away to glory. But I wouldn't do that. Not with Luke present. 

When I lifted the curtain of my living room window to check if I could see what my neighbours were up to, I found Luke kicking a football around the lawn with the boys. There was a certain guilty pleasure in secretly watching a handsome man with sleeves and pants all rolled up. Casually dressed in blue shirt and black jeans, Luke was a sight to behold. I noticed that his hair was a little wet near the collar, but what caught my eye was the dark chest hair peeking from beneath the shirt. He looked like he had a hairy chest. His arms and legs were also hairy. That was great. I had always liked body hair on men. 

I dropped the curtain and immediately turned my back to the window the moment Luke looked this way. My heart beat furiously. Was I caught? Did he see me ogling him? 

A cold sweat broke out on my face as I came to the sofa and sat down, gathering my arms in my lap. Why did he have such an effect on me? Had it been my sixteen year old self receiving her first male attention, I'd still understand. But the problem was, my 24 year old body was also turning into a puddle of hormones under the gaze and in the company of this man. I had been closed to the idea of a relationship since my relocation. Even Becky, with her constant badgering, hadn't been able to send me on a single date. I was just being careful. Buy what if I was also denying myself some much deserved happiness? 

I dragged myself out of the sofa and walked to the bathroom for a shower, where I tossed my pyjamas and t-shirt and turned on the shower, the water making me flinch as it drenched me. Sighing softly, I leaned against the wall, my hands roaming all across my body. I stepped out of the shower briefly to grab the bar of soap. Lathering my hands, I smoothed them over my body, scrubbing my neck, armpits, and shoulders. Trailing lower, my soapy fingers flicked my rosy nipples, sighing when they peaked under my touch. My hands moved southwards, along my bikini line, down to my navel. I found myself slumping further against the wall as I stroked my small and cute belly button. I loved to tease myself. 

I gasped as I kept stroking, while my other hand curled in my dense pubic hair. I hadn't shaved in years, but I didn't mind. I liked to curl my fingers in the nest of coarse hair, tug at it while circling my thumb across my engorged bundle of nerves. I groaned when I pressed it two fingers, the wet, slippery folds of my opening begging for my touch. I dipped my fingers into my wetness, my eyes squeezing shut as my insides ached with desire. 

"Oh... Sam..." a moan escaped my lips. 

My eyes flew open at the sound of my own voice. 

Where had that come from? 

With my long wet hair draped around my body, I slid down the wall and crouched on the floor, the bathroom tiles feeling cold against my bare skin. Why had that happened? Why had Sam's name popped into my mind out of nowhere? 

I closed my eyes, trying to forget what had just happened. Sam was gone from my life forever. There was no place for him in my life anymore. I stopped loving him the day I left Birmingham. 

Or did I? 

Ten minutes later, I was walking in through the front gate of Scott's house. Josh noticed me first and alerted the others. 

"We thought you wouldn't wake up," Jake laughed, putting his hands on his hips. Luke was standing beside him, the football under his left foot. 

"I've been up a long time," I smiled coyly, "Was just taking care of a few things." 

I waved at Mrs Goldsmith, tousled the hair of Emily, the little daughter of Will and Daphne Tanner, and greeted the Remingtons, who were there with their teenage son Matt, a friend of Jake's. I observed that Luke had already been introduced to our neighbours and they all seemed to like him. 

I couldn't believe he was the same man who Scott had said had been living like a zombie after his girlfriend's death. Despite having known him for just four days, I felt proud of him for having come such a long way. 

"Are you alright?" Luke asked me once we had taken our positions for the 'inauguration'. Luke was standing beside me, a little away from the others. 

"Yes, I'm better," I smiled and looked into those soulful eyes of his. He smiled back and turned his gaze to the fountain that was turned on by Scott. The water pressure was low and for a few minutes nothing happened. Scott, Jake and Luke got in to examine the pipes and just then the water came with a spurt, drenching them. 

Loud claps followed. 

The goldfish were introduced into the fountain. "They'll look so pretty," Emily exclaimed in delight. Yes they would. But I couldn't help noticing a number of tadpoles that had gone in along with the fish. In a few weeks, we could expect a collection of handsome frogs. 

After this entire episode, while tea was served to those present, I sat near the flowerbed in the lawn and watched the new fountain. Luke had got busy with the boys again, teaching them a few innovative moves with the ball. I watched how fit he was. He didn't exactly have a gym body but since he didn't show any sign of flab, I believed that he did exercise. Perhaps Scott could learn something from him. Ever since he retired, he'd been steadily putting on weight. 

Luke gave the boys suggestions as well as demonstrations on how to take corners, penalties, and free kicks. In no time, everybody was watching his amazing skill with the ball. Both Jake and Josh were in the school football team that was having its inter-school tournament in a few days. Both boys had been selected and Luke was helping them get into shape. 

"Hi," Luke smiled, slightly out of breath, as he came up to me. He rolled down his jeans and took a seat beside me. 

"Did you need any more medicine?" he asked, and I could sense the concern in his voice. I had been right in thinking that he was kind-hearted. 

"Yes, just another one at night," I replied, bunching my hair to one side. "Thanks for being there yesterday." 

"You've mentioned it about a thousand times by now," he laughed, "It's alright," he tapped my knee, "I can do so much for a friend." 

"Your football is really great," I said, "They still rejected you from the team?" 

"Yeah, since I was too short compared to the others. They were all over six feet." 

"Too bad." I eyed him up and down, smiling mischievously to myself. I bet he'd be hot stuff in his shorts. 

"What?" he frowned, puckering his well defined eyebrows, "Something funny?" 

"No." I turned my face away, trying to hide my shameless grin. Then I looked back at him. "Are you free today?" 

"Yes, until about eight in the evening. Scott and I have a dinner invitation at a friend's place. The same one I visited yesterday." 

"I see. Did you drive here?" 

"Yes. Why?" 

"I was wondering," I said, "Would you mind driving us somewhere?" 

"Where?" he raised one of those eyebrows that had caught my fancy. I gulped when tension suddenly fisted beneath my navel. Being this close to him was doing wonders to my self-control. 

"There's a river a few miles from here," I said, "I'd like-" 

I was cut short by a football, that came leaping out of nowhere, hit the mango tree in the lawn, and went smashing into the flowerbed not far from where I was seated. A few broken rose branches along with two buds tumbled down to the ground. Even as Jake tried to understand what had just happened, Scott thundered from inside the house. I picked up the rosebuds and smelled them. 

"Poor things," I sighed, "Broken even before blooming." 

"You do love flowers a lot, don't you?" Luke smiled tenderly at me. 

"They make me happy," I said, "From long before I started running a flower shop." 

"You were talking about a river...?" 

"Yes, it's a few miles from here and is probably the most beautiful place in town." I smiled at him. "It's my favourite place in the whole world." 

"That great, huh?" he sounded impressed, "Sure you won't feel unwell?" 

I remembered the events of the last two days and felt a little embarrassed. 

"I'll be okay." I nodded convincingly. "Don't worry." 

I held out a rosebud to him. "This is for you." 

Luke sportingly took the pale orange flower and stuck it in his shirt pocket. Orange and blue looked out of place but Luke could pull off anything. 

"Do you want to begin now?" he asked, preparing to rise. 

"Luke, honey, can I speak to you for a minute?" 

It was Carrie, approaching us with a broad grin. 

"Sure." Luke, ever gracious, smiled. "What can I do for you, Mrs Wilson?" 

Carrie playfully slapped his arm at the naughty remark and glanced at me. 

"When are you returning to Birmingham?" she asked him. 

"On the 4th of next month." 

"Morning?" 

"No, late afternoon." 

"Great." She paused. "Would you mind taking this feisty young woman along?" 

"What??!" I leapt to my feet, my cheeks flushing. "Carrie, what's wrong with you, for heavens' sake?" 

"Listen, you must visit, okay," she held me by my arms, "Since you don't show the courage of going back alone, why not have a wing man?" 

She winked at Luke. "Have him accompany you on the flight," she told me. 

"I can't- he shouldn't- Uh! Carrie, you're impossible." Tears sprouted in my eyes. "You've gone crazy." 

"Hey, just wait." Luke grabbed my wrist when I tried to walk away. "Will someone tell me what this is all about? What's the big deal about going to Birmingham?" 

"She had a fall out with her family a few years ago," Carrie explained, "But there's a wedding in the family on the 10th of next month and they want her to attend. She, naturally, is afraid and embarrassed to go back after the way things had ended there." 

Luke found me hiding my face, trying to keep the tears from falling. He let go of my hand and smiled. "I'll be glad to take her along," he announced and looked at me. "Do you want me to book your flight tonight?" 

"NO!" I cried indignantly and stormed off, but Luke was quick to follow and catch up with me. 

"Just stop running, okay?" he held me tight, "I don't mind accompanying you." 

"I don't want to go." My voice broke and I closed my eyes to stop the tears from rolling down. "I cannot go." 

"Why not?" 

I looked up at him through tear laden eyes. "Because they had turned their back on me and made me leave home." 

Luke's grip on my arms loosened a little and I took two steps backward. Instead of pushing me anymore, he crossed his arms against his chest. 

"I think we should leave by now," he said, going up to his car and opening the door for me. "We can talk about this on the way." 

"There's nothing to talk about." I fisted my hands on either side of my body and stiffened my jaw in defence. "I'm not going." 

"Where? To the river or to Birmingham?" 

I fumed at him, not appreciating this one bit. I'd make mince meat out of Carrie for doing this to me. 

"Don't give me that look," he narrowed his eyes at me, "Come on." 

Despite how bad my mood had suddenly become, I still willed myself to walk over to his shiny black rental and get in. Luke closed the door and got behind the wheel. 

"You know what?" he said, as we got moving, "Families can be difficult. But just because you had a fall out doesn't mean you cannot reconcile." He gave me a fleeting glance. "Why don't you give it a shot? Maybe they've realised their mistake and want you back?" 

When I didn't answer and my face remained turned towards the window, he gently tapped my knee. "Are you okay?" 

He reached out one hand and put one finger under my chin to turn my face towards him. 

"Oh God. I'm sorry." He pressed the brakes on the car and held me tight in his arms. I wept soundlessly, eyes closed and lips sealed. He ran his fingers through my hair and gave me soft kisses on my temple. 

"I didn't mean to stir up bad memories," he cooed into my ear, "It's okay. Don't cry. We'll not talk about this." 

"I had an eight month affair with a very married teacher of my college," I murmured brokenly between the sobs, "When my family found out, they never looked at me the same way again. Everybody thought I'm a home-wrecker, a licentious woman." 

"So you left home to escape the humiliation?" he pulled away a little and looked at my face. I took off my glasses and wiped off the tears as best as possible. 

"No," I said, eyes lowered, "My mother turned me out. She didn't want to have anything to do with me after the disgrace I had brought them." 

I was sure I heard him curse quietly on hearing that. 

"And she wants you back now, is that so?" he asked. 

"Yes, she got in touch with Scott and said that she's sorry and she wants me to return." 

He smiled wistfully. "It was cruel on their part," he said, "But everybody deserves a second chance. Don't you think-" 

"No one gave me a chance," I broke into renewed tears, "Even the man I loved with my all—" 

I sobbed quietly, biting down so hard on my lip that there would be blood any moment. Luke put his arms around me again, gently stroking my back. We had stopped by the side of a road and several cars passed us by while we talked and I sobbed. 

"I cannot bring myself to imagining how hard it must have been for you," he soothed me, "But you've moved on. You have a different life now." He looked at my face and smiled. "Why don't you pay a visit? Maybe your family has moved on as well?" 

"I cannot go back to the house from where I was kicked out," I murmured. "And I definitely cannot do this alone, as cowardly as that sounds." 

I looked into his eyes and found the kind of empathy that I'd only seen in Scott's eyes so far. He patted my cheek with two fingers. 

"There now," he moved away and put on his seatbelt, "Feeling better after talking it out?" 

I wasn't, really. I hadn't been completely honest with him, hiding more than half of the whole story. I'd never be able to tell him everything. But it seemed like I didn't need to. Luke had got the picture. But I still squeezed a smile out of myself and nodded. 

"I'm sorry for saying all that," I said, "You didn't have to know." 

"No, I didn't. But I'm glad you've let it out." He started the car again. "And if you really can't do it alone, then I guess we'll have to find a way out." 

We?? 

He gave me a reassuring smile. "Just hang in there," he said, "You're going to be alright." 

*** 

They reached the river in a little more than an hour. 

Luke had managed to help Cynthia calm down and resumed the journey. She had quietly given him directions and they had made small talk on the way, while she pointed out interesting things on the road and told him about the place. 

Despite putting up a brave face, Luke knew she was hurting. Carrie needn't have brought it up. He was more than happy to take her along even without knowing the backstory. 

But he'd have to give it to her for having never looked back. She'd been let down and abandoned by the man she loved, her family turned against her, and everybody judged her for her actions. But that hadn't made her bitter. She had survived it all with her dignity and poise in place. He also appreciated Scott for having stood by her through her difficult time. Luke knew how generous and helpful Scott was but what he had done for this girl was incredible. 

He didn't know how it felt to be turned away by your own family. He had a big, happy family, who always stood by one another like a rock. But he couldn't help thinking that people made mistakes all the time. It was what made them human. But no one deserved such a harsh treatment. Definitely not from their own family. And considering the fact that she was so young, he'd believe the man was more at fault than she. What if he had lured her, taken advantage of her young age and vulnerability? Surely he was a lot older than her, since he was her teacher and married. 

He cursed in his mind again. He was glad that bastard wasn't anywhere near him, or he'd have beaten him into pulp. 

Cynthia was such a sweet girl, kind and warm, open to receive and accept everybody for who they were. She didn't deserve to go through that hell. At that moment, he started liking her a lot more than he already did. Of course, she also looked beautiful as always. He simply couldn't comprehend how someone could manage to look so fresh and stunning without any kind of makeup or fancy clothing. Diana loved makeup. She said it was a girl's best friend. He still remembered her bright pink lipstick; she had dozens of the same shade. And perfume too. She never left home without those two things. Cynthia was completely different. Perhaps being so close to Nature and the mountains had that effect on her. Dressed in just a pair of light grey pants and a purple tunic, she looked heavenly. 

Just like the river. 

He was sure it was the most ethereal place he'd ever seen. Despite the long distance, the steep turns and bends, and the numerous narrow paths he'd had to negotiate while getting there, he was glad having taken the trouble. The beauty of the mountain river and its surroundings was breathtaking. The flowing water was a shade of pale blue, and the sloping banks were cloaked in dense greenery. There were tall trees whose names he didn't know, and little songbirds dancing from branch to branch, their voices blending with the sound of the river to fill the air with a mellifluous chorus. In the distance were the mountains, tall, majestic, overpowering. 

If this wasn't paradise, he didn't know what was. 

Almost involuntarily, while gazing at the beauty of the river, he broke into song. 

'You know a dream is like a river 

Ever changin' as it flows 

And a dreamer's just a vessel 

That must follow where it goes 

Trying to learn from what's behind you 

And never knowing what's in store 

Makes each day a constant battle 

Just to stay between the shores... and 

'I will sail my vessel 

'Til the river runs dry 

Like a bird upon the wind 

These waters are my sky 

I'll never reach my destination 

If I never try 

So I will sail my vessel 

'Til the river runs dry...' 

"I love that song," Cynthia finally spoke up, when he had stopped singing. When she turned her face towards him, with that quiet smile and long flowing hair, she took his breath away. Bathed in the soft rays of the sun, her face radiated a golden glow, her hair cascading down to her narrow waist and making a delightful contrast with her creamy skin. Luke liked women with naturally nice hair. Diana had a head full of unruly red hair that was her trademark style. It would almost always keep half of her face covered but she was adamant about either tying or cutting it. But he liked her better that way- wild, untamed, a force of Nature. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 04



Cynthia seemed less untamed. She was quiet, reserved, and soft-spoken. But he was glad she wore glasses, because without them her eyes were more bewitching. She'd only have to stand on a busy thoroughfare on any given day and heaven knew how many people would die of heart attacks, accidents and what not. 

"Nobody really knows her 

Except the chosen few 

Her secrets are kept hidden 

Behind that sun-kissed hue..." 

Luke wouldn't have been surprised if she had giggled at his sudden recital of poetry but she only raised an eyebrow. 

"Well?" she asked, with a nonchalant tilt of her head. 

"Ah, never mind." He brushed it away. "I know I suck at poetry." 

"Uh-huh. I wonder how many women you've said that to." 

Luke turned to look at Cynthia, only to find her laughing silently, her face turning slightly red. She then slapped a hand to her mouth and stole a glance at him. "Sorry." 

Did she have any idea how strong a punch the combination of her dark eyes, sparkling with amusement, and long dark lashes packed? Probably not. 

"You look amazing when you laugh," Luke smiled, his gaze still focused on her face, "You should do it more often." 

"Oh trust me, I do." She finally managed to catch her breath after that serious fit of laughter. "Living right beside Scott, do you think I have any dearth of funny moments?" 

"I was right in saying that he's more than just a friend to you," he said, "He's protective about you." 

"Yes." She sighed deeply. "Without him, I wouldn't survive." 

When she looked at him, her smile had faded and her face was cloudy. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. "It's crazy how someone unrelated to you helps you find your feet again while your own family turns away..." her voice started breaking, "I don't know where I'd be without Scott..." 

Luke moved closer to the spot where she was standing and wrapped his arms around her. She yielded and pressed her forehead against his chest. Even though she didn't actually cry, he still consoled her. She looked like she needed comfort of some kind. She had clearly had enough back in Birmingham. 

"I'm sorry." She sharply pulled herself away a minute later. Swiping the edge of her eyes with her fingers, she looked at him. "Do you want to sit?" she asked, "There's a small hillock there." 

"Sure," he smiled, "Let's go." 

They went around the river, along the grassy banks, the undergrowth tangling in their shoes as they walked. The gurgling river, although quite shallow like most mountain rivers, was frothy near the edges and often drenched the shores. The boulders in the riverbed shone beneath the water, glistening under the sun rays. 

"How do you feel about fishing?" she asked him when they were seated on the little hillock covered in grass and flowering bushes near the river bank. 

"I liked it when I was younger," he replied. 

"You're still young," she shot back. 

"I'm 35," he smiled, mighty impressed with himself for having taken to regular exercising. It helped him cheat on the years. 

"Really?" she widened her eyes at him. "But you don't look a year older than 40." 

With that, she started to laugh again, this time loudly. Luke watched her silently, taking in the sound of her laugh. It blended with the gurgle of the river and the chirping of the birds to make an enchanting mélange. She had no idea what she was doing to him. He was here for two weeks, and then he'd be back in office and she'd carry on with her simple, unhurried life. Would there ever be anything more between them except these stolen moments? 

"What?" she asked when she had stopped laughing. He realized he'd been staring at her like an idiot. And how couldn't he? She was a treat for sore eyes. 

"Nothing," he shook his head. He liked her more when she dropped her guard and loosened up. But she was unaware of that. Or was it a part of her that she deliberately kept hidden, to protect herself from any more heartbreak? 

"You were talking about fishing," he said, "You don't mean this river has fish?" 

"I'm not sure," she shrugged, "When Jake had got in to have a bath here, something had bitten him hard." She rolled her hair and put it up in a bun. "I think it was a lobster." 

Luke hands reached his pocket and took out the rosebud that had survived their rocky ride to the river. Without checking with his brain his hand fixed the flower in her bun. 

"Perfect." The exclamation of admiration left his lips abruptly. But he didn't mind. Neither did she. She was quite a sport, fortunately. 

"Thank you," she smiled shyly, touching her bun to check if the flower was alright. "You're quite a romantic, aren't you?" 

"You think so?" he laughed softly. He was used to women trolling their beauty like bait, but he'd bet a million pounds Cynthia had no idea how the little things she did made him weak in the knees. And in the heart. 

Before he met Diana, he'd had a series of fleeting romances that almost always began and ended in the bedroom. Since Diana's death, he'd always felt empty, like a part of him was missing without her. But with Cynthia, he felt like a teenager again, excited, nervous, ready to take that leap of faith. Ready to share his love with someone again. 

"You wouldn't put the flower in my hair if you weren't a romantic," she bit her lip, allowing a small playful smile to slip through, "Diana was a lucky woman." 

"No," he sighed, "I was luckier. She deserved better than me." 

"Would you mind telling me about her?" she drew her knees up and propped her chin on them, folding her arms around her legs. "How did you meet?" 

"You want to know?" he asked. No one had ever asked him all this. Everyone knew them and their story. He never got to properly reminisce about her since she passed away. 

"Like I said, if you don't mind," she smiled. 

"I don't." Luke paused for a moment. "It was about ten years ago at one of our gigs," he said, "At the Hare and Hounds Club. We were signing autographs and posing for photos after the show, when I saw this girl with a head full of curly hair waiting impatiently some metres away, since she found the stage too crowded to get close." 

He tore a blade of grass from the ground and smiled unmindfully. "Something about her caught my eye. She didn't seem the screaming, groping kind of fan. Although she looked disappointed that she wouldn't be able to meet me in all likelihood, she wasn't fighting for attention. She had this air around her... and it just stood out. When she realised the crowd wouldn't dwindle so soon, she turned around to walk away. It was like a switch clicking inside me and I excused myself from the crowd of admirers and followed her. She stopped when I called out and stared at me with those big, blue eyes. I signed her notepad, casually asked her name, and on a whim, put my number below my signature." 

"Seriously?" she laughed. 

"Yeah. I found it stupid at that moment. She'd think I was desperate or something. But when she called me two nights later, all my doubts were put to rest. We went out the next evening and kept meeting afterwards. I wouldn't say we instantly set the world on fire but it sort of... grew. Diana always said it was her dream come true. And in so many ways, mine too." 

"Was she fun?" she asked quietly. He nodded, the smile never leaving his face. 

"She laughed a lot. She was so full of life, always. That was the best part about her. She had a kind of playfulness... things never got boring with her around." 

Luke stared at the river, his smile fading, vision blurring, as he remembered the handful of bad times they'd had. 

"We weren't the perfect couple," he said, his voice falling. "We had our share of fights, disagreements and arguments like all couples do. I just... didn't think... she'd leave me alone this way." 

Unbeknownst to him, Cynthia had moved closer to him. She gently held his hand and squeezed it. 

"Nobody could have known what was going to happen," she said reassuringly, "I'm sure she knew how much you loved her and she loved you all the way back. At least, take some comfort that you made each other happy during the years you were together." 

Luke silently nodded, then gave her a sideway glance. "You're different from the way the counsellor dealt with me," he smiled. 

"I didn't need counselling," she said, "Scott took it upon himself to help me back to normal life." 

"I've had my friends and family. But they've always wanted me to move on and stop feeling this way. They never realized that I also need to mourn and to vent." He paused. "Don't get me wrong," he added, "They've done a lot for me. But they couldn't relate to my feelings, very obviously." 

Cynthia gently patted his shoulder and then softly squeezed it. Her hand was warm and soft, like the comforting touch of a mother on a bad day. 

"So whose wedding is it?" he asked, blinking away his tears. She moved a little away and drew her knees up again. 

"My elder sister's," she said. 

"You have a sister?" 

She nodded rather reluctantly and turned her face away, like a door slamming shut. He remembered his own sister's weddings and how fun filled they had been. But unlike that, Cynthia's situation seemed different. He resisted asking anything more when he saw her grim look. She had cried enough already and he had no intention to make her cry again, or to be the reason behind it. 

"I wonder why this place is still untouched by the tourists," he said, hoping to lighten the mood between them, "Don't people know about the river?" 

"The locals do," she nodded, "But for tourists this place is too remote. They'd rather stay where they can connect to Wi-Fi." 

"I'm glad about that." He stretched his arms. "I like the quietness, the remoteness." 

"So do I," she sighed, "Even towns are getting crowded these days." 

She looked at him and smiled. "You must be travelling a lot, right? What made you come here?" 

"My sister sent me, and then Scott had been asking me to pay a visit for a while. I wasn't too keen, but now I'm definitely glad that I came." 

"Which countries have you travelled to?" 

"Oh, a lot of them. Almost the whole of Europe, parts of North America, some places in Africa and Asia, and a few in Latin America." 

"All for work?" 

"Mostly. But some for pleasure as well. Diana and I used to travel whenever we'd find some time to ourselves. For us, travelling was all about soaking in a different culture, meeting new people, and having a good laugh. For instance, when we were in Italy, we visited the Colosseum in Rome and shopped in Milan. But what I still cherish is the time we spent in Atrani, the smallest town in the south of Italy, where we met a group of friends in a bar and chatted the night away. Or one of those times when I was in Scotland for work and found a couple of days to slip away to Strathblane, a small, historic village in a picturesque setting at the foot of the Campsie Fells and Kilpatrick Hills, on the banks of the River Blane. It was bliss... but Di was so pissed off because I lapped it all up alone!" 

"Wow." The word came out in a murmur from her lips. 

"What?" 

"I was right. You are a romantic." 

"Maybe," he said modestly. 

"Did Diana find you romantic?" 

"Sometimes, I guess. When I'd send her flowers for no reason or if we were at home relaxing and I'd sneak off to the bathroom and run her a nice big bubble for a treat and bring her up a glass of wine... she found me thoughtful about little details." 

"I'd feel that way too... if someone did all that for me." A small smile flickered on her lips as she folded her arms around her legs and stared at the river. 

"Most of the time she complained that I gave too much time to work," he added, "She had crazy ways to make me compensate for it." 

"Huh? Like what?" 

"You wouldn't want to know," he looked a little horrified. 

"Of course I would. Tell me." 

"I... can't." 

"Oh, I see." She suppressed a laugh. "Let me guess. She made you do the dishes?" 

"That's nothing," he shrugged, slowly going red in the face. 

"She made you do the chores in your underwear?" 

"How did you know??" The look on his face was priceless. 

"And... she made you wear her underwear to work?" 

"Bloody hell! Do all women think alike?!" 

"Apparently," she chuckled, "We'd get along well if she were around." 

"Oh yeah? So how many men have you meted out such punishments to?" 

"Not me. But it reminds me of the punishments Scott gives his boys. Once when Jake had got detention for shooting rubber bands at kids in the lunch room, the Principal called Scott; he instinctively asked "Well, did he hit anybody?", to which the principal quickly replied that it was irrelevant. Later that night, however, he set up a target in the kitchen, on the fridge, and Jake's punishment was that he had to spend an hour a night shooting rubber bands at that target. He explained to him that if he was going to get in trouble for something, he better at least be good at it!" 

For the next few seconds, both of them laughed hard. Luke was the first to find his breath back. "I was generally a good kid, but there were times when my mom would threaten to sell me to Russians if I misbehaved," he started laughing again, "I was barely five or six, had no clue what Russians were, but I was terrified of them!" 

Luke couldn't believe how easily, and unknowingly, the mood had changed. Cynthia was still hysterical with laughter, her face red and eyes watery, and she was trying to make herself stop by covering her mouth with her hands. Luke didn't remember the last time he had laughed so much with somebody. He and Diana would run a 24/7 circus on uneventful days. But after her, all laughter had stopped. 

I miss you, Di. But I know you're helping me reclaim my life. 

When Cynthia had finally stopped laughing, she found him rising to his feet. 

"Are you planning to leave?" she raised her eyebrows and stared up at him. 

"No, I was hoping you'd show me around the place," he said, and gave her a hand. "It's better to talk while taking a walk." 

She held his hand and pulled herself to her feet. Dusting her pants, she smiled. 

"I hope you aren't bored," she said as they walked down the hillock, "I'm not much of a talker." 

"Well, we've been talking since the last few hours," he looked down at her, "You're not doing too bad." 

"So tell me about your company," she sounded interested, "You said you run it with your brother." 

"Yes." Luke was only too happy to talk about business with a woman who understood what it was. "It's in the business coaching franchise. My second oldest brother Liam started it more than a decade ago, while I was in London Business School, getting, as you'd have guessed, an MBA. My brother has been in business management for years, and since he'd already weathered the corporate storms, he knows best how to help others get their business to the next level." 

"What did you specialise in?" she asked. They were strolling along the river bank side by side, the sunrays shining down up them, warming them. 

"Strategy and Entrepreneurship." 

"It's actually an LBS version of International Business, right?" 

He smiled at her, slightly amused by her knowledge. "You seem to have a good idea about business studies." 

She shrugged. "I like to read and know different things. I run a business, you see." 

"We mostly work with small to medium businesses, and first-time entrepreneurs. These are usually successful people who are stuck in certain areas of their business, like weak profits, sluggish sales, cash flow challenges, people problems, or working too many hours, unhealthy work-life balance. There are also common challenges like quality issues, service failures, lack of leadership depth, a poor company culture, and limited company value." 

"Does a business coach work like a life coach?" she queried. He nodded. 

"Somewhat. We provide a safe place that is a positive, supportive environment free from judgment or hidden agendas. There are no self-imposed limitations on what is possible. The client is free to speak openly and honestly knowing that anything discussed will be held in complete confidence." 

Cynthia paused suddenly and Luke stopped walking at the same time. There were questions on her face that she seemed hesitant to ask. 

"What?" he said, "What is it?" 

"Your tragedy must have taken a toll on the work you do," she said softly, "Since you coach and help other people..." 

"Yes," he nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets, "I'm glad there are others in the company who can take care of things. Otherwise, Liam would be in a soup." 

He laughed quietly at a sudden thought, making her shoot him a surprised glance. 

"You know what?" he shook his head, "I can't believe I'm talking business with a girl at a place like this." 

"Or are you surprised that a girl understands business jargon, huh?" she chuckled. 

"Yes, that too. Whenever a girl learns that I'm a business consultant, they seem eager to know. And then, once I start telling them what I just told you, they are like, 'Oh... ok." 

"I don't blame them. Not everybody understands business." 

"I agree. Although not all people need a degree in management to become successful entrepreneurs. Scott and you are two examples." 

"Scott helped me take off." She looked at him and smiled naughtily. "Someday I'll write a book on Scott's contribution to my life." 

They laughed. "I like you better when you come out of your shell," he said, reaching out to hold her hand for a brief moment. 

"Which is very rare," she sighed, "Meaning you don't like me most of the time?" 

She pouted and then laughed again. Unknown to them, they had covered a fairly large distance, and they now stood on the other side of the river. It was well past noon and the sun was fast disappearing behind a big chunk of grey cloud. Luke checked the time on his watch. 

"I think we should return," he said, looking at her for approval, "Scott and Carrie must be wondering about our whereabouts." 

"Yeah, we didn't inform them that we were coming here." She turned back and motioned him to follow. "I'm also hungry." 

"Me too. Where do we eat?" 

"Let's drop into Carrie's Thai Village. Their lunch menu is seriously great. Let's hurry. She remains open for half a day on Sundays." 

Both Scott and Carrie had one thing in common regarding their businesses- the charming ambience of their restaurants. Luke had dropped in twice at 8th Day and had been bowled over by both the food and the service, and his first time at Carrie's Thai restaurant left him with the same feeling, even before they had taken their seats. Lunch time on Sundays was a busy affair at all restaurants in town but Carrie still managed to find them a table in a far end of the restaurant, away from the crowd. Despite having ample number of waiters, Carrie herself came to take their orders. Luke ordered Gai Med Ma Moung or Chicken Cashew Nuts with jasmine rice and Cynthia added Tom Kha Gai in the end, saying it was the most refreshing soup in the world. 

Luke had always been chatty, and even though the tragedy had made him sombre and subdued for a long time, Velmont Town and the refreshing company of this lovely young woman was bringing out his true colours again. Although Cynthia seemed tired after the long day they'd had she encouraged him to talk about his family. He was more than happy to oblige. He mesmerised her with stories from his lovely childhood, awed her with their humble beginnings with a small restaurant that his parents still ran, made her laugh with anecdotes from his school days, especially his fear of the strict nuns, and amused her with sweet memories of the girls' school that had been a major attraction for the boys. He also told her about his nephews and nieces, their antics, and his love for them. Once the plates and bowls had emptied, Cynthia insisted on paying the bill and went ahead despite protests from him and Carrie, who had thought it was on the house. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 04



Later, they also spent some time at a small coffee shop, watching the sun go down behind the mountain in the distance over a hot cuppa. It was an entirely different experience for Luke who worked out of a swank office but craved the warm comfort of his parents' farmhouse where he could play with the dogs and ride the horses. At some point, the thought of staying back in Velmont Town had also crossed his mind. But no one would need a business consultant here. 

While he drove Cynthia home, she remained quiet, gazing outside at the evening sky and trying her best to keep her eyes open. It had been a hard day for her. Although he was aware that she had shared only a part of her story with him, he still felt honoured that she had found him worthy enough to know her past. He wouldn't press, wouldn't ask anything more. But he'd definitely make sure she wasn't alone when she visited Birmingham. 

*** 

"Thank you," Luke said as we stopped in front of my house. "I had a great time today." 

"Me too," I smiled, "There are many more interesting place here. I will take you to all of them." 

"Have you ever considered being a tour guide?" he asked as I took off my seat belt. I laughed, leaning closer to him. 

"Now that you say, I might give it a thought," I said cheekily, "But I prefer handsome guys to a crowd of tourists." 

I kissed his cheek and thought it still smelled a little of aftershave. "Goodnight," I smiled, "Have a fun dinner." 

"You have fun... err... in bed," he winked at me. I got off the car with a laugh and walked up to the front gate of my house. Once I had waved at him from inside, he turned on the combustion again and backed out, waving at me. I stood there and watched the car as far as possible. I had kissed him. Was it too bold of me? Was it imprudent? Never mind, I told myself. At least his cheeks were as smooth as I'd thought they'd be. 

It had been a long day for me. I still didn't know why I had shared all that with Luke. Maybe because he too had experienced the loss of someone close and knew the feeling. Or maybe because he was so easy to talk to. No pretentious air, no attempts to impress. Just his usual cool and friendly demeanour. I knew it was usual because Scott and Carrie had confirmed it. 

Scott was the only other person I had told everything all those years ago. Since then it'd been a closed chapter. Julie's wedding had messed it all up again. 

Unable to resist the tug at my heartstrings, I went up to the wardrobe and fished out a printed cloth bag, which contained, among other things, a diary- my only connection with my past. My heart pounded and fingers trembled as I opened it and turned the pages, feeling strange how one event could change the course of a person's life. What was I doing there anyway? Wasn't I supposed to be climbing the corporate ladder, going places, basking in the glory of being a name to reckon with? 

A tear rolled down my cheek and landed on an open page. I looked at the words, scribbled by my own hands. 

The Crossword Bookstore, Friday, 23rd March, 2012. 

A day I wished had never happened. 

(to be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 05



Dear readers, thank you again for the amazing feedback to this series. I've received a lot of comments and messages regarding how pushy and annoying Carrie is. Honestly, I feel the same way! We all know someone or the other who's pushy and irritating and a pain in certain parts of the anatomy, no matter how good their intentions are. Well, that's Carrie. 

Do keep the feedback coming in. I look forward to your support. Love, LG :) 

P.S: I made a slight error in the last chapter. It should've been 2011 and not as mentioned. Apologies. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Four years ago 

The day marked two dreams come true for me. One was winning a pass to a Jeffrey Archer book reading and signing session, which I had been looking forward to since a week. Not only was the author a master storyteller but he was still so handsome at his age. As I sat at the biggest bookstore in the city with about fifty other winners, I could feel sweat beginning underneath my skirt suit, despite the air conditioning. Must be the excitement. 

The other was landing a prestigious paid internship opportunity at a leading IT company of the country. After a campus interview that morning, the three board members had shaken my hand and congratulated me on being selected. I had known I'd be selected but that it would be so easy was beyond my imagination. 

It was too much excitement for a 20-year-old. No wonder, I had forgotten to inform my mother. 

The table for two where I was seated still had only me. I was right in front of the dais and felt all the more nervous sitting up there alone. Most of the other tables were filled up so I supposed my table too would soon have its other occupant. 

Taking the opportunity, I discreetly fished out my phone from my skirt pocket and typed out a message. 

Interview successful. Selected. Joining tomorrow. 

I hit 'send' and kept the phone on the table. I had barely lifted my eyes when I saw the phone blinking and mom's number flashing on the screen. I knew mom would be excited. Very excited and happy. But I couldn't talk there. So I sent another message. 

At the book signing. Talk later, ok? 

Like the considerate mother that she was, she replied with: So proud of you, honey. Will make roast duck tonight. Love you. 

The mention of roast duck had just begun to distract me when Lord Archer appeared on the dais amid loud applause. 

Oh my... 

I hoped I'd last till the Q&A session. I had always dreamed of talking to the witty British author; this was my chance. 

For the next thirty minutes, the author regaled the audience with anecdotes from his life, writing habits and superstitions, and his new book. Though it had only released last week, I had already completed reading it. The copy sat firmly on the table before me, waiting to get autographed. People laughed and clapped at the witticisms while some also jotted down the questions they'd ask him after the reading. I didn't have to think so much, for I had already prepared my question from home. But when my hand was the first to go up during the Q&A session, I still felt nervous, especially with all eyes on me. 

"Good evening, Sir," I began, as if talking to my college professor, "This is Cynthia from the Birmingham Business School." 

"Hello, Cynthia," the author acknowledged me, and it sent me further into tizzy. My palm around the microphone was turning sweaty. I hoped the question would come out right. 

"My question isn't directly related to the book," I said, "I would like to know how much of your own life and experiences do you incorporate in your books and do you know how the story will end when you're writing it?" 

I knew Archer was born in London in April 1940, so the period in the novel coincided with his childhood. The story took place in Manhattan and London, as well as some of the war zones of Europe. 

"Well, you're bound to remember things that happened when you were a young person," he said, "and to take advantage of the fact that you have experienced things, that for other people are simply history and have to be read about. To answer your second question, I must admit I do not know how a novel will end when I start writing it. The last one had a cliffhanger ending; this one has an even bigger cliffhanger ending and it didn't come to me until the last couple of days of writing." 

Claps all around. When I finally shook off the excitement and became normal again, I saw the man sharing my table staring at me. I didn't even realise when he had arrived. Why was he staring at me? Did he look familiar? I tried to recall having seen him before but failed. Perhaps my question was really good. 

The time of my life didn't end there. When my turn came to get my copy signed, I got another chance to speak to the author, and I felt all goose-pimply. I had so much to tell mom that night. I was putting the book in my bag and heading for the exit when a voice called me from behind. I turned around and saw Dr Fischer striding up to me. 

"Hi, I didn't know you were here," I smiled, when he was close enough. Dr Samuel Fischer was a very new Assistant Professor of Marketing in our college. Over the last month, ever since he landed on campus, we'd met a lot of times at the college library. He was a great person to talk to. Knowledgeable, gentle, friendly. 

"I was late and had to accommodate myself at the back," he laughed, slightly embarrassed. Dr Fischer was an avid reader of thrillers. Jeffrey Archer often cropped up in our conversations, which were mostly centred on books. Dr Fischer was pretty ordinary in appearance; he was a big man, a little on the plumper side, but very smart, nevertheless. 

"Your question was great," he said, stepping aside to let people exit, "I was impressed." 

"Thank you," I replied shyly, feeling his gaze measuring me. I normally didn't wear skirt suits. But during my earlier internships, I had realised that wearing skirts was more comfortable to me than trousers. I'd also have to ditch my jeans and tunics to get in tune with the corporate culture. 

"And, congratulations. I heard you were selected this morning." He extended his hand. "It must be a great feeling." 

"It is." I shook his hand and he held on to it for longer than he should have. When I drew it away, he smiled again. 

"Umm... do you want to grab a coffee?" he asked. I didn't look at Dr Fischer as my professor, because he wasn't. He taught marketing; I was in international business. Yet, he taught at the same college that I attended. It called for boundaries. 

"No, I mean, it's been a long day and I'm tired," I said honestly, "I want to go home." 

"I understand. Can I drop you home then?" 

Boundaries. 

"That won't be necessary, Dr Fischer. I can take a cab." 

"You're hesitating." He looked around before starting to walk. I started to walk at the same time. "Outside campus, we're two normal individuals," he told me, as we left the bookstore and stepped into the breezy evening. "I'm not your professor, anyway, because I don't take your classes." 

He stopped and looked straight into my eyes. "And please, call me Sam." 

I reappraised the man. Black checked shirt. Tan trousers and necktie. The coat was also black. His hair was fluffy, like a cabbage. And his eyes were big and puffy. He also had fat lips, like a duck. 

Roast duck. My stomach growled when the thought came to me. I could almost smell the heavenly aroma cloaking the house at that moment. 

"Alright," I conceded with a smile, "But just this once, okay?" 

"Okay." Even though he agreed, there was something in his smile that made me feel he had other ideas. Even though he was a dry, sarcastic person, I liked him because he knew so much. It was hard to find business people reading both fiction and non-fiction, or keeping abreast of world literature, or playing chess. As someone who did little outside reading, writing, and gardening, I found many common grounds with him. 

As we walked towards the parking, we lazily chatted about my interview that morning. I was supposed to join the next day and talking to him seemed a good way of relieving some of the nervousness that was building up. In my three years, I had done two other internships, but none of them were with such a well-known investment banking company. The pressure would be higher, but so would the rewards. 

"You will excel," he said, holding the passenger side of the car open for me. Then he got around to the other side and got in. "That, I'm blindly sure of." 

"How do you know?" I asked, "I'm not your student." 

"You don't realise you're quite reputed in college, do you?" he smiled, as we drove through the busy evening traffic, "I don't need to take your classes in order to know your merit." 

"Well, I prefer to be modest," I shrugged. "Just like you." 

"What do you mean?" he gave me a side-long glance. 

"You never said you're among the world's top 100 chess players," I quipped. 

"Uh-huh. And how did you know?" 

My cheeky smile disappeared and I was sure I looked like a puppy that just had made a mess on the carpet and was very sorry. He was indeed a great player, although amateur. I also knew he was 37, but he looked 40. 

"Umm... I... actually..." the words just wouldn't come out. 

"You've been looking me up, huh?" he laughed quietly, and I felt myself shrinking. I hated being caught. 

"Yes, I am one of the top 100 but I figure somewhere at the very bottom." When he looked at me again, I shrank a little more. "There are far greater players in the world. I don't even come close." 

"But according to the report that I read—" I held myself just in time, but there was no escaping him. I closed my eyes and shook my head, mentally scolding myself. What was I getting into? 

"What report?" he asked. While I was Googling him a few weeks back, it had made me think that he was a private man. Other than his professional achievements and the number of chess titles he had to his name, there wasn't much about him online. And there was nothing at all about his personal life, something I had been hoping to find. For a moment, I feared he wouldn't like the fact that I had been looking him up. 

"Nothing," I tried to change the subject. "The right turn coming up." 

"You take this road to home?" he sounded surprised. 

"Yes." 

"So do I." 

Oh no. 

"So that will give you more opportunities to drop me home, is that so?" It was my turn to catch him off-guard. 

"I wouldn't mind." He looked at me, and for a fleeting moment, I thought his eyes ran down my bare legs. I knew full well what it did to a man to unexpectedly see a girl- whom he had always seen in modest clothing- in a knee-length, form-fitting pencil skirt. But what surprised me was my reaction to his gaze. I thought I was blushing because my cheeks suddenly burned. 

Why on earth did that happen?! 

"I kind of like you." Sam's voice broke into my thoughts. When I looked at him, he smiled. "You are more mature than most of your batch mates." 

"What makes you say that?" 

"Didn't you win the essay competition this year? The business innovations you wrote about are sure winners, if any organisation applies them." He glanced at me again. "That shows your insight at this age." 

"I merely tried," I sounded flattered, "I'm passionate about my field of work." 

"I can see that. So beginning tomorrow, we want to see you bringing something new to work every day. And I want to hear all about it." 

"Oh, you sure will. We're marked on internships, so the school will also know what we're doing." 

"No, I want to hear it from you." When our eyes met for a brief moment, I felt my heart beating a little faster. "Your enthusiasm is infectious," he added, "And I like your company." 

"I have a little more than six months left here," I said, "And with me interning, I'm not sure how much we'll meet." 

"You're not interested in doing your Masters?" 

"I am. But after some years. I want to work now." 

"Well, if you ever plan to do an Executive MBA from London Business School, I could be taking your classes." He slowed as he took a left turn, and then stepped on the accelerator again. "I'm part of the visiting faculty there." 

"I think I like you better as this," I smiled softly. 

"As what?" 

"As a..." I hesitated. "A friend." 

"You think I'm a friend?" Something in his tone caught my attention. Was it the wrong thing to say? 

"You said you're not my professor," I tried to rephrase my words, "So what then?" 

He laughed, shaking his head. He obviously enjoyed making me nervous. He'd been doing that right from the first day when I almost dropped two large hardbacks on his feet at the library. But I seemed to like that trait about him. He gave me butterflies with the way he walked and talked. There were hordes of professors at the School but none had caught my fancy so far. Not before Dr Samuel Fischer. 

"I like you as a friend too," he finally said, "But it must be great to teach you." 

"Ask Prof. Manners," I chuckled, "He is quite fond of me." 

I looked out of the window. "Near that black gate, please." 

"That's your house?" he slowed down and then killed the engine. 

"Yes." I put my bag on my shoulder. "Thank you for this. You needn't have taken the trouble." 

"Oh, it's okay. I live a few lanes down. It's so close by." 

An awkward silence prevailed for a minute. Then he spoke up. "All the best for tomorrow," he said, angling himself towards me. "You will shine." 

"Thanks," I smiled, lowering my gaze. "I'll meet you sometime in college." 

"Sure. Goodnight." 

"Goodnight." 

As I got off and reached out to open the front gate, I heard him driving out. When I looked back, he gave me a wave and drove into the night. 

The house smelled high to heaven of roast duck when I entered the spacious living room. My mouth watered as I stopped to take in the aroma and lick my lips. My mother never failed to stun me. After spending every day at work, she returned home to head straight to the kitchen to make a sumptuous dinner. She never approved of junk food or readymade meals, both of which I often resorted to while reading in the coffee shops or staying alone when mom would be away for a few days. Mom's menu varied every day. If Monday we had steak, then Tuesday she'd make spicy beef curry, and chicken salad on Wednesday. On all seven days, dinner remained a surprise to me until I returned home. I wasn't a big eater but mom's cooking seemed like magic to me. 

"Honey! You're back." She came out of the kitchen on hearing me enter the room, and enfolded me in a loving hug. "First off, congratulations. I'm so happy!" 

Her eyes gleamed like those of an excited teenager as she cupped my face and planted a kiss on my forehead. "Second, how was the signing? Did you get to ask your question?" 

"Oh yes." I took out the book from my bag and handed it to her. "You wouldn't believe, I was the first to ask. All eyes were on me." 

I walked up to the sofa and crashed into it, unbuttoning my coat and freeing my hair from the French roll it had been tied in. "It's a dream come true for me." 

"This is wonderful," my mom closed the book and gave me a delighted grin. "You've made me so proud." 

I smiled in acknowledgement. Mom had always been supportive of me, be it something serious like career decisions or something child-like, such as meeting my favourite author. She always shared my happiness and excitement. 

"Come on, get fresh," she told me, keeping the signed copy of the book beside me on the sofa. "Dinner's ready. Oh, and I informed Julie about your internship." 

"You did?" I was surprised. "What did she say?" 

"She was busy, so she couldn't really talk." Mom had gone back into the kitchen and her voice mingled with the sound of crockery and silverware. "She said she'll drop in sometime." 

Julie was my elder sister who had left the nest a few years ago when she got a job at a call centre. It wasn't her first job though. Having hated college, she dropped out of final year and kept changing one job after another. She had worked everywhere, from pizza parlours to shopping malls. She was now working at a salon, where she washed, dried, and coloured hair. 

"I'll be right back after a shower," I said, as I grabbed my bag and book and headed for the staircase leading to the bedrooms. 

When I returned to the dining room adjoining the kitchen after freshening up and changing into my favourite pair of shorts and t-shirt, I found mom had laid the table. 

"So tell me about today," she said, placing the plate of roast duck in the middle of the table, "How was the winning moment?" 

"Surreal," I answered, sitting down on an upholstered chair, "I couldn't believe I made it." 

"You were always confident." Mom joined me at the table and folded her hands in prayer, asking me to do the same with a tilt of her head. I obeyed, even though I didn't quite believe in religion. My entire family was Catholic, and I had to attend church at least two Sundays every month. They could be really rigid when it came to matters of faith. 

"When do you join tomorrow?" she asked, once prayer was done and I had got down to cutting the stuffed duck. Roast duck was my favourite, but the stuffing was the part I really loved. 

"At eleven in the morning," I said, pouring some apple sauce on to my plate. "Classes are light now, since we are nearing the end of the course, so it's going to be easy." 

"And what's your work exactly?" 

"I'm in the Business Development sector. I may have to be involved in everything from the development of products and services, to the creation of marketing strategies, to the generation of sales leads, to negotiating and closing deals. It's a five month internship, so I may have to work with everything. The idea is to familiarise a novice with how an organisation works." 

"I'm sure you'll do great." She reached out and lightly tapped my arm. "I can't explain how proud I feel today." 

"Uh-huh. You mean you've never been proud of me before this?" 

"Cyn!" she rolled her eyes, laughing. "I wish Julie would learn something from you. I worry about her future sometimes." 

"Oh, don't worry," I said casually, "She's squeezed a rich guy. Once she marries him, she wouldn't have to worry about working anymore." I licked some sauce from my spoon. "Not everybody's that lucky." 

"That's not the sole purpose of life," mom's voice sounded annoyed, "I didn't bring you girls up so that you marry some rich guy and spend the rest of your life doing nothing. You need to have an identity of your own. I married a rich guy. See what happened to me." 

There was a short silence between us. Mom had always tried to be a good mother, especially since we didn't have a dad. But she always felt that she'd been a failure with Julie. She had wanted us to be strong, independent women who wouldn't need to depend on a man. And she was glad that so far, I was heading in the right direction. 

"It's okay, mum," I said, "If this is how she wants to live her life, then let it be. No two people are the same, right?" 

"I know," she gave me some more of the duck and took some on her plate. "Anyway, do you know if this internship can lead to job?" 

"I'm not sure. But their London branch will start hiring later this year. There could be a chance." 

"London would be great. Except that you don't know how to cook." 

I understood what she was hinting at. I rose from my chair and put my arms around her. "If you don't want me to leave, I can take up a job here," I said, "I don't want to leave you alone." 

"It's going to be fine, sweetheart," she smiled up at me. "I'm not alone." 

"That's because you have me." 




Will Be Yours Ch. 05



"I'll always have you. No matter how far you are, you still remain my daughter." 

She softly squeezed my hands. "I'll sure miss you, though. A lot." 

"We don't know anything yet, so relax." I returned to my chair and finished up the meal. 

"NJ had called today," mom said, "She's moving to Birmingham in a few months." 

NJ, or Norma-Jean, was a first cousin of mine, whom I hadn't seen in ten years. I vaguely remembered what she looked like from a few pictures my mom had shown of her. For some unknown reason, mom liked her a lot, not because she was her sister's daughter, but because she found her headstrong and feisty. 

"Really? But why? She never liked this city." 

"Her husband has been transferred here. He has arrived. But since their kid attends school there, it'll take some time before they can make the move." 

"I see." I'd never been interested in my siblings or relatives, so it didn't matter to me. 

"You want some chocolate cake?" she asked me once my plate was empty of all the duck, stuffing and sauce. I burped softly and tapped my tummy. 

"I think I'm full," I said. I really was after the way I had orgasmed on the roast. "But since you ask, I might have a bite." 

"That's like my good girl." Mom happily collected the plates and went back to the kitchen. Moments later, she returned with two small plates with some tempting chocolate cake. Mom and I often chatted over dessert or coffee after dinner. I liked to hear about her work and she always wanted to know how life was for me. Mom was a cross between a friend and a mentor, but since I was the younger one, she was more affectionate towards me. 

When I went to my room that night with a belly full of food, the first thing I did was share the wonderful news with Scott. I had met him about two years ago, at a Rotaract Club meet here, and had eventually become friends. A retired Army man, he now ran a cafe at Velmont Town, a small hill station a few hours' drive from here. Scott was my closest friend and confidant in a sense. Despite being married with two naughty sons, he gave his friends all the attention that he possibly could. You need advice? Help? A drive at 3 a.m.? Count on Scott to come to your rescue. He was that kind of a man. A special man. 

"Hey, sweetypie," his cheerful voice sounded on the other end, "How was the interview?" 

He hadn't forgotten. He never forgot anything. 

"I am selected," I squealed softly, "I join tomorrow." 

"Wow! Congratulations!" 

"Thank you! Are you still at the cafe?" 

"No, I've been home all day. Carrie hurt herself." 

"What happened?" I was worried now. Carrie was Scott's wife of fourteen years and the mother to his boys, who also happened to run the most popular Thai restaurant in Velmont Town. 

"Oh, nothing much. She injured the index and middle fingers of her left hand making tomato paste. Needed twenty stitches to fix them." 

Twenty stitches? And it was nothing much? 

"That's... terrible." I didn't know how else to put it. "Is she okay now?" 

"Yes. She just can't use her left hand for some time now." 

"I wish I could come to see her," I rued. 

"You can come to see all of us sometime later," I could sense his smile. "As of now, you need to decide what you're going to wear tomorrow." He paused, and from the sounds, I figured he was cooking dinner. "How about the short blue skirt you were wearing in the photo you sent me last week?" 

"Scott!" I glared, even though he couldn't see. Scott broke into his full-bodied laughter, his deep voice resonating in my ears, down to my soul. He could joke about everything. Perhaps, being in the Army had taught him how to face any situation calmly. 

"You're sexy when you glare and smile at the same time," he said, "I'm sure the people at your new workplace are going to have a tough time keeping their heads straight with you around." 

"Geez, am I that troublesome?" I pouted a little, slipping in between the covers. 

"You're a firebrand." 

"No, I'm the good girl. I can do nothing wrong." 

"Oh no, you can't. No wonder your mom and the rest of your family love you so much." 

"I don't care much about the rest of my family. But my mom's support means the world to me. She's taken great pains to raise us." 

"I know. And I think you've pulled out all stops to make her proud." 

"I just hope I can keep up at it." I sighed, turning to my side. "I'd hate to fail." 

"You won't." I could almost hear him smile down the line. "All the best, baby." 

"Yeah, I need it. Because I feel my life is going to change in the next few months." 

-- 

The next day was busy, so were the following days at work. I interned till afternoon, then wrote the day's project report, and went to college to submit it. I discovered on the first day that I was the only intern at the company that year. Back in the School, I had heard a lot about how picky they were, but it still baffled me to think they chose me out of all other candidates. 

For the first few days, I was handed the task of cold-calling or prospecting for potential clients, members, or partners. From my knowledge and my earlier experience at work, I was aware that this job often came to entry-level biz dev employees or interns. Since I had already worked with marketing companies earlier, my sales pitch seemed convincing to the organisation and they put me in charge of convincing other companies that a partnership would add value to their business. 

However, very soon, I was put in the team for a new product development. Cold-calling had been easy and I had also managed to initiate a couple of deals. But I didn't really have any product development experience besides a few projects in class. The organisation found my skills too good to be used for prospecting and wanted to make better use of me. In the next few days, I found myself providing creative inputs and suggestions that were readily lapped up by the team. The more promise I showed, the tougher roles I was given. 

More than three weeks since the start of my internship, I got four days off to complete a project. In the meantime, I managed to squeeze in a few extra classes and a seminar on Business Communication. For some peculiar reason, I liked to attend the seminars held at the School and outside, unlike some others who looked for excuses to skip them. The announcement on the notice board let me know that the seminar on Business Communication was being conducted by Samuel Fischer and was titled 'Business Communication and the Key to Positive Relationships'. 

The fact that Sam would be delivering an hour-long seminar and then interacting with the students for the next hour made it an irresistible offer for me. Sam was by far the youngest teacher in the School and had many female students crushing on him for being so mentally stimulating. These business management girls preferred men who they could talk to over the all-brawn-no-brain types. Despite Sam's ordinariness, he took no time to become popular among students, as much for his fantastic grasp over his subject as for his brilliant camaraderie with students. 

Sharp at four on a Thursday, I walked into our conference hall that was a huge, state-of-the-art room for lectures, seminars, conferences and screenings. I made myself comfortable on the second row on the right and searched for a friend or classmate in the crowd. No one. There were familiar faces, some of whom smiled and waved at me, but no one I could actually start a conversation with. I anyway had very few friends. Besides two or three friends with whom I stayed over at their dorms to work on class projects, Scott was my only other friend. Business school was for networking and professional relationships. Hardly anybody cared about friendships here. 

Ironically, I was there to hear a lecture on building positive relationships at the workplace. Sam as usual was dapper in a black suit minus a necktie. Hands clasped in front of him, he walked up the stage and took the podium, as I fetched the leather folder from my bag where I took down notes. 

I was soon to realize that it was unnecessary. Sam had the audience enthralled from the first word, to the extent that most people didn't even get a chance to take their eyes off the stage and write something. I was one of them. It was the first time I had attended any of his lectures or seminars, and I found myself wondering why he hadn't come to our college earlier. He was a brilliant speaker- witty, intelligent, charming, knowledgeable. He didn't hold a PhD in Management Science for nothing. He absolutely deserved it. If one minute he had the audience in splits with his funny workplace anecdotes, then the next minute he'd stimulate our grey cells with challenging questions that nobody had an answer to. Although he'd been a teacher almost all his working life so far, he had sound knowledge about the workplace culture. At the end of the first hour, I looked down to find I hadn't even opened the folder. 

The Q&A session was even more interesting. Interesting and uncomfortable. For me. Because his eyes scanned the audience time and again, and they stopped on me much more than they should have. Sam and I had met several times in the last few weeks, on the campus, at the press, or at the library. I had noticed that despite having a Mac, he preferred to get information from books. I had also often seen him noting down things in his notebooks. But whenever we had met, our conversations had always been restricted to professional talk. Work, studies, future career goals. We also talked about books. When I once happened to mention that I liked Ayn Rand's style of writing, he went on to speak three whole paragraphs on how and why he didn't quite relate to her theory of objectivism. But amidst all that professionalism, his fondness towards me was apparent. I was aware of my prettiness and of my personality, that had often attracted men into my life and unknowingly made way for relationships. I wasn't ready for a relationship in the next few years since it was a crucial time for my career. But with Sam around, I felt my hormones playing merry hell with my senses. 

And it wasn't the best thing when sitting at a seminar in a room full of people. It didn't help when he unbuttoned his coat or walked about on stage in those tailored trousers. He wasn't conventionally sexy or good-looking. But there was something about him that distracted me. 

"Yes, Ms Adamson?" 

His voice echoed in the hall, jolting me back to reality. I realized that I had been staring at his face the whole time. And he had decided to go ahead and make me more nervous. 

"Umm... yes?" I muttered like an idiot. Now the whole room was staring at me. 

"Any question?" he smiled at me. I removed my gaze from him and looked down at my folder. "No..." I stammered a little, "Nothing." 

"Well, then, I'll take the last question for today..." 

To my relief he returned his attention to the audience and for the next few minutes I pretended to remain very busy writing. He obviously loved making me nervous. One of my boyfriends had even told me that I was cute when nervous. 

What a nice thing to say to a girl! 

Sam, I felt, echoed that sentiment. As the seminar came to a close and the people started shuffling out, I used the people in front of me as buffer and tried to exit the hall without having to bump into my object of distraction. But luck seemed to be on his side. Inches away from the door, I collided with someone and dropped the folder on the floor. It opened and had the papers scattered all around. To add to the horror, my bun came undone as I kneeled on the floor to pick up the pages. I was struggling to collect the pages before anyone stepped on them while trying to keep my hair out of my face when a pair of black formal shoes stopped in front of me. I lifted up my eyes to find Sam grabbing several pages at once with his big hands and placing them in the folder. 

"You looked like you wanted to ask something," he said, neatly arranging the papers in the folder. We weren't looking at each other. "Why didn't you?" 

Because I was distracted. "I didn't have anything to ask," I said, taking the folder from him. "Thank you." 

I rose to my feet and proceeded to tuck the folder in my bag. Behind me, Sam had also risen. 

"Are you okay?" He gently asked. 

"Yes." 

"You seem upset." 

No, just distracted. "I'm fine, Dr Fischer." 

I turned to face him. Our eyes met. And it just made my legs weaker. He gazed at my open hair. Not many people on campus saw me in untied hair normally. He had just become one of the lucky few. 

"Are you sure?" He asked, coming forward, hands firmly shoved in his pockets. 

"Yes." I gulped, lowering my gaze. 

"I'm not so sure." 

"What do you mean?" 

He brought his hands out of the pockets and crossed his arms against his chest. "Well, I thought we'd agreed you'll call me Sam." 

"You called me Ms Adamson," I shrugged. 

"I was addressing a seminar," he explained. 

"And we're still on campus. So it's fair." 

He finally laughed, shaking his head. His teeth were even and bleached. Or so they seemed. I liked the way his hair bounced when he shook his head. 

"I think I should leave," I said, rolling my hair up again. "It was a great seminar, by the way. I enjoyed it." 

"I enjoyed delivering it as well." He held the door open for me and I walked past him outside. I had never noticed his perfume but that day I did. It smelled manly. 

"Cynthia." He called out and I stopped. He approached me, looked around, and pulled me to an isolated corner. "I wanted to ask something," he said. "Are you free tomorrow?" 

"Yes, I'm off from work till Sunday." 

"Would you like to have coffee with me tomorrow?" 

He asked it so coolly it gave the impression we'd been friends for a long time. 

"Dr Fischer—" I began. 

"Sam." He corrected me. 

"We shouldn't be doing this," I said earnestly, "You're a professor here." 

"You said we're friends?" he crossed his arms again. 

"But not coffee buddies," I shook my head. "There should be boundaries." 

"What are you afraid of?" he asked. I lifted my gaze to find him staring at me. Exactly. What was I afraid of? In another six months, I wouldn't be a student anymore. What was the harm in having coffee with him once? Was I conscious about the fact that he could be my professor, even though he wasn't? Or was I afraid that he'd reciprocate my feelings? 

"Sam..." I felt my voice trembling as he came closer to me. I looked up at him, his big broad physique towering over me. I had grown up without the presence of a father figure in my life. Sam was older, gentle, wise. Having him in my life would be a dream. But would he feel the same way about me? 

I needn't have worried. Because when he smiled, it seemed to have all the answers to my questions. 

"Tomorrow at four," he said slowly, as though he was making a five-year-old understand. "Do you know Coffee Time?" 

I nodded. "I often go there." I said. 

"Coffee Time it is then," he announced, "Do you want me to pick you up?" 

"No." I looked away and closed my eyes for a brief moment. "I'll be there by four." 

"Listen," he gently held me by my arms, "Don't be afraid, okay? We're not world famous celebrities. No one's going to know. I promise." 

"I'm not afraid," I mumbled, still avoiding his gaze. I felt his hands leave my arms. And then he had one finger under my chin, turning my face towards his. 

"Give me a smile," he said, "I want to be sure I'm not making you do something you don't want to do." 

"You're not." I finally allowed a smile. "I'll be there tomorrow." 

"Good." He put his hand in his pocket and came up with a business card. "Keep this," he gave the card to me. "Call me if you need anything, okay?" 

I nodded, even though I wasn't sure what I'd need to call him for. 

"I'll see you tomorrow at four." He patted my arm and walked past me. I was still looking at the card in my hand when his voice came again. 

"Cynthia?" 

"Yes?" I turned around. 

"I love your hair." 

And with that, he had walked off, leaving me to almost hyperventilate. I sagged against the wall, holding the business card against my chest, eyes closed, pulse racing. Tomorrow at four, I was meeting Dr Fischer. No. Sam. I only hoped the excitement wouldn't kill me by then. 

-- 

I looked at my watch again. Three fifty five. I had been too nervous to remain home any longer, so I'd dressed early and left for the coffee shop. Sam wasn't here yet. Of course it wasn't four yet either. But I couldn't help the little fear bubbling inside me. What if he didn't turn up? 

I looked down at the book I was reading to while away time. The waiter had come for my orders but he went away when I told I was waiting for someone. I wasn't in the mood to eat either. The nervousness in the pit of my stomach was too much already. 

"Hi." I felt a soft touch on my back and lifted my head to find Sam sitting down at on the chair next to mine. "I see you've got your nose deep into a book here as well." 

"I was just passing the time." I felt a little embarrassed. I did read a lot. But I loved to. 

"I was kidding," he laughed a little, rolling up his shirt sleeves to reveal hairy forearms. His fingers too were pretty hairy. He was wearing a casual white and black nautical striped shirt and blue denims. It was the first time I had seen him in something other than a suit. And he looked very smart as always. 

"Do you want me to place our orders?" I asked, putting the book inside my bag. "I was waiting for you." 

"Sure. Go ahead," he smiled, "What do you prefer?" 

Something in his smile caught my attention. He seemed... distracted. On all the days that I had met him, his smile had been heartfelt. But that evening, I found the silences longer and he often sank into thoughts. I knew it wasn't me. Something was bothering him. Although it was none of my business, I still felt compelled to know if everything was alright with him. 

"I'd like a choco latte." I said. "What about you?" 

"I'll have an espresso." 

I called the waiter and placed our orders and from the corner of my eyes, I saw him lost in contemplation. Was it something at the School? 

"Are you okay?" I finally asked, unable to hold back anymore. "You seem lost." 

"I'm sorry," he looked apologetic. "It's nothing. I just have a few things on my mind, that's all." 

"You can tell me, you know that, right?" I touched his arm. "We're friends." 

"You wouldn't understand. You're too young." 

"You had said I'm more mature than others," I countered. He laughed again, but it wasn't his usual happy laugh. He was definitely subdued. 

"Let's not spoil the evening, alright?" he told me, as our coffees arrived. 

"I'll understand," I said, "Tell me what's wrong. We're here to talk." 

"Cynthia-" 

"Sam. Please." 

I liked him. I'd feel great if I could hear him out. Sam paused for a few minutes, during which he fiddled with his coffee mug and I stared at his face. I had a feeling that anything that he'd tell me after that silence would change our equation forever. 

"I had a fight with my wife a couple of hours ago," he said softly, still rolling the mug. Then he looked at me and gave a rueful smile. "It's nothing new, though. We fight all the time." 

The mention of a wife made me draw my hand away from his arm. I looked down at my chest to find the hot knife that I felt I'd just been stabbed with. I hadn't expected him to be married. I was under the impression that he'd been too busy with his research and teaching to get married and my hopes had been strengthened by the absence of a ring. That's what had made me say yes to the coffee in the first place. 

"She doesn't live here at the moment," he continued, "Sometimes we don't even talk for days. But when we talk, we end up fighting." 




Will Be Yours Ch. 05



"Every couple fights," I said, pushing my spectacles up my nose. I couldn't back out of the conversation. You asked for it, remember? 

"Yes," he sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. "But that's all we do." 

"You don't look like someone who fights," I observed. He was a quiet person who loved to read and work. I wondered how he looked when he was angry. Did he shout? Did he slam doors or break things? 

"She thinks- and she's pretty vocal about it- that I don't give her enough time," he said sadly, "I spent a hell lot of time finishing my education. She always found it a waste of time. She thinks I'm doing nothing worthwhile as a professor." 

"She doesn't like a teaching job?" 

"She wanted something more... lucrative." He leaned back in the chair. "I could've got a consultancy or investment banking job right after my post-graduation. But I love to teach. That's what I always wanted to do. Well, at least since I was 13 or 14." 

"And before that?" I smiled a little. 

"I wanted to paint posters on the street," he laughed softly. "I'm glad I allowed my parents to talk me out of it." 

He looked at me and laughed again, this time louder. I smiled, finally taking a swig of my coffee. 

"How long have you been married?" I forced myself to ask. It didn't hurt all that much anymore. Okay, he was married. What was wrong with that? 

"Seven years," he leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table. "I wouldn't have married that young, but I didn't want my wife to think that I wasn't serious about the relationship." 

"So you married her because she wanted it?" I raised the coffee mug to my lips. Sam looked uncomfortable for a slight second and I knew I had hit the nail on the head. 

"Sort of." He avoided my gaze as he took another long sip of the drink. "I was completing my PhD that year and it would be a few more months before I could land a job. We lived solely off her earnings during that time." 

"She didn't like that?" 

"No. She'd thought it would be easy. But it wasn't. I mean, I understand what it is like when you're running the family and your husband has his head buried in books. She never liked it. She always found it pointless to keep studying when you can be making money." 

"But she knew that before she married you, right?" 

"Yeah." He sighed, looking pensive for a few seconds. "I guess I'm easy to bully. Any other man would have left her by now." 

"So can you." 

"No, I can't." 

"Why not?" 

He breathed, looked up, and met my eyes. "Because I'll lose my son if I leave her," he said. "And I cannot bear that." 

It hurt again. He had a kid? Which made him a very married man irrespective of the love-hate relationship he claimed to share with his wife. I now realised why he hadn't wanted to talk about this. It would affect me. And it had. 

I was on a date with a married man, who also happened to be a professor at my college. Alright, it wasn't technically a date. But then, what was it? 

"I know what you're thinking," he smiled at me. I tucked my hair behind my ear and shook my head. 

"No, that's not what I'm thinking," I lied. "I'm just sorry you don't have a happy marriage." I licked chocolate from the edge of the mug. "Not many people do these days." 

"Oh, I know. Marriage is such a gamble. In my case, I know part of the answer lies in that I'm a passive person, and also tend to be a people pleaser, so I don't always put my own thoughts and feelings ahead of others. I don't ask the difficult questions. I avoid conflict. I just go with the flow, coast along, thinking I'm an easy going guy. I didn't think deeper about what exactly I was doing, and am now paying for it. I know it's my fault for not being more thoughtful." 

In that hurried, fretful instant, I reached out to place my hand upon his. He looked like he needed comfort, that poor man. I knew the misery an unhappy marriage brought. I had seen my mother go through it. I had a fair idea what Sam experienced on a daily basis. 

"Don't be so hard on yourself," I said gently, stroking the top of his hand with my thumb. "It wasn't your fault. You just aren't compatible. That doesn't make either of you a bad person." 

"I'm still in this for my son alone," he said, not attempting to withdraw his hand. "Maybe once he's old enough, I can call it quits. But until then..." 

He put his hand on mine and softly squeezed it. "I'm sorry I told you all this," he shook his head. "This isn't why I had wanted to meet you." 

"It's okay. I asked for it." I drew my hand away when he removed his palm. "I appreciate the love you have for your son. Not many parents these days are willing to sacrifice for their children." 

"As unhappy as this makes me, I still tolerate my wife because I think my child needs both of us. The worst that can happen to a child is a broken home." 

Tell me about it. "So where is your wife at the moment?" I asked. I didn't know why I still wanted to talk about it. I was probably becoming a masochist. 

"In London," he replied. "She works there and our kid has just started school this year, so it may not be too feasible for them to move so soon." 

"But you must be travelling to London often, since you teach there?" 

"Yes, about thrice a month." 

"Do you have a house there?" 

"Yes. It's on lease." 

"And where do you live here?" 

"I've rented an apartment. I won't know if it's too small until my family moves in. If it is indeed small, we will have to find a bigger place." 

He drank the dregs of the coffee and wiped his mouth. "So tell me about work," he said with a smile. "Do people take you seriously there?" 

I scowled. "What do you mean?" 

"Well," he tried to hide a smile. "You look so achingly delicate. You hardly appear to be a budding corporate professional." 

"Looks are deceptive," I snapped. "And for your information, I'm an important part of the product development team. I'm taken very seriously." 

He laughed, amusement clear on his face. He obviously enjoyed making me nervous. Now he also loved annoying me. 

And yet, I couldn't seem to control my growing feelings for him. 

Girl, you have lost it. 

"I always knew you'd do well," he smiled, "You show such promise. It's like you've always wanted to be here, doing this." 

"Not really," I smiled. "I wanted to own a flower shop when I was a little girl. My mother made me dream bigger." 

"A flower shop?" He leaned closer to me. "Now that's interesting. So you love flowers?" 

"Love would be an understatement. I'm sold on them. My home is a little nursery." 

"A corporate professional with green fingers, huh?" he smirked, "That's a first. What flowers do you grow?" 

"My mom's into roses. Various kinds of roses. I personally prefer lilies and dahlias. I learned flower grafting from mom. If you come to my house someday, you'll even find two or three colour roses. I love grafting flowers. It takes a long time but the end result is mind-blowing." 

"I've heard a lot about grafting," he said, "But I really don't know anything about flowers." 

"I could teach you," I grinned cheekily. 

"Uh-huh. Begin by telling me how grafting is done." 

I cleared my throat. "For a rose plant, the ideal time to begin grafting is when the petals begin to droop and the blooms are fading, but the buds are not fully swelled. First, we need to hold a bit of the rose plant we wish to bloom, making sure it has at least two rose buds and cut the bottom edge into a V-shape. This part is called the scion. Then this graft piece is placed on a clean surface and we need to mist it with water to prevent it from drying up. Next, we have to cut a smooth small notch in the stem of the rose plant to which the graft piece is to be attached, at an angle to receive the scion. This part is called the stock. The scion is to be slid on the cut in the stock so it fits snugly. This point where the two are joined is known as the 'union'. Then a layer of grafting tape or wax is put over the union and then we need to mist the plant with water." 

I finished speaking to find him staring intently at me, his chin propped on his clasped hands. I straightened my spectacles, smoothed my hair, and gulped uneasily. I both loved and hated when he looked at me like that. It seemed as though he could see into my soul. 

"Wow," he said, but I knew he hadn't been listening. A business professor would never want to know about grafting roses. He asked only because he wanted to ogle me. "You really are great at many things at such a young age," he said, his eyes never leaving my face, "Do you sell flowers too?" 

"No. We bloom the flowers with a lot of love. We can never cut or sell them." 

"Your mom's into flowers?" 

"You mean for a living? No, she's a loan officer with the government." 

He laughed softly. "Don't get me wrong, but I wouldn't expect a loan officer to bloom flowers either. I assume, you're quite like your mother?" 

"Yes, you could say that. Mom taught me many things, from gardening to baking. The only thing I never managed to learn is to cook." 

The waiter returned to take our empty cups and asked if we wanted to have anything else. 

"No, I'm good," I smiled, "This place anyway closes at six." 

"Well, then, let's see where we can go." Sam paid the bill and tipped the waiter. "I can't thank you enough for bearing with me." 

"Come on, stop saying that," I laughed, "This is no trouble at all." 

"I forgot to tell you how pretty you look," he smiled, as we left our seats and proceeded to walk out. "I've noticed you're not into loud clothes or makeup. Is it something conscious or is that how you are?" 

"I guess it's how I am." He held the door for me as I walked out. "I like nice clothes but they have to be simple. I can't tolerate flashy stuff." 

"I like it," he said as we walked side by side down the sparsely crowded street that evening. "I wish all women felt that way." He looked down at me. "Your hair is amazing. Has it always been so long?" 

I hadn't tied my hair that day. I usually kept my hair loose outside college. That day, I thought the open hair looked good with my long sleeve tunic. 

"Yes," I nodded. "I've always been envied for my hair." 

I looked up at him. His countenance was so warm and gentle, it made my heart soar. "Why did you want to meet me?" I asked. 

"Oh, nothing much. Just two friends meeting over coffee and having a good time." He smiled softly. "But I guess I didn't give you such a good time with my soppy life story." 

"No, I like talking to you." 

"This isn't something I normally discuss. I don't know what compelled me to talk to you about it." 

"I'm honoured that you trusted me." 

"And I'm surprised that you understand." He held my hand suddenly, pulling me close to him. My body stiffened. We were on the street, anybody could see us. 

"Sam... please..." I breathed, trying to pull away, but his hold on my arms was firm. 

"You're still afraid, aren't you?" he asked, studying my face. I squirmed, his touch burning my skin through the fabric of my tunic. "I'm sorry I never asked earlier... Are you single? Is that why you were hesitating?" 

"I wasn't afraid," I said. "I was hesitating because this might be improper. Your job may be in trouble if they know..." 

"They won't know," his voice was firm. "So you're single?" 

I nodded, looking up to meet his gaze. Something seemed to work on me like magic. Maybe it was his fluid movements, or his big, intense eyes and the way they looked into mine, or maybe his mind, his attitude. It didn't matter if he was married. He was a friend. And I liked him. 

"Would you mind driving us somewhere?" I asked, still looking into his eyes. 

"Anywhere." 

"To the Lickey Hills Country Park. I want to watch the sunset." 

He finally let me go and checked the time. "I'd love that," he smiled. "Let's go." 

We reached the park in less than twenty minutes and for the next hour or so, we walked through the tree-lined, uneven valleys and avenues, enjoying each other's company. Dry leaves had covered the ground in myriad hues of green and yellow, making soft rustling sounds as we walked upon them. The last rays of the sun filtered in through the leaves of the trees, shimmering as they played hide and seek with the swaying leaves. We talked about random things; his past postings, his long association with chess and how he had wanted to become a pro, but his parents wanted him to have a more stable career, his love for jazz, my love for pop and country, and our shared passion for books. I also enlightened him on some lesser known things about Birmingham, since I knew the place like the back of my hand. When we had walked to the deep interior of the park, we sat down on a small hillock and watched the sun going down. No one spoke for long minutes. And then I felt his hand on mine, his touch gentle, warm. 

Despite myself, I felt my skin breaking into goosebumps. 

I wasn't the praying type. But at that moment, I prayed for strength. Because I had all chances of falling for this man. And I needed every ounce of strength to prevent that from happening. 

-- 

"I wonder how you manage to wake up early despite staying up till late," mom said to me the next morning, while we worked on a rose bush that we had grafted a few months ago. "Julie would never be up before nine." 

Mom's words vaguely reached my ears. Sam's thoughts and memories from the last evening crowded my mind. We had been together till late evening, had another round of coffee, and chatted until we lost track of time. He was such a dream to talk to, witty, insightful, sometimes funny. He really knew how to hold a conversation. When he dropped me home, he kissed me on the cheek, and the lingering scent of his perfume stayed with me through the night. 

I had difficulty falling asleep for the first time that night. I hadn't gone out with a guy in more than a year, least of all with someone who I could talk to for hours. Even when he spoke about his wife and their not-so-perfect relationship, he wasn't looking for sympathy or comfort. He was simply being honest. I loved that about him. I loved everything about him, his eyes, his body, and even his fat lips. 

I bet he'd make beautiful, intelligent babies. 

The stray thought left me flustered. Since when did I fantasise about babies? And since when did I fantasise about him?! 

"Ouch." I winced when a thorn poked into my thumb. Mom looked up from the other side of the bush. 

"Are you okay, honey?" she asked, craning her neck to see what had happened. I surreptitiously sucked the drop of blood from my thumb and put my mind to work. 

"You are absent-minded today," she smiled, "Anything you want to tell me?" 

No. I obviously couldn't tell her that I was still hot and bothered after my fantasies about Sam last night. 

"I will be gone for a week," she said, putting a bit of fertilizer in the soil, "I'll keep the food in the fridge. Don't eat outside too much." 

"Mum," I sighed, "I'll get tired of having the same food every day. I'll buy food the time you're gone." 

Mom was going for the Church's annual retreat. She was an important part of the committee and led all the activities of the ministry. I wondered how she squeezed in everything in her schedule. Work, gardening, cooking, church programmes, and other various activities. I was yet to see a day when she'd be sitting around, doing nothing. 

"Alright," she laughed, reaching for the small watering can sitting on the lawn. "But avoid too much of junk. You will fall ill." 

"I won't, mum." I lived on junk food, with a love for fried food in particular. Sausages, eggs, bacon, chips, chops, cutlets. There was nothing quite like a good fry. And I had never taken ill after eating any of those. But mom never failed to remind me nevertheless. 

"You look different today," she said, rising from the ground. I looked up from the rose bush, realizing that I had been smiling like a fool all this time. 

"D-Different?" I asked, wiping my hands on my apron. "What do you mean?" 

I heard mom laughing from behind the lily plants. "I'm your mother, sweetheart," she said, "I know when there's something on your mind." 

"I'm fine, mum," I tried to sound as convincing as possible. "I guess I'm just a little preoccupied with the project I'm working on." 

"That's all, huh?" 

"Yes." 

I turned around to look at her. And I glared. "Mom!" 

She laughed louder this time, taking off her apron as she walked inside the house. "I'm making breakfast. Go, clean up." 

I slowly got up from the lawn and took one last look at the rose plants. They had been grafted well and were coming up the way we wanted them to. I couldn't wait to see the flowers and the look on our neighbours' faces when they saw the amazing colours. 

In my room, I took off the apron and checked my phone for calls or messages. It was a Saturday, classes were off, and I'd spend the rest of the day at home, obviously alone once mom left that evening. Maybe I'd watch a movie or catch up on the shows I downloaded the other day. I fiddled with the phone in my hands. For some reason, I couldn't get Sam out of my head. And it wasn't just romantic thoughts. It was concern. 

I hated to see him low. Was he alright after the spat with his wife yesterday? I wondered what he was doing that morning. Sleeping till late? Getting ready for class? Burying himself in work? 

Despite myself, I reached for my bag, from where I fished out his business card. After a moment of hesitation, I dialled his number. My heart throbbed as I counted the rings. One, two, three, four. On the fifth ring, he picked up. 

"Hallo?" 

His voice was still sleepy. I wished I could see his morning face. Puffy eyes, bed hair... 

"Hallo?" he sounded again. 

"Hi, it's me." I paused. "Cynthia." 

"Hey!" he sounded delighted. "What a surprise. How're you this morning?" 

What did he expect? 

"I'm doing good," I said, hesitantly, feeling the shyness return. "I just wanted to check on you." 

"Check on me? Why?" I heard the sound of running water, and I had a feeling he was shaving. 

"You were upset yesterday," I said. "I wanted to check if you're better." 

"After the lovely evening with you, how can I be upset?" I sensed his smile. "I had a great time. Ever since I met you for the first time, I knew you'd be my kind of woman." 

His kind of woman?! 

"So who is your kind of woman exactly?" I took off my glasses and lay down on the bed, staring at the beige ceiling of my room. As nervous as I felt, I still decided to play along. 

"A woman with a sexy mind. Someone who reads, thinks, has her own opinions, makes her own decisions. Someone who's smart, intelligent, creative, accomplished, sharp and strong. Someone who's beautiful and sensuous. Someone I can have great conversations with, laugh with, revel in our successes with." 

I listened as he spoke, his voice rising and falling like gentle waves. I heard some rustling sounds on the other end, followed by a pause. And then his voice came again. "Just give me a moment to get dressed, please." 

I closed my eyes, the image already too vivid in my mind. How would he look naked? 

No. Wait. Where had that come from?! 

"Do you have class?" I asked, trying my best to get the images out of my head. 

"No, a staff meeting. And then I'll drop into the library." A slight pause again. "Are you going to be there by any chance?" 

"No. I-" 

"Listen, I have a plan. What are you doing tomorrow?" 

"Tomorrow?" 

"Yes, for lunch?" 

"Umm... nothing." 

"No, you're meeting me." 

Another date? 

"Meeting you for lunch?" I said, "Are you sure?" 

"About lunch?" 

"No. About... this... Us..." 




Will Be Yours Ch. 06



Flashback contd. 

I typed the last line of the second business proposal of the day and leaned back in the chair. It looked good. Although I had taken more than three hours to write the two proposals- about an hour and a half more than what I usually required- it'd been worth it. I saved the document and transferred it to my senior, and took off my spectacles. It was only Wednesday but I already felt tired. That wasn't how I should be feeling after four days off. Perhaps it was the weather. The cloudless sky had made the day hot, humid and unbearable. Despite the air conditioning, some of my neighbours in the office were often seen fanning themselves. Whoever entered the office from outside looked steamed. The end of April marked the arrival of summer, with May just days away. The weather was nothing unusual at this time of the year. For some reason, it only echoed how out of sorts I felt. 

I put my glasses back on and looked at the monitor when one of the documents I had just shared was returned. One small line had to be omitted and two other things added. Otherwise, it was okay. I smiled as I proceeded to make the changes. In just a little more than a month, I had made a mark in the team with my hard work and sincere efforts and ideas. I liked working there. I hoped I'd get placed here once my course was complete. London would be great too, but I wasn't too sure about leaving mom alone. Of course, she had her own life and work and other activities, but I hated to have her live all by herself. And Julie was hopeless when it came to responsibilities. I couldn't depend on her to take care of mom. 

I pricked my ears to listen when somebody passed by announcing that it would rain that evening. I looked at my watch. It was 4.30, still four hours before I could call it a day. I'd miss the rain in all likelihood. 

Once I had sent the revised document and it had been okayed, I put my head down on the desk. I wished Sunday would come sooner. I couldn't stand another night in that big, empty house, alone. It was strange, because I had always enjoyed staying alone at home. I loved being on my own and taking care of the house in mom's absence. This time, things weren't that comfortable. 

Because of Sam, a little voice whispered into my ear. I clenched my fists under the desk. It was terrible. I was terrible. After that night at his apartment, I hadn't been at peace. I had never felt this way for anybody. His kisses had been so tender yet so passionate at the same time, and try as hard as I might, I couldn't deny that I felt the same passion for him. 

If only I could erase the thought that he was married from my mind, I'd be with him now, and not hiding from him for three days. 

But he was married. Taking advantage of his wife's absence was— 

"Cynthia, are you alright?" 

I jerked my head up from the desk when a female voice sounded behind me. It was Sophie Halls, a senior biz-dev executive and my immediate superior. 

"Yes, I'm okay," I removed a few stray locks from my face. "Just a little tired. It's the weather, I guess." 

"I know," she smiled, putting an arm around the back of my chair. "Why don't you go home? Your work's anyway done for the day." 

I didn't want to go home. Being at work helped me take my mind off Sam and my feelings for him. 

"Are you sure?" I asked, in case she needed me to do something more. 

"Oh yes. You've been here since very early today. Go home now. You also have to study." 

Study. Right. If only I could get Sam out of my head. 

"Alright, if you insist." I reluctantly switched off the laptop and left my chair. Sophie waved me goodbye and walked off, leaving me to stand there like the fool that I was. For the first time in my life so far the thought of spending another distracted and troubled night alone at home was distressing. With mom away, there was no roast duck to look forward to either. 

I picked up my bag, threw my coat across my arm, and slowly started to walk towards the elevator. People talked of the heat and the humidity, while some of them hoped for rain that evening. I quietly went in when one of the elevators opened and took place in the right hand corner, clutching my bag protectively. A few men in suits and a woman in a skirt were the others in the lift. I closed my eyes and dropped my head back. Going home wouldn't be the best thing for me, given my unquiet mind. After a little thought, I decided to head to a coffee shop and read for a few hours, before grabbing dinner at some restaurant. I also needed a large piece of chocolate cake. Chocolate was supposed to make everything better. 

The elevator hit the ground floor and the door opened with a ping. I walked out behind the others, my shirt sticking to my skin. I thought I'd melt like a lump of salt by the time I reached the coffee shop. The sky was overcast with dark rainclouds. I wished for a storm. It would go well with the storm raging inside me. 

On other days, I'd take a bus to the coffee shop I preferred to read at. But the possibility of a storm made me look for a taxi that evening. I waited by the side of the street, looking out for an empty taxi but all the taxis that drove past me carried passengers. I looked at the sky again. The clouds swirled and twisted threateningly, and a slight breeze had just started to blow. 

"Care for a ride, Ms Adamson?" 

My eyes lowered from the sky to find a very familiar sedan in front of me. My breath hitched for a moment, but I quickly gathered my wits and crossed my arms against my chest. 

"What are you doing here, Sam?" My voice was surprisingly steady. The man concerned got off the car and took off his shades, revealing those big eyes. 

Heart, flutter not. 

"We need to talk," he announced, glancing around the street. 

"I'm in a hurry." I turned to walk away but I felt a pair of strong hands grab me and pull me into a small lane off the main street. 

"Listen to me, please." He framed me against a wall with his arms. My chest was heaving, but from his breathing, I figured he was calm. 

"Why have you been avoiding me?" he asked, his eyes narrowed on me. "I tried to reach you for days, before finally deciding to come to your office." 

When I glared at him, he warned me with his eyes. "Don't blame me," he said. "You made me come here." 

The sky rumbled above us, and I squirmed. 

"I can't do this," I said, my voice getting lost in the breeze that was picking up speed. "It's wrong." 

"Who decides what's wrong and what's right?" he asked, finally removing his arms from either side of me. I remained pressed against the wall, finding not enough strength in my legs. 

"Society," I replied, staring at the ground. When I looked at him, his eyes still had the calm, 'in-control' expression in them. "This isn't proper." 

"Cyn." He pulled me close to him like he had done the other day and cupped my face with one hand. "Can we leave propriety out of this for a minute and just talk about our feelings? I know you're afraid. And I'm sorry because I was reckless the other night. I shouldn't have rushed. But..." 

He removed his hand from my face and brushed a finger across my cheek. "We could've talked if you hadn't run away so abruptly," he continued, "I care about you. If somewhere along the way we happen to misunderstand each other, we will clarify it. But for us to accomplish that, you need to stop being afraid." 

"You don't think this is wrong?" I asked, feeling his hand that was against my face. 

"No. I'm not asking myself all those questions about right or wrong. Yes, I have a family. And I take every pain to provide and care for them. I have a son that I love the most in this whole wide world. I have a wife towards whom I fulfil all my responsibilities and duties, including attending parties with her, visiting her relatives, and paying for her shopping sprees." 

He sighed and entwined fingers with me. "My only question is: can it be wrong to love someone else when you're fulfilling all your duties towards your family and not harming or hurting anyone consciously?" 

The sky growled again, and people ran past us, trying to get to their destinations before the rain came down. Oblivious to everything else, his gaze remained locked on me. 

"I belong with you," he explained, "I find a sense of contentment with you. Is it wrong to seek affection? Is it wrong to want to belong with someone? Is it wrong to just want to breathe free? I think about you every waking moment, Cynthia... when I drive to work, when I'm reading a book, when I'm cooking a meal, when I'm lying in bed at night..." 

My eyes remained fixed on the ground while he continued to talk. "Believe me when I say no one has ever made me feel this way," he added, "I think the heart demands to be listened to. And I see no reason not to oblige." 

"You're supposed to remain committed to your wife." I looked into his eyes. "You're married to her." 

"What is commitment, Cynthia?" he sounded exhausted. "What worth is a marriage when it doesn't make you happy? When all you do is bicker and fight and scream at each other? What's the point?" 

He moved away a little and ran his hand through his hair. "I thought about this," he said, "I know I've been a loser, putting up with my wife's demands and selfishness for so long. I've always been afraid to lose my son. And my wife will make sure of that if I walk out..." 

He came back up to me and pressed his forehead against mine. "But I think I will take a chance." 

My wide eyes darted at him. "What do you mean?" 

"I'm going to file for divorce." 

His words astonished me. Did he just say that? 

"W-What?" my voice trembled as I spoke. 

"I'm going to terminate my marriage," he smiled, lifting my face up to his. "And make you mine." 

"You can't do this because of me..." I looked away, tears sprouting in my eyes. "I'm no one." 

"You're the woman I love." His voice was firm. "And love makes you brave." 

The first drops of rain began to spatter down on us. I started, grabbing him by the arm. "Let's move!" I tried to shake him into action but he remained rooted to the ground. And then, with a firm pull at my hand, he had me crashing against his chest. The rain grew heavy, and the cold made me flinch. As the people on the street caught in the unexpected downpour ran for cover, I found myself in his arms, held so lovingly that it made me want to cry. 

"I want to know you won't push me away," he said, the sound of the rain drowning his voice. "I want to know that you'll be mine, and you'll accept me." 

"I cannot bear to lose you," my throat tightened as I spoke, "And the thought that you belong to another—" 

"I belong to you," he repeated, his fingers pressing into my arms, "I belong with you. You're never going to lose me. I promise." 

His lips gave a reverent kiss on my forehead. "I love you, Cynthia." The words poured into my ears. "Make me yours." 

The rain cascaded down upon us and on everything around. Those drops weren't just magical, they were divine. Each one washed away an unseen fear, a doubt, a confusion. When our lips locked together, the world itself ceased to exist, blurred and indistinct as a wet painting left out in the torrent that descended from the dark sky above. The sky rumbled angrily, and his arms wrapped protectively around my wet body, as if never to let me go. I clutched at his soaked shirt and felt shivers running down my spine, as our tongues danced, lost in the passion, in our oneness with each other. When we pulled back for a brief moment, his eyes were like every fantasy I'd ever had of him, every moment I had wished could exist between the two of us.  

"I love you, too, Dr Fischer," the words came out in a nervous excitement. "I belong to you from this moment." 

-- 

The rain lashed against the window, filling the room with the low sound of pitter-patter, while the wind howled in the background. The only light glowing in the room was the night lamp, and as Sam gently laid me down on the bed, I gazed at his face, the dim light making his features softer. My coat lay somewhere in the living room, my shoes were scattered near the foot of the bed, and my skirt was the next to go. My wet hair was soaking the mattress but Sam didn't seem to mind. He was too busy to notice anything other than me. 

"I'm not going to rush this time," he said, hovering above me. I closed my eyes and curled my fingers in his wet hair, enjoying his mouth on mine. His lips worked like a charm, drying my body as they caressed my face, my neck and collar bone, and trailed lower while his hands deftly unbuttoned my blouse. He looked down at my body, taking in the sight of my pert breasts, clad in a seamless bra. Though I was far from buxom, I was pretty well-endowed despite my slender form. And I knew he liked what he saw when he leaned in and kissed my cleavage. My skin broke into goosebumps and he soothed the prickles with his warm lips, before sliding his hand under my body and unhooking my bra. I squirmed as the garment was removed from my body along with the blouse, leaving me naked from the waist up. 

"It's okay," he cooed when he sensed my embarrassment. "You're beautiful." 

I wasn't too sure of it myself, but I'd take his word for it. That man was so knowing, so gentle and sensuous. I couldn't help feeling loved and cherished. 

He softly squeezed my breasts, then lowered his mouth and sucked on each one in turn. I grabbed fistful of his hair, unable to stop my body from jerking and spasming to the sensations. My experience with sex was very limited. I had lost my virginity to my first boyfriend in the backseat of his new car but had never been able to achieve an orgasm with him. Things were the same with the next guy, who merely craved physical satisfaction for himself, while I lay writhing in anguished frustration. Sam was different. Perhaps it had something to do with him being older and more experienced. 

An incredulous squeak escaped from my throat when I felt his mouth against my stomach. I squirmed violently. Had it not been for his firm grip on my hips, I'd have fallen off the bed. 

"What?" he looked up at my face, like a cat looking up from a bowl of milk. 

"My navel... it's sensitive." 

"I see." And he calmly went back to the task at hand, licking my belly button and caressing my flat stomach with his lips. 

I shouldn't have underestimated his lips just because they were fat. Perhaps being fat made them fuller and more potent at teasing. 

Sam kept at his torment, showering my navel with all the attention that he possibly could. My panties were wet, my womanhood ached with need, but all I got in return was more of his teasing. I was too aroused to even speak, to tell him to hurry. His hands lazily caressed my inner thighs, feeling the wetness but doing nothing about it. And then my panties came off with gentle hands, and I groaned in relief. I'd finally get what I needed. 

I was wrong. He planned to tease me some more, to the point of insanity. 

Yes, he was wicked. Deliciously wicked. 

Tender fingers parted me, and he took his time running his thumb across the outer edges, while his other fingers cleared my pubic hair out of the way. 

"Please... Sam... I need..." 

My faint bleat reached him and he offered me his hot breath on my soaking centre. 

"Need what?" he asked, kissing my inner thighs. 

"More... more of you." 

He crawled closer to my face for a moment, and pulling me to him, he kissed my throat. "You'll have all of me, baby." 

And then his mouth wandered downward again, kissing every part of my body. The touch of his lips was gentle, reverent. He whispered sweet nothings against my skin, and as he dropped to his knees again at the foot of the bed, I felt his breath ruffling the curls of my sex. I shivered, my blood simmering, heart racing. He groaned and buried his mouth between my legs. Slipping a hand behind my knee, he lifted both of my legs and put them over his shoulders. 

I sank deeper against the mattress as his tongue delved inside, licking me, savouring me. With long, slow, sinuous laps he cherished me leisurely, as if we had all the time in the world. 

My fingers ran through his hair while his tongue probed deep, and I bit my lip to hold back my cries. The coil of tension wound tighter inside me and I thrust my hips and rode his mouth. I surged against him, as I struggled to breathe. He knew just what I needed and gave me all of that with expert hands and mouth. 

I didn't care if this wasn't forever. If it was the only time we'd ever be together, I would at least go back with the feeling of utter feminine satisfaction. 

My back arched and my toes curled as the pressure built inside me. And then, with a low, long moan, I came against his mouth. My orgasm made me twist and thrash about on the bed, while crying out helplessly. He held me firmly, securely, and soothed my tremors with soft laps, gentling me. Outside, the rain was receding, and lightning frequently lit up the room. I lay there for a long time, breathing hard. 

"Sam?" my voice was barely audible when I spoke. 

"Hmm-mm?" he covered my body with his and kissed my lips. 

"Tell me you're going to get naked at some point." 

He chuckled against my neck. "I could use some help with that." 

My arms were still numb as I lifted them to unbutton his shirt. It gave way to reveal a hairy chest and a hairy back. Having discovered the wanton in me, I boldly ran my hand down his chest, enjoying the feel of his body hair against my fingertips. My lips sought his and soon we were kissing again. I unbuckled his belt and slid it all the way out before proceeding to undo the fly of his trousers. His mouth left mine for a moment to pull out his pants and then he was back, kissing me hungrily. I felt his arousal pressing against my stomach, and I let my hands travel all the way to his underwear. He tore his mouth away from mine and groaned a little as I stroked his impressive bulge through his boxers. 

"You're a little minx, you know that?" he mock glared at me, trying his best to stop me from stroking him. I nodded and chuckled quietly, cupping his heavy sac. He groaned again, clenching his teeth as he moved away from me. 

"I want to prolong the moment," he said very seriously, "Not lose it right here." 

"You're hard enough to last the whole night," I said and laughed again. Sam smiled, rolling over to the other side of the bed to pull out one of the drawers. When he fished out a small purple packet, I heaved a sigh. Thank goodness he remembered. I had completely forgotten about protection. 

"I don't think I can hold out for too long," he said, when he was positioned between my legs. "Stop me if I hurt you." 

"Quit talking." I hissed. My skin was slick and hot. My body was burning. I needed him or I'd die. 

I realised he was a slow and patient lover when he entered me gently, with infinite care, making sure that every gradual step was met by a willing and slippery welcome. He was big and stiff, and having gone without sex for a long time, I took some time to adjust to his size. When he was finally completely inside me, he let himself soak for a while, and I relished the stretching hardness of him. He was alive and throbbing inside me, and I was alive snugly enveloping him. 

I groaned aloud when he started to move. 

"Easy," he soothed me in a voice that was a low growl. "Just let yourself go." 

I did as he asked, wrapping my legs around his hips. He pinned my hands on either side of my body and moved slowly, tiny little circles at first, then larger circles, then long smooth strokes that teasingly reverberated off one side, then the other. I surrendered to his unbridled passion for me, even as his hungry mouth came crashing down on mine and sealed in a hot, demanding kiss. Creamy slick and yielding, I moaned and wailed into the kiss, with his tongue inside my mouth, my fingers pressing down on his hands. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 06



Our lovemaking blended with the sound of the rain and the wind, our sighs and moans hanging in the air. Melancholy welled up inside me, gathering in my throat like a rising storm. 

"I love you," I whispered, my voice breaking. His rhythm faltered for a moment, and he nuzzled the side of my face. 

"Say it again," he growled as he stilled in me. 

"I love you," I repeated, shuddering beneath him as he swelled to the point of pain. 

"Oh... Cynthia..." he dropped his head back and breathed, beginning to move again. My body shuddered with his every pounding thrust, his back arched, his fists tight around my wrists. I fought to release my hands, and when my right hand slipped away from his sweaty grasp, I raked my fingernails across his back. He growled and snatched it, returning the escaped hand to join the other. Sweat dripped from his brow on to my chest, and he claimed my mouth again. 

"Are you ready?" he hissed against my face. "I'm not too far." 

I faintly nodded, feeling him gathering momentum. A few reckless thrusts and I came violently. He kept at his thrusts, relentlessly, as my body stiffened again and my womanhood spasmed around his hardness. He kept me on the edge, allowing me no relief, and I came a second time, almost as hard as the first, then a minute later a third, thankfully weaker. 

His belly slapped against mine. And then his body stilled above me. He came on a long deep primitive grunt, burying him seemingly into the pit of my stomach. I felt my insides clamp down on him, milking him until he had spent every single drop. 

We remained locked together in a twitching, throbbing slippery heat. The tension slowly melted, and he flopped down on me, crushing me with his weight. My body was too numb to feel anything except his heaving chest and my throbbing heart. 

"I love you, too," his voice was barely a murmur as he rolled on his back, taking my limp body along. 

My hands caressed his furry chest and belly, and I smiled to myself. He was on the wrong side of thirty and the wrong side of the weighing scale, but boy, did he feel right for me. I closed my eyes and heard the sound of our breathing mingling with the whistling wind and the low ticking of the clock. The rain was now a drizzle. The sweat had also begun to dry on our skin. 

Unmindfully, I hummed a song, pressing my head against his cuddly chest. I hadn't felt so content in ages. 

"What are you singing?" he smiled down at me. I blushed, planting a soft kiss on his collar bone. 

"Lying here with you so close to me," I sang softly, "it's hard to fight these feelings, when it feels so hard to breathe... caught up in this moment, caught up in your smile..." 

He dropped a kiss on my head. "That's beautiful," he murmured into my hair. "Just what I feel right now." 

"Are you sure about this?" I asked, the seriousness creeping into my voice. And then I looked at him with earnest eyes. "Don't be reckless, please." 

"I'm not reckless," he said, "I've thought about it. I have an attorney friend who'll help me have my way. And my son." 

He folded me in his arms, kissing my shoulders. His chest hair was still damp, and I loved the masculine scent of his sweaty body. 

"I know I should've done this long back," he sighed. "But staying apart from her helped me think. And meeting you made me finally admit how I really feel about this marriage." 

"You shouldn't be doing this for me," I reminded him. 

"No, I'm not. You may be the catalyst, but at the end of the day, I want out." He looked reassuringly at me. "And it isn't just because of you." 

He let go of me briefly to discard the condom in the bedside bin and then pulled me close again. I snuggled against his body, feeling warm and sated. 

"Are you willing to stay the night with me?" he asked, lazily stroking my upper arm. 

"If you're willing to let me." I smiled up at him. "I hope you are?" 

"You don't have to ask, really." He kissed the top of my nose. "I hope you aren't hurt." 

I shook my head. "This is new for me," I murmured. 

"What is?" 

"I've never really been in something so... intense. With someone I like this much." 

I was aware of Sam's eyes on me. With others, I'd hurry to put my clothes back on, but with him, there was no sense of shame or embarrassment. 

He brushed his lips against mine. "You are now." 

I sighed gently, loving the feel of his naked body against mine. Then I smiled and nodded. "Yeah." 

"Good. I'd like to take you out for dinner this time. Maybe catch a movie." He laughed, his chest vibrating against my face. "I hope you're not going to run away again." 

I chuckled softly. "No." And then I shot him an impish glance. "You have to learn how to tame me." 

"Oh no. I think I like the loose and wild Cynthia better. Makes you more desirable." 

I blushed. "It's great to know that you find me..." 

"Passionate? Interesting? Beautiful?" 

I laughed softly. "You make me feel like I am all of those things. I thank you for that." 

"And you make me happy. So it is I who must thank you." 

My eyes dropped shyly. "Tell me about your son," I said, lacing my fingers with his. Even without looking at him, I could sense his smile. 

"His name is Kurt and he's five," he said, as his fingers coursed through my hair. "He's at a stage where his world revolves around cartoons, picture books and building blocks. He's started school this year but he isn't responding too well to it." 

"Why not?" 

"We're not sure. It maybe because of the new environment, or maybe he doesn't like his classmates." He sighed. "I worry about him every moment I spend away from them. My wife is a terrible mother. Impatient. Short-tempered. Once I had to threaten her with police action when she wouldn't stop yelling at the poor kid." 

"That's too bad." I raised myself up on one elbow and looked at him. "I assume you fight over him the most?" 

"You could say that," he said, feeling the curve of my body. "There's a sort of..." 

"Power struggle?" I filled in. 

"Yes." He put his arms around me and draped me across his body. "I want to keep him with me. Forever." 

"He's closer to you?" I asked. 

"Yeah. We love spending time together. I read to him, tell him stories, show him constellations. We also love to dance silly to music and go to the parks." 

"Staying away from him must be incredibly hard for you..." 

"It is. But my work requires me to go places. I can't sit at home guarding him." 

I remembered what he had said the other day. That the worst that could happen to a child was a broken home. And yet, he was heading for just that. All because of me. 

A sense of guilt gripped at my heart suddenly. Maybe if we could just forget what had happened between us, if we treated it as a one night stand, he could go back to his family. 

And what about you? The little voice spoke inside me again. You love him. 

"Tell me about your family," he broke into my thoughts. "Who do you have at home?" 

"My mom and my elder sister," I replied. "She doesn't live with us, though. So it's just me and mom at home." 

"And your dad?" 

"I don't have a dad." 

When I looked at him, he found unshed tears glistening in my eyes. His face reflected compassion as he held me tighter. "I'm sorry," his voice was tender, calming. 

"You shouldn't do this." My lips quivered as I spoke. "Your family needs you." 

"No. My son needs me." He rolled us over so that I was beneath him. "And he's going to have me always." 

"But you had said-" 

He broke me off with a kiss, rendering me incapable of speech. I felt the tears rolling down my temples, past my ears, and on to the pillow. His probing tongue entwined with its counterpart, making me grip the ends of the pillow case. I had never felt such love, such warmth. Sam was everything I'd wanted my man to be. His tenderness was astonishing, his passion overwhelming. I could give up the whole world just to have a little more time with him, a little more of his love. 

"I'll be in London next week," he said, ghosting his lips over mine. "I'm going to talk to my wife, and also to my attorney. I'll let you know, okay?" 

I breathed against his chest, flicking the tears off the edge of my eyes with two fingers. 

I didn't want to think of that now. For that moment, I wanted to believe that all my dreams had come true. 

-- 

"Look who's here!" mom's voice startled me, and I looked up from the pot of dahlias to see who was there. Julie waved at mom while she walked in and closed the gate behind her. She gave me a fleeting glance and a small smile as she came and stood in the middle of the lawn. 

"Wow," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "This place looks and smells lovely." 

I measured her from the corner of my eyes. She was four years older than me, taller, fuller than I, with short brown hair. A trail of freckles ran down her neck, making a stark contrast with her otherwise pale skin. If there ever was a contest to judge who was more attractive, my sister would easily take the cake. 

"Your sister works so hard for it," mom came up to her and greeted her with a hug. "Have you lost weight? I hope you're not dieting again." 

"Mom!" she rolled her eyes. "You ask the same thing every time you see me. I never dieted, anyway." 

"Living on cereals and baked beans amounts to dieting," mom laughed. "I'm glad your sister enjoys a good appetite." 

It stung me. I wished mom would stop comparing us always. I didn't like it, neither did Julie. 

"I know," she sighed, giving me a hard stare. "I haven't had breakfast. Is there anything to eat?" 

"I was about to head into the kitchen to make some cheese sandwiches," she replied, turning to go back into the house. Julie grumbled about cheese being fattening as she followed her into the house. When my attention returned to the flowers, I realized I hadn't even finished digging one pot. I had been distracted the past week. Sam and I had spent as much time as we could together before he left for London a few days ago. He had spoken to his attorney about the separation and the eventual divorce he was planning, who had assured him that the process wouldn't be difficult. He had a chess competition, besides his classes at LBS, and if things remained uneventful between him and his wife, he'd manage to discuss the divorce. 

I had never been so serious with anybody. But with Sam, I knew it was going to be an intense and emotionally significant relationship. He made me happy. He made me feel special. But most of all, he made me feel alive, made me dream, of the future that could be awaiting us. 

I rose from the lawn and picked up the watering can. Mom had noticed my absent-mindedness since she returned from her church retreat. Although she never asked anything, I had a feeling she knew something was happening in my life. I smiled to myself as I watered the roots of the flowers and then sprinkled water on the shrubs and other plants. I wished I could tell everybody about Sam, how nice he was and how happy we were together. But it would have to wait. Until, at least, he legally separated from his wife. 

"Honey! The sandwiches are ready!" Mom called me from inside. "Come on while they're still hot." 

I plonked the can in its designated place near the porch and took off my apron while walking in. The house smelled of cheese, enough invitation for me to leave everything and attack the sandwiches. I noticed she had also made some jam sandwiches since Julie was reluctant to have cheese. 

When I washed my hands and took my place at the table, Julie was already nibbling at one of the jam sandwiches. 

"How are you, sis?" she asked, as I took two cheese sandwiches on my plate. 

"I'm okay," I replied, "A little busy, as you can see." 

"Mom told me about your internship," she said, "They're paying you big, I heard." 

"Yes," my smile this time was genuine. I was indeed paid really well. I had worked for a number of companies ever since I joined college, some for free, some for a minimal pay. But this one was the big fish. "It's a top organisation." 

"So the good grades are finally paying off, huh?" her voice had a tinge of venom this time. Although mom had raised us with equal affection, attention, and everything else, what she had always failed to do was draw a comparison between me and Julie. I had always been the good girl, both at home and school, getting good grades, diligently following my career path, and being a dutiful daughter. Julie, however, was the Prima Donna of school, a hit with the boys, a pain for the teachers, and best known for being the head cheergirl for the school football team. Being in the same school made matters worse for both of us. While our mother heard my praises at the parent-teacher sessions, Julie only brought her disappointment. 

"It's always been too much of work for me," she snorted with a disdainful flip of her hair. "I'd rather have some excitement in my life rather than spend my days in a 5 by 5 cubicle." 

"Excitement is subjective," I said, biting into the sandwich. "For me, it is being able to be part of a reputed organisation like that." 

"And for me, it is about buying a beach house in Florida." 

I stopped chewing and stared at her face for a few seconds. Even if she robbed all the banks in the city, she wouldn't be able to buy a house in Florida. 

"You mean to say Bob's buying a house in Florida?" I swallowed my bite and cleared my throat. 

"He's buying it for me!" she squealed this time. "Although he'd asked me to be discreet about it, I told him that if I didn't share this with anybody my heart would just burst!" 

She poured herself some orange juice and drank a little. "We may live there after we are married." 

"Who's getting married?!" mom came down to the dining room after getting dressed for work. The look on her face was priceless. 

"Mom," Julie groaned, "I'm not getting married tomorrow. Please stop giving me that look." 

"You haven't been together for even a year," she reminded her. 

"And we don't plan to marry in another three or four years. Buying the house is just the first step in cementing our relationship." 

Robert Lang, Bob to most people, was the scion of a giant business family. According to a certain report I had once read, the Lang family had constructed the most number of buildings in the UK. Buying a beach house in Florida was child's play for him. 

"Bring him home someday," mom said, "We'd like to meet him." 

"Oh, I've told him. But he keeps so busy, you know. While we talk, he's off to a board meeting. They're planning to expand their business." 

She finished her orange juice and wiped her mouth. "He wants to meet you too. He's promised to find some time." 

The mention of a board meeting reminded me of my own meeting in about two hours. I grabbed a napkin and jumped out of my seat, wiping my mouth. "I'm sorry, folks. I have to rush. I have a meeting in a while." I ran up the stairs. "I'll see you later." 

I dressed in record time, grabbed my phone and bag, and rushed down the steps again. I ran all the way out of the house until my phone started to ring. I slowed down and received the call. 

"Good morning, sunshine," Sam's cheerful voice sent a rush of adrenaline down my veins. "Where are you?" 

"On the way to work," I said, walking down the pavement. "I've been thinking about you all morning." 

"That's called telepathy," he laughed, "I've been thinking about you too." 

"Where are you?" 

"I'm standing right outside LBS at the moment. I have a class in about thirty minutes." 

"I didn't get a chance to look at the paper this morning," I said, "Did you win yesterday?" 

"No. Too bad I didn't. It was a draw. I think I was..." 

"Distracted?" I chuckled. Sam laughed again. "With you in my head," he said, "what else can I be?" 

I laughed softly. "Everything okay at home?" I asked. I didn't have to, but I couldn't bring myself to asking him directly if he had spoken to his wife. 

"My son's not doing too well," his voice dropped, turned serious. "I had been with him to the doctor a few times this week." 

"What's wrong?" I was at the bus terminus by then, from where I boarded the bus to work every morning. 

"He's been running a temperature for a while now. The physician changed his medicines for the second time in a row and he seems okay now. But his appetite has come down to zero. He's barely eating." 

"Have you got a blood test done?" 

"Not yet. If his appetite doesn't improve soon, we may have to." 

I boarded the bus and took a window seat near the back. "You sound worried," I said softly. 

"I am worried, Cyn." His sigh poured into my ears, reminding me of the intimacy we had shared that night at his apartment. The thought made my skin flush and dampen. 

"Kurt is my life," he continued, "Whenever something happens to him, I feel so overwhelmed." 

"He'll be okay," I tried to assure him. 

"Yeah. But I miss you so much," he said, "I can't wait to return and have you in my arms again." 

"When are you returning?" 

"The day after. Will you be able to spare some time for me? I need to talk to you." 

"I can meet," I said, "Just let me know once you're back." 

"Let's make it Coffee Time, since it's convenient for both of us." 

I leaned back in the seat and took a deep breath, wanting nothing more than to see him again. "Coffee Time it is then." 

Three days later, I met Sam outside the coffee shop in the evening after work. 

"You're back!" I laughed, throwing my arms around his neck as lifted me off the ground in a fierce hug. "I missed you." 

"I missed you too." He put me down and leaned in for a kiss. Our lips met and all the heartache and apprehensions of the last few days seemed to vanish into thin air. 

"I was worried," I murmured into the kiss. 

"Worried?" he pulled away and asked. I played with the buttons of his shirt, smiling coyly. "I was worried you'd forget me." 

"Do I ever forget you?" he folded his arms around me, "You're always on my mind, even when we're miles apart." 

He looked inside the café through the glass door. "Let's go in," he took my hand in his. "I want to try the crepes here today." 

I chuckled as we made our way inside. Sam glanced at me. "What's funny?" 

"You shouldn't be having crepes," I said to him when we were seated, "Neither cookies nor cheesecake." 

"A man's got to eat, love." He called the waiter and placed our orders. Then he looked back at me. "I'm fond of all things sweet." 

"Uh-huh." I chuckled again, my left hand travelling down the table until it reached his belly. "You should be losing calories," I gently tapped his flabby tummy. "Start working out." 

"I can think of better ways to burn calories," he held my hand and brought it to his mouth. "You gave me the best workout of my life that night," his lips pressed against my hand, making me squirm. 

"Sam," I tried to pull my hand away, "there are people here." 

He reluctantly let go of my hand and effortlessly pulled my chair closer to his. "I'm so happy to see you again," he smiled, "Have you been okay?" 

I nodded. "How's your son?" I asked. 

"He's just slightly better," he said. He appeared to be a little less worried. "It was an intestinal infection. After some medications, his appetite is making a comeback." 

He entwined fingers with me on the table. "I asked my wife to not send him to school for a few days, until he gets well enough." 

"Why don't you bring him here, with you?" I knew that wouldn't be the best thing for us or for our relationship, but his child needed him. It would always come first. 

"There's no one to look after him here," he shook his head. "Not that there are people there... but at least, he's cared for at his school the time his mother's away." 




Will Be Yours Ch. 06



"She works?" 

"Yes, she's a receptionist at a healthcare clinic. She's got fixed hours but they can be long sometimes." 

"So your kid basically has neither of you?" I observed. Our crepes and coffee arrived, filling the air with a delightful aroma. Sam blew on his coffee before taking a sip. 

"You could say that," he sighed, "We're terrible parents, aren't we?" 

"I didn't mean that," I softly squeezed his arm. 

"I know you didn't," he smiled at me. "I've been thinking about us." 

"Us?" 

"You and me. I met my attorney, and I managed to have a bit of a talk with my wife about our separation." 

My heart missed a beat. "You did?" 

"Hmm-mm. She didn't take it too kindly. But then, I know she won't give in without a fight." 

My hands felt cold as I clasped them. "She isn't going to give you the divorce, is she?" I asked nervously. He looked at me and saw the fear and anxiety written on my face. 

"Cynthia." He encased my hands in his and gazed into my eyes. "I've promised you I'll make you mine and end my marriage, no matter how hard it seems. But it's going to take some time." 

"Sam, I don't think we should be together until you separate from your wife," I tried to keep my voice firm. "I cannot-" 

"Cyn, listen to me, please," he cupped my face. "Just give me some time, okay? Don't give up on me, please." 

"I'm not. I just don't like to be the other woman in your life." I hadn't wanted to say those words, and I flinched when they left my mouth anyway. 

"Stop looking at it that way, will you?" he asserted. "When we are together, it's just you and me." 

"You know that's not the case," I removed his hands from my face. "As long as you are married, this relationship has no meaning." 

I looked at him, softening a little. "I know it's going to take time. But I can't wait forever. You know that, right?" 

"Yes." He kissed my forehead. "It won't be forever. I just want to wait until Kurt gets well. Give me a few more days, please." 

-- 

Days rolled into weeks, and weeks into months. Kurt became better eventually and resumed school. And while Sam tried to find a way to get on with the separation without making it ugly, I immersed myself in work, trying to push aside my feelings for him. I had a little more than a month left at this internship and as the days went by, I became certain that they intended to keep me as a full time employee. While I could share with my mom the happiness of being able to achieve my dream, I had to keep to myself the pain I felt because of Sam. I knew he loved me; he wasn't someone who lied or concocted things. If he had that intention, he would have done it from the very beginning. I also understood how hard the divorce was for him, especially with a wife who was determined to make it messy. Even though we spent time together, going out to restaurants, music concerts, and sharing sweet, happy moments, Sam's tension with his wife was peaking. And it wasn't long before it started affecting our relationship too. 

"Oh god, I thought you wouldn't come," Sam exclaimed when he opened the door of his apartment. I hesitantly walked in as he closed the door behind him. I looked at the linen curtains on the window and the bright cushion covers. I had helped him choose those when I'd accompanied him to the shopping centre to buy a few things for the house. 

"Are you okay?" he asked, coming up behind me, "You look like something's bothering you." 

I turned to face him, clutching my bag with both hands. "I was studying at the library," I said softly. "My final exams aren't far." 

"I'm sorry," he looked apologetic. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I just wanted to tell you something." 

"What?" 

He breathed. "I'm filing for divorce next month," he said. "It's final." 

I stared blankly at his face, not knowing whether to feel happy or guilty. And I had actually come to tell him that I couldn't see him again until he was free from the marriage. 

"What?" he came closer and gently held my face. "Aren't you happy?" 

"Yeah," I forced a smile. "I am happy." 

"You sure don't look like it," he said, "What's troubling you, tell me?" 

I hung my head low and nervously chewed on my bottom lip, trying to keep myself from crying. 

"It's getting hard for me," I croaked, "I cannot bear to share you anymore." 

"You aren't sharing me, Cynthia," he said, his voice soothing. "My wife and I haven't had a proper relationship in years. I don't have for her even a fraction of what I have for you." 

He pulled me close to his body. "It's hard for me too," he said, "But we've come this far. Just one more month, okay?" 

I shook his arms away and stepped out of his embrace. "I can't," I shook my head. "I can't see you again. Not until you file for the divorce." 

Surprise slid on to his face. "I think you're just stressed and upset," he tried to make sense of my words. "Just give it some time. I promise you, everything will be alright." 

"We'll see." I turned around and headed for the door, but Sam was quick to intercept me. 

"Wait. Where are you going?" 

I gazed at him through dark, gloomy eyes. "Home," I answered, "I have to study." 

"You're fleeing." 

"Yes. I cannot take this anymore." 

"Take what anymore?" he snapped, crossing his arms against his chest. "I'm doing this for you. You didn't want to be with me unless I ended my marriage and that's what I am doing. It's a legal matter. It will take time, I've told you that millions of times." 

"Well, then, I'm not asking anything more. Let me know when you get the divorce." 

He grabbed my hand when I proceeded to open the door. That was a different side of Sam. There was no gentleness this time. 

"Let me go." I said firmly. 

"You can't leave me this way," he barked, grabbing my arm and twisting me around. "We're in this together." 

Pain surged through my body and I dropped my bag. "Sam..." I groaned, as he kept me pressed against his body. "Let me go, please." 

"You're staying the night," he announced, growling against my neck. 

"You're hurting me!" I cried out, unable to free my arm. He was too huge and too strong for me to fight off. "My arm..." 

He let go of me, realising his mistake when he looked at my arm and found it swollen. I crouched on the floor, whimpering in pain. 

"I'm so sorry," he sat down beside me. "I didn't mean to..." 

"It's a fractured arm," I cried, holding the aching, throbbing limb with the other hand. "My sister had pushed me off the swing when I was ten." 

"I'll get some hot water," he proceeded to rise. 

"That won't be necessary," I stopped him. "Just let me go home, please. My mom must be waiting." 

"Can't you give her a call?" he pleaded, "Tell her you're spending the night at a friend's place." 

"No." 

"Please?" 

"Sam—" 

My attempt at forming a sentence was cut short by his mouth on mine. Gentle at first, then urgent, and then finally, a fierce, voluptuous kiss that had me lying flat on the floor. As if boneless, I allowed him to take off my glasses and unbutton my blouse. I closed my eyes as I heard him unzipping his jeans. A moment later, I felt him kissing my face, his tongue sneaking out to lick my earlobe and leave a wet trail down my throat. I offered no resistance when he lifted up my skirt, pulled down my panties and slid inside me. As always, I was wet and accepting towards him and he was gentle and careful towards me. I found myself helping him as he slowly thrust into me, his hands supporting him and his mouth caressing my skin. He knew I was his and that he needed no invitation or permission to make love to me. I spread my legs as wide as possible while he slid in and out of me in a slow, tormenting motion. Low moans and urgent whimpers filled the room, growing louder and more frequent as his movements became faster. A few moments and deep thrusts later, he stilled and throbbed and spurted inside me, triggering my own quivering orgasm. He held me protectively in his arms and rolled us over, so that my limp body was on top of his. No one spoke for a long time. And then I felt him soothing my arm, showering it with slow, sweet kisses. I opened my eyes and saw the regret on his face, that he really hadn't wanted to hurt me. 

"Your sister pushed you off the swing?" he finally asked. A low chuckle rumbled in my throat. 

"So that I wouldn't be able to write my exams," I said, "But I fortunately broke my left arm." 

"But why did she do that?" 

"Because I was the better one of the two of us. And she never liked the affection I received from everybody." 

He gently held up the arm and flexed it a little. It throbbed slightly. 

"Does it still hurt?" he sounded concerned this time. 

"A bit." I pulled my arm away and put it around his chest. "It's going to be okay." 

"I guess I'm just frustrated," he sighed, "This whole thing is really stressful." 

"Has your wife fought again?" 

"No. She has finally consented to the separation." 

"Does she think you're seeing somebody?" 

"I don't know. And I don't care either. I'm leaving her anyway." 

"What about your son?" 

"I've asked my attorney to get me his custody at any cost." 

I closed my eyes. "Your anger frightened me," I murmured. 

"It won't happen again," he soothed. "I'm sorry." 

I pushed myself into a sitting position and reached for my bag. "I think I'm going to give mom a call," I said, "Tell her I won't be home tonight." 

Sam sat up behind me and nuzzled my neck. "You're staying," he chuckled. 

"Hmm. I want to have as much of you as possible." 

"Care for a clean-up? Want me to run us a nice warm bath?" 

I leaned against his body, feeling sleepy. "That would be great," I smiled, "Got anything to eat?" 

"I can make cheese and mushroom omelettes. Would you like it?" 

I turned my head and kissed his cheek. "I'd love it." 

His eyes filled with love for me as he folded me in his arms. "I love you, Cynthia," he murmured, his voice choking. "Please be with me." 

I kept my head on his chest, feeling calm and free. "I love you, too." My heart swelled with emotion as the words left my mouth. I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anybody ever. I only hoped we didn't have to remain apart for too long. 

-- 

The alarm clock ringing near my head jolted me out of my disturbed sleep. I groaned, stopped the alarm, and covered my face with the pillow. It was the penultimate day of my final exams, and I had been working till late the night before on a presentation that I'd been finding rather difficult. I barely had time to complete it and present it tomorrow. I was great at presentations. I couldn't be miserable at this one. 

"Cyn, wake up, honey," I heard mom coming into my room. I groaned again, my head splitting. 

"Cyn," she sat beside me on the bed, and tried to remove the pillow from my face. "It's almost eight. Get up." 

I took off the pillow, and mom leaned closer to find my face and neck bathed in sweat. 

"Cynthia, are you alright?" she removed my hair from my face. "You look unwell." 

I clutched the mattress as I sat up against the stack of pillows, wiping the sweat off my neck with my hand. The room spun around me, and I closed my eyes again, feeling sick. 

"Honey, how are you feeling?" mom sounded worried. "You look bad." 

"I'll be okay, mum." I tried to get down the bed, but my stomach churned and I leaned back against the pillows again. Mom moved closer to me and felt my forehead. 

"You're obviously stressed," she observed, holding my hands. "After tomorrow, you're going to take some time off and take rest at home. Is that clear?" 

Tomorrow was very far away. I just prayed I'd get through that day. 

"Do you want me to call the doctor?" she asked. I shook my head. 

"It's going to be okay," I said, "Just give me some time." 

Mom nodded and kissed my head. "I'm right outside. Call me if you need anything." 

I rolled back into bed when she was gone. I hadn't got a good sleep at night. I'd been sick for most of the night, and my stomach and head hurt like hell. I still had to work on the presentation. Oh god, I needed help. 

My phone rang, and I kicked my heels into the bed. The sound almost drilled into my head and made the room spin faster around me. 

"Hey, what's up?" Scott sounded on the other end. "How are your exams going?" 

I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling as it finally stopped spinning. 

"Exams are going well," I replied, closing my eyes. "How are you?" 

"I'm great." You would never get another reply from Scott. He always said he was great even if he was going through a bad time. "I called to say I'm coming to Birmingham next week. We can catch up." 

My sagging spirits soared at those words. "Really?" I sat up with a little difficulty. "For work?" 

"Yeah. I'm coming alone, for about two weeks." 

"That's great," I smiled for the first time that morning. "I haven't met you in what seems like ages." 

"We'll make up for lost time," he laughed. "How are things on your end?" 

I had told Scott that I was seeing somebody and that it was very serious. I wanted to wait until the divorce was through before telling him the whole thing. 

"All's well," I said, "How are Carrie and the boys? I loved the gift you guys sent me for my birthday." I remembered the mountain orchid seeds they had gifted me a few weeks ago. "I just hope it grows well here." 

"We wanted to give you something you could use. It's your 21st birthday after all. And before I forget, Carrie is sending something special for you." 

"And what's that?" 

"Patience, sweetypie. I can assure you that you're going to love it." 

I knew that. And I also knew that speaking to Scott and the thought of meeting Sam later would help me get through the rest of the day. 

-- 

"You're late," Sam was sulking in his car when I finally reached him that afternoon. My exam was surprisingly great, given how sick I'd been that morning, and I only hoped Sam would help me get through the presentation. He didn't have a class that day, but he was there to pick me up. 

"I'm sorry," I grimaced slightly as I got into the car. "I'm not okay." 

"What's the matter?" he moved closer to me and felt my cheek. "You're sweating like a pig. Is your BP alright? Do you want to stop at a pharmacy-" 

"Sam!" I groaned, dropping my head back. "Can we just go home? I still have to complete the presentation." 

He sighed and moved back to the wheel. "What presentation?" he asked, as we got moving. He had handed me a bottle of water in the meanwhile. "Can I help?" 

"Yes, you can," I drank greedily from the bottle. "But do you have the time?" 

He leaned in for a quick kiss. "For you, I have my whole life." 

I dropped my bag on the sofa when we reached his apartment and opened the top two buttons of my blouse. It wasn't hot at all and yet I was sweating, well, like a pig. My head throbbed slightly as I reclined in the sofa, sighing softly as I eased my back against the cushions. Sam watched me while taking off his shirt, and I opened one eye to find him wearing a smart-arse grin. 

"What are you smiling about?" I snapped. 

He chuckled quietly. "Come and soak in a bath with me," he held out one hand to me. "And then we can talk about your presentation." 

He came forward, kissed me on the lips, and smiled. "I'll run the water," he whispered. "You get undressed." 

Once he had left, I pushed myself out of the sofa and began to undo the rest of the buttons of my blouse. Then I let the skirt fall to my feet, followed by my underwear. I picked up the clothes and kept them on the sofa. I padded into the bathroom naked, taking Sam's breath away for a moment. 

"I didn't know you've become so bold." He came up to me, laughing, and picked me up in his arms. "The more I see you, the more surprised I am." 

"I have something to tell you," I giggled, circling my arms around his neck. "You wouldn't believe." 

"Of course, I would. Tell me." 

I hid my face in the crook of his neck and giggled again. "I got the offer letter today." 

"Huh?!" Sam put me down as if I was suddenly too hot to handle. "What? Here?" 

I nodded. "I had told you I'd a feeling they wanted to take me as an employee. And it's right here in Birmingham. Which means..." I snuggled close to him again. "...I'm going back to the same, familiar office." 

He snaked his arms around my waist and claimed my lips in a passionate kiss. Once we had pulled away after several wet minutes, he lifted me in his arms again, giving me a spin. 

"Stop it!" I squealed, "I've been dizzy all morning! Let me down!" 

He put me down and kissed me again. "Congratulations," he smiled, cupping my face. "So you're finally not a student anymore." 

"Not until tomorrow." 

"And I won't be married any longer very soon," he sighed, "I just hope I'm able to bring Kurt with me as quick as possible." 

"I'm sure you will." I stood on tip-toe and kissed his cheek. "Now let's get into the bath before the water gets cold." 

After the long, leisurely bath, where we cuddled each other and shared sweet nothings, Sam helped me with the presentation. I had got dressed in my skirt and blouse and Sam had made some coffee for us. 

"Have you informed your mom about the great news?" he asked, as we sat close to each other on the sofa and worked on my laptop. I shook my head. 

"She's going to remain busy the whole day with a series of meetings," I said, "I'll tell her tonight." 

"Oh god, I'm so happy," he pulled me in for a hug again. "There should be more students like you." 

"Who fall for their professors?" I giggled. 

"Cyn!" he mock glared at me before pressing a key on my laptop. "There, your presentation is done." 

"Thank you," I sighed, "I didn't think I'd manage to get through this." 

"With me, you'll manage to get through everything." 

He tackled me back on the sofa, making me laugh and squeal. Very soon, we were kissing again, arms and legs entwined. The doorbell disturbed our intimate moment and he groaned slightly. 

"Must be my neighbour," he said, as he fixed his clothes and hair and got up to answer the door. I smoothed my hair and went back to the monitor. But Sam's voice a moment later made me shift my attention to the door. 

The sight made me freeze. As I slowly rose from the sofa, Sam's hand let go off the door, his mouth parted in shock and surprise. 

"Norma-Jean?" 

(To be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 07



It took me some time to realise it was really happening. NJ was at Sam's door. And if I wasn't mistaken, she was his wife. Soon-to-be ex-wife. 

My palms turned cold as she slowly walked inside, her eyes narrowed on me. I hoped she wouldn't recognise me. And she didn't, since she had last seen me when I was ten. My gaze shifted from her, down to the child holding her hand. A blue-eyed boy with a head full of fluffy hair. He was an image of Sam. Even if I hadn't known earlier, I'd have no problem guessing that it was Kurt. 

I wished the earth would split and engulf me. There was no way this could be happening. 

"I always knew it," NJ hissed, her eyes moving over to Sam. "This is why you wanted me out of your life, isn't it?" 

"Will you stop your nonsense?" Sam snapped at her, slamming the door. "I want you out of my life because that's what any sane man would do with a wife like you. And she..." he looked at me, "...is my student. I was helping her with a presentation. That's all." 

He intercepted her path when she tried to get closer to me. "What are you doing here, Jean?" he asked, crossing his arms. Then he looked at Kurt, his gaze softening. 

"Go inside," he smiled, squatting before the knee-high kid, and tousled his hair. "Daddy's got to show you something. Come on, run along." 

Kurt had understood something was wrong and he quietly did as he was told. Sam rose to his feet and faced his wife again. 

"You didn't answer me," he said, "What are you doing here?" 

"I have something to tell you," she said. "Something important." 

"I have nothing to hear from you," he turned his back on her. 

"You do!" her voice rose sharply as she gave me another of those stares. "I'm your wife, remember?" 

With my heart firmly lodged in my mouth, I stood rooted to the floor, my hands clasping the sides of my skirt. 

"We're separated," he reminded her, his voice still surprisingly calm. "Or have you forgotten already?" 

"Oh yeah," she gave a dry laugh. And then her gaze locked on me again, her face turning spiteful. "And the reason's very attractive, if I say so myself." 

"Jean!" 

"Until the divorce is through, I remain your wife, Samuel Fischer!" she barked at him. "You can't get me out of your life just so you can sleep around with your students!" 

"Jean! If you do not stop your rant right now," Sam was clearly angry now, "I'll have to resort to other means." 

"I think I should leave," I finally blurted, unable to stand there anymore. No one spoke as I put my things in my bag with trembling hands and slowly rounded the foot of the sofa. 

"Don't go," Sam stopped me as I walked up to the door. I shook my head. 

"I must." I turned my face around to find him pleading me with his eyes. As sad as that made me, there was no place for me in that house anymore. 

"Thank you for the presentation," I said, before walking past NJ and opening the front door. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I left the apartment, and heard the door closing behind me as I made my way down the stairs. 

I didn't know how long I sat at the bus terminus, trembling. It was pouring, and buses were few. But then, I needn't have come to the high street or to the bus terminus, in the first place. Sam's house wasn't far from mine and going home would have been easier. But I was there instead, because I was too afraid to even face myself anymore. 

The thought of Sam made the trembling grow worse. He wasn't anymore just the man I loved. He was my brother. Had always been. And I had managed to take him away from my cousin. 

Why had I never asked his wife's name? Or wanted to see a photo or something? 

Of course, I hadn't a clue, nor had Sam. But that didn't change the fact that NJ was my cousin, and my mom's favourite niece. I was sure she loved her even more than she loved Julie. 

The rain didn't show any sign of receding that evening. It was getting late and I needed to be home. I tried to stand, but faltered and almost bumped into one of the posts of the shed. Two women passing by came forward to help, and I politely thanked them and resumed walking, despite how unwell I felt. There was an umbrella in my bag but I found no strength to take it out. So I walked in the rain, negotiating vehicles, puddles, and people, to cross the street and take the road leading to home. After several long minutes when I stumbled into the dark, empty house, soaked to the skin, I felt the world spinning around me again. I held my head with one hand and the wall with the other, trying to find my balance. 

When I had regained my steadiness, I slowly slogged up the stairs, and entered my bedroom. I switched on the light and went straight to the bathroom. I undressed, and turned on the shower, my skin breaking into goosebumps when the warm water fell on my body. I closed my eyes and leaned against the bathroom wall, letting the water drench me. I loved Sam. Yes, I did. We had shared joy and laughter, sorrows and emptiness. He was the man I hoped to have a future with. I'd seen the frustration he felt because of his marriage and I wanted him to be happy. We had become the happiness for each other. 

I slid to the floor, tears streaming down my face. Sam was everything to me. I had found my other half in him. And all I wanted in return was to be a part of his soul, his life. 

-- 

I didn't hear from Sam for more than three days. Not that I expected to. I only hoped he was alright, and that his wife wasn't being much trouble. I had always heard mom saying how hot-headed and volatile NJ was. When I matched her words with all the things Sam had told me about his wife, I got the picture. I loved him and would do so even if things weren't right between us. Once the divorce was through, we could get back our happy days again. 

I found solace in the thought and rested at home for those three days. Scott was arriving in a few more days. We hadn't met in about seventeen months and I couldn't stop gushing about my excitement. On more than one occasion, mom had told me that I was being a headache. But she was proud of me for having bagged the job. As great as I myself felt for my achievement, I still had a shadow of doubt. If she came to know about my relationship with Sam, what would she think? No, I couldn't- wouldn't- think of that just yet. I just prayed that it wasn't too late for Sam and me to realize the dreams we had dreamed together. 

Four days after the unnerving event at his apartment, I got a call from Sam late at night. With a strange mix of delight and fear, I received the call, expecting my heart to soar at his deep, soothing voice. 

"Cynthia," he said, when I asked him how things were at home. His voice was deep all right, but far from soothing. He sounded low, nervous, and also a little bit afraid. That was unlike the Samuel Fischer I had known through those months. 

"What's happening?" I asked, feeling nervous. "Are you alright?" 

Maybe NJ had finally recognised me and told him everything. But I took heart in the fact that they were getting divorced. 

"I have something to tell you." He paused and breathed. "This isn't going to be easy for either of us, but... I have no other way." 

"Did your wife do something?" I knew it was an unnecessary question but I just couldn't remain quiet. 

"No. This has nothing to do with her." 

There was a tormenting pause again. "Cynthia," he sounded distressed this time. "We can't be together anymore." 

What did that mean? What the heck did that mean?! 

"I'm withdrawing my divorce petition," he continued without waiting for my reply. "I can't do this." 

"Sam..." the words were barely audible as they left my quivering lips. My arms were losing strength and I clutched the phone with both hands. 

"My son needs us to be together..." he added, "he... he is..." 

"What?" I asked. "What's wrong with him?" 

I thought I heard him sniffing back tears. "He's terminal," he finally said, his voice breaking. "That's what Jean came to talk to me about... We had got some tests done because of his frequent illnesses. The reports are bad." 

He steadied himself. "Cynthia, I cannot do this. As parents, we should be together for our child." 

I sank back against the pillows, silent tears streaming down the side of my face. Kurt was my nephew. I wouldn't want a broken home for him. But... I also loved Sam and wanted a life with him. And now I was being left midway. 

"Say something, please..." he said, "I—" 

"Can we meet?" I kept my voice steady, not wanting him to know that I was crying. 

"God... Cyn... don't make this harder for me," I realised he was crying too. "If we meet, it will be more difficult for me to walk away... I don't want to do this, but-" 

"Just once," I pleaded. 

"I can't. Please understand, it's killing me to break your heart but in the long run you'll realise that under these circumstances, this is the best for both of us." 

I bit on my lip, tears washing my face. This wasn't the best for me. It would never be. 

"You're too young, Cynthia," he tried to make me see reason. "You deserve better than a divorced man. And my son deserves better than a broken home when he may not have..." 

He trailed off, his voice choking again. I had never imagined to hear him crying. He wasn't someone who broke down easily. I was aware how much he loved his son. He'd always been a good dad in my eyes. But I had never thought that his sense of responsibility as a parent would force us apart. 

"I can't live without you," I sobbed, finally letting it go. "Don't do this to me..." 

"Cyn..." he breathed, trying to hold back his emotions."This is terrible for both of us, I know. But as much as I want you, I cannot deny my child his basic right of having a proper home. Someday... someday, this will all make sense to you. I'm giving up my job here and returning to London. Kurt will be treated there." 

No! He couldn't leave me like that. That wasn't how things were supposed to be between us. I wanted him. I needed him like I needed the air to breathe. 

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself?" he said, "That you'll do great at your first proper job?" 

I didn't say anything. What could I possibly say after that? 

"Cynthia...?" 

I still remained quiet, the sound of my sobs reaching him through the line. 

"I love you, Cyn," he said in the end. "Always will. And I want you to be happy." 

With three beeps, the call was disconnected. 

-- 

Four days later 

"Congratulations, Ms Adamson. We look forward to having you as part of our team." 

Mr Bridges, the recruiting officer, shook my hand as he gave me my service form and other documents that were to be submitted on the day of joining. 

"Thank you," I said, my voice still hoarse from all the crying. 

"See you next week," he smiled as I turned around to walk out of the office, putting the papers in my bag. I folded my arms around my body as I trudged out of the biggest investment banking organisation of the country, with a job in hand, feeling not an iota of happiness. 

The last few days had been a big blur for me. I had remained in my room almost all the time, going out into the house only after mom left for work. I didn't tend to the flowers, didn't eat properly, and spoke only when spoken to. Even though mom had wanted to know what was wrong, I only said that the past few months of work had taken its toll on me. The first part was true, but it wasn't work that had left me broken. It was the times spent with Sam, and the thought that they'd only be memories from now on. 

The recollection made me crumble again. I cried quietly as I took a corner seat in the bus, drawing some curious and some sympathetic glances from around. Sam's departure from my life hadn't ended anything. He had left me with a reminder I could have done without. A keepsake that would remind me of the love that we shared, and also the greatest mistake of my life. 

I dropped my head back, flashes running through my mind. I felt him kissing the raindrops from my lips, and I felt his lips smile against mine. I remembered him sweep my hair aside and kiss me just over the collarbone. He nibbled at my ear, and then engulfed me in his arms. "I love you," he whispered into my hair. "The happiest moment that I actually remember being." I could still hear him whispering to me in the dark as we made love. His hands moving over me as if I were the only woman in the world for him. 

Just then I heard a horn and found myself in the bus, the gloomy sky above almost mocking me. 

I fished out my phone from my bag, still hoping he'd call or text, still holding on to the last shreds of the dream I had seen with him. Instead, there was a message from Scott. He had arrived that morning and had put up at a city hotel, where he wanted to meet me that evening. With a quick thought, I remembered we were having guests at home that evening. Julie would also be there. Maybe they had already arrived. As much as I wanted to see and confide in him about all that was happening, I also recalled mom having asked me to be home since the guests would want to congratulate me in person. I quickly typed an apology message for Scott and asked him to schedule a meeting the next day. Scott replied that he'd call me that night and make it final. 

The rest of my journey to home was slow and dull. The cloudy sky made the late afternoon seem like late evening and the cold, moist breeze made the day nagging, depressing. It seemed to reflect the state of my mind. 

There were a couple of cars parked outside the gate when I reached home. I was in no mood to meet guests; all I wanted was to curl in bed and get some sleep. But the moment I entered the lobby and approached the living room, I found seven or eight people including my mom and my sister, sitting in an eerie silence. When my presence was felt, they turned around to look at me. Mom had tears in her eyes, Julie's expression was quite unreadable, and... there was Norma-Jean, staring on with a sad look on her face. She hadn't changed in ten years. The same blonde hair, the same big nose, and the same sly eyes, that looked straight at me. I had never looked upon her as either a cousin or anything for that matter, and I still didn't. She was Sam's wife. That was how I'd always remember her. 

Mom rose from the chair and slowly approached me. I felt my body tremble despite trying to remain calm. I had never seen that look in my mother's eyes. And it scared me. 

"Cynthia," she held my upper arms. "I want you to tell us what the truth is." 

Her voice was shaking, so were her hands as she held me. My gaze lowered, meeting the carpeted floor. I couldn't muster the courage to look at her. 

"Tell us you didn't sleep with her husband," she was crying now. "That you weren't responsible for their divorce." 

I closed my eyes, aware of the eyes on me. My heart lurched, and sweat began on my brow. Mom's hands left my arms and held my face. "Is this true?" she asked, rightly construing my silence. Then she made me look at her. I met her eyes for an instant. It wasn't my mom. It looked someone different. 

"What NJ told us is true?" she frowned, her fingers pressing into my cheeks. Having no other reply, I nodded slowly. Mom drew her hands away sharply, covering an involuntary gasp. More tears streamed down her cheeks. 

"Mum..." I finally found my voice and tried to form a sentence. But I was cut short by a hand slapping across my face. My spectacles lay on the floor, my cheek throbbing, head spinning. The baby fluttered, frightened. As if instinctively, I wrapped my arms around my mid-section, trying to protect my unborn. 

"Mum..." I spoke again, but mom raised a hand in front of her face. 

"Don't call me mum," she said, looking away. "I can't believe that you..." 

She pressed her hand against her mouth, sobbing. Julie came forward and put her arms around her. 

"The last time I had seen you," NJ finally decided to rub some of her own venom on me, "you were this." She stopped in front of a picture of me on the swing. Then she looked at me above her shoulder. "And the next time I see you, you are at my husband's apartment." 

"I didn't know..." I murmured. 

"That doesn't change anything!" Mom spoke again. "He could've been anybody's husband and you'd still be doing something... disgusting. You knew he's married. And yet, you went ahead and made him leave his wife, his family!" 

"I didn't!" 

"Yes, you did!" It was NJ. "If you hadn't come into his life, he'd never want to divorce me." 

"He's not divorcing you." 

"That's because of Kurt." She squeezed out a few tears. "If anything happens to him..." 

"How could you do this?" Mom shook her head. "I raised you with all the love that I possibly could offer. You had always made me proud. But this time, you proved that you're just like your father." 

The ground seemed to slip from beneath my feet. But I had no right to complain. I had got myself into this. Mom walked back to the chair and sat down. Then she held Julie's hand. "I should've never compared the two of you," she lamented. "At least Julie isn't after a married man." 

"Sam and I aren't together anymore." I found it important to point out. But it seemed like it didn't matter because no one offered any response to it. 

"I'm sorry," I said to the world at large. "I didn't-" 

"Go away," mom sounded angry. "Go away before I say something more. Just go." 

I lifted my eyes and scanned the room. No one came forward. No one asked mom to rethink her words. No one asked for another chance for me. 

I picked up my glasses from the floor and put it on. Slowly, painfully, I turned around and walked out with unsteady steps. My feet suddenly felt very heavy. I felt dizzy and nauseous. I stepped out into the drizzle, hobbling aimlessly through the streets, not even aware of my tears anymore. At one point, I collapsed in a corner of the wet sidewalk and vomited, feeling pain rising in my body. 

The only man I ever loved had broken up with me. My mother had turned me out. I sat on the sidewalk, holding my bag against my body as the rain pattered down on me. I needed protection. But who would give me that when the world looked down upon me? 

Unaware of the rain growing heavy, I grabbed my phone and searched for Scott's number. It was only when I heard his voice that I found a little strength. Scott would never turn me away. 

"Scott, I need help." My voice was breaking. I was hardly in a state to have a proper conversation. 

"What's wrong, sweetypie?" he was immediately concerned. "Where are you?" 

I didn't know where I was. I looked around me, saw some old pub in the distance, and read its name. 

"I'm sitting on the sidewalk near 5th Mile pub. I have nowhere to go." 

"What are you talking about?" Scott was getting distressed now. "What happened?" 

"I'll tell you, if you can get to me." I crouched, hiding my face in my lap. "I'm not alright." 

"Stay right there, baby," he said. "I'm reaching you." 

Scott held my hand as I spoke through the tears, recounting the events of the past few months culminating in that afternoon. He had picked me up from the sidewalk, brought me to his hotel room, and listened without judgement. He had also offered me coffee and several bear hugs to calm me and warm me. I was in one of his t-shirts that was much too large for me, but better than my soggy tunic. 

When I had finished speaking, he took the towel from my shoulder and wiped my hair with it. 

"Need some more coffee?" he asked me softly. I shook my head. The tears were drying on my cheeks, leaving stains. 

"What do you want to do now?" he held my hands again. 

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be here," I sighed. Then I looked at his face. "I'm joining work next week," I said. "Do you think you can find me a place to stay?" 




Will Be Yours Ch. 07



"I can, but are you sure your mom will never want you back? She's just upset and overwhelmed. Give it some time. She'll come around." 

I shook my head. "I've hurt her. I'm sure everybody knows by now... the neighbours, the church, the people at her office. Mom had a standing in society. I've ruined it all for her." 

My throat tightened again. "Everybody hates me," I whimpered. "Everybody." 

"I don't." Scott hugged me again. I put my arms around him, weeping softly. 

"I brought it upon myself," I croaked, "I ruined my life with a stupid mistake." 

"We don't learn if we don't make mistakes," he said, gently stroking my head. "And you're so young. In the long life ahead, this will be just a speck." 

He cupped my face. "You can live on your own," he smiled. "You have a new job. I'll find you a place to stay and—" 

"That's not all," I interjected. 

"What do you mean?" 

I pulled away and looked at my reflection on the glass-top table. "I think I'm pregnant." 

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, "Since when?" 

"I'm not sure. I'd been sick for a week. So I decided to take a home test this morning." I shivered when I thought of the strips in my bag, showing two red lines. "It came out positive." 

"But didn't you use protection?" The look on Scott's face was incredulous, as though I wasn't capable of something so stupid. 

"We did, but not always." 

He sighed exasperatedly and sank back in the chair. "This just makes the whole thing a lot more complicated," he said. "Have you seen a doctor?" 

I shook my head. "Have you told him?" he asked. I shook my head again. 

"Do you intend to?" 

"I don't know." 

"For god's sake, this is his child!" he screeched, rising from the chair. "He must know and support you." 

"What if he thinks I'm trying to trap him with a baby?" 

"Trap him?! What the fuck does that mean? I thought you guys love each other." 

"Loved. Past tense." 

"Cynthia." He brought his face down to mine. "You aren't thinking." 

"You weren't listening." I blew my nose in the towel. "He broke up with me. There's no going back." 

"Do you support his decision?" he frowned at me. "Do you think he did the right thing by withdrawing the petition?" 

"It doesn't matter now," I shook my head. "I'll always be the bad guy. The one in the middle." 

"But he was leaving his wife, wasn't he?" 

"I told you why he thinks he cannot do it. And at the end of the day, even if he chose me, I'd be responsible for the divorce." 

"But in that case, at least you'd have his support." 

"He thinks this is the best for me too." 

"He thinks he's doing you a favour by leaving you alone and helpless? And pregnant, for god's sake! Just give me his number. I'll show that motherfuc—" 

"Scott." 

He became silent and leaned against the table, his brow furrowed. I reclined in the chair, closing my eyes. The trembling had stopped. The anxiety had faded a lot. I was sure the fear would go away in a few more days and I'd be able to resume life. Alone. 

"I think you need to see a doctor," Scott announced, reaching for his phone. "I'll make an appointment." 

"No." My eyes were still closed as I shook my head. "I don't need a doctor." 

"You're pregnant, Cynthia. And you were visibly unwell this evening. You need to get a check-up done. " 

"First, I need a place to stay." 

"You can stay here while I'm in town." 

I opened my eyes to look at him. He was smiling down at me. 

"Are you sure?" I couldn't believe he was willing to let me stay. "I wouldn't want to impose." 

"I know what I'm saying. If you feel uncomfortable, I can get you another room here. It's on me." 

"Scott..." my eyes welled up again. 

"No more crying." He flicked an errant tear from my cheek with his index finger and smiled. "I'll find you a good, safe place and make sure you are settled before I go." 

I stared at him through the tears. Scott and I had always got along like a house on fire. I was privy to a lot of his secrets, including his steamy one night stands before he met his wife, and he had always made me laugh and sheltered me on rainy days. Never in my wildest imaginings had I thought that he'd be the only one to protect me when my family had turned me away. 

Suddenly, mom's words from a distant past came back to my mind. 

"I've always believed that you don't need to have tonnes of friends. I mean, what's the point of having five thousand friends when none of them are around in bad weather? If you have even one real, unconditional friend, you're lucky, because not many people have that." 

"Do you remember the very first assurance you ever gave me?" I smiled brokenly, even as my vision blurred. 

"I'm a chatter box," he laughed. "I don't remember most of the things I say." 

That was untrue. He always remembered everything. 

"You had told me, 'Whenever you need a shoulder to lean on, you know where you can find the widest.'" I looked into his eyes. "You've lived up to it and so much more." 

"Ooh, I feel like god!" 

His full-bodied laughter echoed through the room as he wrapped me in a secure embrace. I hid my face in the crook of his neck and sobbed quietly. 

"You'll be alright," he assured me gently, "I'll talk to your mom once her anger subsides. I'm sure she'll understand." 

I didn't want to dwell on it. Sam was going away. My mom would never look at me the same way again. But I'd still have to live. This too would pass. 

-- 

The hallowed halls of the college library seemed haunting to me as I waited at the librarian's desk to return the books I had borrowed before my exams. The man had gone out for a few minutes to talk to somebody and those minutes seemed agonizing for me. It reminded me of Sam, of our favourite table, our favourite books, and the conversations. I still remembered where it all began. The first meeting, the first handshake, the first laugh shared. My puffy eyes surveyed the ceiling high shelves, my vision turning cloudy. I had been staying at the hotel for the last five days. Scott had made the best of arrangements for me, and also intimated Carrie so she could help me with advice if I had any physical difficulty. He had got me fresh clothes, made sure I had proper meals, and kept a strict vigil on me so that I didn't end up doing anything stupid. For the first time in days, I felt safe and cared for. 

The librarian returned, apologising for the delay. I held out the books and the membership card, and he went through each title, making sure they were in shape. He then took the card, made a note in the register, and asked me to sign. I put my signature where required and thanked the man, zipping up my bag and leaving my seat. As I walked out of the library for the final time, I kept my eyes fixed on the floor. It was all over. Now I only had one way to look— forward. 

I still hadn't decided what I'd do about the baby. Scott had asked me a few times to inform Sam about it but I had been unable to reach him on the phone. Maybe he had already left and changed his number. Something clicked inside me as I approached the stairs. I decided to take a last chance. 

Fishing out my phone, I pressed his number again. Hope returned to my heart when it rang. But after a few rings, I was transferred to his voicemail. Not ready to lose it, I started to speak, forgetting to mind my steps in the process. 

"Sam, I needed to reach you. I wanted to say that—" 

The phone flew out of my hand as I slipped and fell, tumbling down the steep concrete staircase. Before I knew it, I was lying at the foot of the stairs, blood streaming down my face, excruciating pain beginning in my abdomen and spreading through my body. With unclear vision, I saw my phone and my broken spectacles a few feet away. I could not scream for help. The pain was blinding. I tried to rise but found no strength. I raked my nails on the floor, hoping somebody would see me and help me and my baby. It was all that was left of Sam with me. I didn't want to lose that at any cost. 

I wasn't sure how fast or how late I received help. Flitting in and out of consciousness, I vaguely saw some medics attending to me. The pain was still searing, leaving me incapacitated. I could see no blood anymore, although the smell of it was still strong. 

"She's awake!" somebody spoke, and I saw a face hovering over mine. It was a woman. 

"You're in the ambulance," she tried to assure me. "Is there anybody you want us to call? We've recovered your phone and your glasses..." 

"Mum..." I groaned as the word left my lips. It hurt to even open my mouth. 

But then I remembered that mom didn't want me. Nobody wanted me. I passed out again while watching one of the medics searching for my mother's number on my phone. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a better position. It looked like a hospital. My head injury had been nursed but the pain was still searing. It hurt to even breathe. 

My eyes scanned the small, neat room. Where was mom? Hadn't they called her? 

The door opened and two women walked in. One was a doctor, the other looked like the medic in the ambulance. 

"We couldn't reach your mother," the medic told me. "No one picked up." 

I should have known, I thought. If she still cared about me, she would at least have tried to find out where I had been for the past five days. 

"Is there anybody else we can call?" she offered with a smile. 

"Scott." I gulped slowly. "Scott Wilson." 

She picked up my phone from the bedside table and noted Scott's number. 

"We're giving him a call. What's your name?" 

"Cynthia." My response was feeble. 

She gave me a reassuring nod and left the room. Once she was gone, the doctor came forward. 

"You needed fifteen stitches," she told me. "It was a bad fall." 

I listened quietly, my eyes at the ceiling. 

"You also have a fractured rib," she added. "But the most important thing..." 

She came closer and held my hand. "Did you know you were pregnant?" 

Tears trickled down my temples when I heard the words. I knew the worst had happened. 

"Yes." I answered. 

"How long had you known?" 

"Five days." 

"Had you seen a doctor?" 

"No." 

"Well, you were into your seventh week." 

Were? 

When I looked at her with questions burning in my eyes, her face turned compassionate. 

"I'm sorry, Cynthia," she softly squeezed my hand. "You had a miscarriage." 

The words hit me in the middle of my chest. I had lost my baby? Sam's baby. The fruit of our love. I broke into soft sobs when the words registered. The last thread that connected me to the man I'd loved was gone. Forever. 

The doctor clasped my hand in her palms and tried to comfort me. "How old are you, Cynthia?" she asked, her voice soothing. 

"Twenty-one." 

"Are you married?" 

I shook my head. 

"Did the child have a father?" 

I shook my head again. 

"Okay." She paused. "We need to perform a D&C surgery to clean out your womb. Don't be afraid. It will take about half an hour. We are going to use general anaesthesia since you're not in a state to be awake. Do you understand what I'm saying?" 

I nodded. "Tell Scott everything when he arrives," I told her. "He knows me. He's like an older brother." 

She offered me a nod and a smile. "We will." 

-- 

When I regained consciousness for the third time that day, I felt the pain return. I tried to open my eyes but even the little light in the room hurt. Through the pain and the fog, I could decipher the ceiling of the room and the lights. The haze cleared slowly, offering me a clearer view, and a little more agony. My head hurt, my body hurt, everything hurt. If I had to choose what was worse, a broken heart or a broken body, I knew I wouldn't be able to take a pick. 

"Cynthia..." a familiar voice spoke close to my ear. I tried to turn my head but was unable to. Scott's face appeared above me, smiling nervously, as he held my hand. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked. 

"Bad." There was no other word to describe the feeling. I had lost everything. My family, my love, and my baby. 

"You'll be fine," he said, "They told me everything." 

"My baby..." Tears formed in my eyes and streamed down my temples, soaking in the bandage around my face and head. Scott sighed softly, having no answer to that. Just then I heard a soft creak of the door, and the doctor, who had earlier spoken to me, came in. She gave Scott a smile and focused on me. 

"I know you're in pain," she said sympathetically. "But it's going to be okay once the painkillers start working." 

She paused, as if filling her lungs with air. It didn't seem good to me. But I was unafraid. I had nothing more to lose. 

"Cynthia," she began, and I realised that Scott already knew what she was about to tell me. "This might be hard for you, but... it was a bad fall. And you had a uterine damage." 

I had no idea what that was. And I didn't care. I was alive, wasn't I? 

"We call it Obstetrical Haemorrhage," she continued. "You will recover with the help of medications, but you may have to deal with infertility issues for life." 

That was a polite way of saying I may never be able to become a mother again. But it didn't matter. I'd make a terrible mother anyway. 

"You'll also need to be on complete rest for at least three weeks," she informed me. "Your rib needs to heal, so does your head." 

My heart too. 

I closed my eyes, absorbing her words. "I understand," I finally said, and got a smile in return. 

"You'll be alright," she gave me a nod and lightly tapped my hand. "We'll make sure of that. Oh, my name is Sandra. Dr. Sandra Wells. Call for me if you need anything, okay?" 

"Thank you, Dr. Wells," I murmured feebly before she left the room. 

Scott came forward, wearing a pensive expression. "I'm sorry," he said sadly. "About everything. I wish—" 

"Will you give mom a call?" I asked him. "The doctors couldn't reach her." 

"Let me try." He fished out his phone from his pocket and dialled the number I said. I counted the seconds while he waited for her to pick up. Mom knew Scott. I was hoping she'd understand. 

"Mrs Adamson?" he spoke when the call connected. "I am Scott Wilson. Cynthia's friend." 

A pause of one second. "I'm calling to tell you that Cynthia's had an accident and—" 

I opened my eyes to gauge his expression when he was interrupted. He looked surprised. "You don't believe me?" his voice rose a little. "You think I'm calling you to tell a lie?" 

Another pause. The shattered pieces of my heart broke further into tiny fragments as he continued his attempt at having the conversation. 

"Mrs Adamson, I'm not trying to trick you into taking her back," he looked frustrated. "Your daughter needs you. She's in hospital and in bad shape." 

I held out my hand, silently asking for the phone. Scott handed it to me, and I managed to hold it against my ear. 

"Mum..." I whimpered, "I need you." 

"I'm not your mother anymore," she shot back. "You're no daughter of mine. If you were my daughter, you couldn't have slept with a married man. Your brother, for Christ's sake!" 

"Mum, I—" 

"You have no idea of the humiliation you've caused me," she continued. "You've disgraced me. Do you know the things they're saying about you? In the neighbourhood, at the church? It's getting impossible to leave the house. And you think you can crawl your way back by faking an accident?" 

I was at a loss of words. All I could do in reply was shed silent tears. Scott took the phone from me and put it to his ear. It had been disconnected. 

"Don't cry," he told me, "You need rest." 

"Take me along, please," I sobbed. "Don't leave me alone here. I cannot live like this." 

"Your job?" 

"I'll give it up." 

"Cynthia, you have time," he soothed. "Don't rush, please." 

"Take me..." I murmured again. 

Scott sighed. "Is that what you want? To come to Velmont Town?" 

I nodded. I'd go anywhere he took me. I couldn't stay in Birmingham anymore. 

"Alright," he kissed my hand. "I'll call Carrie and ask her to make arrangements. Once you're discharged, you can gather your things from home, and we'll be off. Sounds good?" 

I nodded again. Those were the most reassuring words ever spoken to me. 

-- 

I stared at the lawn through the half-open window of the car, while Scott put my luggage in the bonnet. The roses, the lilies, the dahlias, the morning glory. My flowers. My babies. In my hand, I held an Oxeye daisy that grew in hoards in our lawn. It would always remind me of my flowers. 

"There now," Scott said as he helped me put on my seat belt. It was nine days after my fall, the sutures had been removed from my head and my abdomen, and I'd been given a jacket that I needed to wear for my rib to heal. I still felt the pain whenever the painkillers lost their effect and even slight movements hurt. 

I had later learned that a couple of students at college had seen me lying at the foot of the stairs in a pool of blood, and called the ambulance. I didn't know who they were, but I had thanked them in my mind. I wondered if there was any reason for me to be alive anymore, but I was glad about being rescued anyway. 

Scott had helped me gather my clothes, some of my books, CDs and other important things in a travel bag that morning, when the house was empty. Mom didn't want to see me. I had tried to reach her on the phone a lot of times but she hadn't answered. When Scott had come to the house to meet her, she had turned him away. So I found it best to collect my things when she wouldn't be home. 

I had left her a note, nevertheless. She needed to know I was sorry for what I'd done to her and that I was going away to spare her any further humiliation. 

I'd also called up my office and told them I wouldn't be joining. Obviously surprised, Mr Bridges had tried to change my mind, and had been disappointed when I didn't relent. 

I leaned in the back seat and winced slightly. "Try not to move," Scott instructed me, before taking his place behind the wheel. "I'll try to drive slow." 

I closed my eyes, trying to erase the image of my beloved lawn from my mind. That was my favourite place. And I was leaving it forever. 

"It seems hard, I know," Scott told me from the front seat, looking at my image in the rear view mirror. "But it'll be okay. Tomorrow is always another day." 

Yeah, it was. Maybe I'd move on. Maybe I'd grow a new heart. And with any luck, this one would be made of stone.



Will Be Yours Ch. 08



Note: The song lyrics are not mine. I've only quoted them. 

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Cyclonic storm in the early hours sent roofs flying and trees crashing all over the town. Moore's Lodge was a pretty, Victorian-style building, with ornate rooms, four-poster beds, and stained glass windows. Luke loved top floors since that gave a better view of every place but he wished he hadn't asked for a room near the roof when the maple tree came down on the building, not only flattening the roof but also breaking some of the windows. 

For the next few hours, there was total pandemonium. Luke had returned late after the dinner and would have loved nothing better than a full sleep, but instead he found himself running downstairs with his luggage, while the small hotel staff ran helter-skelter, struggling to accommodate the guests while trying to get the tree out of the way. The situation was made worse by the absence of light, since the trees had taken the electric poles down with them. The combination of darkness, pouring rain, howling wind, and clanging tin sheets made for a strange late night-early morning concert. 

When a nearby building caught fire after being struck by lightning, Luke joined the local people in rescuing the occupants. It turned out to be a small girls' school whose library and senior classroom were on fire. Books burn well, unfortunately, and the library was completely gutted. Since the school had no outstation students, the only people present in the building were two security guards. After they had been evacuated and the fire had been put out with some difficulty, the men were brought to spend the rest of the night in the hotel. 

The school wasn't the only building hit by lightning. News reached Luke about a couple of houses having caught fire and fallen trees keeping several people trapped in their homes. Who knew there were so many trees in the town?! 

As Luke was accommodated in another room on the ground floor, he wondered about Scott and his family. There were quite a few large trees in their lawn and around their house that could be uprooted. He also worried about Cynthia and her safety. But then, he was beginning to think about her more frequently than he wanted to. If it was Scott and his other friends that had made him visit Velmont Town, then Cynthia's company ensured that he ended up enjoying his stay and falling for the charming little place. 

When he left the hotel at daybreak for a walk around the place, he found several uprooted trees, fallen branches, torn cables, leaning electric posts, broken roofs and shattered pieces of glass strewn everywhere on the road. Many houses on the way were with broken roofs or no roof at all, while some residents were trying to get fallen trees removed in order to unblock their entrances. Amid all the chaos, Luke found several birds and squirrels happily feasting away on branches laden with fruits or wild berries that had fallen to the ground. There were puddles big and small on the road, and some of the lanes were blocked by large, leafy branches. 

Life in the hills was different. He realised why Cynthia had chosen to come here. There was something therapeutic in the air. It had helped her heal. But had she really healed? The other day, when she had given away bits about her former life, he'd seen the sadness in her eyes. There was a part of her that still lived in the past. And a large part of her still felt guilty and ashamed about her mistakes. She appeared to have moved on, but somewhere deep inside, she still loved her ex. He had seen it in her eyes, even though she would never admit it. 

Luke had covered quite some distance when he felt hungry. Both he and Scott, and also his boys and to some extent Carrie, were gluttons. At the party last night, they had eaten like there was no tomorrow. And yet, at barely five in the morning, he was hungry. There were no roadside sausage or momo stalls that morning, thanks to the storm. Almost everyone was busy getting their roofs or windows fixed, or removing trees. But more than food, what concerned him was Cynthia's safety. Was her home alright? And what about her shop? 

Despite hesitating for a moment, Luke decided to check on her. Turning around, he started walking down the road that would lead to her house. The roads were wet, and Luke rolled up his jeans when he came across a large pool of rainwater in the middle of a narrow stretch. Marielle should have told him to bring some waterproof shoes along, he thought as he looked down at his feet. This was probably the last trip for his canvas shoes. 

A few kids were playing football on a muddy field. Schools were most likely to remain shut that day, since people were still recovering from the mayhem. Luke felt tempted to join in the game, but he hated the idea of having to clean his shoes again. So he walked ahead, whistling cheerfully, hands in his pockets. The air was cool, almost chilly. The sky was clear, with streaks of puffy white clouds. It reminded Luke of a child who makes mischief and then looks on with the most innocent expression. People cycled past him, talking about fallen trees and missing roofs, while the roads were being cleared in various places. He had always known hill people to be lazy. He had no idea if the town was awake so early every day but that morning, it hardly looked like it was five. 

When he came close enough to Cynthia's house, he saw the lock on the gate. Maybe she hadn't woken up yet. And then he noticed that the lock had been put from the outside, which meant she wasn't home. But where had she gone that early? 

Her house looked unharmed. No broken roof, no fallen trees, no shattered window. Just a few plants on the lawn had bent over, and a few flower buds had fallen off. 

In the distance, he found Scott's boys riding their bikes along with two other kids. The gate of their house was open, and he noticed Scott working on the lawn. He looked at the locked gate of Cynthia's house again, wishing she were home. 

"Good morning, Luke!" Scott called out, waving at him from the lawn. Luke smiled and waved back. 

"Come over," he motioned to him and he slowly made his way towards their house. Jake and Josh saw him and waved, and Carrie, who was inside the house, greeted him through the window. 

"Everything okay?" Luke asked, when he was on the lawn. "It was quite a storm, huh?" 

"Oh, yeah." Scott laughed, sitting on the edge of the fountain. "I heard over fifty trees fell around town. Is the hotel in shape?" 

"Not really." Luke sat beside Scott, and looked at the goldfish swimming merrily in the water. "The roof's flat, there's a fallen tree in the garden, and no electricity. Not to mention the broken windows. A nearby school caught fire, and the evacuated people have been staying at the hotel for the moment." He sighed. "I like it here. Nothing is boring or dull." 

"You're saying." Scott smiled. "Other people would complain and grumble about the inconveniences caused." 

"I won't lie, but back home, I'd grumble too. But I'm on vacation here." He stretched his arms. "Everything is an adventure." 

His eyes travelled over to Cynthia's house. She still hadn't returned. Scott saw him staring, and smiled knowingly. 

"She'll be back soon," he patted his shoulder, "She's probably gone to check the condition of her shop." 

Despite himself, Luke blushed a little. "I was hoping to check how she's doing," he admitted. "She was kind of... upset, yesterday." 

"I don't blame her," Scott sighed. "Carrie can be really undiplomatic sometimes." 

He looked at him. "Did she tell you anything?" he asked, and Luke realised he meant if Cynthia had shared her story with him. 

"She told me a little bit about her life," he said. "Honestly, I could never have imagined that smile hides so much. She's sweet... and nice." 

"She is. I'm sorry about Carrie's enthusiasm yesterday. Cynthia's still sensitive about her past, but Carrie wants her to attend the wedding. She thinks this is a great opportunity for them to reconcile." 

"Do you want her to go?" Luke asked. 

"Yes, but for just one reason. She should go and show them that she's doing great here." Scott joined his hands and propped his chin on them, resting his elbows on his knees. "To this day, I haven't been able to believe what her mother did to her," he said thoughtfully. "Her mom was all she had, and she didn't get her just when she needed her the most. She went ahead and supported somebody else when she should've stood by her daughter." 

Somebody else? 

"Speaking of the devil..." Scott looked up and smiled when he saw Cynthia stopping her bike in front of her house. She smiled and waved at them, and Luke felt a little relieved for some unknown reason. A little later, she walked up to Scott's front gate with her pink and black bike in tow. The basket in front had some flowers and a loaf of bread. 

"Hi," she smiled again, looking at Luke. "Been here long?" 

"No, just a few minutes," he returned her smile. "Is your shop alright?" 

"Yeah, thankfully." Her eyes were drawn to his rolled up jeans. "You walked?" 

Luke laughed. "Yes. Did a survey of the town after the storm," he said, opening the rolled up portion of his pants. 

He turned to find that Scott had disappeared in the meanwhile. Cynthia secured her bike and walked inside, until she was standing in front of him. Dressed in a pink, long sleeve t-shirt and jeans, she looked fresh as always. 

"Your bike's great," he mentioned, his gaze fleetingly passing over the pretty bicycle. "Somehow, it suits you better." 

She laughed. "I'm not too fond of the car, really," she said, "When the sky is clear, I usually prefer taking the bike." 

"I'm not too fond of cars either," he said. 

"Luke is crazy about motorcycles," Scott piped in from the front of the house. "We've had some crazy riding adventures." 

"That's cool," she crossed her arms and smiled. "Do you still ride?" 

"Sometimes," he said shyly. "Motorcycles thrill me. Have you ever been on one?" 

"Yes. Scott has given me rides on his bike a couple of times. But I find bike rides scary. Especially if it's going too fast." 

"Speed is subjective," he laughed. "I'm known to be a very fast rider, yet I feel I could ride faster than that." 

"Then I better be aware." She laughed again. "I do love to ride my bike very fast. I had once lost balance and run into a fruit stall." 

"Don't tell me. What happened?" 

"Oh, nothing much. Apples and oranges went rolling down the road and I found myself in the arms of the indignant fruit seller. Had to pay for the damages." 

They laughed aloud. "Tell me about your riding adventures," she said, "I know Scott loves motorcycles too, although his machine hardly ever starts." 

"I will tell you all about it," he nodded, "But I need to talk to you about something else first." 

"Sure." She turned her face to glance at her house. "You must be hungry. Why don't you have breakfast with me?" 

When he hesitated, she smiled cheekily. "I think Scott also wants me to feed you," she giggled, "Since he hasn't asked you to breakfast yet." 

"Now that's a dilemma," Luke thoughtfully rubbed his chin. "Scott and Carrie are good cooks." 

Cynthia quirked an eyebrow at him. "You're doubting my cooking skills?" she put her hands on her hips. "I'm going to show you. Come on." 

When he just laughed without moving a millimetre, she grabbed one of his arms with both hands. "Come on, I said," she demanded, and dragged him out of the gate. She let go of him when they reached her bike and she unlocked the two-wheeler. Cynthia wasn't just pretty, she was also graceful. In her movements, in her demeanour, and in the way she went about everyday life. 

Luke watched her as he followed her inside her house, his eyes travelling from her head full of thick long hair to her narrow waist. Her hips swayed slightly while she walked up to the door and opened it with gentle hands, her feet nimble and soundless as they padded inside. As if enchanted, Luke watched her movements. The skinny jeans hugged her long legs perfectly, her small, firm butts seemed more defined in the fitted silhouette, and her hips... they could give the supermodels a run for their money any day. 

"Would you like fried eggs on toast with sausages?" she asked, parking her bike in a designated corner beside the door. Collecting the flowers and the bread from the basket, she looked at him. Luke snatched his eyes away from her hips a little too late. He flushed, embarrassed about being caught checking her out. Cynthia, however, remained unaffected. 

"Would you?" she repeated, patiently waiting for his reply, with the flowers in one hand and the bread in the other. 

"Sausages would be great," Luke finally blurted, feeling like an idiot. "And the fried eggs on toast as well." 

"Alright," she smiled, turning around and placing the fresh flowers in the vase on the centre table. She gathered the dry flowers in her hands and looked at him again. "Coffee or orange juice?" 

"Orange juice," he replied. She nodded, and with a flip of her hair, she disappeared into the kitchen. Luke breathed a sigh of relief. What was happening to him? Since when did he start checking out women? 

Since he met Cynthia Adamson, his brain reminded him. 

He walked up to the centre table and poured himself some water. In the past three-and-a-half years, the thought of another woman had never crossed his mind. Even when he had reluctantly agreed to start dating again, he hadn't done so with the intention or expectation of finding someone. His sole purpose had been to convince his family and friends that he had moved on so they'd stop pussyfooting him and allow him to breathe. 

That was until Cynthia walked into his life, and her sweet, gentle demeanour started to take his breath away right from the first moment. 

"How was dinner last night?" she asked from the kitchen. He could hear sounds of eggs being broken and fried and the toaster popping. 

"Monstrous." He strolled in her living room, checking out the wooden bookcase and the titles inside. 

"Monstrous?" she sounded surprised. 

"We ate so much that the cook looked like he wanted to throw us out." He kneeled in front of the bookcase, his eyes browsing the paperbacks on the bottom row. Ayn Rand, JD Salinger, Charles Dickens, and Franz Kafka occupied pride of place, while the row above had an entire collection of Jeffrey Archer. He also noticed a few Paulo Coelho books, and two parts of the Lord of the Rings series. 

"Are you a glutton like Scott?" she laughed, the sound echoing in the small house. Luke stood, before moving over to the window, the aroma of sausages making his stomach growl. 

"Oh yeah," he chuckled. "Don't be fooled by my body. I just know how to cover up. Scott doesn't." 

"I never said anything about your body." Cynthia's low giggle made him turn around and glare in the direction of the kitchen. Too bad she didn't see it. Then he realised he was being un-gentlemanly by standing there and not offering her any assistance. 

His emotions were getting the better of his manners. 

"Need help?" he asked, walking up to the kitchen door. The place was small like the rest of the house, but the neat decor gave the illusion of space. 

"No, I'm done," she picked up the piping hot sausages with a pair of tongs and kept them on the two plates she had laid out. Then came the toast with the fried eggs, sunny side up. 

"I'll carry them." Luke carefully picked up the plates before she could protest and walked out to the dining area. The table was made of solid wood and was big enough to seat four people. But what made him smile was the table cloth. The pale yellow cloth had daisies in various hues printed on it. Cynthia sure loved flowers in every corner of the house. 

"Orange juice," she turned up beside him with a jug of fresh juice and put it down on the table. "Help yourself," she smiled, gesturing at the spoons and the glasses neatly arranged on the table. 

"This is quite an arrangement," he said, as they sat down to eat. Cynthia shook her head. 

"I love a hefty breakfast," she said, taking a sip of her coffee. "I usually have three or four items every morning, mostly fries." 

"You don't look like you eat fries," he smiled naughtily, taking a spoon and a fork from the stand. 

"I love fries." She bit on a toast and looked at him. "Is the food good enough for your liking?" 

Luke laughed, aware of what she meant. "It is, thank you very much. It's all about being at the right place at the right time." 

"What does that mean?" 

"Well, the hotel's in a state of mess this morning. No power, no water, no roof." He cut a piece of sausage and put it into his mouth, relishing the taste. "If I hadn't come to talk to you, I would've missed this lovely breakfast." 

"What did you want to talk about?" 

"I think we should finish eating first." 

"We can talk while eating." 

"I wouldn't want to spoil your mood." 

She frowned, her chewing getting slow. "Why don't I like the sound of this?" 

"Nothing that bad," he laughed. "I just had a suggestion." 

"What suggestion?" 

Luke wiped his mouth with a napkin and angled himself towards her. "I don't want you to take it the wrong way," he began, hesitantly. "But I'd love it if you come to Birmingham for a weekend with me." 

Cynthia pushed her plate aside and sighed. "Luke, it isn't that easy for me." 

"I never said it's easy for you. And that's the reason why I want you to think this is more about me and less about your sister's wedding." 

"More about you?" she asked. 

The tone of her voice made him suck in a breath. "You heard me right," he said. "I'd like the weekend to be about you visiting me, and having a great time. Not about you attending the wedding and being sad over the past." He sipped on the juice. "But if you want, you can also squeeze in the wedding. It's just one day, after all." 

"As much as I like your kind gesture," Cynthia said sadly. "I don't think I can let you do this." 

"Why not?" 

"For starters, I still haven't decided if I'm going." 

"Do you want to?" 

"I don't know." She left her chair and walked up to the window, overlooking her front porch and the lawn. "For at least six months after I came here," she said, "I hoped mom would call. I hoped she'd forgive me, want me to come back home." Her voice broke a little as she hung her head low. "But she didn't get in touch. It took her almost four years to finally feel the urge to find out about me. And that too because of my sister's wedding." 

Leaving his seat, Luke walked up to her. "Do you miss her?" he asked, staring at her face as he stood beside her. She shook her head. 

"I used to. But over time, I realised she's happy without me. Mom was my only family. When she refused to give me a chance to make amends, I broke down." She looked at him and smiled wryly. "I don't miss anything about Birmingham anymore." 

"You don't have to do it alone," he smiled. "I'll help and support you." 

"Luke..." her voice sounded tired. "Why would you do that?" 

He moved a little closer to her and looked out of the window. A couple of squirrels were running about on the lawn, probably looking for food, and a bunch of sparrows were sunning themselves in a corner of the porch. 

"You know what was Di's favourite movie?" he asked her. She shook her head. Of course she didn't know. He had never told her. 

"The Titanic." He smiled at the memory. If he wasn't mistaken, she had made him watch the movie about a zillion times over the years. Each time, she'd hold him tight and weep like there was no tomorrow. Given a chance, she'd watch the same movie every day. It irked him back then, but only after she was gone, did he realise how powerful love was and why she had liked that movie so much. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 08



"She must have seen it innumerable times," he continued, "She knew all the lines from that movie. Do you know what her favourite scene was?" 

Cynthia shook her head again. 

"There's a scene where Rose is leaving on a lifeboat while Jack and her fiancée are watching her go down. But then she jumps back into the Titanic unexpectedly." 

His voice caught up in his throat. "They run towards each other inside the ship and when he finds her, Jack asks her why did she do something so stupid. And she responds, you jump, I jump, right?" 

Cynthia watched him in silence, understanding the meaning behind this story. When Luke shifted his gaze to her and stared into her eyes, she placed a hand over his on the window sill. Luke had come to love that about her, among other things. She did like to touch people, as if inviting them to be a part of her world. 

"If there's one thing I learned from my tragedy," he said, still looking into her eyes. "It's that you cannot keep running from your ghosts. Sooner or later, they're going to catch up with you. I've gone through severe depression. I've been suicidal too. I've had grief counselling and therapy for months. But it wasn't until I took charge of my life that I actually started getting better. I willed myself to stop feeling the way I felt. I couldn't live the rest of my life grieving over my loss, running away from the memories." 

He gently held her by the arms. "I feel that you're doing the same thing, running away from your ghosts. It's time you faced them and conquered them. I remember something Scott used to tell me, that only by letting go of our past baggage do we get a new pair of jeans." 

"You're right," she finally said, sucking on her bottom lip. "I do need closure." 

"I'm glad you realise that," he smiled, crossing his arms. "But you'll come to Birmingham primarily to visit me. Meeting your family is secondary. You'll see, that way, your nervousness, fear, and embarrassment will be a lot less." 

"I'd rather not have you come into this," she shook her head. "Things might get messy." 

"You jump, I jump, remember?" 

She looked up to find him staring down lovingly at her. But she shook her head again. 

"I cannot stay with you," she announced. 

"Don't worry, there are three bedrooms," he chuckled. But he soon realised that wasn't what she meant. 

"The house...," she murmured, "It was yours and Diana's home. You have her memories there. I cannot... barge in..." 

"It isn't what you think," he explained. "I told you I spent a lot of time trying to escape her memories. Where I live now is a new apartment I bought last year after selling off the house I and Di shared." 

"You sold off the house?" her eyes widened. 

"Hmm-mm. You'd think I would want to keep the memories. But they were too painful for me. I needed a new place if I had to heal." 

He sighed. "So," shaking off the emotion, he smiled at her. "There's plenty of room and you wouldn't be barging in. Anything else?" 

"You're leaving a week before the wedding," she pointed out. 

"I can stay for a week more. If you agree, I will extend my flight tonight and book yours too." 

He saw her struggling to decide, as she played with her fingers and chewed on her lip. Luke tried to not focus so much on her mouth, but she did have a kissable, pink mouth. Besides, she looked adorable when she was nervous. But he also knew it was something that pained her a lot. He had heard only bits about her life, but it had been enough for him to form the picture. 

"I don't want you to regret this," her voice was low and shaky when she spoke. "You don't know what had happened there. I don't want—" 

"I know you," he interrupted energetically. "I don't care what had happened there. I will never judge you, Cynthia. Only support you." 

And that was true. He liked her, a lot. Whatever may have happened in the past didn't concern him at all. 

"I think I might give your proposition a shot," she finally smiled. "But I have a condition." 

Luke lost heart for a moment. "What condition?" 

Cynthia crooked her finger and beckoned him to come closer. When he leaned in, she clutched his t-shirt and brought his ear down to her mouth. 

"You've got to be my chauffer," she whispered. "Drive me around everywhere." 

At her words, Luke laughed out loud. Cynthia pulled back and tried to hide her grin. 

"I'll drive you around, and also give you a spin or two on my motorcycle." He circled his arms around her waist and pulled her close to his body. "I'm your wing man, right?" 

She nodded, stepped back and smiled. "Shall we finish our breakfast?" I think it's cold by now." 

"I don't mind," he said as they walked back to the table. "Great food taste good even when cold." 

He put a piece of egg into his mouth, realising that he needn't have doubted her cooking skills. Compared to his fried eggs, hers tasted much better. 

"Do you want me to book your flight?" he asked, dissecting a sausage. She nodded in agreement. "But why did you think I'd take this the wrong way?" she asked. 

"Well, it's your life. I have no business making your problems mine. You may have disliked that." 

"But I actually like it," she smiled, "I know you're only trying to help." And then taking him by surprise, she put her arms around his neck. 

"Thank you," she murmured, "I'm glad you came here." 

Luke tightened his arms around her waist, hugging her properly. Even her body felt right against his. 

"Me too," he smiled. He wanted her to visit him, spend time with him at his house. But he was also doing this because he knew this was hard for her. And he'd make sure she was cared for and protected when she returned home after so many years. 

*** 

So Luke stayed for three weeks, seven days more than what he'd initially planned. Among various other things, he also spent some considerable time playing football with Jake, Josh, and their friends. On the day of the first match, I and Luke went to the stands along with Scott and Carrie. It had rained a while ago, leaving the field muddy and slippery, which Jake's team used to their advantage and won the match. 

Jake and his team turned a bit rough with the opponents, and at least three of the boys from the public school were limping around by the time the game was over. This resulted in Jake being banned from the next match since too many objections had come in. The guy who replaced him was fat and used his weight to full effect. Due to intermittent rain, the field was a quagmire, and most of their opponents had ended up in mud and were unable to run by the end of the match. The home team won the match 5-0. 

The rest of the tournament was called off because of the aggressive performance of the school. But Jake wasn't one to be disheartened. 

"Never mind," he said with a disdainful tilt of his chin. "We know who's the best. Let them keep the trophy." 

Luke and I went out every other day, laughing, talking, taking long walks, and sharing warm, wonderful moments. Scott's boys- who both knew to play the guitar- often had jam sessions with Luke, and I'd be unwittingly pulled into the scene. Luke was not only an amazing singer, but he also played the guitar really well. We often stayed up till late, while he and the boys (including Scott) sang songs, and I and Carrie supplied coffee and cakes. Sometimes, Scott's other friends would come over and the party would continue well into the night. 

But what embarrassed me the most was when Luke came to my shop, and Becky and Leah spent the rest of the day teasing me. Both of them unanimously agreed that I was the prettiest girl in town. People liked me for being friendly and kind. But I had become aware of the male gaze at a very young age. I knew when a man eyed me, ogled me, stripped me with his very eyes. A stranger glancing my way, a waiter checking on me more than usual, a customer refusing to leave the counter... I always seemed to attract attention everywhere. But I was happy being single. I felt free, with no pressure of a relationship. Yet something told me I wasn't being completely honest with myself. 

That 'something' was Becky. 

"Don't tell me you're wearing that this evening," she screeched as she entered the shop that morning. I dropped the task at hand and looked down at the green knitted top and jeans I was wearing. 

"What's wrong with this?" I asked, returning to arrange the tulips in the vase. 

"I've seen you in this millions of times!" she jumped in and dropped her purse on the counter. "You are not wearing recycled clothes on your vacation with Luke. Over my dead body!" 

Vacation wasn't the word. But Becky just wouldn't stop using it. She didn't know my actual purpose for visiting Birmingham. I'd told her that I had some important work and Luke had invited me to spend a weekend with him. Becky's excitement was sky high; years of trying to set me up with a guy was finally paying off. And she didn't have to do anything. 

"All my clothes are old and used, Becky," I told her. "I have nothing new." 

I had never felt the need to shop much around here. A visit to the mall once or twice a year usually sufficed for my clothes needs. 

"Then I see we have work to do, girlfriend." She gave me one of her grins that reminded me of the witch in the Wizard of Oz. 

Becky, an admitted shopaholic, was always telling people what kind of clothes would look great on them and she was usually right. Sometimes I wondered if she wouldn't do better as a personal stylist than working here at the shop. But she always said she wouldn't trade her job here for anything in the world. 

"I guess you're right. I don't have anything to wear," I said, remembering that I actually had nothing to wear to the wedding. I couldn't turn up dressed in rags. I was Cynthia Adamson, and I was going to let Becky sprinkle some of her magic dust on me, so I could turn heads again, like I used to, all those years ago. 

"That's my girl!" she threw an arm around my shoulders. "We have very little time to shop then. We'll take a long lunch. I'm thinking something chic but colourful... maybe a halter, backless dress. That would look great on you." 

"Becky...," I unsuccessfully tried to cut in. 

"Well, we could also go for a sweetheart neckline. That would look even better on you with your... erm... assets." She pointed at my breasts. "Luke won't be able to do anything else but notice those babies." 

"Stop bringing Luke into this, will you?" I glared at her. I looked at my small luggage in one corner of the shop. It was nine-thirty in the morning. We were leaving sharp at five in the evening. Scott had driven me to work that day, and he'd drive us to the airport as well. Carrie had given Luke some mango jam to take home, and he'd already had a few spoons of it. I was sure it wouldn't last very long. 

"Sweetie, beautiful girls need beautiful clothes," she smiled, taking my arm as we walked out of the shop. I herded my luggage into the back of her car and very soon we had arrived at Astley Hall. It was a big place, the busiest shopping hub in town. I was hoping to find a nice gown for the wedding. 

"Take this," Becky held up a backless blue halter-neck top from a rack of clothes. "This is just what I wanted." 

"Are you crazy?" I rolled my eyes, taking the top from her hand and keeping it in its place. "I don't wear such clothes, you know that." 

When I picked up a pair of pale pink palazzos, she sighed. 

"You're still being careful, aren't you?" she asked, sifting through the clothes. 

"What do you mean?" I responded, picking up another pair of palazzo and putting it in the cart. 

"You're still as afraid of a relationship as you were when you first came here," she announced. Becky knew that I had a boyfriend someday and that things had ended badly between us. But she just couldn't accept that I'd spend my whole life being afraid of another relationship. 

"You're afraid you'll fall for Luke," she added. "You're afraid he'll fall for you. And you want to conceal your attractiveness with safe clothes." 

"I love palazzos," I said. "They are comfy." 

"Cynthia." She came up to me and held me firmly by my arms. "You need to loosen up and have fun. You know that oft-heard adage? Whenever a door closes, another opens somewhere. But we keep staring at the closed door and miss seeing the door that has opened." 

Her eyes were drawn to a rack with colourful dresses and tunics, and she left my side for her target. 

"This one is such a beauty," she gave an impressed smile as she held up a lime and pink pleated tunic with flared sleeves. It was fitted at the chest with an overlapped neckline, and layered near the end. "You will look radiant in this." 

She tossed it into my cart and smiled contentedly at me. "I want you to wear this now. It's going to go well with your jeans." 

When I remained silent, she grabbed me by the shoulders. "Are you still in love with that son-of-a-bitch?" she snarled a little. She always called Sam by that name. She was of the opinion that whoever couldn't value me was nothing less than a, well, you-know-what. 

"No." I removed her hands and walked down a short flight of stairs to the rows of gowns. Colourful, glitzy, stylish. If I remembered correctly, I had last worn a gown at my high school farewell party. 

"I'm not sure I've healed completely," I said honestly. "I don't know if I'm ready to give in to the demands of another relationship. I don't know if I have it in me anymore." 

"You will never know unless you try." Becky came up to me and put an arm around my shoulder. "Maybe a loving, fulfilling relationship is just what you need to be whole again." 

I sighed. "I feel so scared all the time..." 

"Cyn, I know where you're coming from," she nodded in understanding. "Broken relationships are always hard. But the past is always in the past. We must move ahead." 

She crossed her arms and gave me a hard look. "You're better off without anyone who doesn't realise what a gem you are," she said, "Who breaks your heart and makes you keep running away from happiness. You don't deserve that." 

I acknowledged her empathetic words with a nod, silently thanking her for being an unconditional friend. I picked out a pale coral one-shoulder gown from the rack and admired it. The cap sleeved bolero it came with made the dress even more irresistible. It was a little expensive, but I still decided to buy it, pleasing Becky. 

"This is gorgeous," she felt the fabric of the dress against her hand. "I guess you're willing to show some back, huh?" 

We giggled, as I tossed the gown into the cart. When we had finished shopping, and were at the counter to pay the bill, Becky had a few large bags in her hands, overflowing with clothes and accessories, while I had stuck to a few items. 

"Listen," she leaned in to me at the queue. "Get your hair styled professionally if you can, okay? Your hair is enviable, you must show it off." 

I nodded, obediently. Becky remained quiet for a little while, but I heard her tapping her feet, as if dying to say something more. And then she let it out. 

"You know, Luke is a nice guy. You two would make—" 

"Becky!!" 

-- 

Luke watched me as I got into the car. Scott had arrived on time to pick me up from the front of my shop, after picking up Luke from the hotel. 

"You look great," he smiled as I got into the seat beside him. I had changed into Becky's chosen top for me at the mall's washroom, and stuffed the other clothes into my luggage. After lunch, we had returned to the shop, and had spent some time laughing and talking before being picked up. I could see Becky looking smug as hell as the girls waved bye-bye to me. 

"Thank you," I replied, noticing how good he looked in that plain black t-shirt. Scott was smiling from the driver's seat. Luke could have easily sat beside him, in the front, but I realised he had deliberately chosen the back seat because he wanted to be next to me. 

"I loved it here," Luke sighed a little sadly, staring out of the window. "I wish I could stay back." 

"You can always return." I smiled. 

"Oh, he will," Scott chipped in from the front. 

"Yes, I will," Luke nodded. "But I'm not sure when, because my brother's going to kill me with work." 

He laughed. "He will make me pay for taking vacations when he's in the office, working." 

"So bring him along," I suggested. "I'd like to meet him." 

"He's a great man," it was Scott again. "Very endearing. A little strict sometimes." 

"Very strict," Luke corrected him. "He's probably the strictest, and the most disciplined, in our entire family." 

"He needs to be," I said. "He runs a business, after all." 

"He's the best business consultant I know, even if I say so myself," Luke said, obviously proud of his brother, "He's the one who actually runs the business. I'm just for... eye candy." 

"You are quite a candy," I chuckled, and the three of us laughed. I hadn't left Velmont Town since I came here. It was only for a weekend- four days if we counted that day also- but it still made me a little sad to be going away. I loved that place so much. It had given me back the greatest thing I'd lost in Birmingham- respect. 

"I'll miss you," I hugged Scott when we got down at the small airport of the town. He patted me on the back, and smiled. 

"It's only a weekend, alright?" he said, before turning at Luke. "Take care of her," he told him, as the two men hugged. 

"Please, it's just a trip," I shrugged. "Stop acting like the father of the bride." 

"Yeah," he chuckled. "I have sons." 

Luke laughed, taking my luggage along with his. "Don't worry," he told Scott, "She's going to be great. I'll make sure of that." 

"After all, you're the one she agreed to do it for," Scott pointed out. "You have some talent there." 

I didn't know about talent, but I was sure looking forward to spending time with Luke. I also wanted to know a lot more about Diana, if he was willing to tell. 

We had soon said our goodbyes and boarded the flight. Luke found me nervously playing with my fingers as he put my big shoulder bag in the overhead bin. 

"Are you okay?" he smiled, taking his seat. It wouldn't take more than an hour to reach Birmingham, and I wished the flight was longer. I suddenly felt I lacked the courage to do this. 

"I'm kind of..." I trailed off, unsure of how I felt right then. 

"Anxious?" he filled in, fastening his seat belt. 

"Maybe." I sank back in the seat and closed my eyes. "Have you ever been in a situation like this? Where you were meeting someone for the first time in years and things had ended on an ugly note the last time?" 

"No," he said, "But I can imagine how you must be feeling. Does your mother know that you're coming?' 

"Yes. Scott told her when she'd called again." I did some gentle belly breathing, willing the nervousness to fade. "She had called three times in all. One of them was when I was at Scott's house. But I couldn't bring myself to talking to her." 

"If you couldn't talk to her on the phone," Luke said, "How are you going to face her?" 

He needn't have pointed that out. 

"I don't know." I looked out of the window. We were flying by then, and I could see nothing outside except darkness. 

"It will be okay," he softly squeezed my hand. I hoped so. I really did. 

A little more than an hour later, Luke and I were walking out of the airport, luggage in hand. It looked like it had rained a while ago, and the streets were still wet. The breeze was a little chilly. But the cold, while giving me the shivers, also made me feel good. I inhaled the earthy smell and marvelled at the sensation stirred in me as it travelled through my nostrils and down my trachea, taking away along with it the anxiety I had felt through the flight. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 08



I was back in my city, after almost four years. And I was determined to make the most of my time there. 

"I thought you are from West Midlands," I said to Luke as he told his address to the cabbie. 

"I never said I live in West Midlands," he smiled, "That's where I grew up. That's where I'm from." 

"I see." I checked the time on my watch. It was six-thirty. I fished out my phone and texted Scott about our arrival. He texted back, and asked me to have fun. 

I heard Luke humming a tune, and I smiled when I recognised the song. 

"Sing it aloud," I told him, and although he looked a bit hesitant at first, the singer in him finally took over. 

"Looking back on when I 

Was a little nappy headed boy, 

Then my only worry 

Was for Christmas what would be my toy, 

Even though we sometimes 

wouldn't get a thing, 

We were happy with the 

Joy the day would bring, 

We were going straight to the 

Wild wild west..." 

And he kept singing, tapping his feet, clicking his fingers, quite the showman I imagined him to be. That was a problem with Luke. He just couldn't stop when he started to sing. Of course, I didn't mind, and he ended up singing all the way, until the taxi stopped before a large, swanky apartment complex. I let out an impressed whistle as I stood before the building. I figured he had the moolah required to live in such a place. 

"I guess I was right about the swashbuckling part," I chuckled at him. Luke laughed, taking my luggage again as we entered the brightly-lit lobby. The security guards greeted him. 

"Hi Mike, how's life?" he asked one of them. 

"Great, Mr Harris," he replied. "Nice to have you back." 

"Call me Luke, Mike," he reminded him, while we walked to the elevator. "I've a nice name, don't I?" 

The guard was smiling shyly when the elevator door closed. Luke was still humming the song. Somehow, it seemed to calm me down. I watched the number of floors ticking by. On the seventh floor, the elevator stopped with a ping. 

"Come on," he carried our luggage out, and I followed him. I waited while he unlocked the maroon, varnished door, with the name Harris on it. Moments later, the door flew open before me. Luke switched on a light, taking two steps inside.  

"Home sweet home," he said aloud before turning to look at me. "Please, come in." 

(To be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 09



I'm sorry about the delay in posting chapter 8. I'd submitted it last month, but Literotica chose to play havoc with it for almost two weeks. It'll hopefully go smooth from now on. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The plush apartment was big, and had me gaping as I walked in. The living room was well-furnished, with a luxurious sofa set in beige leather, a carved glass table in shiny black, a tall bookcase fitted to the wall, and various other pieces of furniture that lent an air of splendour to the place. But what caught my eye were the framed photos right above the bookcase, on the wall. Luke was still standing next to the closed front door, and I sensed his gaze on me as I slowly walked up to the photos. I figured some of them were of his family- parents, brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces- and friends, but it took me no time to recognize Diana. There were six photos of her- three of them solo, and three of them together with Luke. They made a lovely pair, I thought, as my eyes moved over each image. 

Diana, with her red, curly hair and dimpled smile, simply stood out. Her eyes were blue like the ocean- naughty, curious, sparkling with amusement and excitement. I could understand why the tragedy had hit Luke so hard. They were so visibly in love. I could almost hear their laughter and feel their romance though those moments frozen on camera. 

"She's beautiful," I said when Luke was standing behind me. I couldn't use the past tense. It hurt me to think that I'd never have the chance to get to know her. "She made a perfect match for you." I turned, my eyes meeting his. "You loved her so much, didn't you?" 

He stared sadly at me, before looking at the photos. "Still do." 

He came up beside me, his hands reaching out to touch one of Diana's solo shots. "This is my favourite photo of hers." 

"She was a cellist?" I asked. Diana was ethereal in that photo, eyes closed, hands in perfect harmony, as she made love to the cello. He nodded. 

"She was a teacher at some of the best music schools in the UK," he said, "When she played, everyone listened, entranced, enthralled. Her students loved her. The orchestra she first started her career with now has a Diana Nesbrit Memorial Concert every year." He hung his head low and sighed. "I could have done without that annual reminder, but..." He looked at me. "It just shows how loved she was." 

I put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. Luke smiled, giving me a tender glance. 

"Is this your family?" I looked at a big picture that had Luke seated in the middle, and eight other people surrounding him. 

"Yes," he said, "That was my 21st birthday. This is mum and this is dad," he pointed at the people seated on either side of him. Then he pointed out the men and women in the back row. "And those are my siblings. Lyndon, Marielle, Liam, Maureen, Laird, and Megan." 

I noticed the peculiar arrangement of names. The boys were named with L and the girls with M. I was about to ask if that was a pet superstition, when he answered me, almost reading my thoughts. 

"My dad's called Lucas, and mum's Mae. Hence, the tradition continues." He chuckled softly. "Everybody wonders about this when they just come to know." 

"You don't look like your dad," I observed. 

"I know. I'm more like my mum. My brothers resemble him a lot." 

"Are you close to your dad?" 

"Yes. He's a pal. That brilliant prick." 

I laughed. "Why do you say that?" 

"He can be quite unbelievable. My first real hangover at 17. He wakes me up at seven and makes me go riding." 

"Oh no." I couldn't help my laughter, imagining the scene. "I wish I had a dad like that." 

"You don't have a dad?" 

"Uh-huh. Never did." 

I smiled at him. "Although I'm not sure if I'd like to be made to go riding with a hangover." 

Luke laughed, turning around. "Have a seat, please," he said, motioning at the sofa. "I'll make some coffee. What would you like for dinner?" 

I walked to the sofa, the huge, floor-to-ceiling glass windows drawing my attention. I could tell it would be gorgeous with the windows open, providing an amazing backdrop for the seating area. There was a thin layer of dust on the sill, and when I ran my hand against the back of the sofa, they felt a little dusty too. Although the house looked quite organised, I had a feeling he wasn't great with the cleaning. No man was. 

"Anything," I said, sitting on the smallest of the four sofas and keeping my shoulder bag on my lap. "I'm not a picky eater." 

"Okay, let me see." Going up to the cabinet attached to the bookcase, he picked up the receiver of the landline. "Fancy some Italian tonight? How about marinated breast of charcoal grilled chicken served with mushrooms and onions in a creamy sauce? With penne pasta?" 

"Sounds great," I smiled. Luke searched for a number in the phone book and dialled it. When the call connected, he placed the orders, before adding, "Please have it delivered by nine. Thank you." 

Then he put down the receiver and looked at me. "Give me two minutes," he smiled, walking past the sofa. "I'll be back with the coffee." 

I nodded, returning his smile. It didn't seem like the first time Luke had brought me to his house. There was something so natural about him. If I didn't know the reality, I'd have thought that he always brought women home. 

I leaned back in the sofa, and surveyed the room. There were six rooms in all. Where I was seated was probably where he entertained guests. The part where Luke had gone to make coffee was the kitchen-cum-dining area, and right next to it was the lounge, if anyone fancied some me-time in front of the TV or with a magazine. Luke seemed like a man who loved to spend. I hadn't seen him shopping much in Velmont Town, but his home looked like he had splurged on it. 

"Coffee." Luke came up with a tray with two mugs and a bowlful of small chocolate chip cookies. 

"You like chocolate?" I asked. 

"Yes. Why?" 

"I thought most men avoid chocolates because they are calorific." 

"Then I guess I'm not a man. Do you want me to open the windows?" 

Windows? Then it hit me. "Oh yeah, sure. What can you see from here?" 

"Just the street below. And buildings in the distance." 

Outside, the brightly lit panorama of the city was delicious. I could imagine myself half lain on the sofa reading a book, occasionally staring out of the window. 

Wait. Why would I imagine that?! 

"I still can't believe I'm actually here," I smiled when Luke was next to me on the bigger sofa. 

"Do you want me to pinch you?" he raised a hand. I playfully pushed it aside, laughing. 

"Do a lot of people come here?" I asked. The prospect of living in such a huge house, alone, unnerved me. He picked up the coffee mugs, handed me one and took a sip from the other. 

"Yes, but only my friends or family, or maybe business clients sometimes." He looked out of the window, sipping some more of the coffee. "Liam brings clients here if we need to discuss something outside office hours. He finds this place smart and convenient." 

I took a swig of the coffee, immediately realising how good it was. Then I remembered Carrie telling me sometime that Luke was a whiz in the kitchen. 

"Do you like to cook?" I popped two cookies into my mouth. I knew they'd been bought, but they tasted heavenly nevertheless. 

"Why do you ask?" he smiled, obviously surprised by the question. 

"The coffee is great, actually." 

He laughed, keeping his coffee mug on the table. "I was horrible in the kitchen before I met Di," he said. "When we moved in together, she took it upon herself to make me more... domestic." 

"From the neat house and the coffee, I believe she was a success." 

"Don't talk about neatness. You haven't seen my bedroom." He laughed a little before picking some cookies from the bowl and lazily munching on them. "Once I was out of the country on work, and I decided to try and make some coffee in my room. It came out so unexpectedly good, that I called up Di in the middle of the night and screamed, 'I made coffee today!' She said, 'Congratulations. Now let me sleep'." 

"I reacted the same way when I first succeeded in making tea," I laughed, "I screamed so hard, my mother thought I'd burned my hand." 

"When I first learned to make a proper roast, I went around gushing to anyone willing or unwilling to listen. And don't even get me started on steaks. I think I fed Di steaks every day until she threatened to walk out." 

"I'm not a good cook, really," I said, "I can just make things to survive on. I knew nothing when I left Birmingham. Scott, Carrie, and the boys taught me everything. Cooking, paying my bills, filing my tax returns, riding a bike, driving. The car I drive is one of Scott's old cars that he wanted to discard. I asked for it, got it repaired a bit, gave it a fresh coat of paint, and it was mine. Oh, I also know how to fix a leaking faucet and the heater." 

"Talking of heater," Luke picked up his coffee again. "I remember Diana was a disaster in that department. Once she tried repairing the heat pump, and we needed to buy a new unit." 

We laughed, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet house. Luke stretched his legs and crossed them at the ankles, sinking a little in the sofa. My gaze moved across his firm legs, the muscles of his thighs flexing as he stretched himself. I seemed to like everything about that man. The way his lips moved, the way his eyes wrinkled when he talked, the way he arched one eyebrow. My eyes travelled up to the chords of his neck, his Adam's apple... rich, creamy, taut skin there. 

All of him is so sexy! Yum... yum! 

I shifted my gaze out of the window, trying to distract myself. The night was quiet and wet. The view from the window reminded me of my old bedroom which would offer a similar view. I remembered how difficult my relocation had been. I'd miss my room, my bed. I'd miss the familiar sights and sounds. I'd miss the delectable aromas greeting me home every evening. It had taken me a long time to adjust to the new environment. To ease the pain a little, I had worked really hard to grow my lawn, so that it would resemble the one back home. 

"I like your apartment," I said after a short silence. "It suits you." 

"Just like your cottage suits you," he smiled. "I usually prefer houses, but I like the convenience this place offers. Great location, world-class amenities, round-the-clock security. As someone who travels a lot, this place allows me to be away without worrying about a thing." 

"You said you grew up in West Midlands...?" 

"Yes, in the suburbs. It's almost the countryside. I had to travel over an hour to reach school. My parents still live there, and my eldest brother also lives nearby. He's the one in charge of the horses." 

"I now realise why you loved the town so much," I smiled at him. 

"I did love the place," he nodded. "In so many ways, it reminded me of my childhood, my parents' house in the country, the quiet, simple life. Given a choice, I'd pick West Midlands over any other part of the city any day." 

"No wonder, Scott returned to his hometown when he could've lived anywhere." I glanced out of the window, resting my chin on my fist. "He always says that he wants his children to have the same experiences he had while growing up. He believes life in the town made him what he is today, and he could think of no other place to raise his boys." 

"I agree to that. If someday I do have children, I'd want them to have the kind of childhood I did. But the city has its own conveniences. Nowadays they believe growing up in a city better prepares you for life, for the world." 

"Nonsense. I lived most of my life in a city, yet I don't think anything prepared me better for life than my own experiences." 

"And then there are some things nothing and no one can prepare you for," he said, thoughtfully. 

I realised there was more to the statement than appeared. He was thinking of Diana, and his loss, that he hadn't seen coming. 

Luke was about to say something when the doorbell rang. Our coffee had emptied by then, and the cookies had come down to half. As Luke went to answer the door, I asked if I could take the tray back into kitchen. 

"No." His reply was firm as he accepted the food packet and paid the man. Then he closed the door and turned around. "You're a guest." 

I rolled my eyes. "Please, you got to let me do some work," I said, "I'm not the type to laze around doing nothing." 

"I know that." He picked up the tray with one hand and walked towards the dining area, where he put the tray and the food packet on the six-seater dining table. "I'll show you your room," he said, walking back to where he had kept my luggage. "You'd want to get fresh before dinner." 

"Actually, I do." I rose from the sofa, carrying my shoulder bag. I followed Luke through the dining area, casting a glance at the lounge on the left. There were posters on the wall. A large TV placed in a convenient position so that it could be viewed from the kitchen too. There was also a stack of magazines on top of the stereo. The windows were smaller in breadth but the height extended from the floor to the ceiling. 

Luke opened the door of a spacious bedroom, and switched on a light. Walking in, he placed my luggage at the foot of the bed. I scanned the room with my eyes, unfamiliar to such stylish furnishings or decor. Luke was a tasteful man, that much I was sure of. 

"Do you like it?" he asked, tinge of hesitation in his voice. 

"I'm a small town girl, Luke," I laughed, "There's no way I cannot like this." 

"I have a feeling you like your small town lifestyle a little too much," he said, coming closer to me. "I was worried you wouldn't find it cosy enough." 

"Relax, okay? This is great. It's been a long time since I last had a big bedroom." 

He nodded, looking relieved. "You freshen up," he smiled, "I'll lay dinner in the meanwhile." 

He walked towards the door, then stopped and turned around. "And please don't hesitate about anything," he added. "Make yourself comfortable." 

Gently closing the door behind him, he left me in the room. I looked at the walls, admiring the neutral hue. The bedsheet had a subtle print in white and red, and the pillows were white. There two nightstands stacked mainly with magazines, books, and small stationery items like pens and notebooks, as well as a sleek wooden closet. I went up to the window, parting the curtains a bit. The street was bustling with vehicles and people, reminding me of the times I'd spent travelling across these familiar places. Closing my eyes, I rested my head against the wall, melancholy suddenly rising in my chest. What would meeting mom after all these years feel like? What would she say? What would I say? And how would I respond if she brought up past events? 

I shook my head, forcing myself to stop thinking of that. I'd decide how to react once I met her. And it wouldn't happen until tomorrow. 

I showered in the luxurious bathroom, changed into a comfy top and a pair of palazzos, and dabbed a little moisturiser on myself, before walking out of the room. Luke was a musician, explaining the presence of posters in various parts of the apartment. There was the Beatles, Neil Young, Simon and Garfunkel, Aerosmith, Garth Brooks, John Denver, and several others. There were movie posters too, reflecting his eclectic tastes. Casablanca, Die Hard, Pulp Fiction, Sound of Music, and Home Alone, all found place on the walls. I liked that he preferred posters over paintings. I had never understood visual art, but as a former poster collector, I could relate to many of the images there. 

I heard Luke whistling as he did something in the kitchen, his back turned to me. The plates had been laid out on the table, and the food looked ready to be served. 

"Need any help?" I asked, smoothing my hands over my palazzos. He turned his head, measured me from top to toe, and slowly faced me. The dish towel was tucked in the waistband of his jeans, his t-shirt was a little wet near the end. I noticed the two goblets on the counter and realised he was pouring some white wine. 

"You look fresh," he smiled, pulling out the towel from his pants and wiping his hands on it. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you. Do you drink?" 

"I do." I glanced at the table. "Shall I serve?" 

"Yeah, I was about to." He picked up the goblets filled with sparkling white wine and walked with them to the table. "I think the wine would go well with the food." 

"I'm sure it will." I served us the pasta and the chicken, the aroma filling our senses. Dinner was easy and relaxed. We chatted over the food and the wine, talking of all kinds of things- his family, his friends and their families, their band and how it had started, the places he had performed at, the people he had met. He asked me about my friends, and I told him about the ones I had in Velmont Town- Becky, Leah. There was Lauren, one of the few single moms around, Andrew, a 30-something engineer, and Bobby, the starry-eyed writer. I realised how different our lives were. He was a well-travelled business consultant, with a lot of friends and a busy life, while I was a small-town florist, who lived in a small cottage and loved to read into the night. Our tastes were quite different too. He loved rock, folk-rock, country, and a little bit of blues, and I liked pop and a little bit of country. He rubbished pop, calling it fit for pre-pubescent girls, and I defended it, saying it was relaxing and easy listening to. 

Even when I noticed his appreciative gaze moving across me a number of times, I was reluctant to imagine there could ever be anything between us. I would never stay back in Birmingham and he could never leave his life here and come to a small town. 

"I'm glad you're here," Luke said to me, as I helped him do the dishes after dinner. "It usually gets very lonely around here." 

The sadness in his voice was unmistakable. I wiped my wet hand on the towel and reached out to pat him on the arm. "I'm glad about that too," I smiled, "I feel lonely as well." 

"I think we really don't like to be lonely like we claim we do," he smiled at me. "I feel we're right for each other in a lot of ways." 

I resisted from making a comment to that. Instead, I quietly wiped the plates and kept them in their place. 

"Do you think you're ready to meet your mom tomorrow?" he asked, not sure if I'd be willing to talk about it. 

"No," I shrugged, "But I think I'll get it over and done with." I sighed, drying the last bowl. "Once I face her, I'll regain my strength." 

"It will be okay," he said gently. "Sometimes things aren't as bad as we imagine them to be." 

"I hope so." 

We went back to the living room where we had another round of coffee. Luke showed me some of their music videos and live performances, and I had to admit they were good. Energetic. Powerful. Moving. Luke had always been good-looking, and the three other members too weren't any less handsome. I secretly wished he'd sing for me someday. 

When we finally called it a night, Luke kissed me goodnight on the cheek and I responded equally. As I brushed my teeth, changed into a pair of pyjamas, and slipped between the covers of the new, unfamiliar bed, I heard the shower start up in the next room. I immediately picked out a Nat Geo magazine from the nightstand and began to flip the pages, mentally scolding myself for conjuring up all sorts of images in my head. 

Scott, Carrie, and Becky would be thinking of my situation and loving it. With friends like that... well, whatever. 

*** 

Having Cynthia- or any other woman, for that matter- at his place still seemed a little surreal to Luke, even the next morning. He'd had some difficulty falling asleep at night, not because he was upset or worried or tired, but because of Cynthia's presence in the next room. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 09



Many times through the night he had wanted to sneak out of bed and quietly part the door of her bedroom, just to catch a glimpse of her sleeping. She was beautiful, and he just knew she'd be angelic when asleep. But he had checked himself and banished the thought from his mind, willing himself to go to sleep. He had woken up at the crack of dawn, and taken a cold shower again, just to forget the emotions Cynthia roused in him. Emotions he never thought he'd feel again. 

For months after Diana's death, he'd have trouble falling asleep with no real reason strong enough to keep him up. Exhaustion had become a permanent fixture in his life. Even if he did manage to fall asleep, he still awoke feeling... tired. Preoccupied and listless. Most of the time, he attributed this to the hectic life he lived. But only after his depression was diagnosed was he able to connect the dots. 

A major reason for it was loneliness. He was tired of being alone, of waking up in an empty bed. His depression had been controlled and eventually cured, but the loneliness remained. He had grown used to Diana and her constant presence in his life. Six years were long enough for that. Diana loved perfumes and her smell was something Luke would never forget. On the first Christmas after her death, while sitting in church, he'd caught a trace of the perfume that she used to wear and he'd held on to the memory like the only anchor in a stormy sea long after the service was over. 

But he knew, Diana would have wanted better for him. 

He remembered one night, when she'd been down with high fever and he'd worried himself to death. Diana had woken him up in the middle of the night and asked him to find someone else if anything happened to her. He had quietened her and lulled her back to sleep, but like most couples, they'd often played the 'what if' game, and though neither of them had ever expected anything terrible to happen, they'd both been in agreement over the fact that no one deserved to spend their lives alone. 

Selling off their house and starting over in a new place hadn't been easy but it had helped him cope with his grief and come to terms with his loss. It was a few months after shifting here that he'd finally opened up to the idea of dating again. He'd felt the pangs of frustration when nothing worked, but his friends had been supportive. Paul, one his three best friends, had comforted him and said that it would all work out when the time was right. 

The time, he felt, had come. 

It was seven-thirty when he moved away from the window, empty coffee mug in hand. Cynthia hadn't left her room yet. She was an early riser, he knew, and her sleeping till late was surprising. Worrying. Maybe she hadn't been able to sleep at night. Maybe she was anxious. She was hopeless at trying to hide her worry or anxiety. It all showed on her face. 

He walked into the kitchen and poured himself some more coffee, debating whether he should knock on her door or not. After a little thought he decided to wait till eight. Maybe she needed some time alone to think, and to soothe her nerves. It was going to be a hard day for her, but he hoped to be able to provide her with moral support. He wanted her to know that she wasn't alone. 

He had just put four slices of bread in the toaster when he heard sounds coming from the direction of the bedrooms. Cynthia walked noiselessly, so he craned his neck to see if she was coming that way. A little later, his guest appeared, casually looking around the place. Luke thought she'd grown prettier overnight, a thought that didn't make sense at all. 

"Good morning," she smiled, when he came out of the kitchen. "Am I late?" 

"Not at all." He stared at her, admiring how young and dainty she looked in those pink palazzos. "Slept well?" 

"Yeah, more or less." 

Luke had kept her coffee ready and she thanked him when he handed it to her. She looked towards the lounge, the sun rays flooding the place. "May I?" she asked him. 

"Sure," he smiled, "You don't have to ask." 

She smiled shyly, before slowly sauntering into the lounge. It was Luke's favourite part of the house. It was spacious and comfortable, while giving a great view of the city at the same time. Luke often watched TV there for hours, or sipped on some beer while gazing outside, his favourite music playing in the background. Sometimes, he also played the guitar, but the walls didn't make for a very encouraging audience. 

"Would you like poached eggs, marmalade on toast, crispy bacon, and orange juice for breakfast?" he asked. Cynthia, who was standing by the window and staring below at the street, nodded absently. Then she looked at him. 

"You'll make all that?" she raised an eyebrow, amusement thick in her voice. Luke put his hands on his hips. 

"Are you doubting my cooking skills?" he gave a quiet half-smile, and had Cynthia laughing. 

"I'm not," she shook her head. "Go ahead." 

Luke nodded, coming back into the kitchen. He toasted the bread, before lighting the stove and setting a pan on it. He smiled as he broke the eggs into the pan. There was a certain joy in cooking for someone. He'd order in most of the time on other days, but with Cynthia there, he could imagine himself cooking. She wasn't a big eater, but she did have taste for food. That resonated with him, because he loved to eat everything. 

"Luke, do you happen to know any good salon or beauty parlour around?" he heard Cynthia ask as she entered the kitchen. 

She must have forgotten he's a man! 

Or maybe she thought of him as the salon-hopping, metrosexual type. But he didn't know any salon. 

"Salon?" he said, watching her keep the coffee mug on the counter and get down to work by arranging the toasts on the plates. "Like a hair salon?" 

"Hmm-mm. A hair salon." As he brought the pan down from the stove, she promptly picked up the eggs and placed them on each plate. "I've never been to one in Birmingham." 

"You don't need one," he mentioned, putting the bacon in the pan. "You're already perfect." 

She laughed softly, turning around and leaning against the counter. "I'm far from perfect," she smiled, crossing her arms against her chest. 

"Perhaps that's what makes you perfect," he said, "That you're not perfect. That you're so..." He fumbled for the right word to describe her. "Real," he said, "Believable." 

The bacon hissed on the oil as Luke fried them. "As for a salon, I did know one. I can't remember the name at the moment, but I can take you there." 

"You're so helpful," she turned, surveying the cabinets and shelves on the wall. "Where do you keep the marmalade?" 

"In there," he pointed at the medium sized, red refrigerator in the far end of the kitchen. "You'll also find the orange juice there." 

He watched Cynthia going to fridge and leaning as she opened the door. With little searching, she found the bottle of marmalade and the jug of juice, and Luke noticed how she carefully picked up the two from their respective places, without clanking against anything. With Luke, things were always falling off their shelves. 

"Here you go," she came up to him. "I'm taking these to the table." 

She had walked off even before Luke could manage a nod. Cynthia could be anything, but definitely not lazy. He was yet to meet a lazy woman. Diana had also been so hard-working. She would play at concerts through the evening, but still return home and get the groceries. By the time he'd come back, dinner would be ready. Though they would shares chores, including cooking, on most days, it was Diana who ran the household. On stage she might have been a diva, but at home, she was the normal, day-to-day woman. The woman he'd loved. 

He picked up the plates and turned around to find Cynthia looking at the morning paper. She didn't seem nervous yet. The soft smile on her lips made him believe she was in a good mood. 

"Would you like to visit the salon today?" he asked, keeping the plates on the table. She nodded, looking up from the paper. 

"The wedding's tomorrow," she said, sitting on a chair. "I don't have time." 

"Okay, so I'll take you there on our way back. What about lunch? Would you want to eat out?" 

"That's up to you." 

She poured herself some orange juice and sipped on it. "Are you sure you want to come with me?" she asked hesitantly. "With the wedding tomorrow, I don't know how crowded the house is." 

"I won't go in." 

"It doesn't matter. They'll start talking about you anyway." 

"That doesn't bother me," he shrugged, spreading the marmalade on the toast. "I can handle it." 

"You have your own baggage," she looked apologetic. "I wouldn't like somebody hurting you with their comments." 

"You have no idea." He bit into a toast and licked jam from his lips. "After Diana's death, when I was struggling with depression, there were people who commented that she died because of me. Because I was unlucky for her. Because I did nothing to save her. When I could survive that, I can survive anything." 

"Well, people must have said a lot of things about me too. I'm glad I left before I had to hear those." 

"No one understands you unless they have gone through something similar." 

"That is why I have long realised to not seek approval from anyone." She took a bite of the bacon, praising it. "I do what I want to do." 

"Exactly." It was his turn to touch her hand. "That is why I think you and I are friends." 

Twenty minutes after breakfast, Cynthia watched a little uncertainly as Luke removed the cover from his motorcycle in the basement garage. The thought of riding pillion frightened her a little but Luke knew she'd enjoy it. 

"It's a great day for riding," he smiled at her. "Don't look like that. You have been on a bike before." 

"Not with you," she pointed out, a deep scowl on her forehead. He stared at her face and then lowered his gaze down to her neck, going downward still until his eyes met her breasts. He snapped his gaze away, focusing on the bike again. 

"So you mean you trust Scott, but not me?" he asked, jokingly. 

"When it comes to bikes." She folded her arms. "Are we ready?" 

"Yeah." He handed her a helmet, before putting on his own. "I'm pretty sure it'll fit you." 

Cynthia secured her bag on her shoulder, put on the helmet and fastened it under her chin. "It does," she smiled and threw her leg over the back of the seat. Luke unfolded the rear pegs for her to put her legs on them. Not for the first time, he noticed how slender her legs were and the fitted jeans she wore always defined them so well. 

"I guess you know about the exhaust pipes," he said, climbing on. "Keep your legs away from them." 

"I know." As if involuntarily, her hands were on his shoulders the moment he started the bike. He noticed almost immediately how light she was. 

"You know what?" he chuckled. "You better not take your hands off me." 

"Why not?" 

"I want to be able to know if you fall off." 

She slapped his shoulder. Hard. 

"Ouch," he laughed. "Pretty ladies don't go around slapping others." 

"I can do a lot more than that." 

"Yeah? Like what?" 

"You'll know some time." 

Luke moved the bike back and forth, before zooming out of the driveway. He hadn't taken anybody out on his bike in years. It had been just him and his loneliness on long drives through streets known and unknown, in an attempt to vent out his frustration and angst. 

Cynthia's hands were a welcome change from the emptiness. They were gentle but firm, and he could feel the warmth of her palms through the fabric of his t-shirt. That was a good sign. He wouldn't want her to be nervous. 

"Just be careful, please," she reminded him when traffic cleared a little and he sped up. "I don't want us to crash." 

"We will not crash," he craned his neck. She thumped him on the back. 

"Eyes on the road!" 

"It's okay. We're safe. I generally don't crash." 

"Have you ever crashed?" 

"Once. Spent a night at the hospital." 

He thought her palms turned a little cold. 

"That was a long time ago," he smiled, craning his neck again. 

"Luke, please concentrate." 

"I am." 

She held his shoulders tight, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. As though they went riding every day. Soon they were zooming past people and vehicles, shops and trees. The low hum of the bike and the wind on his face were thrilling enough, but the feel of Cynthia's body against his was the best thing about that clear Friday morning. 

"Take that lane on the right," she pointed out. 

He did as told, and they were going down a neat and quiet residential avenue. 

"Keep following the turns," she said. 

"I've never come here," he said, slowing down as he negotiated the turns and bends. "It looks like a nice place." 

"It used to be nice for me someday." 

"Don't be nervous. It won't be bad." 

"I hope so." 

"I believe it." 

"That one." He looked where she was pointing. It was a big, two-storied house in light brown, with a concrete roof in a darker shade. There was a black iron gate in front, overlooking a big, well-kept lawn. When he killed the engine and got off the bike, he found Cynthia pressing her hands to her mouth, her eyes moist. 

"My lawn..." the words escaped her lips in a whisper. Luke took off his helmet, before helping her get down. There were dahlias, lilies, and hoards of daisies on the lawn, besides a maple tree, an apple tree and a cherry tree. 

"Where are the roses?" her eyes searched the lawn frantically. "My roses? Where—" 

She closed her eyes and shook her head, a few tears making their way down her face. Luke gently held her hand, silently comforting her. He now realised where she got her love for flowers from. She loved her flowers more than anything else. 

"Do you want to go in?" he asked her. 

"I hear voices inside." She sounded afraid, and looked so too when she gazed at him. "I think our relatives are here." 

"You came all the way for this, remember?" he smiled, hoping to help her find strength. "Don't worry. It will—" 

The sound of the door made them look inside the house. A moment later, an elderly woman in a midi skirt and a long sleeve blouse walked out. She happened to look outside the gate, and Luke clearly saw her freeze. He dropped her hand, and Cynthia hurriedly turned her face away to wipe off her tears. 

"Oh my god." There was shock and surprise in the woman's voice. "Cynthia!" 

The very next minute, she had opened the gate and come outside. Luke had no difficulty in guessing that it was her mother. She resembled her very closely, and she had no doubt been quite a knock-out thirty years ago. And he now knew where Cynthia got her good looks from. 

Cynthia looked at her, her face impassive, different from what it had been just a while ago. 

"You came," the woman, quite a bit taller than her, said in disbelief. And then she reached out her hands to touch her, as if to make sure she was really there. Cynthia took off her helmet, casting Luke a fleeting glance. 

"Mum." The word was barely audible when she said it. Her face still showed no emotion when she hugged her. Although the woman she had just called mum wrapped her arms around her with all she had, Cynthia's arms remained by her side, one of them holding the helmet. There were tears in the woman's eyes, even as her lips smiled. 

"I can't believe you're here," she said breathlessly, running her hands across her face, neck and arms. Then she hugged her again, as though she couldn't have enough of her. "I was so worried you wouldn't come." 

She pulled away again, before looking around. "Where's your luggage?" she asked, surprised. 

Cynthia's shoulders drooped as she sighed. "I'm not staying here," she shook her head. "I've come to visit Luke and thought of dropping in." 

The woman finally realised his existence. She eyed him up and down, making him feel she was about to say something unexpected. 

"Is this your boyfriend?" she smiled delightfully. 

Oh boy, could he be right sometimes! 

Cynthia visibly cringed, and the whole exchange made Luke want to laugh. But he forced himself to keep a straight face. 

"No," Cynthia shook her head. "He's Scott's friend. Luke Harris." Then she looked at him. "Luke, this is my mother, Bethany Adamson." 

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," he extended his hand, but the woman grabbed him in a hug instead. He hadn't expected to meet Cynthia's mother, least of all, this way. But for some reason, he liked it. 

"Oh, please. Call me Bethany... or Beth. Everybody does." 

Luke was surprised by her warmth, but Cynthia looked far from pleased. He was ready to bet money that Cynthia would look exactly like her mother in thirty years. She possessed the same slender build, the same features. 

"Come in," Bethany called them inside but Cynthia looked hesitant. 

"It's okay," she said, trying to avoid going in. "We won't be here long." 

Her mother looked sad. "I know why you don't want to come in," she nodded, "I did behave very hastily... very foolishly..." 

"Mum..." 

"But you have come home after so many years," she continued anyway. "I want to keep you with me for a little while... I just can't-" 

"Mum, we cannot-" 

"Stay for lunch. Julie is here. Your aunt Esther and her daughter Evelyn are also visiting—" 

"Please." Cynthia pulled away sharply and fisted her hands against her body. Luke knew that reaction so well. She was trying to be defensive, and wasn't enjoying being home much. 

"I don't want to meet anybody," she said firmly. "I just came to see you." 

"Honey, I know you're nervous-" 

"Mom! Where are you?" 

The voice coming from inside the house made Cynthia pale slightly. Luke feared she'd start trembling, the way she had on their first day out for lunch. This clearly wasn't doing her any good. 

"I'm right here, Julie," Bethany answered, "Look who's here." 

Cynthia looked like she wanted to run away. She hung her head and stared at the ground, chewing on her bottom lip. She wasn't just nervous anymore. She was afraid, ashamed, embarrassed. When the woman called Julie stepped out onto the lawn, Luke realised it must be her sister, whose wedding it was the next day. She didn't resemble their mother all that much, but there were obvious similarities, that made it hard to miss they were closely related. 

"My sister, is it?" she said, crossing her arms. She didn't sound friendly, least of all happy. Why, then, had she invited Cynthia to the wedding? Or had she at all? 

"Yes." Bethany couldn't take her eyes of Cynthia. "Hasn't she grown more beautiful? She's glowing... look at these cheeks..." 

"Well, being in a hill station has been good for her." Her voice was still cold and unwelcoming. "Come in, won't you?" 

"C'mon." Bethany smiled and held him and Cynthia on either side of her as she ushered them through the gate. Cynthia eyes remained rooted to the ground, her feet unwilling. When they were close enough to the other woman, Bethany stopped. 

"This is my other daughter, Julie," she told Luke. "She's getting married tomorrow." She looked at Julie. "This is Cyn's friend. Luke." 

"Good to meet you." Luke addressed her curtly, not bothering to give her his hand. She nodded with a small smile in response. He looked at Cynthia; her eyes were quiet and thoughtful, and when he held her hand, it was stone cold. When they were inside the house, Luke couldn't help admire the decor of the house, very elegant, very Victorian. There were framed photos on the wooden showcase, above the fireplace, and on the walls. He obviously couldn't recognise most of the people, but he did identify Cynthia. And one of the photos, where Cynthia, dressed in a skirt suit, was posing in front of the Birmingham Business School, took his breath away. His mind went back to their times in Velmont Town, where she had impressed him with her knowledge of business jargon. It suddenly made sense. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 09



But his observation was interrupted when he felt Cynthia falter. He instantly held her in his arms, steadying her with a firm arm around her waist. 

"Are you okay?" he asked. She held her head, looking dizzy. 

"Sit down, please." Her mother looked evidently concerned as she guided them towards the sofa. Luke helped her sit and took the water Bethany offered him. 

"I'm fine," Cynthia murmured, straightening herself. She brushed away the water and rubbed the sweat off her forehead with her hand. "I'm just... exhausted." 

By the burden of the past, Luke thought. 

When another elderly woman came forward to hug her, she responded the same way she'd done with her mother. The other young woman in the room just waved at her, and Cynthia smiled back softly. 

"I'll make tea," Bethany proceeded to walk to the kitchen but Cynthia stopped her. 

"That won't be necessary. We're here for a few minutes." 

Her mother must have figured something, because she agreed without resistance. When she was seated beside her, she took her hand in hers. Her sister was a little far away, her legs crossed, arms folded. She didn't seem to like Cynthia. 

"I've missed you so much," she said, and the emotion in her voice made him believe she was speaking the truth. "I wish I hadn't been such a fool to turn you out..." 

Her voice choked at her own words. Cynthia remained unmoved, barely lifting her eyes. 

"I'm sorry it took me so long to get in touch with you," she continued. "I was so ashamed and guilty that I couldn't—" 

"Can we not talk about this?" she finally said. "I heard you want me to attend the wedding tomorrow." 

"Yes. We do." She looked at Julie, who just nodded wordlessly. "Bring Luke along too." 

"Me?" his eyebrows flew up. 

"Yes," Bethany smiled at him. "It will be a nice opportunity to get to know one another." 

So they still think I'm her boyfriend, he thought. 

"What do you do?" the other woman, who Cynthia's mother had pointed out as her aunt, asked him. 

"I'm a business consultant," he cleared his throat and sat up straight. "I'm also a singer." 

"Really?" Julie looked interested suddenly. "What do you sing?" 

"Folk-rock. I used to be in a band someday." 

"That's lovely," she said in a voice that was far from being as sweet as she intended it to be. "It would be great if you sing for us tomorrow, at the wedding." 

Cynthia's eyes darted at her, like she could sense her venom from a mile away. 

"I wouldn't want to steal the spotlight from you and your new husband," he shook his head. "It's your night." 

"Oh, I know," Julie sank back in her seat. "Our family get-together is too little of a thing, compared to what you're used to." 

"Not at all. I'd be honoured to." Luke continued in the same tone, but his eyes were shooting daggers at her. "But only if it's okay with Cynthia as well." 

Julie's triumphant smile died on her lips when Luke leaned so close to Cynthia their faces were almost touching. 

"Would you be okay if I did that?" he asked her so tenderly that it had the others in the room squirming for a moment. Cynthia played along, nodding quietly. Luke leaned even more to place a soft kiss on her forehead, before linking fingers with her. 

"I didn't see the roses outside," she said to her mother. "Don't you grow them anymore?" 

Bethany shook her head, her face grim. "They reminded me of you all the time. And grafting is a lot of work. I couldn't do it alone." 

Cynthia sighed sadly, easing more onto his side. She spoke little and Luke ended up answering most of the questions. He took the opportunity to brag about her lovely little flower shop and how great she was doing on her own. When they wanted to know when and how they had met, Luke told them about her happy, peaceful life in the hills, full of friends who loved her and cared about her. He went on to add that such warmth wasn't found in the cities. Her mother was surprised to learn she could drive and cook now, and also had her own house. As he saw the people in the room shrinking to half while he continued to boast about her and her small-town life, he found an amused smile tugging at the corner of Cynthia's lips. He realised she had wanted to do that herself, but hadn't been able to shake off the disturbing emotions and gather enough strength. 

Never mind, Luke thought. What had he come along for? 

Their stay at her house didn't last more than fifteen minutes. He was aware Cynthia wanted to go, and the moment he said, 'We should leave now', she had left her seat and was looking at the door. Her mother was visibly sad to let her go, and for a moment, Luke felt she deserved a chance. 

"I thought I'd make roast duck," she said, her voice quivering. 

"We have plans for lunch this afternoon," Cynthia looked at him. "I'll drop in some other time." 

Bethany kissed her forehead, and smiled at Luke. "I can't thank you enough for today," she said to him kindly. "You brought my daughter home." 

"My pleasure." He returned her smile and looked at Cynthia. "Let's go." 

Cynthia nodded at him and hugged her mother again. "We'll be there tomorrow." 

They slowly made their way out of the house. The sight of the lawn caused her eyes to well up again. She stared the flowers, her gaze stopping on the daisies for a moment longer. Luke thought she'd want to pick up one, but instead she took his arm and resumed walking. 

And then she stopped inches away from the gate, her eyes wide in shock. 

Luke saw a woman with blonde hair, a nose too big for her face, and dark, wily eyes stepping on to the lawn. The two women gazed at each other for a while. Cynthia was the first to turn her face away. 

"Is this who I think it is?" the woman walked up to them, her eyes alternating between him and her. Luke frowned almost involuntarily. Was this another of her sisters who didn't like her? 

Cynthia tried to hide behind him, and Luke was quick to protect her by putting an arm around her. The woman smiled, but he thought it was more of a sneer. 

"Is this your latest squeeze?" she asked her, giving him furtive glances. He felt Cynthia's body stiffen as she still kept looking away. 

"Well, you always had taste..." she added, walking past her. Luke held her tighter by his side and cast the woman an angry glance as she entered the house. Once they were near the bike, Luke decided to talk to Cynthia. 

"I think we should go home," he announced, handing her the helmet. "You've gone through enough for today." 

"I'm okay." She wore the helmet and fastened it. 

"So you say," he said, while wearing his helmet, "You looked like you were about to have a nervous breakdown any moment." 

"It isn't easy being in the same place where you were humiliated and turned away from years ago," she sighed. "But I'm alright now. Don't worry." 

He looked inside the house one last time. "Who was that?" 

"I'll tell you later," she said, climbing on to the bike. "Are you going to take me to the salon? And then to lunch?" 

"If you're still up for it." He threw his leg across the bike and started it. 

"I am." Cynthia sounded less shaken now. For the next few minutes, they drifted almost in a dreamlike silence across lanes and by-lanes, until they were back on the high street and zooming past familiar sights and scenes. When they stopped at traffic every few minutes, he pointed out certain places of interest to her, and then laughed to realise that she wasn't a tourist at all. 

"This is your salon." He stopped in front of a glitzy beauty parlour- the only one he knew in the city. Cynthia looked up at the name and giggled softly. 

"I'll have to thank Becky for asking me to carry more than enough money," she smiled, holding him for support as she got down. "You used to bring Diana here, I guess?" 

Luke blushed slightly, amused that she had guessed it right. 

"Yeah," he nodded. "That's how— Watch out!" 

"Hey!" As if on impulse, Cynthia screeched, grabbing her bag firmly as the petty thief scooting past her tried to snatch it. Without giving Luke an opportunity to get off the bike, she snatched her bag back with both hands and showered a few kicks on the stunned thief's rear, making him stumble to the ground. A few passersby witnessed the scene and caught the snatcher by the collar, giving him some more kicks and punches, before calling the police. 

Cynthia took off her helmet and moved her hair out of her face, as if nothing had happened. "I won't be long," she smiled. "If you feel hungry..." she opened her bag and fished out a bar of chocolate, "...have this." 

She handed him the helmet and the chocolate and turned around to walk off into the salon, leaving Luke to gape at the door through which she just disappeared. He looked at the chocolate in his hand and then back at the salon door, wondering if it was the same woman who'd been so nervous and afraid only minutes ago. Parking his bike at a proper place, he strolled around the area, the chocolate still in his hand. And then he smiled at the memory again. Cynthia was a delicious mix of delicateness and strength, something she herself wasn't aware of. She could go from broken to fierce in minutes. Luke couldn't wait for the next couple of days to arrive, because he had a feeling Cynthia would surprise him some more. 

(To be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 10



The sky was clear that night. It was a little past ten thirty when they finished dinner. Luke had made a spicy coconut and chicken casserole and had got some red wine to go with it. For a change, they had eaten their dinner at the lounge that night, and though Cynthia had talked very little over the meal, she had praised his cooking more than once and enjoyed the tales of his childhood as he told her about their dogs and horses and how he knew each of the sixty horses by their names. 

Cynthia was still in the lounge, sipping some more of the wine, while Luke put away the dishes in the kitchen. She had got her hair styled at the salon, adding soft curls to her naturally straight mane. She had also done a bit of shopping, buying scarves for Becky and Leah, smart captioned t-shirts for Jake and Josh, varietal honey set for Carrie, and wine pairing towels for Scott. Afterwards they had had lunch at a popular restaurant and spent the rest of the time zooming about on his bike. 

Luke craned his neck to catch a glimpse of her, and he found she had dimmed the light in the lounge, allowing the moonlight to flood the place. She had her legs folded on the sofa, her hands encasing the wine goblet, as she stared out of the window, at the crescent moon in the sky. In just a day, she had made his house her own, moving about the place easily and helping with the chores as though she did it every day. She was a wonderful person, there was no doubt about that. And he couldn't help feeling a tinge of anger at the way her family had treated her and was now trying to patch things up like nothing had happened. 

When the day's events came back to his memory, he sighed gently. He didn't know if Cynthia had done the right thing by visiting home. She clearly hadn't been comfortable. He had also sensed the tension between the sisters. Julie wasn't prettier than Cynthia, but she was aware of her attractiveness and made sure people noticed it. Quite the contrary to her sister, who was beautiful in a very real kind of way, but had no clue about it. He had no difficulty to realise that Cynthia had been her mother's favourite, and her sister had never liked it. She was also proud of marrying a rich guy, and missed no opportunity to show it off. 

When he remembered the sour look on her face, and the way she'd paled when he'd kissed Cynthia's forehead, an involuntary laughter rumbled in his throat and escaped his mouth, before he had a chance to stop it. The sound reached Cynthia and she turned to look in the direction of the kitchen. 

"What happened?" she asked. 

"Sorry." Luke closed the door of the utensil rack and walked back to the lounge, still laughing, although a little softly now. He took a place on the sofa beside her, and poured himself some wine. "I was just looking back on the day. I not only got myself a wedding invitation, but also ended up being your, ahem, boyfriend. And then your kicks... I had no idea you could do that..." 

He laughed again, dropping his head back. Cynthia visibly cringed beside him. "I'm sorry about that," she murmured, looking heavenly in the moonlight. 

"About what? Kicking the thief?" 

"No. The boyfriend part." 

"That wasn't half as funny as being called a... squeeze! For god's sake!" 

And he was laughing again, the sound echoing through the lounge. Cynthia joined in, albeit softly. 

"I'm sorry about that too," she smiled quietly, taking a sip of her wine. "I'd warned you they'd start talking about you." 

"I'm not bothered, please. Take it easy." He sipped his wine, appreciating all over again how great he felt being there with her, sharing a bottle of wine. "Who was that, by the way?" he asked, crossing his legs. 

Cynthia hesitated, her face paling slowly, as she rolled the goblet between her palms. For a few seconds there was silence between them, except for the sound of their breathing and distant noises of vehicles on the street below. 

"It was the wife of my ex," she said, her voice low. Luke frowned, not able to make sense of that. 

"Sorry?" he said, just to make sure he had heard it right. Cynthia paused and took a deep breath, like she needed to summon some extra strength to go on. 

"She's Norma-Jean. The wife of Sam, my ex," she explained, the words coming out slow, as though it was painful for her to say that. 

"I don't understand," Luke leaned back in the sofa and put an arm around the backrest. "What was your ex's wife doing at your house?" 

"That's where the problem is." She sighed gently, swigging on her drink. Luke waited for her to elaborate, if she wanted to at all. 

"She's my cousin." Cynthia lowered her gaze and looked into the goblet. "First cousin." 

"Jesus." The incredulous exclamation left his lips on a breath. "I bet you didn't know?" 

She shook her head. "Neither Sam nor I had a clue. He had never lived in Birmingham. We had never met before, hadn't even heard of each other." 

"I figured. You're not someone who'd go around chasing her sister's husband, when you could have any man." 

"I wish my family had been that understanding." She dipped a finger in the wine, running the finger around the rim of the goblet, before licking it clean. Luke shifted his gaze out of the window for a moment, his heartbeats rising all of a sudden. What the heck was wrong with him?? 

"So what happened?" he finally asked, "He left you when he realised who you are?" 

A wry smile played on her lips. She leaned forward and put the goblet on the table. 

"Things weren't that simple," she said, joining her hands on her lap. "Sam was here on work, while his wife was in London. He decided to divorce her when he fell in love with me. It wasn't easy and took time. Eventually, he filed for divorce. But things went wrong when his wife turned up unannounced at his apartment when I happened to be there." 

Her voice caught up slightly. "He was helping me with a presentation when she arrived. She couldn't recognise me instantly because she had last me seen as a kid. She'd always had a feeling that he'd been cheating on her... when she saw us together, her suspicions came true..." 

"Did she tell you anything?" he asked. 

"She called me attractive." 

Luke cursed under his breath. He hated to think he had seen that woman from so close that day and had said nothing. 

"A few days later," she continued, without any change in posture, "Sam broke up with me." 

"Huh?" Luke frowned again. "Just because his wife had come to know, he broke up with you? But he was divorcing her, right?" 

"His son was diagnosed as terminal... And he loved him so much that he wanted the marriage to survive, so that he could have both parents. He quit his job here and returned to London." 

"Terminal...? So is he...?" 

"I don't know." 

Luke thought back to the day. That woman hadn't looked or behaved like a mother who had lost her child. Maybe he was better now. 

"So is she the one who told your mother everything?" Luke was sure of that. She must have poisoned her mind. When Cynthia nodded, every speck of doubt left his mind. 

"She had told mom everything in my absence," she said, her voice breaking. "When I returned home, mom slapped me and asked me to go away." 

"And you just went away?" he exclaimed. "Without defending yourself?" 

"What would I say? I was indeed in a relationship with my brother. And though I did say that we didn't know, that we were not together anymore, it didn't matter. My family is very devout, very religious. Something like this would never go down well with them." 

"Your mom believed someone else more than her own daughter?" He now realised the meaning behind what Scott had said- that her mom had supported somebody else instead of her. 

"She is her favourite niece. I have a lot of cousins. But my mother loves NJ the most." She sighed, dropping her head back. "And even if she wasn't my cousin, mom would still support her. Because what I had done was wrong." 

"But he was divorcing his wife. You relied on his promise." 

"I did. That was my first mistake." 

"And where does he feature in all this?" Luke just couldn't bring himself to uttering the name of that weasel. "Didn't he say anything in your defence?" 

Cynthia shook her head, her face contorting, as tears spilled over from her eyes. "He went back to his family, which was the right thing to do," she murmured. 

Luke inched closer and put an arm around her shoulders. He hated men like that, who awakened a woman's love with no intention of loving her. And he was sure he hadn't loved her. If he had, he would have stood by her, instead of fleeing the scene like a loser. 

A girl like Cynthia was better off without a loser like that. She deserved to be loved, cherished, worshipped. 

But he could also see why her mother had behaved the way she had. Cynthia was her darling, the apple of her eyes. She couldn't accept something so scandalous from her. Although from the way she had behaved that morning, he did feel that she had all but forgiven her. 

"I'm sorry." He pulled her tighter against him. "I understand how bad it must've been for you. To be deserted, misunderstood, turned away. I'm sorry you had to go through all that." 

"Luke...!" she suddenly seemed alarmed as she straightened herself and looked fearfully at him. "The wedding..." 

"Yes. What?" He held her hands. They had turned cold again. 

"NJ will be there..." she murmured, her voice trembling. 

"Let her be. She—" 

"No!" She shook her head vigorously. "What if Sam is also present?" 

Then I'll beat the shit out of him, he thought. 

"What if he doesn't attend?" he tried to soothe her. "What if he hasn't arrived from London? He must have work, right?" 

She seemed to calm down a little as his words settled. And then she sighed deeply, the sound making his blood boil. She'd been carrying this hidden pain with her for so many years and was indeed exhausted. He secretly wished that moron would attend the wedding. He needed to be confronted and then taught a lesson. 

"Yeah." She sank back, her body snug against his. "He never liked to attend parties." 

"There you are." He gulped down the rest of his wine and kept the goblet on the table. The moon was high in the firmament, the soft glow bathing the room and the furnishings in sparkling silver. 

"You needn't have bragged," she giggled quietly after sometime. "They were so stunned." 

"Your mom looked very surprised to know you're able to cook," he laughed, "And also drive." 

"I didn't know either when I was here." 

"Huh-huh. And you never said you were a business management student." 

"I'd thought you'd figure out." 

"I did, from the photo on the wall." He smiled down at her. "You've always been beautiful." 

"I never thought about it," she shrugged, "I was just too busy pursuing a career." 

"Why didn't you look for a job in some other place?" he asked. The flower shop went well with her personality, but it was hard for him to think she'd thrown away her education. 

"Scott had said that too," she picked up her glass again, sipping on the remaining wine. "He'd wanted to help me look for a job once I was fit enough, but I was already in love with the town by then." 

"Fit enough?" he queried. "You mean after recovering from the heartbreak and the whole sordid circus?" 

Cynthia paused again, then shook her head. 

"I had a miscarriage," she croaked, her head lowered. When she looked at him, fresh tears were glistening in her eyes. "I was seven weeks pregnant with Sam's baby." 

Luke gasped, horrified. "Did he know?" he asked softly, unable to believe she had conceived and then lost her child at such a young age. He gasped again when she shook her head. 

"You mean he left you pregnant?!" he said energetically, his pulse racing. 

"I found out after he'd broken up with me," she murmured. "I had only known for five days, when I fell down the stairs, hurt my head, broke a rib, and..." 

She melted into sobs, pressing one hand to her mouth while her other hand trembled, tilting the wineglass. Luke took the goblet from her and put it down on the table. Then he put his arms around her, drawing her close to his body. This wasn't just another affair. She hadn't just had her heart broken or lost her family. She had also lost her baby. He closed his eyes as he lowered his face down to her neck, stroking her hair, soothing her trembling by cradling her gently. 

"I'd wanted the baby," she sobbed, her face pressed against his chest. "It was all that was left of Sam with me. It was the fruit of our love..." 

He remained silent, holding her, allowing her to vent. Despite being a man, he knew it was traumatising for a woman, no matter how young, to have a miscarriage. That the woman in his arms had gone through such terrible experiences and was still in one piece surprised him. And filled him with more respect and admiration for her. He thought he hadn't met a stronger woman. 

"Life will give you many more chances to be a mother," he offered as consolation. "You're so young. You will find someone to love again, who will value and honour you, and give you children." He pulled away and cupped her face, wiping off the tears with his thumbs. "The sun still shines," he smiled reassuringly at her. "And there is still good in this world." 

Cynthia sighed and leaned against him, her sobs slowly fading. He could feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the sound of her breathing pouring into his ears, as he held her close. Together they stared at the sky, content to just watch the moonlight cascading into the room. It was late, the noises of vehicles were slowly dimming, and in spite of having had a long day, they weren't really sleepy. Luke relished the feel of her body against his, marvelling at the way she fit into his arms, like she was meant to be there. 

"Tell me you're not singing tomorrow," she said after a long time, her voice breaking the silence in the room. 

"You said you wouldn't mind," he responded lazily. 

"I had no other choice. You made me nervous." 

"I?" 

"Yes. The way you leaned in and kissed my forehead..." 

Luke laughed at her words, and found Cynthia trying to hide her flushed face. 

"I had to play the part of a loving boyfriend," he pointed out. 

"You want to prove them right?" she cocked an eyebrow at him. 

"Hey, you have good taste," he teased. "Why not show me off?" 

"Show you off. Right," she sighed. "You can be such a child." 

"Don't you know? Every man is a child at heart." 

She laughed finally, and Luke felt himself breathing easy. He wanted her to be happy. He wanted her to feel good always. And what was worse, he wanted to kiss her and make her feel good. With every fibre of his body, he had to rein in his wandering emotions. 

"I don't know what to wear," he admitted, finally moving his arms away from her. "Is there a dress code?" 

"As far as I know both the families, it is going to be a traditional wedding, and a black-tie reception." She looked at him with those alluring dark brown eyes. "You better wear a suit, at least." 

"A three-piece suit?" he shuddered at the thought. "I haven't worn one in years." 

"You must wear shirt, trousers, and a coat. You can do without a necktie and a waistcoat." 

He groaned softly. He was too lazy for shirts. He preferred t-shirts underneath coats or blazers. 

"Will you help me?" he asked, knowing he needed assistance in picking out an outfit. "If you aren't too sleepy..." 

"I'm not. You need help with a suit?" 

"Yes. Come with me." 

He held her hand and led her out of the lounge, before heading for his bedroom. He felt her hesitating, and he tried to make her comfortable. 

"Don't worry," he told her, pushing open the door to his room. "It isn't as messy as I made it sound like." 

Cynthia gave a small laugh as he went in and aimed straight for his walk-in closet. "Come in," he poked his head out and looked at her. Cynthia walked in slowly, looking around the place. There were magazines, clothes, laptop, shoes, and various other things strewn all over the bed and the floor. He knew she'd say something when the corners of her mouth went up into a smile. 

"I used to think my shop's counter is the messiest place ever," she giggled, shaking her head. Luke laughed, leaning against the closet door as he watched her. 

"The bed still has enough space," he said, "Please sit." 

When she was seated, Luke opened his closet wide and asked her to choose from the suits hanging from the rack. Cynthia's eyes passed over each piece of clothing. 

"The blue one?" she asked, and Luke brought down a powder blue pin-stripe suit and kept it on the bed. She took a look and shook her head. 

"How about that coffee brown one?" 

When she had it in front of her, she shook her head again. "These are too bright and flamboyant for a traditional wedding," she announced. "I like that one," she pointed at a suit with cream coloured coat, necktie, and trousers, and a midnight blue shirt. Luke brought it down, smiling tenderly as he placed it on the bed. 

"This is perfect," she smiled, running her hands over the smooth fabric. 

"It has to be," he said absently. When Cynthia looked up at him, he leaned against the closet. 

"Diana gifted this to me on one of my birthdays," he mused. "I haven't worn it since-" 

"You don't have to if it hurts," she cut in. "I'm sure we can find something else." 

"No, it's okay." He closed the wardrobe and walked up to the bed, picking up the suit in his hand. "I'm not running away anymore. I love that you picked this." He smiled, his eyes welling up. "It's my favourite suit." 

"You'll look great in this," she nodded. "The colour combination is amazing." 

He hung the suit from the latch of the closet and came up to where she was seated on the bed. Squatting in front of her, he placed a hand on her knee. 

"I don't have words to express how horrified I am to know your story," he said, "I'm not sure if I should feel bad for you because of your past, or admire you for the life you have now." 

"Luke..." she placed a hand on his. 

"Let me finish, please. Cynthia, I cannot give you back what you've lost. I cannot erase the memories, the anguish you carry within you. I don't know what I can possibly provide you with, but I can assure you that I'll be there for you, always. I'll always hold you when you need to be held, I will walk beside you in silence when you cannot open up, and even in my limitations, I'm going to be by your side. And that's a promise." 

Cynthia leaned forward and put her arms around his neck, softly tapping his back. 

"I know," she murmured against his ear. "And that's why I think our friendship is meant to last forever." 

-- 

Luke looked at himself in the mirror again, turning left and right, making sure he was dressed for the occasion. He hadn't attended a wedding in quite a few years, least of all one where he knew nobody. The thought did make him a little nervous, but then, Cynthia was there with him. He was doing it for her. 

He fastened his tie, groaning at the tight feeling around his neck. Despite being a business consultant who often needed to dress formally, he always managed to find a way to skip the shirt and the tie. In fact, he was known for pairing t-shirts with coats and jackets when everybody else was in shirts. He had agreed to wear a full-fledged suit here only because it was an occasion where Cynthia's respect was involved. The girl had already gone through hell. He wouldn't do anything to make things worse for her. 

When he was finally sure he looked alright, he moved away from the mirror. He walked over to the bed, picked up the socks and sat down to wear them. They had spent the morning at home, having woken up late, and had had a lazy breakfast of jam sandwiches and croissants. Afterwards, while Luke had vacuumed the house, Cynthia had done the laundry, with them conversing across rooms. Then they had lounged about in his bedroom, having coffee and sharing great laughs, before Luke decided to make lunch and Cynthia followed him to the kitchen. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 10



The wedding was at 4 p.m. Luke checked the time. It was three. The day was clear, with a soft breeze and mild sunshine. Cynthia had wanted to reach just in time, not early by any chance. She couldn't bear the idea of sitting in the church and watching known people walk in. From what Luke had understood, she wasn't fond of the Lang family, and given a choice, wouldn't have attended the wedding. 

He tied his shoe laces and rose from bed, before combing his hair nicely. Then grabbing his watch from the nightstand, he left the room. 

"Cynthia, are you ready?" he called out, fastening his watch on his wrist. 

"Yes." 

The voice made him look up. Cynthia was standing near the living room window, dressed in a pale coral one-shoulder gown. Luke was left speechless for a few minutes. He hadn't seen her showing skin except a little bit of leg or neck, and there she was, revealing the smooth creamy skin of her neck, back, and arms. Her long, bouncy, lustrous hair was bunched to a side, and the barely there makeup made her radiant. Even her spectacles couldn't diminish the elegance of her very feminine attire. 

She is such a beauty. Breathtaking, alluring, stunning. 

"Wow." He said, to make sure his vocal chords still worked. "You look... unreal." 

Cynthia laughed out, and her big, sparkling eyes made him begin to sweat underneath his suit. 

Down boy, down! You need to last through the wedding. 

"Unreal?" she asked, crossing her arms against her chest. Luke forced himself to look elsewhere. He just couldn't let his eyes be drawn to her... cleavage. 

"Yes," he smiled, slowly walking up to her. "Your efforts to remain unnoticed won't be much of a success." 

She laughed again, and although it was softer this time, Luke was bedazzled by her smile. For some reason, she looked more beautiful than she ever had. 

But something was missing. Her attire was screaming for something more. 

"What are you staring at?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously. "You look mighty fine yourself." 

"I was thinking," he said, "Your look is incomplete." 

"Incomplete?" she seemed a little shocked. "What am I missing?" 

Luke smiled. "Just wait." 

He rushed to his bedroom, where he pulled out a small box from one of the chambers in his closet. The ornate wooden box contained a few of Diana's belongings that Luke had considered too special to be discarded. One of them was a delicate diamond bracelet he had got custom fitted for her slender wrist. He smiled through the tears that he hadn't even noticed. It would look perfect on Cynthia, although it could be a little loose for her hand. If there was anybody besides Diana he could imagine doing justice to that piece of jewellery, then it was her. 

When he returned to the living room, Cynthia was on the sofa, trying out the matching bolero with the gown. He had never seen her in any kind of jewellery. But her outfit needed a diamonds to look complete. It was a wedding, after all. 

"What's this?" she asked, when Luke sat next to her on the sofa, his palm closed. Smiling enigmatically, he opened his fist, and Cynthia's eyes widened. 

"D-Diamonds?" she exclaimed, her gaze fixed on the bracelet on his open palm. He nodded. 

"I'd gifted this to Diana when we completed one year of being together," he smiled, his eyes welling up again. "I want you to wear it today." 

"I can't..." she shook her head, "I'm not here to take her place." 

"You're not," he insisted. "Please, it'll make me very happy if you wear it." 

"Luke-" 

"Nobody can take her place, Cynthia," he said, holding her hand "Her place in my life is permanent. I'm not even asking you to keep it. I just want you to wear it today. You'll look amazing with this on..." 

Cynthia sighed, and Luke knew he had won. He carefully held her hand and secured the bracelet around her wrist. To his utter surprise and delight, it fit her perfectly. 

How had that happened? 

It was made to fit Diana's wrist. But the fit on Cynthia's wrist was flawless too. She slowly, hesitantly, lifted her hand and smiled at the jewellery. Then she smoothed her hands through her hair, and looked unsurely at him. 

"Well?" she said, seeking approval. 

"Diamonds are indeed a girl's best friend," he smiled, leaning close. "You look stunning." 

"I cannot afford diamonds," she shrugged. "And I usually avoid jewellery because I find them uncomfortable." 

"Oh, never mind," he rose from the sofa. "At least today you're going to knock everybody out." 

Cynthia laughed quietly as she took the hand he was offering her and got up to her feet. Dangling her small purse (which, she had told him the other night, was a baguette) in the crook of her arm, she smiled at him. He returned her smile and lightly tapped her cheek, wishing she could be this happy all the time. 

"Come on," he said, "It's show time." 

The roads were clogged with weekend traffic that afternoon, and Luke's prize BMW often slowed to a crawl. Cynthia had asked for the windows to be kept shut, since she didn't want her hair to be ruffled, and Luke had turned on the AC. The suit did make him a tad uncomfortable; the trousers were tight, the shirt hugged his body a little too snugly. Perhaps he had put on weight since the last time he'd worn them. He only hoped he didn't end up with ripped pants at the wedding. 

He looked at Cynthia beside him. She was staring outside, occasionally raising her fingers to scribble on the moisture forming on the window. Her arms were slender and shapely, like the rest of her body. The floor-length gown with that lace bolero hugged her body in all the right places, the colour making her complexion even brighter. Her ex had clearly been a fool to lose her. 

The thought of her ex made him want to curse out loud again. Then he shook his head. He didn't deserve her. It was a good thing the relationship hadn't lasted. He would have only given her more heartbreak. 

"What was that?" Cynthia asked him. Luke turned to find her staring at him. 

"What?" 

"I think I saw you shaking your head rather vigorously." 

You're such an idiot, Luke Harris. "That was the traffic," he said, "It's slow, isn't it?" 

"It was. But now we're going fast." She looked at him again. "Are you distracted by something?" 

Yes, because of you, he thought. 

"Sorry?" she said. 

"What?" He was clearly flustered now. 

"You mumbled something." 

Luke kept his gaze on the road ahead. "Nothing," he said, trying to brush it off. "I'm just a little nervous about this whole wedding thing." 

"It isn't your wedding," she laughed, "So, relax." 

"Do you think we're going to reach on time?" 

"I don't want to reach on time." 

"I wouldn't like to stand outside." 

"The church is big enough. We'll find a place at the back." 

"Don't you think your mom would be waiting for you?" 

"I'll be meeting her at some point anyway. There's no need to rush." 

Luke sighed, tightening his grip on the steering. His mind went back to the bracelet. He still remembered Diana's constant complaint that none of the bracelets she liked ever fit her. Since her hands would always be in focus when she played the cello, she'd want an adornment for them. Luke had then decided to gift her a custom-made bracelet on her first birthday with him, which also happened to be their first anniversary of togetherness. 

His eyes travelled to Cynthia's hand, the amazing fit still baffling him. What did that mean? Was it just coincidence? Or was Diana around, watching him, making sure he wasn't lonely anymore? 

"The left turn coming up," Cynthia pointed out, shaking him out of his reverie. He nodded, slowing a little as he turned left. 

"Are you alright, Luke?" she asked him again. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to." 

"I'm fine," he tried to assure her. 

"You seem funny to me," she said. "If you aren't feeling well, we should do something-" 

"I'm perfectly okay, Cynthia." He gave her a smile, hoping to convince her. "The suit's a little tight, that's all." 

She laughed, shaking her head. Luke joined in, feeling a little at ease. "You should've chosen something else if this was too tight," she said, "You trusted my choice a little too much." 

"I like your choices," he smiled. "And it's fine. A tight suit isn't going to kill me." 

"Turn right and you'll see the church," she instructed him. "There must be special parking for the guests." 

Following her instructions, he turned right and saw a big white church with a huge lawn in front. The bells were tolling as he parked his car behind a row of other vans and cars. 

"Look, the bride is walking in," Cynthia pointed out while they watched from outside the gate. Julie was dressed in a long-sleeve wedding gown with a long train and an elaborate headdress. The bridesmaids, who Cynthia said were Julie's friends, were dressed in teal dresses. When the procession had disappeared inside the church, Cynthia looked at him. 

"Irrespective of the tension that's always existed between us," she said. "Despite the dislike she's always had towards me, I want her to have a happy marriage." 

Her eyes turned moist as she continued. "I know what it feels like when relationships don't work out. And I don't wish that for her. Not because she's my sister, but because she's a woman, like me." 

Luke smiled, flicking a lock of curled hair from her face. She never failed to amaze him with her sweetness, her generosity. Her family and the man she'd loved had uprooted her, and Scott had rescued her and planted her in new soil, helping her grow and flourish again. He was glad he had done that. There was something special about Cynthia that needed to be preserved. 

"Let's go," she finally said, when she was sure the service had begun. When the guards at the gate smiled at her, he looked at her questioningly. 

"This has been my family's parish for generations," she explained, her voice falling to a whisper as they entered the packed church and located two seats on the last row. "I had to come here for at least two Sundays every month." She giggled quietly, covering her mouth with her hand. "Mom was very strict about it." 

"I see," Luke nodded, glancing around the church and the rows of unfamiliar people. "Are all of them friends and family?" he asked. 

"No, there may be colleagues and other people from work. The Lang family business is huge. Most of the guests are from their side, I'm sure." 

"Oh." Luke sank back in his seat, crossing his legs and joining his hands on his knees. The groom, the tall, blue-eyed scion of the Lang family, was dressed in a white, expensive-looking wedding suit. His parents and sister were decked in stylish wedding finery. Cynthia's mother was in a modest dress suit, her short brown hair neatly styled, and the string of pearls sitting well around her neck. The service was long and boring, and Cynthia hardly spoke or looked anywhere except the booklet in her hand. Luke stifled a yawn, and glanced at the man beside him. 

Dressed in a black suit with a floral printed waistcoat, the man with nose like a walnut and eyebrows like a brush, was dozing. Luke couldn't blame him. He had never attended such a long wedding ceremony ever before. In front of him was a woman in a dress and a pillbox hat whose tuneless voice rose to a feverish pitch above all others during the hymns. That was the only time when the walnut-nosed man woke up and started to sing. Cynthia laughed out, covering her mouth with the program booklet, and Luke had a hard time checking himself. 

About an hour and thirty minutes later, when the couple was finally pronounced man and wife, Luke not only felt relieved but also a little restless when he saw the newlyweds kissing. Cynthia clapped along with everybody else, and he stared at her, stopping himself from pulling her into his arms and kissing her with abandon. It wouldn't be right. Not there, at least. 

"That was long," Cynthia said to him, as they watched the couple walk out of the church, arms linked. Her mom had cried a little when the new bride had hugged her after the ceremony, before exchanging pleasantries with the parents of the groom. 

"I thought you didn't notice," Luke rolled his eyes, "I've never been to such a boring wedding." 

"Well, you can jazz up the reception with your voice," she giggled, taking his arm. "Are you singing your favourite song?" 

"I don't know. You said you wouldn't want me to sing." 

"I never said that." She crossed her arms. "Julie's sure you're going to sing. If you back out, she'll come up with snide remarks. I wouldn't want that." 

"Neither would I." He really wouldn't. Cynthia worried about him. But he worried about her. He couldn't let her down. 

"I'll sing," he smiled, watching the last of the guests filtering out. Then he linked an arm around her waist and proceeded to walk out. "Let's show them what a great boyfriend I can be." 

(To be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 11



Note: The song lyrics are not mine. I've only quoted them. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

It took them a few minutes to make the short drive to the nearby hotel where the reception would be held. When Cynthia's mother had met them while leaving the church, she'd introduced him to a few of their relatives and friends. He had noticed a lot of Cynthia's folks feeling ill-at-ease around her although they behaved courteously. Cynthia's discomfort too was very obvious and he felt her moving more on to his side whenever somebody spoke to her. He couldn't help but think that society had a rather unfair way of treating women. In a scandal involving a man and a woman, the man most often managed to walk away unscathed, leaving the woman to bear all the insults and accusations. The first sinner in the history of mankind was a woman. And thus, the story continued. 

The seven-star property of the luxury hotel was big and welcoming. The regal decor and the lavish arrangements were quite spectacular, but Luke thought they were such a waste of good money. He and Diana had never consciously talked or planned marriage, but they both had believed in a small, simple wedding involving family and friends and an elaborate honeymoon, since they had loved to travel. 

The ushers welcomed them in, extra courteous towards Cynthia since they knew she was the bride's sister and that she was home after a long time. They were met by Cynthia's mother mid-way, who had them seated with a bunch of her relatives. A lot of people complimented her on how beautiful she looked that evening, and some even came up from nearby tables just to let her know that they thought she'd only grown more radiant and stunning over the years. Luke felt a sense of pride swelling in his chest. To be honest, he couldn't picture her as a tough-talking, hard-as-nails corporate hotshot. She was too kind, too gentle. The small-town life suited her well, as did her flower shop. That's how he had loved her from the very first moment. 

Loved her?? 

Despite being introduced as her friend- which was the truth- he knew what everybody thought. He remembered what Cynthia had once told him, that most women in her family looked upon her as someone who chased married men. Luke had proved them wrong by accompanying her to the wedding. He was smart, accomplished, and better looking that most men present there, even if he said so himself. And definitely not married. He needed to make sure that by the end of the night's program, everyone received a slap on their faces for having treated her so unkindly. He had the perfect plan for accomplishing that. 

When he excused himself for a little while, he took the chance to look around the place, enjoying the anonymity when guests looked at him and wondered who he was. He took a sneak-peek into the lavish buffet spread being arranged in a separate hall, full of sumptuous delicacies and even yummier desserts. While downing two red wine shots, he started a little conversation with one of the waiters carrying the snacks and the cocktails around, and learned, to his astonishment, that there were about 450 guests there in all and that the Lang family had spent close to a million pounds on the whole thing. If he had a million pounds, he thought, he'd buy a desert island and spend his days doing nothing. As he gulped down one more shot while re-entering the banquet hall, his eyes fell on the one thing he had been looking for. The band. 

"What took you so long?" Cynthia frowned at him, not appreciating his disappearance one bit. "You said you were going to the men's room." 

"I did." He chuckled slightly. Cynthia's eyes widened. 

"Are you okay?" she asked, her frown changing into concern. "What made you spend so long in the washroom?" 

His laughter only annoyed her a little more. 

"Luke, you're acting strange today, you know that?" she said, sipping on a glass of champagne. "I'm sure you're not okay." 

Oh god, she had no idea. 

"Relax, I was just looking around the place," he smiled, picking up another red wine shot. 

"Oh, I see," she chuckled, "I guess you were intercepted by some attractive woman." 

"I was. By two, actually" 

When Cynthia shot him an inspecting glance, he continued with a straight face. "They both were pretty, blonde, and very young. The blonde on the left boldly asked me which one I liked best, and went on to say that I could have a pick and take that one home for the night." 

Cynthia gaped at him, her mouth slightly parted. 

"Of course, I let them know nicely that I wasn't interested," he continued, taking off his coat and putting it around the back of his chair. "But my eyes almost fell off their sockets when they started making out in front of me, letting me know that I could have both girls tonight, if I were interested." 

She narrowed her eyes at him, scowling deeply. Then she indignantly turned her face away from him. "Oh." 

She crossed her arms and looked like a sulking child for a moment, before her mother pulled her into a conversation. 

"I'm having your drink," Luke casually picked up her half-full glass of champagne and downed it at one go. Cynthia glared at him, looking like she wanted to slap him or punch him. 

She's jealous! 

"Luke, I was telling Bob that you're going to sing for us tonight," said Julie, who was sharing their table along with her husband. "It's great to have some live music at a party." 

He thought he heard Cynthia mumble something. She sounded angry. 

"I'm all for live music," he said, leaning back in the chair. "It makes me high. There are very few experiences like live performances." 

"It's good to have a singer in the family," Bethany smiled, full of warmth. 

"Mum." Cynthia was very visibly angry now. 

"What?" her mother feigned innocence. "He's part of the family, isn't he?" 

Luke wanted to laugh. He had serious doubts if she herself felt a part of the family anymore. 

"I heard you're a business consultant," the newly-wed groom chipped in. He was from a business family, he'd be interested. 

"That's right," he replied, "Ultimate Consulting." 

"You mean the company on Broad Street?" 

"Yes. That's ours." 

"I know the CEO. What's his name...? Liam Harris, right?" 

"My brother." 

Bob looked delighted. "What a pleasure!" he extended his hand towards him across the table. "I've never had the opportunity to meet you. I'm so glad you're here." 

"Me too." Luke withdrew his hand, glancing at Cynthia as he did so. "You said you know my brother?" 

"Yes, we met last year or the year before, at the MCA," he said, "You guys won the Small Business Consulting Firm award..." 

"Last year..." he nodded, the words coming out half-heartedly. He remembered Liam insisting him to come along, not because he wanted him to receive the award, but because he wanted him to meet people. That was about one-and-a-half years ago, when he was still being treated for depression. He just liked to stay in bed and drink volumes of Budweiser. 

"The Harris brothers are known for their business acumen," Bob said to the others at the table. "Liam is a Boston Business School alumnus, he's served in the consulting teams of Deloitte, McKinsey & Company, and PwC." He looked at Luke. "I've heard you were with Bain and Company?" 

"Yeah, after graduating from LBS. I worked there for four years, before joining our firm." 

"I wish you'd work for bigger businesses too," he rued, "You're doing so great." 

"The company was started with the intention of helping small businesses," Luke explained. "Bigger businesses have the budget and the people to do things on their own. Smaller, up and coming businesses, as well as entrepreneurs, often find it hard all by themselves but cannot afford to shell out a hefty budget. That's where we come in. Clients come to a business consultant with either a specific problem or a macro problem. The specific problem could be, 'Our website's not getting enough traffic', while the macro problem could be, 'We're not getting enough sales'. 

"A business consultant will get to the root of the problem," Cynthia finally decided to stop sulking and say something. Immediately, all eyes were on her. "When somebody comes to you and says, 'I want you to help me with this,' the proper response should be, 'Well, maybe. Let me look at the whole company first.' Because if the client says, 'My elbow is killing me, I want you to fix my elbow', and you say, 'Okay, I'll fix your elbow', you may later find out that the elbow was killing its owner because every night the person slept in a way that the shoulder took all the blood and put the pressure on the elbow. In that case, if you fix the elbow, you only help with one symptom of a bigger problem. Not the problem itself." 

She stopped and lifted her eyes, finding everybody at the table gaping at her. Luke smiled cheekily, and leaned closer to her. 

"Hand me your CV," he whispered to her, but loud enough to the others to hear. "I'll send it to my brother." 

Cynthia rolled her eyes at him, leaned back in the chair, and crossed her arms. "No, thank you." 

Everyone laughed, although they looked impressed by her business sense. Bob smiled at Luke again. 

"I'm surprised you're a singer too," he told him. 

"I'm great at that," Luke smiled smugly. "That's what I always wanted to be. My parents weren't convinced that it was possible to make a living as a singer, so they sent me to college, and then to business school." 

"Business people are usually known to be very technically wired... very analytical. Not the least artistic." 

"Not me. I could easily be another Neil Young." He glanced at Cynthia, smiling. "Let me show you." 

And the next moment the world had plunged into darkness. 

Even in the dark and the sudden commotion, he saw her frantically searching for him. Her voice sounded in the dark as she called out his name. 

"Luke?" 

He watched her silhouette, and a moment of confusion ran through his brain. And then it hit him. It spread through his body like a slow fire, flowing smoothly as his brain clicked into place. He really should have known earlier. He really should have expected it. But he had been determined to not dwell on his feelings and just let it all happen and it had... it had happened. 

His hand moved to his chest and he sucked in a deep, steadying breath as he let it wash over him. 

*** 

The commotion stopped once the sound of an electric guitar filled the air. I felt my heart in my mouth when I recognised that intro. As the music grew louder, I could almost feel my hands trembling. And with the first up tempo, the hall came alive to dancing lights. There was Luke, microphone in hand, necktie gone, shirt-sleeves rolled up. The showman I'd always known he was. 

A loud cheer went around the hall; guests clapped and tapped their feet, while the younger crowd thumped the tables. Julie clearly hadn't expected Luke to be so electric, but Bob looked delighted. When Luke's voice came through the microphone, cloaking the hall in a deliciously buttery melody, I pressed my hands to my mouth, trying to keep the tears away. No, I wouldn't cry tonight. I'd dance, and forget everything else. 

"I've been where you are before, 

No one understands it more... 

He descended the raised platform where the band was stationed, and walked towards me. 

"You fear every step you take, 

So sure that your heart will break... 

With my heart pounding, I gazed into his eyes, as he took my hand and led me to the dance floor, amid another round of loud applause. Arms circled around his neck, I moved to the music, surprised at my own ease on the dance floor. I'd never been the type to let loose and have fun. But being with Luke ensured I fall into an easy rhythm, jiving along with him. 

"It's not how the story ends, 

You'll be back on your feet again... 

At the up-tempo change of the chorus, he freed himself from my arms, held my hand and had me crashing against his powerful chest. I felt the way his ribcage vibrated as he sang down to my bones. 

"Baby, this time 

There ain't nothing gonna take this heart away, 

No more goodbyes, 

There ain't nothing gonna take my heart away... 

I had no clue why he'd picked that song. I didn't know how he knew. I didn't remember ever mentioning to him. But I didn't mind. The lights danced to the music, the air was charged, and some of the others had also taken to the floor. Luke was amazing; charming, magnetic, wild. Watching videos of his live shows wasn't even half the experience as being in his arms, being made to swirl, move, and just let it go. 

"The pain's still alive in you, 

For what one man put you through... 

When I looked away, feeling sad for a moment, he put a finger under my chin and lifted my face, smiling down into my eyes. I involuntarily smiled back, while still dancing in what could be described as a sexy two-step dance. 

"You say that we're all the same, 

But I'm called by no other name... 

My breath was catching in my throat, the tears rising, vision blurring. I thought I had figured why he'd picked that song, what he was trying to convey. The earnestness on his face at the next verse confirmed my feeling. 

"We all need a place to run 

Won't you let me be the one? 

I circled my arms around him again, putting my head on his shoulder. A tear escaped my eye when I felt his arms around me. He sang down to my ear, taking my body along as he moved and swayed. But then, with a sudden jerk, he pushed me away, keeping only a hand attached, before pulling me back to him. 

Taking me by surprise, he suddenly, and with little effort on his part, lifted my up in his arms, swirling me around. Tears gone, I laughed out, holding him tight, feeling giddy from the happiness. I saw him perspiring from the excitement and energy, his shirt damp. He set me down on the floor, the microphone still in his hand, as he neared the end of the song. 

"I need you to please be strong 

I've waited for you too long..." 

I hugged him, closing my eyes. Yes, I would be strong. I had to be strong. I'd been nursing my wounds for far too long. But at that moment, I realised I had finally made it. That someone had managed to break down the walls around me and taught me to live again. 

-- 

"Oh god, I can't believe you did that." I was still laughing, my lungs almost ready to explode. Luke laughed softly beside me as he fastened his necktie. His hair and shirt were damp from sweat, but his face glowed. The performer that he was, he got a kick from singing live. We had left the hall shortly after his stupendous performance, leaving the dance floor to the newly-weds and the guests. A few of the people who happened to follow folk-rock recognised Luke and flocked to him for photographs, autographs and a little tête-à-tête. As we walked along the sprawling garden of the hotel, the bustling reception venue behind us, I, for once, felt good about having attended the wedding. 

"I have to ask," I said, pushing up my spectacles. "How did you know Richard Marx was my favourite?" 

Luke sighed, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers. Our feet made crunching sounds as we lazily strolled through the garden. The night was clear and starlit, the breeze brushing against my bare arms, giving me goosebumps. 

"I happened to take a look around your living room one of the days that I happened to be there," he said, smiling at me. "The only music CDs I saw were of Richard Marx. I thought you must be truly crazy about him if that's the only music in your house." 

I laughed a little shyly. "Yes," I nodded. "I've been his fan since my schooldays. I used to have his posters all over my room." 

I giggled at the memory. "I was surprised that you chose that song. It reminded me of a lot of things." 

"Like what?" he asked. 

"Like my schooldays." 

"I bet you were popular." 

"No. I was a wallflower. Always with my nose into a book." I looked at him as we approached the fountain in the garden. "Julie was popular. She was a cheergirl for the school football team. She was also crowned the prom queen in high school." 

We sat on the edge of the large fountain, the sound of the water filling the night air. Luke and I were close to each other, our thighs brushing. 

"Growing up, did you ever feel you were inferior to your sister in certain things?" he asked, angling himself towards me. "Not good enough?" 

"Not really," I said honestly. "I had my own share of popularity. It wasn't in the cheerleading or the glam departments, but in areas that mattered to me. Like the editorial team, the book club, the writing competitions. I had my male admirers as well. The first guy I ever dated was the school captain. He was the most mentally stimulating guy in school at that point. My world was different from Julie's. I never felt any competition with her." 

"I'd pick you over your sister any day," he said. 

"Of course, you would. She's married now." 

We laughed together, feeling light and relaxed. Luke ran his fingers through his hair, glancing at the banquet hall in the distance. I heard the sound of his breathing, the soft rustling sound of his clothes as he crossed his legs. 

"Can I ask you something?" he said, breaking the silence. I nodded. 

"How old were you when your father died?" 

I gaped at him for a little while, before smiling dryly. 

"We don't know if he's dead yet," I said softly. Luke frowned, and waited for me to explain. 

"My father abandoned us when I was three and Julie seven." I said, staring at the grass beneath my feet. "He left my mom for another woman." 

When I looked at Luke, his mouth was slightly parted. I smiled again. "I know what you're thinking," I sighed. "I think this was the reason why mom had hated me so much when I got involved with a married man." 

"No, it wasn't her hatred towards you," he added, "It was the hatred and anguish she's always felt towards the other woman in your father's life. Maybe she had never found an outlet to express those feelings. And when she found you in a similar situation, those suppressed emotions came back to the surface." 

"Maybe." I murmured. "They always blame the woman, as if the man had no part to play." 

"I agree. The world has always been unfair to women. They call them the weaker sex." He looked into the fountain. "When they are actually far stronger than men." 

He paused, hesitating. "Do you remember him?" he asked. 

I shook my head. "I was too small. Mom tried hard and got the job at the bank, and then moved to this house with us. Since then it was just the three of us, before Julie left the nest." 

Luke placed a hand on my knee, and even without looking at him, I could feel his warmth and empathy. 

"I now see your misfortunes didn't begin with your ex," he said gently. "But I love the fact that you're still here, living your life. Making the most of what you have." 

"I have no other option, do I?" My eyes filled with tears as I kept staring at the grass. "I'd never had a father figure in my life. I missed having a strong, dependable man, like my friends had their dads. And when Sam came into my life, I felt so secure, so protected, that every other rational thought left my mind." 

I took off my spectacles and rubbed my eyes to squeeze out the tears. "I always had a hunch that things might not work out," I said. "And I also knew that if someday it had to end, I wouldn't walk away whole. But I still loved him." 

"I think you should've told your mother about it before things got out of hand. You were too young and needed guidance. She would've cautioned you and made you re-assess the whole situation." 

"Mom had raised us to be independent girls with minds of their own. She wanted us to be able to make decisions. I thought I had it in me to make the right decisions because so far I hadn't been wrong. And there were some things I never shared with anybody, not even with mom. Guys and relationships were among them. Julie was very open about who she dated, but not me. When Sam came and I realised this was different from my other relationships, I'd wanted to tell her, but then I decided to wait till he got the divorce. At the back of my mind, I also knew she'd freak out if I told her he was married, and I didn't want that. Once he ended his marriage, he'd be a divorced man, not married anymore. It would be easier, less complicated then... I'd also told Scott that I was in a serious relationship with somebody but I wanted to tell him the whole thing in person once he visited me. Little did I know that by the time we'd meet, it would all be over." 




Will Be Yours Ch. 11



Beside me, Luke remained quiet while he listened to me, giving me his undivided attention. Then I heard him sigh softly, before pausing for a moment. 

"Do you..." he began, his voice thick with hesitation. "Do you still love him?" 

I shrugged, looking away. "I like to think that I stopped loving him the day he deserted me. When my mom turned me out, when I had a miscarriage... during my most vulnerable moments, I didn't have him beside me." My voice choked slightly as I continued to talk. "But I had carried his baby. That single thing made forgetting him a whole lot more difficult. It's like he'll be attached to me forever. I may not love him anymore but I'll always have a weakness for him." 

I looked at him. "You know what I mean, right?" 

He nodded, appearing to have absorbed and understood every word of mine. It was good to be able to talk to somebody that way. I did have friends who loved me and cared about me, but I couldn't talk to them so openly, because some of them didn't know my story and others couldn't relate to it. Luke and I had gone through something similar. Although we had lost the people we loved in different ways, we both had ended up with shattered hearts. And it took one shattered heart to know another. 

"You know? We all make mistakes," he said, "Big mistakes, small mistakes, life-altering mistakes. But just because we mess up, doesn't mean we cannot start over. Standing there and judging yourself only makes you weaker." He looked at me. "And you judge yourself all the time." 

"I do. I was educated, intelligent, sensible. How could I do such a thing? How could I be such a fool?" 

"Because you're human." 

"Although nobody treated me as human..." 

"They didn't. But what stopped you from being kind to yourself? When Gabrielle was counselling me- she was my 64-year-old therapist- she used this very interesting analogy. I used to consider myself responsible for Diana's death, I couldn't get the thought out of my head that she had played till late and was tired and I shouldn't have listened to her when she said she'd drive. That I should've picked her up despite her protests. Gabrielle told me that by subjecting myself to those hard feelings I was bullying myself." 

He smiled, recalling old thoughts. "Let me use this on you, okay?" he leaned a little closer to me. "If you see a big angry boy bullying a scared little girl, what will you do? What will be your first instinct at that moment?" 

I thought for a while, finding the whole thing interesting. "Umm... I... I will walk over and protect her in whatever way I can," I said, "I will ask the boy to stop and think about what he's doing. I'll tell him that he is not allowed to hurt someone else just because he is unhappy or angry." 

"Exactly. That's what we all would do, right? Then why do we bully ourselves? We don't think about it, but if we listened to our thoughts whenever we made a mistake we'd realise that we are far from protective towards our scared little inner child who is trying to do their absolute best. We are usually a mean, awful, and torturing bully." 

"I never looked at it that way," I murmured, feeling the tiny hair on my neck standing erect. I had never seen the profound side of Luke before. 

"Then do it from now on," he told me, "Think how you talk to yourself. Are you kind and compassionate? Are you forgiving and understanding?" 

I shook my head. "Most of the time I'm not." 

"Then you're a bully. And that needs to change." 

As what he'd just said sunk in, a montage of my life floated past my eyes. I saw myself crying, sulking, spending days cooped inside the house. I heard myself telling that little child she's bad and vile and deserves to suffer. I found myself closing up to friends, to happiness, to new chances. 

I really was a bully, who never allowed that little girl to heal. And I needed somebody else to point that out to me. 

"Although I must admit I don't know how you put up with all that," Luke wondered aloud, jerking me back to the present. 

"I had the shop to distract me and keep me busy," I said. "It originally belonged to a lovely old lady called Roxanne. She was looking for an assistant when I arrived in Velmont Town. When I joined, she was amazed at my knowledge of flowers. She took me under her wing, taught me a lot more. When she retired and left for the US to be with her son, I got a loan from Scott and bought the shop from her. I worked really hard to get it and I didn't have time for anything else. The shop was already popular, and in my hands, it flourished even more. I also repaid Scott, although he had protested against it." I paused. "It made getting Sam out of my head a little bit easier." 

"I'm just glad he's not here," he said, looking at the banquet hall again. 

"Me too," I responded. "I don't see his wife either." 

"Maybe she's gone back to London." 

"Good for me." 

Luke chuckled softly as I wore my spectacles. Then he gave my hand a soft squeeze. 

"You're doing great," he said, his face a picture of tenderness. "Any other person in your place might not have been able to move on. But you have. You didn't allow your past to dictate your present." 

"Part of that is because of Scott and Carrie. They taught me how to be strong, how to move on. I wasn't alone." 

"I think I also realise why you love Scott so much. He's a strong and dependable man. The kind of person you'd always wanted in your life." 

"Yeah. Without Scott..." a shudder ran down my body. "I don't want to think where I'd be without him." 

"He's done a lot for me too. He's been there by my side in my most difficult time ever. I've always wondered where he gets all that strength from." 

"Some people are born to make life better for others." 

"Yes. And some people are born to make it hell." 

I knew he was talking of Sam. The anger in his voice was unmistakable. But then, if I were in his place, I'd feel the same anger towards him. Maybe more. 

"Tell me about your dad," I said, "How was your childhood?" 

"It was happy and fun," he smiled, stretching his legs. "We weren't rich, and raising seven kids was difficult. On many nights, our only dinner would be coke and chips." He looked at me and laughed. "You know, from the restaurant. But we had love, we had laughter. Dad has always been an easygoing man. I've never seen him angry or nervous or hyper. Mum would constantly blabber around him, and he'd be deep into a newspaper. When he wouldn't reply after a long time, mum would look at him and say, 'Are you listening?' Dad would finally look up and ask, 'Me?'" 

I laughed, and he joined in. "He sounds like he's a great person to be with," I said. 

"Yes. Like me." 

I playfully punched his leg and laughed again. "Mom did a lot for us," I sighed. "But there's only so much a mother can do alone. I often longed for a dad when I saw my friends and their dads, how much they loved each other..." 

"I understand how it is. Given how my childhood was, I feel sad for anybody who hasn't experienced even a fraction of what I had. My parents were the funnest people I've ever known. I hated going to school at a point. I hated the long bus ride every day and I was frightened of the nuns. I used to nag my dad that I don't want to go to school. So one day, he agreed and instead of sending me to school, he made me work in the small farm we had in the back of the house. I mean, it was hard work! For six to eight hours every day I had to dig the soil, plants seeds, pick the harvest, and the worst part, deal with manure and fertilizers. By the fourth day, I was begging to go back to school." 

He loosened his tie, and I noticed the veins of his hands, quite prominent because of the exercising. 

"Small-town life would seem boring to most kids," he continued. "But I liked it. I think city kids have distractions. They have far too many conveniences, because of which they fail to cherish the little pleasures of life. Parents are busy, kids are hooked to TV. And before you know, your childhood is gone." He paused. "We had a family event every day of the weekend. On Saturday mornings, dad would take me fishing to a lake. And though dad was the worst fisherman in the history of mankind, I found it really exciting. When I look back, I realise it was dad's way to spend time with me, by showing me things, telling me stories, teaching me songs while we waited for some fish to show up. They almost never did, but I'm thankful that we still went fishing every week." 

"Did you learn riding from him?" I asked, awed by the bond he shared with his dad. It was nothing extraordinary, but to me, it seemed like the epitome of the best childhood anybody could ask for. 

"Riding runs in my family," he replied. "My dad, my brothers, my uncles, they all are into horses. We took the horses out every Sunday, and went to the races whenever it was in town. We have old photos of my dad and brothers posing on horses with their trophies. I was the youngest. Lyndon almost looked like my father in many photos." 

"I want to see you race." 

"I'd love to take you home when you're here the next time. We have a huge stable. I got a race horse about six-seven years ago. It's such a prize. When Dave visited the stable for the first time, he couldn't believe his eyes." 

"Who's Dave?" I asked. Luke smacked himself on the head. 

"I can be such an idiot," he laughed. "Dave is Diana's dad. Dr Dave Nesbrit. He's a neurosurgeon. Nice man." 

"You're close to them?" 

He nodded. "Diana was an only child. Her parents treated me like a son. With her gone, I'm the one fulfilling the duties of both the son and the daughter. It's like having two sets of parents." 

"You're lucky. Some people don't have even one." 

"I know. Life has taken away Diana from me, but it has also given me a lot of other things. I never deny that." 

"I wish I had a childhood like yours," I rued. 

"Tell me about your life," he said with a smile. "What was your childhood like?" 

"Haven't you guessed yet what it was like?" 

"No, I haven't. Tell me." 

I sighed, having never really talked about my childhood with anyone. There was nothing to talk about. 

"It was quiet," I said. "Solitary. I was an introvert, unable to mingle with people. Outside school, my life only had flowers and books. On weekends, I'd spend hours on the lawn, either reading or talking to the flowers and plants. We went to church on Sundays. Mom would take us to parks and museums, sometimes to restaurants, on holidays. Every other week, we'd have guests over, and at other times, we'd go to visit them. Julie and I played on the lawn sometimes. She'd scream at me a lot. I'd cry, and mom would scold her. She'd sulk for a day or two. I loved mom's cooking. Roast duck was my favourite." 

I sounded like an moron. But when I stopped, Luke smiled affectionately. "I sense that your mother was always independent. You got that from her. Between you and your sister, you resemble her in many ways." 

Inside the banquet hall, people were probably moving over to dinner. I couldn't tell if I was hungry because I loved sitting there in the relative quietness of the garden, the soft gurgle of the water making an amazing background as we talked. I looked up at the clear sky, and after a very long time, I seemed to notice the stars again. I raised my hand, tracing figures in the sky. 

"What are you doing?" Luke asked, smiling. 

"The stars. I'm seeing if I remember anything." 

"Don't tell me you're into astronomy?" 

"No. But mom seemed to know a lot about stars and constellations. For long after we moved houses, I'd have difficulty falling asleep. Mom would carry me to the rooftop and show me stars on clear nights. I remember the names she'd say- Canes Venatici, Cassiopeia, Antinous... I was too small to even pronounce Czechoslovakia, but I loved gazing up at the blinking stars. It helped me fall asleep in her arms." 

Luke followed my gaze and looked up at the sky. "Can you recognise any?" 

"Yes. The obvious ones." I pointed at the roof of the hotel. "Go straight up from there and you'll see Orion's belt. Betelgeuse is on the left and Rigel is his foot." 

"I can spot Orion's belt," Luke said, "But not the others." 

"I can't either," I giggled. "I just know they exist there." 

"Your mother had a nice way of raising you," he remarked. 

"She did. She's been a good mother. I cannot complain. She sacrificed her youth, her dreams, her joys for us. I'd always wondered what it'd be like if she ever found someone else. But she never did. Once when I tried broaching the topic, she shut me with a glare." 

"She was happy and content raising her daughters," Luke observed. 

"Yes. And she knew better than to trust another man. She'd been cheated once, and she didn't want to go through it again. She also cared about us, and felt that a stranger wouldn't love us like his own. Men aren't that considerate." 

I gathered my hands in my lap and crossed my legs. "These are my assumptions. Mom had never said anything." 

"She raised you very well. And given that she brought you up all by herself, she did a great job." 

"She invested a lot in me, teaching me, cooking for me. I was closer to her, and sometimes I'd feel she'd never let me go." 

I looked at the sky again. "When we looked at stars, she'd tell me that they are thousands of light years away from us. So when we look at stars, we're probably looking at a time when dinosaurs were around. I'd also first learned from her that people in ancient times studied and followed stars for everything, from navigating their way to making buildings." Lost in thought, I kept staring at the sky. "I used to find it all so amazing." 

"It is." 

Luke's voice made me take my eyes off the sky. "I'm sorry," I said, smiling shyly. "You're probably hungry and I'm boring you." 

"Not really. I don't think I can ever look at stars again without thinking about you." 

I laughed a little, finally rising. Stretching my arms, I motioned at the banquet hall with my head. "Shall we go in?" 

Luke stood, appearing a tad unwilling to return inside. So was I, but I also wanted to eat. 

"Okay, I lied," he said suddenly. 

"What do you mean?" I looked at him with wide eyes. 

"About the two blondes," he smiled coyly. "I didn't meet any woman. I was only talking to a waiter." 

I knew that. 

I reached out and patted his arm. "I know," I smiled, "You don't even look at women anymore." 

He frowned at me. "You've been listening to Scott and Carrie a lot, I see." 

"Uh-huh. They know you so well." 

"They do, really." He motioned me to walk with him. "They know you very well too." 

I laughed, nodding gently. "You know, I'm still very surprised that you chose my favourite song even without knowing," I said as we strolled back to the banquet hall. "I thought you'd sing your favourite song." 

"My favourite song isn't fit for a wedding," he said. 

"What is it?" 

"It's a John Denver song." 

"I love John Denver. Is it Annie's Song?" 

"No." 

"Seasons of the Heart." 

"No way." 

"Then what?" 

He stopped walking, and then cleared his throat and started to hum softly. 

"Just to look in your eyes again, 

Just to lay in your arms, 

Just to be the first one always there for you...  

He turned to look at me, his eyes boring into mine. I watched in amazement as he straightened himself and pulled me close to his body, so close that our heartbeats seemed one. Brushing away a few strands of hair from my face, he carried on singing, our gazes locked. 

"Just to live in your laughter, 

Just to sing in your heart, 

Just to be every one of your dreams come true...  

Emotion swelled in his voice as he lifted his hands to cup my face. His lips quivered as he sang, inducing my own tears. His mellow, buttery voice echoed in the air, his voice resonating down to my soul. It was the only thing I was aware of. 

"Just to sit by your window, 

Just to touch in the night, 

Just to offer a prayer each day for you... 

He brought his face down to mine, and I felt my heart pounding. His breath on my face, he kept singing. 

 

Just to long for your kisses, 

Just to dream of your sighs, 

Just to know that I'd give my life for you..."  

Without warning, preparation or hesitation, he eased his lips on to mine, capturing them in a deep, seeking kiss. Surprisingly, I felt no awkwardness or embarrassment in kissing him back. I only felt the weight of his hands on my face, as if memorising his touch. Time stopped for us. His tongue played with mine, the soft breeze hummed in my ears, and I felt the smooth fabric of his suit against my palm when I crossed my arms across his shoulders. 

When Luke pulled away and looked at me, in his eyes I saw what I'd always wanted to see in a man's eyes for me. 

"I think your mom is looking for you," he said, taking his hands off me. I turned around and saw that mom had ventured into the garden, searching for me in all likelihood. When she saw me in the near darkness, she hesitated for a moment, probably because I was alone with Luke. I looked at him, and he nodded with a smile. 

When I went up to her, she looked slightly uncomfortable. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't know—" 

"Mum, it's fine," I smiled at her. "We were just getting some air. It's too stuffy inside." 

Had she seen us kissing? Oh well, I didn't mind if she had. It was my first kiss in almost four years. 

"Did you want to talk?" I asked. Her eyes travelled to Luke, who had turned around and gone back to the fountain. Then she smiled at me. The mom kind of smile. The one I always knew. 

"I can't explain how happy I am to have you here," she said, holding one of my hands while her other hand cupped my cheek. "When you didn't want to talk to me the times I called Scott, I feared the worst. I thought you wouldn't come. I hadn't seen you in years, and at that moment, I realised how much I missed you. You were all I ever had and I was such a fool to do what I did..." 

Her voice caught up in her throat, and she covered her mouth with her hand. 

"Mum, I don't want to talk about this," I said, shaking my head. "I've told you that many times." 

"Yes... I'm sorry..." she sniffed back the tears and smiled. "Are you free tomorrow?" 

"Not really. Luke is taking me to his sister's place. We should be there till the afternoon. I'm leaving very early on Monday." 

The words made a pang of sadness rise in my belly. It hadn't occurred to me that the weekend was almost over. The realisation made me realise that I wanted more time with Luke. 

"Oh." My mother's face telegraphed disappointment. "I wanted to cook for you, actually. I miss cooking for you. Julie was never fond of food, and with her married now, she'll drop in even more infrequently." She looked at me and tried to laugh. "I just want to make sure I remember how to make a duck roast." 

"Luke really wants me to meet his sister and her family," I said, "I cannot dishearten him." 

I held her hands, not wishing to let her down either. "I cannot make it for lunch, but if you can bring it forward to breakfast, then I can come around." 

My mom's face lit up. "You want to come for breakfast?" she said, slightly breathless out of happiness. "Okay, tell me the time. I'll be-" 

"Don't get worked up about this, please," I laughed, holding her by her arms. "I'll be there by eight. Will you make my favourite things? Cheese sandwiches, fried sausages, and maybe a chocolate cake. And orange juice. Will you make it?" 

Her eyes filled with tears as she hugged me tight. I had wanted that hug all those years ago. I had waited so long for her to call me back and hug me again. It was four years too late. Now I didn't know if it even mattered anymore. I didn't care who judged or hated me. I didn't care if I was welcomed or turned out. Nothing about Birmingham mattered to me anymore. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 11



Except Luke, the little voice reminded me. 

"I'll make all of that," she nodded when she pulled away, tears glistening on her cheeks. "Bring Luke along too." 

"Luke?" I laughed. "He's not an early riser. He needs to be up by seven if we want to reach by eight." I glanced behind me and found him wandering in the distance, looking hungry. Then I looked at mom again. "I don't think he's going to wake up before nine tomorrow." 

Mom laughed, and something told me she approved of Luke. Not that it was important, but I was glad that she wasn't misjudging me this time. 

"I'll be waiting for you tomorrow," she said, caressing my face with her hand. "Don't be late." 

I nodded, smiling. She glanced at Luke again, and smiled at me. "Come on now," she said, "Dinner's been served." 

"We'll be there," I smiled. Mom nodded and turned around, heading inside the banquet hall. I walked back to Luke, who saw me returning and stood in attention. 

"Everything okay?" he asked, when I was near him. I nodded. 

"I'm having breakfast with mom tomorrow at eight," I said, "Do you want to come along?" 

"At eight in the morning?" he raised both eyebrows. "You think after tonight's party, I'll be able to wake up that early tomorrow?" 

I giggled, shaking my head gently. Luke laughed, crossing his arms. 

"And I think you need some alone time with your mother," he added. "You need to talk and sort out differences." He sighed softly, staring at my face. "She deserves another chance. She clearly feels guilty and ashamed for what she had done." 

"What's the point?" I asked, surprised at how tired I suddenly sounded. "She cannot give back what I've lost." 

"But she still loves you. It shows. That day, the surprise and happiness she exuded seeing you after so long, that cannot be fake." He held me gently by my arms. I tried to remain normal, despite the sensations his hands caused on my bare skin. "She's your mother, Cynthia. She's always cared about you more than anything else. A few years of misunderstanding and separation cannot change that." 

"I know." I looked into his eyes, and then linked an arm with him. "Now, can we go to dinner?" 

He smiled, giving my forehead a slight bump with his. "Let's go." 

(To be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 12



Note: The song lyrics are not mine. I've only quoted them. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

I stood at the door of Luke's room the next morning, shifting my weight from one foot to another while debating whether to go in or not. For goodness' sake, he wasn't naked, but that flimsy vest was next to nothing. His other half was under the covers. 

Did he have his bottoms on? 

I didn't want to think of it. Asleep on his chest with his folded arms between his head and the pillow, Luke looked blissfully unaware that it was seven-thirty already and I was leaving for breakfast with mom. His clothes and shoes lay scattered on the floor, the suit was hanging from the latch of the closet, and his mouth was slightly parted. He didn't look he intended to wake up. 

Not willing to waste time, I slowly tip-toed inside and went close to the bed. He was breathing deep and slow, fast asleep. I hated to do it, but I had no other choice. 

"Luke." I gently shook him, a bolt of electricity coursing up my hand as it touched his bare shoulder. 

No response. I kneeled beside the bed, since leaning wasn't working. 

"I'm leaving," I shook him again, at the same time realising his weight. "Remember to pick me up, okay?" 

He finally stirred, mumbled in his sleep, and buried his face in the pillow. I slapped his back through the vest. "See you at ten." 

I rose from my kneeling position and proceeded to head out of his room. I heard another mumbling behind me, and turned around to find Luke opening one of the bedside drawers with eyes still closed. I watched him as he fumbled for a bit before fishing out a key. 

"Take the car." He extended the key towards me. I laughed, walking back to the bed. 

"We have a little logistical problem here, sleepyhead," I said, "I haven't brought my driver's license along." 

He groaned softly, making me laugh again. "I'll take a taxi," I smiled, ruffled his hair, and walked towards the door. Luke had dozed off again, and as I turned to look at him one last time I couldn't help thinking that he looked adorable when sleeping. 

We had returned pretty late the night before, mainly because we'd taken a long dinner and chatted like we had all the time in the world. On our way back, when I'd felt sleepy, Luke had offered me his shoulder, and I had put my head down, feeling comfortable against his cushion-y muscles. The silence in the car had felt relaxing, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest made dozing on his shoulder the extra bit more soothing. The three weeks with him at home and then a weekend at his house had helped develop an uncanny comfort between us. We talked like we had been friends for years, we joked and laughed, and we had slowly got used to hugging each other. We had even kissed... and not for a moment had I felt that I should pull away or end the moment. Packing my luggage early that morning had been quite a torture. I wanted to get back home, but I also wanted to be with him for a little longer. I hoped he'd come to Velmont Town again. I hoped my presence would be able to bring him back soon. 

I stared out of the window as the taxi took me through familiar streets. When we passed some known coffee shops, a smile crept on my lips. I used to be quite a coffee addict- that was until I went to Velmont Town and was introduced to some fine tea by Carrie. I used to be quite a nerd too. Between books and flowers, my life had little else. I used to read at the library or at coffee shops till closing hours, until someone would come up to me to inform that the place would shut in a few minutes. My life was also quite devoid of friends. I was often called 'smart-arse Adamson' in school. The girl who knew all the answers, who was the teacher's pet, and who always had her nose up a book. No one usually wanted to be seen with me, except when they needed to copy the homework. 

All that changed after a certain point. I'd always had a very sweet face; even at 10 or 11, I'd been called beautiful by many people. But when puberty hit, I suddenly climbed the attractiveness meter. Guys who earlier never paid me any attention were magnetically pulled to me, like I was the most delectable Beaufort cheese. It made me wonder what was it about shapely breasts and a slender waist that made a woman attractive. Girls became envious with all the male attention I received. Although I was flattered, it wasn't till my final year in school that I agreed to go out- with the guy who was held in the highest esteem by the school. He was my male version, in a sense. 

I had dated another guy in college, and it had lasted close to six months, before we got busy with studies and projects and slowly drifted apart. When I looked back on my business school days, I felt numb. When the results had been out, I had authorised Scott to collect my degree on behalf of me. It didn't matter that I had topped my class. It was still locked away in some corner of my closet. I hadn't seen it after the day I first received it. 

If I had sent my impressive resume to any investment banking firm, my knock-out academic record and the prestigious internships I'd done would have got me hired instantly. Over these years, I'd have made rapid progress, ending up in the managerial team. Not to mention the money and the status that would have followed. 

But I had long realised that chasing ambitions wasn't important to me anymore. Being happy and at peace was more precious to me than money or all that it could buy. 

When the taxi stopped before my mother's house, I saw her watering the lawn, her back towards the gate. I paid the driver and got off, shutting the door loudly on purpose. Mom turned around at the sound, her lips breaking into a smile. I gave a small smile in return as I opened the gate and walked in. Mom still worked on the lawn every morning. Even though she didn't grow roses anymore, she did care for the lawn. It made me happy to know that. 

"What are you staring at?" I asked, when she just refused to take her eyes off me. Mom dropped the hose, and walked over to the tap to turn it off. When she was close to me again, she smiled. 

"I love the way you glow all the time," she remarked. "When you were here, with college and assignments and work, you looked tired always, like you needed more sleep, more rest. But now..." 

Her hands came up to cup my face. "Now you look so fresh. Like the dew on the lawn on winter mornings..." 

"It has a lot to do with being contented," I said. And it was true. I was content with my life. Mom held my hand, leading me inside. 

"I've made everything you asked for," she smiled, leaving me in the middle of the room to head into the kitchen. "I wasn't sure if Luke would be coming as well, so I made some extra helpings, just to be on the safer side." 

I took a place on the sofa, my mind inevitably recalling old times, when I'd fall asleep there while reading or while watching a late night movie, and mom would cover with a blanket. I'd wake up the next morning to find the TV turned off, or the book on the centre table and my glasses on top of it. 

I had missed being taken care of by mom after I started living on my own. But as I learned to look after myself and run my own life, I always found solace in the thought that I had planned to move out after getting a job. So things wouldn't be very different even if I hadn't left Birmingham. 

"Would you like some coffee?" she asked me from the dining area. I shook my head. 

"Your cheese sandwiches still smell heavenly," I said, rising from the sofa. "And you think you'll forget your recipes?" 

She laughed, shaking her head. Mom looked older now, the lines on her forehead and in the corners of her eyes more pronounced. She wasn't even sixty. But the stress of the last few years had taken its toll on her. 

"You're here and I wouldn't cook for you, that couldn't be." She laid the food on the table and pulled a chair for me. Aside from the cheese sandwiches, there were fried sausages and a big chocolate cake. 

"When did you make all these?" I couldn't hide my surprise that she had managed all that after last night's party. 

"This morning." When we had sat down to eat, I picked two sandwiches on my plate. Mom folded her palms on the table and bowed her head, eyes closed. I didn't follow, although I did wait for the seconds that she prayed. When she had finished, I took a bite of a cheese sandwich. Digging into mom's sandwiches made me realise how much I still had to learn of cooking. 

"I wouldn't mind even if you didn't make all these," I said honestly, feeling bad that I made her work so hard after the busy day she'd had yesterday. "You needn't have woken up so early." 

"I always woke up early," she shot back, serving me a couple of sausages. "It's no big deal. With both daughters away, I look forward to times like this." 

"Does Julie come by often?" 

"Sometimes. She's somehow become softer now, more mellow." 

"Perhaps, she thought she needed to be there for you, in my absence. Anyway, where is she working now?" 

I was sure she had changed some more jobs in the years in between. I was curious to know what she was up to now. Mom laughed, chewing and swallowing her bite. 

"Do you need to work anymore when you're married into the Lang family?" she asked me, still laughing. There was no humour in that laughter; only disappointment. 

"You mean she doesn't do anything now?" I exclaimed, my eyes wide. Mom nodded. 

"Except attending social gatherings, making public appearances, and travelling the world." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "She quit her job at the salon soon after you left. Since then she's been working towards a 'Mrs' degree. She told me last night that Bob's taking her for an extensive US tour for their honeymoon." 

"Well, I'd always told you she's lucky." I said, dusting the crumbs of bread from my hands. "Not everyone's that privileged to live such a comfortable life. And Bob loves her a lot. His family is also fond of her. She has it sorted." 

Mom remained silent for a few seconds, appearing deep in thought. I knew what was going on in her mind, but I still decided to ask. 

"Are you thinking what I think you are thinking?" I said, looking at her from the corner of my eyes. She heaved a long sigh, and then nodded. 

"I just don't want her to end up the way I did," she confessed. "I still wonder what would've happened had I not got this job. When I didn't know where to go with two little daughters, I'd realise over and over again how important financial independence is. There's nothing worse than being dependent on somebody else. It's like giving another person the power to kill you anytime they want." 

"Mum," I lightly tapped her arm. "Don't think about all these things. Seeing life in flashbacks only brings more pain and sorrow." 

"Yeah, I guess you're right." She smiled, looking at me. "So tell me about your flower shop," she said, "How big is it?" 

"Big enough for a small town," I replied. "But compared to the flower boutiques here, it is still small." I cut into a sausage, the rich colour tempting. "But I like it that way." 

"I can't believe this," she sighed, "You weren't supposed to end up as a florist." 

"Well, a lot of things weren't supposed to happen. But they did." 

"You like running a flower shop?" 

"I love it." I put my fork down and looked at her. "It was my childhood dream, remember?" 

"You can still find a job—" she began. 

"Can we talk about something else?" I interjected. I moved my plate away, and crossed my arms. "I came because I didn't want to dishearten you. If you keep bringing up the past, I will leave." 

"Alright, don't get worked up, please." She gently patted my arm and pulled the chocolate cake closer. "I just can't accept it that you couldn't have a great career because of me." 

"It's over," I said, stiffening my shoulders. "I've moved on. My life is different now." 

"I can see that." With a sigh, she cut a large piece of the cake and put it on my plate. Outside, the birds were chirping in the trees and the smell of flowers and fruits cloaked the air, drifting all the way into the house. The place was quieter, more peaceful, compared to Luke's apartment. High in the eastern sky, the sun was in full glory, making the day bright and warm. There would be apples and cherries in summer, the dahlias would grow bigger and more colourful. I liked the apples from the tree in Scott's house. But for the first time since I left home, I realised that I had loved picking the apples and the cherries as much as I loved growing flowers. 

"Do you still distribute the fruits among the neighbours?" I asked her. We used to do that every year. The trees bore more fruits than we could eat, and although some of the neighbours also had apples trees, our crab apples were the only ones of their kind in the area. Mom also took fruits to distribute in the church. For the whole summer, we would distribute fruits and get more fruits in turn. 

"Yes," she smiled, helping herself to a couple more sausages. "The cherry tree was laden last year. I thought of you as I made cherry cakes, jelly, pies, and pickles. You loved eating the freshly plucked cherries..." 

She paused, watching me poking the cake with the fork, not really eating. 

"Are you alright?" she asked, and I nodded slowly. 

"I just wish you hadn't stopped growing the roses," I said, finally taking a bite. I loved the frosting on the cake. As I licked the spoon, I felt like a teenager again. 

"I know, but I couldn't manage it all alone. You know how much work it is." 

"You used to do it alone when I was a kid," I pointed out. 

"Honey, you have to remember that you're not a kid anymore," she laughed. "And I have grown older over the years." 

"Is that why you avoid cakes now?" 

She frowned slightly. "Avoid cakes?" she asked, confused. 

"I didn't see you having any cake last night," I observed, my eyes fixed on the plate as I took my time with the cake, as though it was the last piece on this planet. "You aren't having any now either." 

"Of course I'm having it." She cut a piece and set it down on her plate. "Last night I was too full. And I'm not avoiding cakes, for your information." 

"You're checking your diet, isn't it?" 

"No." 

"Don't tell me cakes too remind you of me?" 

"They do actually." Mom put her spoon down and sighed. "I miss having dessert with you every night after dinner. I feel like a fool having cake alone, like indulging in some guilty pleasure when no one's watching." 

"You were never so sentimental." Mom had survived a broken marriage and her husband's abandonment. She had raised two daughters on her own while taking care of a job. I had never seen her emotional. I had never seen her cry, except those times when as a child I'd ask her why I didn't have a dad and would find her voice choking. She was always strong. For some reason I found it hard to accept her sentimental side. 

"Losing you made me." Breaking a chunk of cake with her spoon, she put it into her mouth and swallowed it slowly. "But then, who am I to complain? I acted in haste." 

Despite how badly I wanted to avoid the past, I couldn't help wondering if the neighbours still talked about the scandal. Mom hadn't changed houses, which meant they had forgetten all about it. Or got tired of it and found something else to gossip about. 

I wiped chocolate frosting from the corner of my mouth with a finger, and licked it discreetly. My eyes travelled to the old, wooden wall clock right above the book case that still had to be wound daily. It was a little past nine-fifteen. Was Luke up yet? Would he feel bad having breakfast alone? 

"I wish Luke had come along," mom interrupted my thoughts. "Poor thing, must be having breakfast alone." 

"He does have breakfast alone every day." I polished off the cake to find that I had had three sandwiches and half a dozen sausages. "It's not like I live with him." 

That should set the record straight, I thought. I wasn't sleeping with him, in case she thought so. 

Not yet at least. 

"I like him," she smiled, gathering the plates. "He charmed everyone yesterday. People couldn't stop talking about the two of you long after you had left." 

"Talking about us?" 

"Yes. You do make a lovely—" 

"Mum, listen." I breathed in deeply, knowing I was about to share Luke's personal information, but feeling helpless against it. "Luke has gone through a tragedy. He lost the love of his life a few years ago. He looks happy, he appears to be a charmer, but I know, deep inside he still feels sad. He still misses her. There's nothing like that between us. Please don't say or do anything that can hurt his emotions." 

When she'd probably seen us kissing last night. 

My mother's eyes had widened a little. "I'm sorry," she said softly, giving my hand a soft squeeze, as though I'm the one who needed comfort. "I could never tell..." 

"I know," I nodded, pouring myself some orange juice. "He hides it well." 

"But he's a great guy nevertheless." 

"Good people have to go through bad things." 

"It's never too late to start over," she rose with the plates and silverware. 

"But first, you need to heal." I looked inside the tall glass as I sipped on the juice. "And I know from experience it can take forever to heal." 

"How long have you known each other?" she asked from the kitchen. 

"About a month. I told you he's Scott's friend. He's my friend as well." 

Be honest, girl. 

"I am being honest," I muttered to myself, in reply to the small voice inside me. 

"How big are Scott's boys now?" she said, coming back to the table. 

"Thirteen and eleven respectively. They are taller than me now." I rose with the empty glass, trying to not glance around the place as I walked into the kitchen. 

"I always had a feeling you had left with him," mom said, keeping her hands on the table. "If I hadn't been able to reach him, I don't think I'd ever see you again." 

I silently washed the glass, concentrating on the sound of the running water to block out her voice. 

"I called your office about six months ago," she continued. "I had thought that you had joined work and taken up a place elsewhere... But they told me you never worked there. I also rang your college, but they didn't know your whereabouts." 

"And then you decided to reach Scott," I said. The words were surprisingly strong. She nodded. 

"I know... after the way I had behaved with him..." she trailed off. 

"He's a good man," my voice was softer this time. "You shouldn't have been rude to him. He was only trying to help me." 

I gripped the edges of the kitchen sink, struggling to fight the tears. I heard the sound of a chair, and then sensed mom coming up to me. 

"I'm sorry," she held my shoulders from behind. "I've been unfair to you, to Scott... I had lost my mind... When NJ—" 

"Please." I shrugged her hands away and turned around. "I don't want to hear her name." 

"There is something you must know about her, Cynthia," she said. 

"I don't want to, okay?" I walked past her and came up to the table. I held the top of the table for support, like my feet would give way any time. 

"It's been really hard for me, mum," I said brokenly. "You refused to give me a chance. Yes, I had been in a relationship with her husband. Yes, I had slept with him. I was reason why he wanted to terminate their marriage. I had loved him, but I hadn't a clue who he was. To me he was Dr Samuel Fischer, a professor at my college." 

His name threatened to choke my voice. I sucked in a deep breath and continued. "You loved her a lot, I know. She lost her mom at a young age and looked up to you. She worked hard to build her life... She's always been your favourite niece..." 




Will Be Yours Ch. 12



I turned around. Mom was standing below the arch of the kitchen, looking small and guilty. 

"But I was your daughter," I croaked. "I had no one except you. You turned me out without thinking, you refused to take me back when Scott tried to make you understand. Yes, I had done something wrong and immoral unknowingly. And I accepted it. But no one gave me a chance to make amends. Didn't you ever wonder where I'd go? You always worried about me, cared about me. What had happened to you? All your love for me just disappeared in one instant? I ceased to be your daughter. You even barred me from calling you mum..." 

"Cyn—" her voice was feeble. Mine was louder. 

"I haven't forgotten anything." I walked over to the sofa and picked up my bag. "I just hide it, and not let it affect my everyday life. But it's hard for me to be here. It still hurts to be in this room, to be standing in the same place where I was humiliated and persecuted by my own family." 

Mom came forward and reached out for me, but I stepped back. I couldn't stay there any longer. 

"Thank you for the breakfast," I said, "It was good to have these things made by you. But I must go now." 

"I know you're still angry—" 

"I was never angry," I countered. "I was only hurt. Yes, I'd made a mistake. And I only wished for a chance to make things right, just like the chance you seek to make amends with me." 

I opened my bag and fished out my card, handing it to her. "Keep this. If you ever want to reach me, you can do so without bothering Scott." 

I hugged her quickly as she perused the card. And then I hurried to walk out. 

"When will I see you again?" mom's voice broke my motion. 

"Soon, maybe?" I shrugged, opening the door to step out onto the lawn. I strode out without looking anywhere, my arms firmly around my body. I walked out through the open gate, onto the road, and down the lane, barely lifting my gaze. When I turned a corner, I noticed a bike with Luke on it. He saw me and took off his helmet. I surreptitiously wiped off the tears from my cheeks, forcing myself to be normal as I approached him. 

"What's the matter?" he asked, still staring at my face. I shook my head, crossing my arms against my chest. He saw the tears in my eyes, my glasses hiding nothing. 

"She told you something?" he frowned. I shook my head again. 

"Are you sad to be leaving her?" 

I shook my head yet again. Luke sighed, gently holding me by my arms. 

"Are you alright, Cynthia?" he asked. "Can you make it through the rest of the day?" 

I nodded this time, climbing on to the bike. He gave me the helmet and I wore it. 

"How long have you been here?" I asked, putting my feet on the rear pegs and my hands on his shoulders. 

"About fifteen minutes," he said, wearing his helmet. "I'd thought I'd get late." 

"You were before time." He hadn't shaved that morning. The grey, combed cotton jacket felt soft against my palms. He was wearing the t-shirt that I'd bought him while buying presents for the others back home. It was white with grey stripes, matching the jacket. I also noticed his wristband, which was a permanent fixture on his right hand. I had never seen him without it. Not even once. 

He started the bike, letting it idle. After a few backward and forward moves, we were riding ahead. I was glad about having worn pants, although I'd wanted to wear a skirt. I had no idea he would bring his motorcycle. 

"How far are we going?" I asked, my voice getting lost on the wind. But Luke's ears were sharp. 

"It'll take about thirty minutes," he said, craning his neck. I gently punched him on the back and he laughed, facing the road again. 

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked. 

"Hmm-mm," I sighed. "Feeling great." 

We glided smoothly along the street, the wind on my face and the low hum of the bike filling my ears. With the bike zipping along, we had soon left the quiet confines of my old neighbourhood. Since the day before, I had got the hang of leaning when Luke leaned, and after quite a few minutes of riding long and straight, he finally made a left turn. And then we were stuck in traffic. I tried to ignore the feeling of vulnerability caught between a huge sedan on one side and a gigantic dump truck on the other. Luke let go off the handlebars and straightened his back, and I followed suit. 

Sunday traffic wasn't as thick as the other days, but we still had to wait for a good few minutes. My hands were on his hips, the heat of the sun soaking through the fabric of my top, and when he pushed up his helmet visor and started humming a song, I couldn't help but smile at the words. 

"So sail away and free your ghosts, 

Give to whom you love the most, 

Give away and you'll believe 

All good things you'll receive... 

He uncrossed his arms and gripped the handlebars, drumming his fingers on them. 

"The more you give, the more you get, 

Always try, not to forget, 

So give it all away, 

All that you want, 

Will be yours..." 

A little chuckle rumbled in my throat when he sang the refrains in a shrill falsetto, his voice overriding the noise of traffic and the low hum of the bike. 

"Na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na, na..." 

I sighed softly, enjoying myself more than I'd ever had. Luke had sung for me, to me, the other evening. Although part of it was for impressing my family and blowing them off with his charm, I had had no difficulty to guess the thought that had gone into choosing the song. But later that night, when he held me close and sang down to my soul, I felt like I'd found the lost part of me... the part that was made of failures and mistakes and disappointments but still wanted to be held and loved and understood. Luke had his own past, his own baggage. But despite that, he seemed to fit into my life like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle. 

"I thought you don't like pop," I remarked. 

"No, but I like Ronan Keating," he replied. "He has a great voice." 

"Not to mention, those eyes." 

"You really are into pop," he shook his head in exasperation, making me laugh. 

"Did you have breakfast?" I asked suddenly. 

"I never miss breakfast," he answered, craning his neck at me. "I did miss you, though." 

"You don't have to say that to please me," I giggled. 

"But you wanted to hear it," he chuckled in turn. I laughed and put my hands on his shoulders again when traffic cleared and we resumed moving. Soon we were zooming again, and I felt myself relaxing. Keeping my helmeted head against his back, I let our bodies be pressed together as my hands slipped from his shoulders to his stomach. I wrapped my arms around him, not sure if he noticed. 

Being with him was soothing, comforting. Perhaps it was my own emotional wounds that made me sensitive to him, and vice versa. Perhaps because I had never had a friend like him, I understood how much I wanted someone like him in my life and appreciated the fact that he was there. And at the same instant, I struggled to figure out if I was the same person who hadn't wanted the weekend to happen at all. Now I didn't want it to end. 

Sail away and free your ghosts, 

Give to whom you love the most 

The words settled in my consciousness. I knew what I had to do once I got back home. 

Surprising me, Luke slowed the bike before turning onto a partially hidden one-lane road perpendicular to the highway. He brought the bike to a halt, and I pulled myself away, looking from side to side. 

"Is this where your sister lives?" I asked. Luke got off the bike and took off his helmet, shaking his head. 

"She lives about five more minutes down the road," he said. "I just wanted to see if you'd like driving for a bit." 

My eyebrows shot up. "Me?" 

"Huh-huh." 

"I've never done this before." 

"That's why I want you to try it a bit. It'll be fun." 

"I don't think so. It could be dangerous." 

"This is a private road," he said. "It leads to my dad's best friend's house. He lives right where the lane ends. I learned to ride here." 

I couldn't believe I was even considering it. Luke could be loose and wild sometimes and I was sure I had taken temporary leave of my senses when I nodded in approval. 

"Great!" he sounded delighted. "I'll be right behind you on the bike and I'll do all the shifting. You only have to steer until you get used to it." 

"Okay." 

"Now, slide forward." 

I did as asked, and he got in behind me and wore the helmet. "Do you know what each part is called?" he asked. 

"Let me try. This one on the right is the throttle and the front brake. This one on the left is the clutch. Am I right?" 

"So far, yes. What about the feet?" 

I looked down at my feet, and heard Luke laugh. 

"If you look down at your feet while driving, you're sure going to crash." 

"Hey, I told you I've never done this before!" I protested. 

"Honestly, has Scott never taught you how to ride?" 

"No. I was terrified of the idea." 

"But you're letting me?" 

I giggled. "You don't have a wife who might make life hell for you if she saw us sandwiched together. Like this." 

"Oh, so that's what you're terrified of," he nodded in comprehension. "Carrie has always been a little possessive. But Scott still finds his way. Although I think she likes you more than she has ever liked any girl around her husband." 

"Scott is fun," I mused. "I know of very few people like him, who's always positive, always smiling, always making everyone laugh. Carrie is pushy, adamant, sometimes illogical. And they're still married for almost eighteen years." 

"Do you want to get married?" he asked suddenly. I shrugged. 

"You need a person to get married to," I said. "I don't have anyone." 

I craned my neck to look at him. "You're quite the family guy. I can imagine you married, complete with an apron-clad wife making a roast and kids visiting the dentist and playing in the park." 

"I don't do boring," he rolled his eyes. And then he brought his attention back to the bike. "Now, concentrate. On your right foot is the back brake. And with your left foot, you will shift gears. After that it's pretty easy. You release the throttle, engage the clutch, shift, and then throttle up again. Is it clear?" 

I nodded, feeling slightly afraid. 

"Don't worry, I'm right with you." He leaned forward, gripping the handlebars. "Put your hands on top of mine and your feet on top of my feet." 

"Is this how you learned to ride?" I asked. 

"No. Paul stood to a side, shouting instructions. I squeezed the clutch instead of the brake and crashed into a tree." He laughed a little, and I found myself feeling less nervous. "Paul also happens to my brother. He's married to Megan." 

"The ones we're visiting today?" 

"Yes. You ready?" 

"For what?" 

"Riding." 

"Oh." I was just too lost in the moment, relishing the feel of his body against mine. "Yes, I am." 

He turned the throttle, slowly releasing the clutch. When the bike began to move, he lifted his foot off the ground, and I placed my feet on top of his. 

I could feel the beatings of his heart through the fabric of my top. Something about the whole thing made me feel like I was on a roller coaster... the fluttering nerves, the rush of adrenaline, and the feel of his skin against mine. Slowly, little by little, he instructed me, showing me how to use the brakes, when to release the clutch, and how to shift. We moved in rhythm, and he continued to guide me even after I had got the hang of it. I realised how gentle and patient he was. Never raising his voice, never getting irritated if he had to repeat something. I had also noticed it when he taught football to Jake and Josh, taking his time with them, never tiring of explaining things until they understood. 

When we switched places- his hands and feet on top of mine- I began to feel nervous again, even squeezing the hand brakes too hard one moment, but Luke never lost patience. Over the next few minutes as I memorized his actions and slowly became better at manoeuvring the bike, he lightened his hands and then entirely pulled away. I felt nervous for a tad moment, but Luke's voice came steady, guiding me. I had always loved riding my bicycle, but the motorcycle offered a different kind of thrill. For the first time, I realised why guys like Scott and Luke preferred bikes over cars. 

"Keep going," he encouraged, "You're doing great." 

"It's so fun!" I squealed. "I can't believe this!" 

"Are you ready to try riding alone?" 

"Are you crazy?! I'm lighter than a feather! I'll fly away!" 

"You won't, I promise." 

Luke brought the motorcycle to a stop and got off. I looked at him nervously, trying to ignore my maddeningly pounding heart. 

"You'll do fine," he smiled like an encouraging teacher. "Come on." 

I debated an instant, before taking a deep breath and starting the bike. Slowly and carefully, I rode along the lane, turning, stopping, starting and then doing it all over again. I was always a quick learner, but riding a bike had never occurred to me. 

If Luke remained in my life, he'd manage to transform me into a different person. 

Giddy with excitement, when I finally brought the bike to a stop, I could feel my face was flushed. 

"I did it!" I laughed, pressing my hands to my mouth, immediately realising the sweat on my face. "I never thought I'd drive a bike someday." 

"Well, you hadn't thought you'd meet me," he chuckled. "You were great. Want to try it again?" 

"No. I wouldn't want to crash and spoil the fun." 

Luke laughed, coming forward. I got off, and he rested the bike on the kickstand. I leaned against the bike, taking off my helmet. When I looked at him, he smiled at me. 

"Just wanted you to loosen up," he said, "You looked kind of upset." 

"Not upset," I shook my head, playing with the band of the helmet. "Mom brought up old things, and I told her all that I'd wanted to say those years ago. Talking of the past made me sad." 

"Can neither of you leave the past behind and move on?" he asked. 

"It's hard for me," I said, trying to keep the emotions at bay. "It's hard for me to forget everything." 

"Last night, I asked you to not bully yourself anymore," he crossed his arms. "By holding on to the past, you're only torturing that scared little girl. Okay, you made a mistake and you paid for it by being ostracized. Now what? Dwell on it for the rest of your life? Allow your past to shape your future?" 

"I have recovered a lot, but being here just makes it hard again." I closed my eyes and tightened my lips, feeling the tears threatening again. "The evening my mother turned me out was the same day I found out about my pregnancy... I sat by the side of the road in the pouring rain until Scott picked me up." 

I looked away, my throat tight. "What if Scott hadn't been here at the time? Where would I go?" 

When I looked back at him, my vision was blurry. Luke laced an arm around my waist and pulled me into a hug, comforting me. 

"Being here reminds me of those times..." I spoke in a steady voice. "I passed by the same sidewalk this morning, and the memories just came back..." 

"I understand," he soothed. "I'm glad you won't have to be here long." 

I pulled away, and looked up at his face, feeling slightly distressed. 

"I'm sorry. I—" 

"Stop being sorry all the time," he laughed softly. "It's okay to let it out." 

Inhaling deeply, I nodded, before wiping off the tears. "Tell me about your riding adventures," I smiled, slowly relaxing again. "Scott has told me about the Pacific Coast route. Where else have you gone?" 

"Not to a lot of places, but quite a few," he said, leaning against the bike. "I've been to Texas, Gold Coast, Yorkshire, and along the 'Che' route in Cuba, among other places. But if you ask me about my most memorable bike trip, it would be the one in Ireland, where I spent about three days criss-crossing the country, from Dublin to Galway, from Limerick to Clare County. I met numerous people along the way, stopped at places to enjoy the food and a few pints of Guinness, bought local stuff from the side of the road, and just had a whale of time. This was the year I left college, and I wanted to have a good time before joining business school. I also enjoyed El Paso. Miles after miles of dusty terrain with no people in sight." 

"I'm envious," I murmured. "I've never been anywhere except to London a few times." 

"You can go," he said. "Travelling isn't expensive if you know how to cut down on costs. When I travelled during my early years, I stayed at hostels and ate out of a cooler. There were times when I'd just land up at a place, make friends with somebody who let me stay with them, find odd jobs to save some money, and take off. When Diana and I travelled, we usually put up at holiday homes instead of hotels. We did our own cooking and saved further on the expenses." 

"I've never been adventurous," I smiled shyly. "I guess I find security in certainty." 

"I beg to differ," he gave me a side-long glance. "You moved to an unfamiliar place where you knew just one family. Despite the trauma of what you had experienced here, you went on to buy a house and run your own business there, learning life skills that you didn't have earlier. If that's not adventurous enough, what is?" 

"That was out of... necessity and helplessness? Because I didn't see any other way to survive?" 

"But you did it, didn't you? You made the town your own, the town made you its own, and now you two are inseperable. I know it had taken a lot of courage to make that shift from here to there, and to start afresh. I find that braver than travelling for fun or being in a country where no one speaks English." 

"Did Diana accompany you on the bike?" I asked. 

"I didn't ride all that much after she came," he said, turning around and resting his arms on the seat of the bike. "We travelled to many places together, but not on the motorcycle." 

"Was she afraid of riding?" 

"In the beginning, she used to be pretty scared, just like you were the other day. But after I started to take her around on the bike sometimes, she slowly got used to it, even though she still preferred the car." 

"This one's a 1983 model, I see," I looked at the body of the motorcycle, the paint had peeled off in places and the tyres looked old, although they were pretty sturdy. "Is this your first bike?" 

"Yes," he smiled affectionately, running his hand over the seat. "A family in my old neighbourhood was going away and wanted to sell off the bike. I bought it in a jiffy, repaired it a bit, changed the tyres and it was good to go." He looked at me. "I love it too much to replace it with something new." 

"How about a superbike?" 

"Nay! Those are flashy. But this one's a classic. I'll never trade it for anything." 

I smiled and looked around the lane. Only rows of houses and trees and a dirt road in the distance. There wasn't much of anything else. 

"I think we should get moving," he announced, putting his helmet back on. "I don't want to be late for lunch." 

I laughed, and followed him on the bike. "How long have they been married?" I asked, wearing the helmet. 

"Paul and Megan? Ten years. They dated for several years before that." 

"I guess you played Cupid?" 

"Not really, but Paul's my best friend and Megan and I were always close since I'm right after her and our age difference is negligible. So I was the connecting thread. Paul used to hang out at our house and restaurant, and Megan would often be around me. And that's how they met and fell in love and later got married." 

"How romantic," I said, dreamily. "I find the 'childhood sweethearts' concept very adorable. Good friends make the best relationships." 




Will Be Yours Ch. 12



"Friendship is indeed the bedrock of a relationship," he said, "Many of my friends are married to their childhood sweethearts." 

"Fill me up a little on them. What do they do?" 

"Megan has her own jewellery boutique. She has her own jewellery range in fact, things like handbags and brooches and accessories. Paul's into business as well. He's got a fleet of cabs and limos that are always working over-time." He paused and laughed, pointing towards the highway. "We often joke that most of the cabs on Birmingham's streets are his." 

"They seem hardworking people," I observed. 

"They are. But there is something else you should know too." 

"What is it?" 

He started the bike and hesitated for a moment. "Megan and Paul may be a little shocked to see you," he said tentatively. "They haven't seen me with a woman since Diana. Megan is somewhat cranky. She talks a lot, has a weird sense of humour..." He craned his neck to look at me. "You know what I'm trying to say?" 

I nodded with a smile. "It's okay," I lightly tapped his back. "I can handle it. You went through a whole wedding for me. I can do so much for you." 

"There's no pressure. You don't-" 

"Luke?" I raised an eyebrow. 

"What?" 

"You jump, I jump?" 

He laughed, so did I. "You seem alive today," he smiled, turning the accelerator. "Now, let's go. I can't wait to see the look on their faces." 

With a soft giggle, I put my arms around him, and had a brief flash of us taking more such rides together for several weekends to come. 

(To be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 13



True to his word, Luke stopped in front a big, white-and-maroon house in more or less five minutes. The architecture of the house bordered on vintage-modern, with a gable roof in grey concrete, sliding windows, and a huge lawn surrounding the building. The property looked new; either newly built or refurbished and painted not too long ago. 

"The gate is open," I pointed at the pale maroon gate slightly ajar. "Do they know you're visiting?" 

"No." Luke turned the bike, making his way inside the property. "The gate usually remains unlocked. Could you please open it a little wider for me to pass?" 

"Sure." I got off and walked towards the gate, holding it open as he rode along the driveway and parked the motorcycle at a designated spot near the house. I closed the gate and walked inside, taking off my helmet and running a quick hand through my tresses. An old oak tree grew tall and thick, keeping almost half of the house in shade. Part of the roof was vegetated and there were various other flowering trees in the garden. I could see a swing hanging from one such tree in the backyard as I waited for Luke to finish strapping the helmets to the bike. Together, we made our way towards the front door. 

"Do they own the place?" I asked, walking up the three steps to the main door made of solid wood. Luke nodded. 

"It's their dream home," he smiled, "They bought it about five years ago." 

Then he looked at the door, his hand stopping inches away from the doorbell. "The door's open," he announced, turning the lock. "I think the— Oh!" 

A big, red ball hit him square and centre on the forehead the moment he opened the door. Luke stumbled, holding his head, and I hurried to him. 

"You okay?" I asked, removing his hand with which he was massaging his forehead. And then I laughed. 

"What?" he winced. 

"It's red," I said. "And slightly swollen." 

"Well," he exasperatedly shook his head, leaning to pick up the ball. "Life with kids." 

He showed me the ball. "See?" he pointed to the big white letters reading Life with Kids. 

"They have kids." I made a silly deduction. 

"Yes. Three." 

"Uncle Luke!!" 

We looked inside to find a little girl of about five or six, running towards the door. She had light brown straight hair with fringes, blue eyes, and two missing front teeth. 

"Catch me if you can." Luke lifted the ball high above his head and ran down the stairs, the girl in hot pursuit. 

"Give me the ball!" she laughed, trying to catch up with Luke. 

"Come and get it." Luke ran around the lawn, dodging the little girl's attempts to nab him, hiding the ball behind him and sometimes holding it high above. 

"Uncle Luke!" 

Another girl, slightly older than the other, ran past me and joined in the chase. Her hair was darker and tied in a small ponytail, while her eyes were a cross between blue and grey. She too had a missing tooth. 

"Your ball hit me," Luke sulked, holding the ball against his back. "I'm not giving it back." 

"Not fair!" The girls cried out together, and the smaller one grabbed one of his legs. 

"Catch!" he threw the ball at me, and although startled, I still managed to grab the ball elegantly. The older one came running to me, snatched the ball from my hands and disappeared inside the house. Luke picked up the younger one, swinging her in his arms as he came up to me. 

"Are you girls alone?" he asked her, looking inside the house. 

"No. Mommy and daddy are busy with Harry," she answered. "He made a mess in the kitchen." 

"Come in, Uncle Luke!" the older girl called from within the house. He looked at me and with a tilt of his head, asked me to follow him. I nervously walked in behind him, surveying the living room with my eyes. Although the place was very well designed and furnished, with stylish furniture to match the vintage-modern feel of the house, and soft pink and beige upholstery and carpet, there were big evidences of children everywhere. Books and colour pencils lay scattered on the carpet, a basket of toys lay upturned on the sofa, two cushions sat on the centre table, and there were very visible sharpie marks on the cushion cases. There was also colourful walker on its head near the window. I figured the girls had upturned it with the ball. 

"I wonder what's happening here," Luke said, putting the girl down. Then he looked at me. "These are my nieces," he smiled endearingly. "This one is Lily Sue, five and a half, and the other one there is Anna Rose, seven." 

The girl with fringes looked up at me, giggling as Luke tousled her hair. I leaned and kissed her cheeks, and she giggled some more. Her sister had got busy with the ball again, kicking it around the living room. The shorts and tops they were clad in made them look almost identical. 

"Meg?" Luke finally decided to call out. "Paul? Anybody here?" 

This time both the girls giggled together. Luke narrowed his eyes at them, looking suspicious. 

"Give me a moment!" a woman's voice came from the other end of the house, sounding overwhelmed and tired. "I'm almost done." 

"That's my sister," he told me, and a little later, a man about Luke's age appeared from what looked like the kitchen. The white striped shirt he was wearing had red, brown, and yellow blotches, and the pair of ripped jeans folded till above the ankles was wet. Wiping his hands on a small towel, he stared at us. 

"Hi Luke," he smiled at him, shifting his gaze on me as he crossed the room and walked up to us. The two men hugged each other, and then Luke proceeded to introduce us. 

"This is Paul," he told me, slipping an arm around his shoulders. "My best friend and brother." 

"The guy from the band?" I asked, recalling the videos Luke had shown me. Although he had put on some weight and wasn't all decked in makeup and flashy clothes, he was still pretty recognisable as one of the four members of the band Luke used to be in. The blue eyes were still very blue, and the dimples were just as prominent. 

"Yeah," Luke laughed, patting his back. "Paul, this is Cynthia Adamson, my friend. She is visiting me for the weekend." 

As a well-choreographed routine, he cocked his head and raised one eyebrow, looking at Luke and then at me, and then back at Luke his mouth wide open. You would think I had just stripped naked in front of them. 

"Nice to meet you," I smiled and gave him my hand. 

"Well..." he shook my hand, watching Luke from the corner of his eyes. "Nice to meet you too." 

"Luke! When did you return?" A woman of average height, with messed-up, honey-blonde hair, sharp nose, and plump cheeks, had appeared in the living room, holding a toddler in her arms. Her cotton top had the same multicoloured blotches and her kneelength shorts had wet patches on them. The baby was adorably chubby with light brown silky hair and a round, ball-like nose. 

"Hi Meg," Luke smiled at her. "I returned on Thursday night." His smile broadened when he caught sight of the baby. "Oh my! Is that Harry? Come here, munchkin, let me hold you..." 

He walked up to his sister and took the baby from her arms, nuzzling his tiny, podgy face with his. The baby laughed and babbled, smearing Luke's cheek with a good amount of saliva. 

"I forgot," he suddenly said, holding Harry with one arm while he reached his other hand inside the pocket of his jacket, fishing out two pieces of Kinder Surprise. "These are for you, girls," he called out to his nieces, who immediately flocked to him like pigeons to grains. They squealed with delight when they realised there were Barbie collectibles inside. Luke reached into his other pocket, bringing out a small ice-cream shaped soother that was packed in an attractive case. 

"And this one's for you," he said to Harry, but handed the comforter to his mother. "Open the seal and make sure it's sterilised before you give it to him," he instructed. Megan rolled her eyes, giving him the I-am-the-mother-and-therefore-know-better-than-you look. 

"Cynthia, she is my sister Megan," he finally decided to give me his attention. "And this is Harry, a little more than one." With that, he nuzzled his face and neck once again, making the baby laugh again. I waved at her, smiling. 

"Luke's told me a lot about you guys," I said. 

"He sure as hell hasn't told us about you," she blurted out, earning a scowl from both Paul and Luke. 

"Meg, you need to have more tact," Paul said to her, "You just can't go around saying things like that." He looked at me again. "So what's the deal with you two? You shacking up together or something?" 

I laughed out loud and Luke turned a little bit red. 

"I can't believe this," Luke appeared frustrated. "Won't you even ask us to be seated?" 

"Oh, where are my manners?" Megan shook her head. "Please excuse us for the mess this morning. Harry somehow managed to get hold of the sauces in the kitchen and used them to paint the floor." She brushed a loose strand of hair from her face with the back of her palm. I thought she resembled Luke a lot, especially her eyes and her nose. 

"I had to give him a bath to clean him of the sauces," she added, proceeding to clear the toys from the sofa. "What happened to you?" she squinted when her eyes caught sight of Luke's forehead. He sighed, gently tapping the swelling on his forehead with two fingers. 

"Just... life with kids," he said, forcing a smile. Megan made a face at him, turning to look at me. 

"Please sit, Cynthia," she smiled for the first time. "It's great to finally have my brother bring home a woman." 

"Okay, to answer your question," Luke announced, as we sat on the sofa. "No, we're not shacking up together or anything. We're just... friends." 

That slight pause was enough to make me shoot him a glance. Was I reading too deep? Or did Luke really feel the same way as I did? 

"I was here for my sister's wedding," I explained, gently caressing Lily Sue's cheek when she snuggled in the space between me and Luke. "I arrived with him when he was returning from Velmont Town, and he invited me to spend the weekend with him." 

"You're staying with him?" Megan's tone was inquiring. 

"Yes," I nodded, before quickly adding, "In different rooms, of course." 

I saw Luke trying to hide an amused smile, while Paul sniggered very visibly. 

"You're from Velmont Town?" he asked, smiling. "Are you related to Scott by any chance?" 

"They are close friends," Luke said, jiggling Harry on his lap. "And also neighbours." He gave me a brief look. "That's how we met." 

"How long are you staying?" Megan asked, sitting very close to me on the smaller sofa. Anna Rose had left the ball and parked herself on the arm of the sofa her mom was seated on. 

"I'm leaving very early tomorrow." The reminder clawed at my heart again. The other night, while packing my luggage, I had tried thinking of an excuse good enough to keep me in the city for a little more. But I also needed to get back to work, so did Luke. 

"That's it?" she looked surprised. "Why not stay longer?" 

"I have work," I said. "I'm dying to get back to my shop." 

"She is a florist," Luke told them, as Harry, a bundle of happy energy, scrambled down his lap and began crawling on carpet. Paul promptly picked him up and put him in the walker. 

"You guys should check out her shop when you visit the town," he added. "The first time I entered the place, I could hardly take my eyes off." 

"I wouldn't be able to either, if I were a man," she said, eyeing me up and down. Luke sighed and sank back in the sofa, throwing up his hands. I only laughed. 

"What?" she pretended to not know anything. "I only mean she's a beautiful young lady. What do you think, Paul?" 

Paul didn't want to think. "I'll make some tea," he said, excusing himself to head into the kitchen. When Anna Rose proceeded to follow him, he stopped her. "I've cleaned the place, baby," he said to her from the kitchen door. "The floor's still wet." 

Not having anything better to do, she dropped herself into the seat that her dad had occupied moments ago and proceeded to open the Kinder Surprise. 

"You have a lovely family," I told Megan, admiring the house full of little ones. "Your children are adorable." 

"Before they got married," Luke said, pulling Lily Sue onto his lap. "Paul used to say that he wanted five kids- two girls, two boys, and one lucky dip. At one point, that was his biggest ambition." 

"We already have two girls and a boy," Megan said, "I was telling Paul a few days ago if we should try for another boy, but then, I'm well past my prime. Although I don't have complicated pregnancies, I have to keep in mind I'm turning forty in a few years." She paused and looked at Luke. "Mom was forty when she had you, but considering how well you turned out, I doubt if I should take that chance." 

I covered my mouth with my hand, hiding my face from Luke. It took him a few seconds to realise what she had just said. When he did comprehend the meaning, he frowned at her. 

"Was that an insult?" he asked, slightly indignant. 

"Whatever you please," she shrugged. Then she turned her attention to me. "Tell me about your shop," she smiled. "How long are you running it? I run my own business too. It's a jewellery boutique." 

"Yes, he told me about it," I nodded. 

"My! He's told you everything?" she raised both eyebrows. "I wonder what kept him from telling us about you." 

"He wanted to keep the lovely lady all to himself," Paul said from the kitchen. "He likes to keep everything to himself these days." 

"She's only been here for a couple of days," Luke shook his head. "Today, she had some time, so I thought of bringing her to meet you guys." 

"I'm so glad," she smiled again, rising from her seat. "I think the house is too messy. I'll lay the table in the lawn. But first..." she looked down at herself, "I need to change out of these clothes." 

She gave me a light pat on the shoulder. "I'll be right back," she nodded, shouting instructions to Paul about where to lay the table. When she was gone, Luke heaved a sigh. 

"I'd told you she's cranky," he said to me, cradling Lily Sue in his arms. "You wouldn't think she's a mother of three." 

"She seems nice," I leaned back in the sofa, my eyes travelling to little Harry in the walker. Not that he seemed too interested in walking. A bright yellow crayon had caught his attention and he was just about to pick it up and taste it. As if on impulse, I scooted from the sofa and snatched the crayon from his reach, hiding it in my palm. Harry, far from pleased, began to cry. 

"It's okay," I got him out of the walker and held him in my arms. He was heavier than he looked but he was also so comfortable to hold, like the softest cushion on earth. "We'll find something else to play with. How about... this one?" 

I picked up a small brown teddy bear from the carpet and showed it to him. "Do you like it? Look at his eyes... They're just like yours. Big and bright. And those cheeks... Nay, they don't come close to our Harry's chubby, rosy cheeks..." 

Crying forgotten, Harry reached out for the toy. He must have been seeing it all the time, but it was enough to distract him, both from crying and from chewing crayons. In the meanwhile, Paul had surfaced out of the kitchen carrying a tray loaded with tea and other goodies. 

"I'll lay the table," he gave us a quick smile while keeping the tray on the centre table. "Come and give daddy a hand, girls." 

As if on cue, the girls hopped down from their respective seats and followed Paul out into the lawn, half eaten Kinder Surprise in their hands. Luke rose from the sofa, glancing at the lawn through the doorway as he came up to me. 

"I thought you'd help me pacify him," I said, holding Harry with both hands. The teddy bear was now in his tiny grip, undergoing some serious observation. 

"You were doing so great on your own," he chuckled. Then reaching his hands out, he took Harry from me, lightly scratching his belly through his tee. The baby purred and laughed, and Luke teased him some more by tickling him under the feet. 

"I'm back!" Megan announced as she reappeared in the room, now clad in a quarter-sleeve, printed dress. "Is Harry up to something?" 

"No," Luke smiled, "He's a good boy. And he seems to have taken a liking towards Cynthia." 

"Oh, how couldn't he?" Megan smiled, walking up to us. Then she put a friendly arm around my shoulders. "I like her too. She's the first girl who Luke brought to meet us after Diana, and that says a lot." 

Despite myself, I blushed, and avoided Luke's gaze. I could tell he was doing the same, even without looking at him. 

"Has he told you about the girls he's dated in the past?" she asked me, escorting me outside. Luke trailed behind us, playing with Harry and trying to imitate his babbling. 

"No," I tried to keep a straight face, without adding that we weren't dating. "I only know about Diana." 

"Oh, she was the good one," she said. The table had been laid in the middle of the back yard, and Paul had headed back inside the house to fetch the tea tray. Megan pulled a chair and sat down, motioning me to sit on the chair beside hers. "Has he told you about the crazy ones?" Like Gwen?" 

"Meg." Luke groaned behind us. He and Paul were seated beside each other, as he poured the tea. 

"What?" she looked at him. "She was nice." 

"And also a little neurotic," Luke mumbled. 

"Men can be so dense sometimes," she told me, holding my hand like we were long lost sisters. "This was a few years before he met Diana. The band days." She glanced at Luke again. "You were fighting, weren't you?" 

"So?" he frowned. 

"She might not have meant to break up with you. Maybe she was only angry." 

"She was getting on my nerves. She thought I had commitment issues and needed help." 

"Help?" I raised an eyebrow. "Like what?" 

"Like seeing a therapist," Megan responded before Luke could open his mouth. I laughed, thanking Paul as he passed me my tea. 

"I don't think Luke has commitment issues," I said. 

"You say that with regard to Diana," Megan pointed out. "Before her, Luke wasn't even an ounce of what he is now. He didn't date anybody for more than six months." 

"I dated Kate for almost a year," Luke protested. 

"That was in high school," Paul reminded him, chuckling. 

"So? Doesn't that count?" he asked. 

"No, it doesn't." Megan undid her hair from the clip. "If he hadn't been with Diana, we'd never get to know that he had it in him to be so..." 

"Domestic?" I giggled, when she trailed off. She laughed, so did Paul. Luke, thrown under the bus, kept busy with Harry on his lap, feeding him small bits of the lemon cake. Occasionally, his eyes wandered over to the girls, who were playing Frisbee in the distance. Harry reached out for the tea cups, and Luke promptly handed him a clean spoon, which he started using to drum the table. 

"So what kind of flower arrangements do you deal in?" Megan asked me after a while. "And do you sell plants too?" 

"Yes, we sell flowering plants," I said, "We specialise in all kinds of floral arrangements, from bouquets to vases to other intricate forms of arrangements that are hard to find everywhere. We also keep some rare varieties of lilies and orchids, for exclusive customers who are willing to shell out extra for those gems." 

"Do you supply flowers to other places?" Paul asked this time. 

"Yes, but only to neighbouring towns. I don't think people in London or Birmingham have heard of us. We are nowhere close to the size and scale of the flower shops here." 

"Don't you have a website?" Megan asked, sipping on her tea. I shook my head, realising that I had never thought about it. 

"I never felt the need for it," I said, "It's not like I'm planning to expand the shop or something. I'm happy with the way it is." 




Will Be Yours Ch. 13



"You don't understand," she shook her head rather passionately. "It's a business. The more people know, the better it is for your sales. And today the best way to market something is by giving it online presence. If you sell rare, expensive varieties of flowers, then you'll find more takers in cities. Imagine orders pouring in from far and wide, and your shop garnering more recognition..." 

She glanced at Luke. "Why don't you ask him?" she said to me. "He has terrific knowledge about business. When I started out, he's the one who helped me expand the store and market it well. I had asked him to be my partner, but he had no interest in jewellery and bags." 

Laughing, she looked at me. "He can help you have a website up and running in no time. He's a business consultant, it's what he does. You do have a name right?" 

I nodded. "The Bloom Room." 

"That's sweet," she smiled. "I love flowers. That happens to be my favourite tree." 

She pointed to the myrtle tree, which produced spiky white flowers in late summer, followed by red berries. 

"I think there's some problem there," Paul straightened his neck and looked at his daughters, who were herded under the myrtle tree and were looking up at a particular branch. 

"I'll check." Luke handed over Harry to his dad and left his seat, walking over to his nieces, who had got their Frisbee stuck in the tree. Luke fetched it from the branch, but instead of returning to the table, he started playing with them. First was another round of Frisbee, where Luke was in charge of fetching the disc when it went flying too far. And then came an interesting game I had no prior knowledge of. It was called 'What's the Time, Mr. Wolf?' where Luke chose to be the wolf and stood about 10 feet away with his back to the children. The girls called out in unison, "Mr. Wolf, what time is it?" and the wolf (Luke) answered the call with a response of one through 12 o'clock, turning around to face the children as he did so. The girls took as many steps as the time announced, and when everyone had taken a step, the wolf turned his back to the girls again. The children cried out the same question again and it kept going that way until Luke finally said "dinner time!" and turned around and chased the children. The girls laughed and squealed as they ran towards the start line but Luke grabbed them with both hands, pretending to laugh like a wolf. 

"Again, again, Uncle Luke!" the kids shouted in delight, and Luke obliged them happily as they played the game a number of times in a row. I loved the way he made them the centre of attention, talking, laughing and making the most ordinary things seem special to them. 

Seeing all the excitement on the field, Harry too wanted to be a part of it, and he started squealing to make his intention known. Paul got up and put him down on the grass, holding his hand as the baby toddled unsteadily through the lawn, babbling and gurgling. I watched affectionately as the girls, obviously fond of their brother, came running towards him and held one hand each, leading him to their centre of activities. Luke picked him up in his arms, swirling and cradling him, talking to him like he was the most important person on earth. Harry responded by clapping and squealing and the girls laughed out of delight. 

"He's a nice guy, isn't he?" Megan's voice brought my attention back to her. 

"What are you talking about?" I said, having missed what she'd just said. 

"I said Luke has a way with kids," she said the words slowly. "He's a nice guy." 

"He is," I agreed. 

"Do you like him?" 

"I think so." 

"You think so?" 

I puckered my brow at her. "What do you mean?" 

"He obviously likes you," she announced. "I can tell it from the way he stares at you..." 

My cheeks flushed as I stole a brief glance at Luke and then turned my face away. I couldn't deny that I also liked staring at him, every opportunity I got. 

"I'll keep the tray inside and be right back." Megan smiled at me, before arranging the cups, saucers, and spoons on the tray and headed inside the house. I leaned back in the chair and folded my arms, watching as Luke strolled up to me. 

"Not getting bored, are you?" he asked, breathing heavily as he dropped into a chair next to me. 

"No, I like it here," I smiled. "You are such a natural with kids." 

"I hear that a lot," he wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow and proceeded to take off his jacket. "I just love playing with my nephews and nieces. These are the youngest of the lot, actually. The others are older and are slowly growing out of the playing stage." He leaned conspiratorially towards me and whispered: "Over the years, I've learned that the more you play with kids, the nicer you become in the eyes of their parents. The way to a parent's heart is through their children." 

"I'm making lunch!" Megan called out from within the house. "A few more minutes, girls. Go and take your baths quickly." 

"Are all your sisters like this?" I asked him, smiling. 

"No. Megan is an enigma. I mean, she's my sister and I love her, but sometimes she just doesn't know what to say and what not to." 

"She has an amazing confidence that I secretly covet," I said. 

"That she does have," he nodded. "She speaks her mind. It's a good thing, but not always." He looked at me, and smiled. "Don't let her freak you out. She's cranky, but nice." 

"I see that." 

In the distance, Paul was herding the children back inside the house, and he stopped to wave at us, motioning us to come in. Luke had a naughty idea, and he quietly sneaked up on the girls, making them yelp and squeak. They chased Luke around the lawn, unable to catch him, while Paul carried Harry inside. The uncle and niece trio played chase for a few minutes, and I marvelled at the way Luke became a child with them, despite how tired and famished he looked. When our gaze met across the distance, he smiled at me, and I smiled back, thinking to myself that he'd make a wonderful dad someday. 

*** 

"How long are you dating, again?" Megan asked as they cleaned up after lunch. Luke sighed, washing his hands at the kitchen sink. Lunch had been a big meal of apple ginger pork chops (while Harry had a pork stew), followed by a dessert of mixed fruit trifle. Cynthia had looked pleased with the meal, and Luke had stuffed himself to the throat. Over the meal, they had chatted about various things, including the times when they were in the band. Cynthia laughed hard when Paul told her about the drunken fruit fight they had once had in the dressing room where Luke had been hit by a watermelon. She asked if it was painful but Paul cut in that the alcohol had numbed the pain! 

"For the hundredth time, Meg, we're not dating," he explained. Turning off the tap, he faced his sister. "Go easy on her, okay?" he requested, "All this is new to her. Don't freak her out." 

Megan shrugged, as she sterilized the soother Luke had brought for Harry. "I like her," she said, "She's very open, quite a sport." 

"She is," he nodded, leaning against the counter. "But then, you happen to like everyone I date." 

"You said you're not dating." Megan raised an eyebrow at him. 

"Yeah, that's right," he immediately corrected the slip. "But I like that you like her. She's lovely." 

"She has a way about her," she smiled, leaning against the counter beside him. "She's so poised. She reminds me of Diana." 

Luke couldn't deny that. Cynthia did remind him of Diana a lot of times. Although they were so different in so many ways, there were obvious similarities he found hard to overlook. 

"How long has she been single?" Megan asked, turning off the steam sterilizer. Luke frowned at her. 

"How do you know she's single?" he crossed his arms against his chest. 

"She wouldn't have agreed to spend the weekend with you if she had a boyfriend." She opened the sterilizer and carefully took out the soother with a pair of tongs. She wiped it with a sterilized towel and kept it wrapped in it. "Besides, she blushes when you stare at her." 

"I don't stare at her!" Luke protested, in vain. 

"Oh, it's okay," she patted his shoulder. "She stares at you as well." 

Luke looked through the kitchen doorway into the living room, where Cynthia was chatting with Paul. Lily Sue was on her lap, and Anna Rose next to her on the sofa, and all of them frequently laughed as she spoke to them. Little Harry was crawling about on the carpet, occasionally playing with the buttons on the walker. When Megan handed him the soother, he looked delighted and let out a few squeals to express his joy. He couldn't yet talk properly, except the occasional word like 'da-da' or 'birdie'. But Luke had a feeling that he'd grow up to be very mischievous, like his sisters. 

"She is fond of kids," Megan had a broad grin on her face when she returned to the kitchen. "The girls have rarely taken a liking towards anyone so quickly." 

Luke nodded, not for the first time thinking that she'd have made a capable, resourceful mother if she hadn't lost her baby. Yes, she was too young, but she had all the makings of a good mother. She was kind, caring, patient, and had a way of make everyone feel special and loved. 

"You find her attractive, don't you?" Megan's voice came again, jerking him back to the present. 

"I guess so," he sighed, rolling the towel in his hands. 

"You guess so?" she cocked her head to a side. 

"What else do you want me to say?" 

"You like her. It shows." She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. "You're miserable when it comes to hiding your emotions." 

The sound of Paul's laughter made them snap up in attention. He was almost rolling on the sofa, holding his stomach with one hand. Cynthia snickered, before sharing a giggle with the girls. Harry too looked on with much interest. 

"Luke, you better come here before she kills me," he called out to him. Luke smiled, and set the towel on the counter. 

"You know what, Meg?" he said to his sister as he walked out. "I think mum and dad secretly adopted you." 

Megan cracked up, her laughter mingling with that of her husband's. Luke walked in to the living room, finding a place beside Paul. 

"So what's the big joke?" he asked, putting an around the back of the sofa. 

"Joke?! Oh man, you can be quite a clown." And with that, Paul was laughing again, almost hysterically. 

"She was telling me about the time she took you to the flower market," he managed to say once he'd got his breath back. 

"Oh god, no!" Luke groaned, and then looked at her. "I rather that you didn't. It was embarrassing as hell." 

"I've already told him," Cynthia giggled, leaning back in the sofa that seemed much too large for her petite form. "Honestly, I'd thought he wouldn't want to go out with me again, after that day." 

"But she was the best person to show me around the place," he told Paul and Megan, who had joined them, "If I'd run away from her, I'd miss enjoying the town like I did." 

"Sounds like you had a great time," Megan observed, 

"I didn't have the slightest idea that I'd have so much fun there when Scott asked me to visit or when Marielle convinced me to go." He paused, looking at Cynthia. "Scott is a fun guy," he said, "But Cynthia took it upon herself to acquaint me with the town. She loves the place so much, it rubs off on everybody who meets her." 

"We had gone there once after we got married," Paul said, "It was a very brief stay, and we hardly saw anything. Scott used to be in the Army back then, but his sister was visiting, and we ended up spending a great time with her and her fiancé." 

"It must have been Christmas time," Cynthia remarked. "That's the time Sophie comes to visit." 

"Yeah, we got married ten days before Christmas," Megan smiled. "For that holiday and year-end, we travelled to various parts of the country." Her gaze sat on Luke for a moment, and an impish smile broke out on her face. "Luke was our best man," she said, "He was also the best man for Laird, Maureen, and his friend Nicholas." 

"He has a lot of experience with weddings," Cynthia made a point, and Luke's eyes slowly crawled over her, as if warning her for siding with his sister. 

"Yes, he's lucky." And then Megan was laughing, throwing her head back. "He goes through weddings without having to deal with the 'being married' part." 

As the two women laughed, Luke stared out of the window to distract himself. The sun was low in the western sky, the shadows were longer and the sunshine had lost its brightness, the colours of lawn softening slowly. Despite how annoyed he pretended to be when Megan teased him and Cynthia sided with her, he liked that Cynthia got along well with his sister- and if she got along with Megan, then the rest of his family would surely like her too. Strangely, the only other woman in his life who had seamlessly become a part of his family was Diana, and he couldn't help but think how similar Cynthia was to her in certain things. He wished she'd stayed longer, spent some more time with him. But she was going back home in less than twelve hours, and he had a business trip to New York next week. He doubted if he could make it to Velmont Town anytime soon. 

"I think we should leave now," he finally said, trying his best to ignore the sudden pulling in his chest. "It's been a long day and Cynthia needs some rest before she takes her flight." 

Cynthia's face lost colour for a moment, before she gathered herself and smiled, nodding at him to convey that she was ready to go. 

Megan and Paul reiterated how delighted they'd been to have her over, and Cynthia praised their warmth and hospitality more than once. Luke cuddled his nieces, and from the corner of his eyes watched Cynthia nuzzling Harry's face. She seemed amazing with babies. Very frequently that day, Harry had been up to some mischief or another, throwing things around, putting foreign objects in his mouth, and even managing to topple his walker, while he was in it. When he started to cry, Cynthia was quick to pick him up and take him outside while Megan and Paul argued over who was supposed to be watching over him. She was good at shutting herself from distractions to concentrate on what was important, and for the next few minutes, she gave her complete attention to the baby, until he forgot about the fall and was back to his happy self. 

"Drop in again when you're in the city," Megan told her, as they climbed on to the bike. She had given her a brooch from her collection and Cynthia had thanked her profusely for the gift. Cynthia gave her a quick hug, before wearing her helmet. 

"I will," she smiled at her and Paul. "Bye kids!" 

The girls waved back at her, and very surprisingly, Harry, who usually needed a lot of prodding to wave or say bye to someone, waved as well. Luke started the bike, and as they zoomed out of the house, he and Cynthia waved back at their hosts for the day again. 

"I had a great time," she said, once they were riding homewards. "You have an amazing family." 

"I'm glad you liked them," Luke responded, raising his voice so he wouldn't have to turn his head. "Megan can take some time getting used to. But you did great." 

"I liked her. She's so full of energy." 

"She thinks we're seeing each other." 

"So? When have you ever let that bother you?" 

Luke frowned, resisting from craning his neck. He thought she was beginning to sound like Megan. 

"It's great that you brought me to meet them," she said, and Luke felt her arms coming around his stomach. Gripping the handlebars tighter than he should have, he tried to not pay attention to her hands, or the things they did to him. "Or I'd still be morose for the rest of the day," she added. 

"They live the closest to me," he said, "I end up visiting them the most. Liam lives a little farther off but he chooses to live there since it makes commuting to work easier." 

He finally craned his neck. "Next time you're here, I'll take you to him." 

"Does he have kids?" Cynthia asked, stifling a yawn. 

"Yes, but not small kids. Liam's eleven years older than me, his eldest son, Jonathan, is passing out of school this year. His daughter, Joanna, is three years younger, still in school. Jonathan plays the guitar so well. They are great kids, and when the whole family gets together, I spend most of the time with my nephews and nieces. It's great to have kids in the house. They bring a happy vibe to life. Diana too was very fond of the children. She's the one who named Lily Sue when she was born. We were Meg's kids' godparents, by the way. They are probably the most active among the whole bunch. But it's a good thing. They won't remain small forever, and I'm sure going to miss playing with them..." 

When he got no response from Cynthia, he craned his neck again to find her dozing against his back. She looked tired, and he figured she'd been up very early that morning. Smiling to himself, he lowered his pace, thinking that she indeed looked heavenly when asleep, much more than he imagined she'd be. The sky was cloaked in the most brilliant orange complemented perfectly with hues of red and crimson, hints of green lingering behind, with the bluish grey of the forthcoming night sky. As Luke rode home, negotiating vehicles and pedestrians and turning cars, Cynthia remained fast asleep, not stirring a bit. Luke often turned to see if she was okay, and held her with one arm to make sure she didn't fall off when he applied the brakes. 

She finally woke up when he was pulling in to his garage and wondering how to get off without awakening her. 

"Have we reached?" she asked, slightly dazed. Luke nodded, climbing off the bike and then helping her do the same. 

"I'm sorry I dozed off," she said sheepishly, taking off her helmet. 

"You still look sleepy," he smiled, as he covered the bike with the blue, plastic sheet, not sure when he'd ride it again. "When did you wake up this morning?" 

"Five-thirty," she yawned, folding her arms around herself. Luke looked at her wide-eyed. 

"What for?" he asked. 

"I couldn't sleep well last night," she shrugged. "I tossed and turned before finally leaving the bed at five-thirty." 

She looked at him, her sleepy, dazed eyes making her appear totally heart-melting. "I read for quite a bit after waking up," she said, smiling. "It's so quiet in the mornings." 

"I know," he smiled, picturing her curled with a book in bed, twirling a lock of hair in her fingers while she read. Cynthia kept yawning through their ride in the elevator, keeping her mouth perpetually covered with her hand. Luke tried to look away, so as to prevent himself from laughing. That dainty young woman was absolutely a living doll, especially when her mouth opened into a yawn. Being beside her was a tough test of will power, because every few seconds or so, he'd have this uncanny urge to pull her close and claim her soft, sweet lips again. Last night had been heaven, but he couldn't take the liberty again and again. It wouldn't be right. 

Of course, if she kissed him, he'd definitely let her... 

"It's six already." Cynthia announced as they stepped inside his apartment, both of them spent and sluggish after the long day and a hefty lunch. 

"What time do you have to be at the airport?" he asked, keeping the helmets on one of the sofas. 

"Six." She yawned again, crashing into the biggest sofa. "Flight is at seven-thirty." 

"I'll make some coffee." Luke dropped his jacket close to the helmets and headed for the kitchen, not wishing to think that the weekend was over and she had to leave. He had always known it was not forever when he invited her to spend the weekend with him, but he dreaded the emptiness that would engulf him once she left. 

He brewed a pot of coffee, revelling in the strong aroma of the beverage that had seen him through many nights. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 13



"Would you like something to eat along with it?" he asked, pouring the coffee in the cups. He got no response, and repeated the question, this time a little louder. Still no response. 

"Cynthia?" he said gently, walking out of the kitchen. And then he smiled at the sight. Cynthia was fast asleep, seated upright on the sofa. Her mouth was slightly parted, and her arms were wrapped around a cushion. Luke watched her, not ceasing to wonder if she had really lost her innocence or if it was still alive in her, quiet and dormant, as if looking for a way to come out. Cynthia was a picture of tranquillity as she slept, without any sign of the storms she had experienced or the hidden hurt that secretly pained her. 

Tip-toeing up to her, Luke leaned closer, hesitating for a while before gently pulling away the cushion from her arms and picking her up. She was featherweight, and Luke couldn't tear his eyes off her face while he carried her to her room. Opening the door with his foot, he walked into the dark, quiet room and put her down on the bed, before switching on the bedside lamp. In the soft light, she looked gorgeous, her hair spread over the pillow and the mattress, and her hands folded on her stomach. Luke quietly took off her spectacles and placed them on the nightstand, wondering if he should take off her shoes as well. He considered the thought for a moment, finally deciding that the action could wake her up. Taking a final look at her, he switched off the light and walked out of the room. 

He drank his coffee after he showered and changed into a fresh set of clothes, and put the rest away. Flipping through a magazine in the lounge, the cool breeze relaxed him, and he had soon dozed off on the sofa. When he awoke, it was ten in the night. Luke bolted out of the room, and opened the door to Cynthia's bedroom, where she was still in deep sleep. Luke sighed, crossing his arms against his chest. She indeed was tired. The long day with kids had obviously worn her out all the more. Not wanting to wake her up for dinner, Luke sauntered into the kitchen and made himself two sandwiches with some leftover fried bacon, some tomatoes, cucumber and cheese. He also heated the remaining coffee and had it with the sandwiches, while watching a late night movie on TV. Twice, he rose to check on Cynthia, but she showed no sign of waking up. If she felt hungry at night, he decided he'd make her some sandwiches. 

In the wee hours, he was awoken by noises coming from the kitchen. He pushed the duvet aside and sat up, pulling on his shirt. When he came out of his room and neared the kitchen, in the faint light of dawn, he found Cynthia foraging for food. She looked like she had already freshened up, all set to leave for the airport. Luke checked the time, wondering when he'd last woken up at five in the morning. Hell, it wasn't even morning. The street was quiet, the birds were barely chirping. If only she could stay for a few hours more, they could have breakfast together, and maybe they could even squeeze in lunch... 

"Oh. Hi." Cynthia looked flummoxed when she turned around and saw him standing there. She had managed to rustle up a quick sandwich and had even brewed a pot of coffee. "Good morning." 

"Are you sure it's morning yet?" he yawned, realising she was already dressed. The pale pink pants and the white shirt made for an ideal attire that early morning. "I can vouch for the fact that I've never woken up so early." 

"Confucius said, he who has never seen sunrise is a poor man," she said, walking up to the table with the plate of sandwiches in hand. Luke frowned at her. 

"Confucius didn't say that," he pointed out. 

"Maybe." She shrugged, biting into a sandwich. "But it's true. Anyway, I've kept two sandwiches for you in the kitchen. And about a cup of coffee. Have it before we leave." 

"You seem too eager to go home," he said, turning to head back into his room. "Who's picking you up?" 

"Scott. I hope he remembers." 

Luke quickly freshened up and dressed, before grabbing his jacket, wallet, and car keys. Cynthia had finished eating by then, and was washing the plate and the cup when he walked into the kitchen. Luke downed his coffee at one go, making Cynthia roll her eyes. 

"Aren't you having the sandwiches?" she asked, when he proceeded to wash the cup. 

"I don't feel like having anything now." He kept the cup upside down on the counter and looked at her. "Where's your luggage?" 

She pointed to her bag at the foot of the sofa. Luke tried to steady himself, having always known that moment would come sooner than later, yet seeking extra strength to be able to let her go. He hadn't thought it would be so hard, or that he'd become so attached to her. 

"You should have woken me up last night," she said with a smile as she wrapped her scarf around her neck. "I slept for almost twelve hours." 

"You needed it, or you would fall asleep while waiting for your flight," he said, watching her take a look around the living room. Something told him it was hard for her as well, because when her gaze stopped on Diana's photos, her eyes exuded a moment of despondency. The she pushed up her glasses and looked at him. 

"Thank you for everything," she said softly, coming closer to him. "I had no idea I'd have such a wonderful time here." 

"You don't have to thank me for anything," he shook his head. 

"I do. You took care of me, protected me when I felt vulnerable." Her eyes turned misty as she chewed on her bottom lip. "I couldn't imagine going through all this alone." 

"You're never alone." Taking the opportunity, he fished out a small gift-wrapped present from his jacket's pocket, about the size of a bar of soap. 

"This is for you," he said, hesitantly holding it out to her. "I hope you like it." 

"What is it?" she asked, taking the gift from his hand. 

"Just a token of appreciation." 

She quirked an eyebrow. "Appreciation?" 

"For spending four days with me, for keeping me company." 

Cynthia smiled and put the gift inside her bag. "I'll open it once I'm home." And then she hugged him, with the amazing naturalness that never failed to stir him to his soul. He felt her face against his shoulder, and as he folded his arms around her body, he found tears burning his eyes. This was indeed hard for him, harder than he thought it would be. 

"You didn't have to thank me," she stood on her toes and whispered against his ear. 

"I did." He struggled to keep emotion out of his voice, but failed. He hoped the gift would serve the purpose he intended it for. Maybe she'd understand the meaning behind it, and maybe, just maybe, realise what she meant to him. 

(To be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 14



Luke's sleeping face contorted into a frown when something ringing loudly and consistently somewhere very close rudely broke off his nap. It took him a few seconds to comprehend that it was the phone in the other end of the room calling for his attention. He had seen Cynthia off at the airport, before driving back home and crashing into the sofa fully-clothed. It hadn't taken him even a few seconds to doze off. He was sure he'd been snoring softly until the phone rang because his mouth felt rather dry. 

His first impulse was to not pick it up. The phone kept ringing for a minute before stopping. Luke heaved a sigh of relief and turned on his side, and the phone started ringing again. He groaned, flinging a cushion in the direction of the phone. It missed the target, and hit a porcelain vase instead, that came crashing down to the floor with an earth-shattering noise. The phone, in the meanwhile, kept ringing at regular intervals, suggesting the end of Luke's Monday morning snooze. 

Still foggy and half-asleep, he unwillingly dragged himself out of the sofa and crossed the short distance to the wall cabinet, from where he picked up the receiver of the landline. 

"Thank goodness!" Megan's voice crackled in his ear. "I thought I've got to come to your house in person and bang your head." 

"What do you want, Meg?" Luke grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sure the sun isn't up yet." 

"Is Cynthia gone?" she asked, pretending to not hear him at all. 

"Yes." Luke placed a hand on his chest and did a gentle massaging motion. Watching her go had been painful enough and he didn't know when he would see her again. He wished he'd been spared the reminder by his sister that she was gone and he was back to an empty house. "Is that why you called?" 

"Yes and no. But she's a nice girl. I wish she had stayed for a little longer. Did you take her out for dinner?" 

"Meg, you're being awfully nosy about this." 

"That means you did not. I tell you, men are so thick sometimes. You had a gorgeous woman with you for a weekend and you didn't even take her out to dinner?!" 

"I took her out for lunch," he mumbled. 

"Yeah? To Purnells?" 

"No—" 

"Then it doesn't count, okay? You should've gone to somewhere sophisticated, like a dinner and dance." 

"I told you we're not dating." 

"But you want to. I've never seen you so fascinated. Clearly, there is something between the two of you." 

"Look, I'm going to hang up now. I have to leave for work." 

The sound of Megan's laughter annoyed him beyond words. Small talk was the last thing he needed when he was trying to sleep. 

"I can't believe you're still so dumb," she said, still laughing. Luke sat on the window sill, resting his head on the glass pane behind him. 

"Meg, will you please say what you've called for?" he yawned. "I'm seriously not in the mood for this." 

"You still don't realise?" she sounded surprised this time. "It took me only a few seconds to figure out." 

"What?" 

"That Cynthia and Diana are the same person." 

Luke yawned again, his eyes dropping close. "What is that supposed to mean?" 

"Greek mythology," Megan tsked. "Diana is Artemis, who's also known as Cynthia. Rings a bell?" 

Luke's eyes snapped open, the sleep gone in an instant. He sat upright, the hair on his arm standing on their ends. 

What did she just say? 

"W-What—?" 

"Remember Diana often said that she was almost named Cynthia, but then was finally called Diana because her parents' names begin with D?" Megan refreshed his memory. "Do you remember?" 

Luke swallowed slowly. He had forgotten about it. But now that Megan reminded him, he did remember. 

Artemis, the goddess of moon. Also known as Selene, Diana... Cynthia. 

Oh god. Could this be true? Or was it just a coincidence? 

"It can be a coincidence," he wondered aloud, closing his eyes again. He didn't want to think. His mind was racing too fast anyway, with no speed-breaker in sight. 

"There is no coincidence in this world." Megan suddenly sounded like Jesus. "Everything is planned by the Universe." 

At that moment, every little doubt he'd had over the last few weeks were finally put to rest. Cynthia's similarity to Diana, her love for flowers, and the final nail... the bracelet. He ran a hand across his face. He had let his feelings for Cynthia roam unbridled without realising what Megan had just said. But now when he thought about it, everything made sense. 

After Diana, if there was anybody he could think of being in love with, then it was Cynthia Adamson. The woman who had healed him. 

"You love her," his sister smirked. "You're completely smitten." 

"You think I'm still in seventh grade?" he tried to make light of the situation. Megan was weird sometimes, but she was great at seeing through people. As much as he wanted to tell her that she was right, he couldn't give in to his feelings just yet. What if Cynthia didn't feel the same way? He couldn't afford to get his newly healed heart broken again. 

"My! You're still in denial?" she exclaimed. "It will take a very stupid person to not understand you two are more than... ahem... friends. Can't you tell from the way she looks at you? I am a woman. I can tell when a woman's in love." 

"Exactly." Luke gripped the edge of the window ledge, making sense of his sister's rambling. "I'm not a woman. So I may have—" 

"You know, you know!" With that, she was laughing again. "You're my brother, Luke," she said. "I know you more than yourself. You're in love and you're doing a shitty job of trying to hide it." 

"I'm not hiding anything," he protested. 

"Uh-huh. So have you told her?" 

"It's too early." 

"With Diana, you knew in two weeks." 

"I guess I don't want her to be scared," Luke said slowly, measuring his words. "Both Diana and I were emotionally unscathed. But now I have my own past, so does Cynthia." 

"She has a past?" It was the nosy Megan again. 

"She's gone through bad things in relationships," he explained. "I want to take it slow. Give her time to open up about her feelings before making a move." 

He sensed his sister's smile down the line. "Maybe you're not so dense all the time," she chuckled. "You do make some good choices when it comes to love. And just so you know, wherever she is, I'm sure Di loves Cynthia just as much." 

Luke stared out of the window for a long time after hanging up. He was supposed to be at work today, and was sure that a lot of tasks awaited him. Liam was disciplined. He treated everyone equally, even if the person was his brother. 

For a minute he wondered if he should give Liam's secretary a call and tell him he wasn't going to be in. But after Diana's death, he had started being irregular at work, and though everybody understood and was considerate, he knew the comments Liam would have to face for giving him a free run. With a shake of his head, he turned around from the window. No matter how distracted he was, he'd still make it to work. 

When his eyes fell on the broken pieces of the vase on the floor, he groaned softly. Then grabbing an old newspaper from the top of the cabinet, he squatted on the floor and picked up the fragments of porcelain. As he cleaned the floor, his mind was drawn to Diana and the things Megan had told him a while ago. He hadn't looked at it that way. He did feel sometimes that Diana was watching over him, taking care of him. But Megan's words compelled him to look deeper. 

He still remembered the evening Diana died. The phone call from the police, a frantic drive to the hospital, hoping against hope it wasn't the woman he loved. She had apparently been trapped in her car, bleeding for over forty minutes without finding help. He hadn't been able to sleep for nights after that day. Her mangled car, her lifeless body... they haunted his mind. As did the thought that he hadn't been able to save her. 

But most things hadn't changed. He needed to eat, bills kept coming, the laundry needed to be done, and he still had a job. Both Diana and he would travel a lot, and were used to being without each other for short periods. For the first few weeks, it had seemed like one of those times when she was away on tour and he was all by himself. At the end of the first month, on the eve of her forty day memorial service was when the reality finally hit him. 

He'd broken down and cried on the floor. Not the silent tears he had shed at the hospital or at the funeral. This time, they were violent tears. Tears of anguish, of chagrin, of guilt. That was when he'd first started to feel her absence and miss her... miss everything associated with her. Those long walks together, hand in hand and fingers entwined. Those unending heart-to-hearts. The way her body melted in his arms. The way she loved pulling him out in the rain and running amok with him. The way the sound of her cello poured into his blood. 

Unable to bear the painful memories, he'd given away her cello to her parents on the day of the memorial service. He had also donated many of her clothes and other belongings, keeping only those things that had deep significance for him. But even those he had kept locked away in some part of his closet, so that he wouldn't even accidentally stumble upon them. 

Perhaps the one thing that he had kept the closest to him was the wristband. It was a soft nylon band in dark brown that Diana had got him when they visited Vatican City. She had got it blessed, and then tied it around his wrist, saying that it would keep him safe always. Since then, he took it off only occasionally, and was always quick to wear it back. It was like a wedding ring one wasn't supposed to take off. 

Luke rose from the floor with the pieces of the broken vase, his eyes meeting the photos of Diana on the wall. The images held special memories for him. Her first concert after they became a couple, her 30th birthday, her receiving the best cellist award... Their couple photos were equally dear to him. Two of the photos on the wall were taken at their former home, where they loved to spend time together, and one was on their trip to Australia, with a group of kangaroos. It still seemed like yesterday. 

Over the years, the memories had become less painful, and numbness had set in. He still thought of Diana every day but no matter how sad he felt, he no longer cried. Instead, he longed for someone he could share his life with again. Someone who would love him and make him laugh, someone to share a bottle of wine with after dinner, someone to hold and touch and to whisper with after the lights had been turned off. And his days at Velmont Town, as well as the weekend, had given him much to think about. 

As he entered the kitchen to drop the broken vase in the bin, his eyes caught sight of the bonsai magnets on the fridge. Flowers would remind him of Diana, and they were also too much work, having to water them and all. When Cynthia noticed that he didn't have any flower in his apartment, the florist in her didn't take it well. A house wasn't a house without flowers, she said, and bought him a number of floral bonsai in different sizes, since they didn't need to be taken care of. The fridge magnets were pink roses, and the ones in the centre of the dining table were yellow and red roses. She'd also got him one to keep by his bedside. Suddenly he had flowers all over the apartment. 

But that wasn't all. He'd had more fun with Cynthia than he thought he'd ever have again. She had made him laugh, and had laughed with him. With her, he felt like he had got back the old times, when he'd laugh, and relax, and be at peace. When they talked about Diana, she didn't make any attempt at pussyfooting him, unlike others who were careful about talking of his past because they always feared it would make him sad. She treated him as normal. They both were at a stage in life when they craved for a deeper connection, something that would give them meaning once the initial desire faded. With Cynthia, it would be their friendship, their excellent compatibility. Her easygoing personality appealed to him. Her gentleness moved him. And even if they hadn't shared variations of the same name, he believed that she would be a worthy successor to Diana. 

He dropped the broken vase in the bin and leaned against the wall, steadying his breath. It was time he did it. He had held on to it for so long. Diana wouldn't want to see him holding on to memories forever. He needed to live. He needed to have a life again. Diana was there, would always be there, but to really be able to move on and be a happy man again, he needed to start afresh. He had to remove the thing that had been posing a barrier between him and true happiness. It was in his closet. 

With tentative steps, he approached his bedroom, willing his heart to stop pounding. When he pushed open the door, he found his hand trembling. And by the time he proceeded to open his closet, his brow had broken into small beads of sweat. He recklessly pulled down his clothes, his suits and shirts, to reveal the hidden chamber in the back of the closet, where he had kept away the bulging manila file. He typed in the password and turned the key, and the small door opened, giving him access to the contents. In the dark chamber, he saw the file sitting just the way he had kept it all those years ago. It surely hadn't gathered dust, but the colour had faded and the material looked old and worn. He ran his hand over the file, his fingers never ceasing to tremble. The smell of old newspapers hit him when he sat on the bed and untied the file. Newspaper clippings collected through the weeks following Diana's death lay stacked together. They hadn't been touched in more than three years, and had become yellowish from age. Luke's eyes welled up as he perused the cuttings. Diana wasn't a celebrity, but in the world of classical music she held an esteemed position. As a result, all the leading newspapers had carried features and articles on her and her short but illustrious career for many weeks. There were also news reports on her accident, some of which had also dedicated significant space to Diana's relationship with him. Luke had cut out every piece that had ever appeared on her after her death and collected them in the file. To remind him of his failure. 

His vision blurred as he took out each cutting and kept them on the bed. Cellist Diana Nesbrit dead in car crash, read one. The day the cello lost its strings, read another. Promising career cut short, read yet another. 

He looked at the pictures of Diana that accompanied the articles, most of them of her in concert. Two of them were with her parents, and one with him. He remembered the picture. It had been taken the night she received the Pierre Fournier International Cello Award. He was in the audience, and the press had clicked them together after dinner. The yellow gown, her favourite colour, made a lovely contrast with her red hair. She'd have been 34 had she been alive. But then, she was alive in his heart. She'd always be a part of him. 

He gathered the paper cuttings in his hands and walked into the attached bathroom, where he dropped them on the floor. Then he came back to the room, and opened every drawer, but didn't find a lighter. He wasn't a smoker, so there was no lighter at his house. He ran out of the room, past the dining area, and into the kitchen, where he found a box of matches in one of the drawers near the stove. He rushed back to his bedroom, and entered the bath, before lighting a match. Luke's eyes filled with tears again as he stared at the flame. Then squatting on the tiled bathroom floor, he lit one of the paper cuttings. He lit another couple of matches and dropped them onto the pile. The clippings caught on fire, crumbling and disintegrating. Luke watched the burning pile, tears streaming down his cheeks. He loved Diana, but this was the only way to keep her away from his reality without losing her. 

Diana would always have his past. But his future belonged with Cynthia. And he needed to do something about it if he wanted to live again. 

*** 

I stood under the shower, the warm water flowing down my body. Eyes closed and body pressed against the wall, I recollected the weekend, still hurting that it was over and I was back home. Scott had picked me up from the airport, blessedly sparing me the questions. That department belonged to Carrie, and I dreaded the interrogation she'd make me face the moment she met me. I wondered how I'd tell her everything. The anxiety of meeting my family after years, the uncanny comfort I felt with Luke, the fire in my belly when we kissed... 

I grabbed the wall for support, images of Luke flashing through my mind. He was probably leaving for work at the moment. Maybe he was still sleeping. Or maybe he was in the shower. Thoughts of how he'd look naked crowded my mind, and I opened my eyes, my heart beating furiously. I'd have to censor things when narrating my weekend with Luke to Carrie and Becky. Scott would thankfully be less inquisitive. 

I turned off the shower and reached for a towel, wrapping myself with it. After sleeping for hours uninterrupted, I had still fallen asleep on the flight. The announcement that we had reached Velmont Town had awakened me. But the good thing about getting so much sleep was that it had left me fresh, ready to take on a new day. 

At ten in the morning, it was only an hour that I had returned, and the luggage was still unpacked. Deciding to take care of it at night, I opened my wardrobe to pick out a fresh pair of underwear and dropped the towel on the bed. Scott had always been right about taking a vacation, I realised. It rejuvenated and re-energised both body and soul. Becky and Leah went on vacations with their respective families or boyfriends at least once a year, and although they had asked me a lot of times to accompany them, I had never had the heart to leave my shop and go anywhere. I had never travelled, and therefore, I didn't feel like I was missing something by not taking a vacation. I loved my house and my shop, and there was enough to keep me busy when I wasn't working. The town was small, but it had a lot of attractions. There were restaurants, movie halls, shopping centres, pubs, markets, churches, schools, colleges, and everything else a person could ever need. In keeping with developing times, a number of real estate agencies, construction firms, and insurance companies had come up in the town. On Saturday nights, a couple of pubs had some band or artiste playing, and even though I wasn't much of a drinker, I often went to the pubs for some music, and always ended up running into someone known. Occasions like Christmas, Easter, and New Years' Eve were pompous affairs. Streets were brightly decorated, trees were decked with lights, and there was music all around. Just like cities, the shops here gave special discounts and offers on such festivals, something I followed as well. Aside from these occasions, I also offered discounts on Valentine's Day, one of the busiest days of the year for my shop. If someone wanted to express their love, then another wanted to say sorry. And my shop had all kinds of flower arrangements imaginable to convey those expressions. 

I pulled on the underwear and then slipped on the buttoned dress I had kept outside. My hair usually took a lot of my time to blow dry, and since I had to be at the shop, I decided to leave it loose. It would dry by the time I reached work. 

I glanced at Scott's house as I drove out after a breakfast of cereals. The quiet house signalled there was no one in. Smiling to myself, I stepped on the accelerator and started out. I loved the town, and the weekend away had only made me realise there was no other place in the world I'd like to be in. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 14



-- 

"You're back." 

Becky looked up from behind a bucket of tulips with disappointment on her face. I put my car keys inside my bag as I entered the shop, glancing around the place. 

"I thought you'll be happy to see me," I said, getting behind the counter. 

"Didn't Luke ask you to stay longer?" she asked, her emerald green eyes wide with surprise. She had called me three or four times over the weekend, but I had restricted the conversation to things about the shop and just life in general. I didn't want Luke to know that I discussed him with my friends. 

"I wasn't on my honeymoon!" I rolled my eyes, "Besides, both Luke and I need to earn a living." I looked around the shop again. "Where's Leah?" I asked. 

"She got drenched in the rain the day before and has been running a temperature," she said, picking out four tulips to put them into an arrangement. "I gave her the day off." 

"Poor thing," I said, rolling my partially dried hair into a bun. "I'll visit her on my way home." 

"So tell me." Becky finally returned to form and put the flowers aside. Then she grabbed me by the arms. "What happened?" 

I shrugged. "What happened?" 

"With Luke." she knocked my forehead with a knuckle. "Did you have fun?" 

'Fun' in Becky's dictionary meant something very different from what I and Luke had had over the weekend. 

"We did, but don't get ideas," I warned her. "We had a great time." 

"Tell me more," she sat down on the small chair and begun to make the arrangement. "What did you do together?" 

"Becky..." I shook my head. 

"What?" she feigned innocence. "Did you kiss? Did he take you out on a date? Did you tell him about your feelings?" 

"You want to know everything?" I threw my hands up. 

"No. Just the spicy details," she sniggered. 

"You'll never change, will you?" I sighed, unzipping my bag. "I got something for you. Too bad Leah isn't here." 

"What?" she looked at me. "You were thinking about us when you were supposed to be having hot sex with Luke?!" 

I slapped her shoulder, and then laughed, holding out the gift to her. "See if you like it." 

Becky unwrapped the present to find an Aztec printed silk scarf. I had picked all the gifts in a hurry. But Becky's expression gave away her delight. 

"This is beautiful." She spread the scarf on her palms and stared at it. "I can't believe you remembered that I love Aztec prints." 

"I did." I took the scarf from her and wrapped it around her neck. "Looks better this way," I said with a smile, admiring how nice the scarf looked with her beige blouse. 

"Thank you!" Becky laughed, holding me in a fierce embrace that made breathing difficult for a moment. She pulled away and looked into my eyes. "Did Luke get you anything?" she asked, not willing to let go of the subject. 

"Yes, but I haven't opened it yet." 

"Why didn't you tell him about your feelings?" Her tone this time was serious. 

"I don't know if he feels the same way," I murmured, lending her a hand with the arrangement. Who was I kidding? Luke had sung to me, he had kissed me, and taken me to meet his sister. Wasn't that enough to confirm how he felt? 

"Cyn, he wouldn't have asked you to spend a whole weekend with him if he didn't have feelings for you," she smiled knowingly. 

"I was there on work," I pointed out. "It's not like I was there for him." 

"But a man must seize the moment," she winked at me. "Dad says that a lot. And I see Luke believes in it too." 

"I don't want to read too deep," I said. 

"There's no rule book in this world that says a woman cannot make the first move." Becky lightly squeezed my shoulder, before fetching a small bamboo basket. "Leah and I were talking the day before how happy we are to find you finally showing interest in someone," she said, her back to me. "When I first started working here, I used to notice your quietness, like you were disturbed about something always. I don't know the details, but Carrie once told me you've gone through some terrible things because of that son-of-a-bitch. He better be hiding under some slimy, remote rock so that I cannot find him." 

I turned around and smiled. "It's not the flower's fault that people are so mean sometimes," I laughed softly, referring to the tulip she was crushing in her hand. Becky dropped the flower, giving me a smile. 

"You used to be very touchy as well," she giggled. "Remember the first time I offered to set you up on a date? You didn't speak to me for three days! I'm just glad you didn't fire me." 

"I'll never fire you." I gently pinched her cheek. "You make for such amazing entertainment." 

She made a face and pushed my hand away, just as a couple of customers entered the shop. They greeted me with a smile, having obviously known that I was out of town for the weekend. 

"I'll take the counter," I told Becky, before dumping my bag in the small office in the back of the shop. I came out and took my place in front of the monitor, turning it on. 

Managing the accounts was Leah's department, and she did the work so well, I often thought she'd do great at an accounting firm than at a flower shop. Funnily enough, all three of us worked at the shop not because it was the best job in the world but because of our love for flowers. Every day, we managed to bring happiness and cheer into many people's lives with our blooms. If we ever needed to hire more people, we'd make sure to test her on her love and knowledge of flowers. 

"By when do you need it?" I heard Becky asking a customer, who wanted to place an order for a memorial service. The order would need to be delivered to the neighbouring town. 

"By early on Thursday," the man replied. "It's a small order for just one room." 

"Would you like clusters of white lilies and roses?" I asked, turning the chair to look at him. 

"That would be great," the man smiled, "My mom loved white lilies." 

I motioned Becky to take down the order, making a mental note myself to pick up some more lilies and roses when I went to the flower market tomorrow. The mention of white lilies inevitably reminded me of Diana. Luke had mentioned her love for the flower a lot of times, so much so that it had become impossible for me to deal with white lilies and not think of her. As I watched the man leave after placing the order, and another two customers enter, I randomly opened the web browser on the computer and typed the words 'Diana Nesbrit cellist'. In a fraction of a second, page after page of news articles appeared before me, leaving me stunned. Diana wasn't just a cellist; she was also a composer, with two concertos to her name. According to one website, she was the daughter of Dave and Daphne Nesbrit, a doctor and a schoolteacher respectively, and had been introduced to the cello at age four. She won her first award when she was twelve and made her international debut at thirteen. I felt my skin breaking into goosebumps as I scrolled down the images. Diana had been an ever smiling person, not to mention extremely beautiful in a very wild and lively way. She looked like she'd loved to talk and to laugh, because in all of her photos she was a vivacious woman with a million dollar smile. My eyes welled up when I saw a number of photos of her with Luke. In a few of them they were posing, and in the others, they were just a regular, happy couple. Luke must have been so proud of her. She was so talented, so gifted. Anyone would feel proud of someone like that. 

"What are you doing this evening?" Becky's voice drew my attention. I stealthily wiped off a tear, and looked at her. 

"I want to go home and unpack my luggage," I said, watching her put up a new basket of orchids after the one had been sold. "And then get some sleep." 

"I was wondering if you'd like to grab a quick bite somewhere," she told me. "Allen's away on work. I'm going to get bored at home alone." 

"I have a better idea," I smiled, "Why don't we close early, then order in a big mozzarella pizza, and have a good time right here?" 

"You'll enthral me with juicy stories about you and Luke over pizza?" she licked her lips, making me laugh out. 

"But the idea isn't bad," she added. "And since you've done a lot of travelling the past few days and aren't in the mood to go anywhere today, I think it'll do both of us good to eat in the office."  

She turned to head inside to the back room. "Make it mozzarella and cheddar, along with some mushrooms and chicken... and don't forget the bell peppers..." 

As Becky headed inside rambling, I glanced at the monitor again. The fact that Luke had (and maybe still did) deeply loved and cared for someone else in the past didn't bother me. But I was no match for Diana. I had never made anybody proud. I would never be able to make him proud. That was what bothered me. 

The sound of crickets and the melody of the drizzle cloaked the leaden night, with chances of a heavy shower later. I missed Luke. After quite a few weeks, I felt lonely again that night. After gorging on a pizza with Becky, we had dropped in to visit Leah, who was better after a day at home. She had also loved her scarf, gushing over the beautiful floral print. I had returned home and unpacked my luggage, before being given a shout out by Carrie to join them for dinner. All four of them had loved their presents- the spirit lover Scott couldn't stop thanking me for the wine pairing towels, the cook in Carrie had taken only a moment to decide what to use all the different kinds of honey for, and the boys had immediately worn the t-shirts for me to see how they looked. Scott had friends in every part of the country and vacationed with his family very often, and whenever he went somewhere, he always remembered to bring back something for me. The gifts would mostly be chosen by Carrie, and even though I never showed it openly, she knew my fondness for clothes. So she always got me scarves, stoles, printed jackets, and belts from their trips. She had once got me a lovely blue button down dress, but the size turned out to be much too large for me. Not one to give up, Carrie had taken the pains to alter the fittings herself. The dress was now one of my favourites. 

Surprisingly, Carrie had been less nosy that night. She had asked me about Luke and about our time together, and also about Julie's wedding, but she hadn't pressed or prodded. Perhaps, Scott had asked her to be on her best behaviour. 

I sat on my front porch and watched the drizzle, accompanied by a cup of coffee. The night was cool and sweet-smelling, and in the distance, I could make out the smudged outline of the mountains. The plants and flowers in the lawn quivered under the raindrops, making a sight to behold in the soft light reflected from the porch. I remembered what Luke had said to me the day I took him to the flower market- that he couldn't imagine a city girl moving to a small town and living a quiet life. Three or four years back, I couldn't have imagined it either. But I also knew that I could have never recovered from my horrid experiences if I hadn't moved to the town. The people here had embraced me warmly, not questioning me or judging me, but accepting me and giving me a new chance at life. Unlike Birmingham, where I'd hardly had any friend, here I made friendships more easily. I could safely say that I had become more sociable while running my own business and meeting people on the way. In the serenity of the hills, my wishes found wings, my dreams found meaning, my desires found expression. 

The thought of Luke made me smile, as did the fond memory of meeting his sister's kids. Anna Rose and Lily Sue were adorable, and Harry was cute as a button. Luke's love for his nephews and nieces was heart-warming; I'd never had a dad, not even an uncle to love me that way, which made Luke's attachment to the kids even more appealing in my eyes. Megan indeed was very garrulous, but I found it entertaining. Perhaps this way of accepting and welcoming strangers into their lives ran in Luke's family. 

While thinking of Luke and Megan, I remembered their presents which were still in my bag. I had already seen Megan's gift, but Luke's gift was still unopened. I rose from the wicker chair and walked inside the house, keeping the coffee cup on the dining table. As I switched on a light, my eyes fell on the large shoulder bag sitting on the small table near the window. On opening it, I realised there were a few pieces of underwear and a couple of scarves inside that I had forgotten to take out and keep in their proper places. Under the garments were Megan's lovely floral brooch and the small gift from Luke, wrapped in bright red glossy paper. I tore off the wrapper to find a small, white, slide box, inside which was a perfectly preserved Oxeye daisy. I knew also where it had come from. Emotion welled inside me. I pressed my fingers to my lips to stop the sob pushing its way up my throat. 

Oh god... 

I drew in a ragged breath. My eyes and throat burned as I traced the perfect, spoon-shaped white petals. At one time, I had told him that the right man would know what my favourite flower was. And Luke knew. 

I clutched the small box to my chest. He couldn't have given me anything more meaningful. And I didn't miss the symbolism. Those daisies would always remind me of my mom's house, of my lawn, of our weekend together. 

"He loves me." The barely audible words hung in the air, as the tears rolled down my cheeks. "He loves me," I repeated. The words sounded so right. Still clutching the box to my chest, I closed my eyes, breathing unsteadily. 

"I love him, too," the words came out on a breath, like a jolt from my subconscious. It was something I had felt for weeks but had been too afraid to admit. After what I'd experienced with Sam, the thought of finding love again had left my mind. And then Luke came along unexpectedly. Someone with his own tragedy, his own secret grief. But we opened up to each other, more easily than we ever had with anybody else, and talking about our past and our baggage wasn't tinged with shame or guilt. The comfort we felt with each other had fooled everyone into believing we'd been friends forever. 

Friends. That was what was different about him. Unlike Sam, he'd not tried to lure me with fancy words or poetry. Instead, he gave me warmth, supported me, and protected me when I felt weak and vulnerable, helped me open up without feeling afraid. He also made me laugh. Through his stay in Velmont Town, and over the past weekend at his apartment, I had gone to sleep every night with a smile on my face. 

I love him. Like I never knew I could love again. 

I bit my lip, staring at the flower. Were the tears ever going to stop? 

Despite how badly I wanted to speak to Luke, I knew I hadn't taken his number. I shook my head, grumbling at my own foolishness. And then I remembered that I had parts of my past to remove from the way before I could tell Luke about my feelings. 

Keeping the flower on the bed, I walked up to my wardrobe. From inside, I pulled out the same cloth bag that contained my old diary. Pulling out the diary and keeping the bag back inside, I shut the wardrobe. The tears were finally ceasing, and without thinking twice, I rushed out of my room, grabbed a couple of logs from the fireplace, and went to the shaded part of my back yard. Dropping the logs and the diary on the ground, I ran back inside the house and found a box of matches from the kitchen. With my pulse racing, I returned to the back yard. I squatted, surrounded by the drizzle and the sound of the crickets, and lit a match. Then I looked at the diary. Sam had no place in my life. He had ceased to exist years ago. 

As I dropped the diary in the flames and watched it burn to ashes, a smile broke out on my face, even as tears glistened in my eyes. Tears of joy. The joy of being free from the past. The joy of finding love again. 

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. 

I was in love with Luke, the man who had healed me. 

(To be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 15



"I reviewed the web traffic statistics of Dufferin & Co." Luke explained to his manager in their office late that evening. "Their leads have increased by 88 per cent since we started working with them."

Liam nodded very slowly as though it was stale news to him, his hands clasped under his nose and eyes glued to the laptop screen. If Luke had to pick one thing he admired the most about his brother- and he admired a lot of things about him- then it would be his amazing composure. He was a quiet man like their dad, and he also looked a lot like him. Average height, big nose, hair that was thinning at the back. The tendency of a paunch was a typical male trait of their family, and Liam was fast heading that way. Luke abhorred a paunch. His belly and backside were his problem areas, and ever since he had returned from Velmont Town, his pants somehow seemed tighter. True, he had missed his work-outs for a few weeks, but he was determined to make up for it.

"Their sales have also increased by 63 per cent," Luke added, swiping the screen of the tablet PC before him.

"What have you thought about the product launch?" Liam asked, moving his gaze from the computer to look at him.

"Chris and I met this evening to discuss the sales force model he's working on," he answered, checking his watch. "We have a meeting with them tomorrow, right?"

"No, it's been pushed back to the day after," Liam said. "Didn't Chris tell you?"

Luke scratched his head. He may have told him, but he had been too preoccupied the whole day. He'd reached office a little after ten, but it had taken him all of his willpower to concentrate on work. He had gone through two meetings, numerous reviews, and spent several hours reading and thinking through the problems his teammate's workstream was aiming to solve. But his heart and his mind were in complete knots.

A few minutes after ending his call with Megan, he had got a surprise phone call from the guy who used to manage their band. He had since gone on to manage both bands and solo artistes with leading record labels, and made a name for himself in the music industry. Luke had been in a dilemma for the rest of the day. The offer of a two-album deal with the biggest record company was tempting for the singer in him. It would be a dream come true. But wouldn't it be foolish to leave a business consulting job for the uncertain and unsteady world of music?

"But that's good, you know," he said, "We'll get some more time to progress with our analysis."

Liam nodded, leaving his chair. "We've got good feedback from Mathew Clarkson," he said, walking up to the table close to the giant glass window. Luke watched him heat the coffee in the electric kettle and pour two cups. "We're signing the contract next week for two product launch."

He came up to Luke and handed him a coffee. Luke accepted it gratefully, feeling kind of tired.

"Have you had dinner?" Liam asked him, returning to his seat. Luke took a sip of coffee, shaking his head.

"I had a fresh fruit smoothie from the canteen a while ago," he said.

"Smoothie?" Liam frowned, "So you're more or less on an empty stomach since that hurried lunch of two sandwiches?"

"I had loads of work," he mumbled, "I didn't have time for an elaborate lunch."

"You do know you've got to eat if you plan to focus on work, right?"

"It's okay. I'm not hungry." Luke sighed, thinking Liam sounded like their mother.

"Were you out last night?" he inquired, drinking his coffee in long gulps. "When you came in this morning you looked like you hadn't slept well."

Luke hid behind the PC, wishing Chris hadn't left him alone with Liam. Chris was a second year associate consultant interning at the company. Luke was his immediate superior.

Without another word, Liam rose from the chair, picking his coat. "Come on," he motioned to him with his hand. "Let's head to the canteen for some wholesome food."

Luke shrugged, gulping down the coffee. "Smoothies are wholesome."

"You drink smoothies after a session at the gym, not for dinner." He stopped at the door and narrowed his eyes at him. "You had a good appetite till you left for your trip. What happened since you returned?"

"Liam—"

"You're going to leave the chair in five seconds, Luke."

Luke rolled his eyes, before turning off the PC and rising from the seat. He grabbed his coat before heading for the door. Liam opened the door, and Luke followed him obediently. In only eleven years, the company had made mark in the field of business consulting. The current staff strength was close to a hundred, and they were also planning to open another branch in London. Liam was only 35 when he made the risky decision of leaving his prestigious position at Deloitte to start his own firm. At the same age, Luke was about to make an equally important decision- that of being with someone again.

"Marielle told me you had a great time in Velmont Town," Liam said to him while they took the elevator to the canteen on the ground floor. "How are Scott and his family?"

"They're fine," he answered, watching the floor numbers tick by. "They were asking about you."

"Long time since they last came here," Liam smiled. "Have Jake and Josh grown more mischievous?"

"They're brats," Luke laughed, as they stepped out of the elevator. They were greeted by the front office staff while they walked past them to the canteen, where Liam was quick to look at the menu and order two plates of dumplings. Luke's stomach growled when the delicious aromas made their way into his nostrils, bringing back the hunger that the smoothie had suppressed.

"We are meeting the head of the sales organisation at the client office the day after, along with the rest of the client working team," Liam explained as they sat down at the table. Luke nodded, trying to concentrate, although his mind was elsewhere.

"This is probably the biggest company we've worked with to date," he added. "We're working towards an update on the project sponsors by the end of this week. And this meeting is crucial to get the input of the working team on where our analysis is heading."

"Yes, Chris briefed me while I came in," he said, his eyes surveying the swank interior of the canteen. "I'm sorry I took an extra week off. Something.... something came up."

"I can see that," Liam nodded, thanking the waiter with a smile when the food arrived.

"What?" he asked, looking at him.

"You look different," he said.

"Yes, I've put on weight."

"Not that. It's something else."

"Something else? What?"

"I should ask you that."

Luke poked the dumplings with the chopsticks, his thoughts being drawn to Diana, who used to have rice with chopsticks while he'd look on bewildered. The first night she tried teaching him how to eat noodles with chopsticks, he ended up sending the sticks flying across the table. Cynthia too looked adept with chopsticks. She didn't even need to use both hands when eating noodles.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, realising how the lines were getting blurred. Cynthia was fast replacing Diana in his head. He used to seek Diana in everything. He still did, but now he found Cynthia more. Her smile, her laugh, her eyes, her hair.

He loved her, but he'd also love Diana forever. Would that be right? Would that be fair to Cynthia?

"I've been meaning to ask you something," Liam brought him out of his thoughts.

"Hmm-mm," he responded unmindfully.

"Are you happy?"

Luke finally looked up. "Sorry?" he frowned.

Liam folded his hands on the table, sighing softly. "I've been noticing you ever since Diana left us," he said. "You've definitely changed."

"You're hinting at my irregularity at work, aren't you?"

"That, and more." Liam paused to take a bite. "I want to know very honestly. Not as your boss, but as your brother. Are you happy doing this? Or is there something else you want to do?"

"What else will I do?" Luke shrugged.

"You never wanted to go to business school, in the first place. Mom and dad, and to some extent, I, talked you into joining LBS. You wanted to continue with singing."

"The band failed in just five years," Luke remarked. "If I didn't have an alternate career to back me up, I'd be jobless."

"So you're in here because you need a job," Liam concluded. "That's all, huh?"

"Why are you saying all this?" he asked, putting the chopsticks down.

"I want you to re-think this."

"This?"

"This job. This profession. I want you to consider if this is what you want to for the rest of your life or would you rather do something that makes you happy."

"Who said I'm not happy doing this?"

"I'm your brother, Luke." His smile was knowing. "I've made you the growth coach that you are. I can tell when you are discontented."

"I've just.... not been myself ever since Diana died." Luke wiped his mouth with a napkin, feeling full without finishing the meal. "I haven't been able to concentrate on work much."

"That is the reason why it's important for you to do something that makes you happy," Liam patted his back. "When you do what you love, concentration isn't a chore."

Luke remained pensive while he fiddled with the chopsticks. Happiness was what he used to feel with Diana. Happiness was what he felt with Megan's children. Happiness was what he felt with Cynthia. This job had given him status and respect, but happiness was what he found in singing.

"Don't get me wrong," he said, looking at him for the first time. "I love doing this too. I wouldn't have come so far if I didn't want it."

"I know. But singing remains your first love."

Liam put an arm around his shoulders. "Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked gently. "Do you have other plans?"

"You want me out?" Luke asked hesitantly, knowing he couldn't hide anything from his brother.

"No, I don't. You are one of my biggest assets. But I'll go with what you want."

"Liam...." he murmured, his voice trembling. "If someday I really want to go back to music, will that be okay?"

Even without looking at him, he could sense Liam's smile.

"Certainly," he nodded. "It's your life. You're the best man to run it. I always have my door open for you. Not because you're my brother, but because I value my employees and teammates. There have been instances where an employee left this company for another, but returned in less than three months."

He tousled his hair, looking almost like their dad. "We all want you to be happy, to be content in life. And I'm going to give you that liberty to do what your heart desires."

He then picked up the glass of water and had a drink. "As long as it's legal, of course," he chuckled, giving him a side-long glance. Luke tried to laugh, but instead he found his eyes turning cloudy. He loved to sing. It was what he did best. And now when he had a big opportunity knocking on his door, his brother was giving him the license to do his own thing even without being asked.

"Are you okay?" Liam shook him by a shoulder. Luke nodded, before giving him a hug.

"Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse.

"For what?"

"Everything."

He closed his eyes, deep inside knowing what to do. Diana had gone away from his life, but her words would always provide him with comfort and strength. Whether it was Cynthia or music, he recognized how true Diana's words would always be.

Love makes you brave.

---

Luke returned home a little past nine, after sharing two cans of beer with Liam. The first thing he noticed when he entered his apartment was the quietness. His thoughts immediately went back to Cynthia, whose absence had only aggravated the emptiness. He dropped his keys on the coffee table, and crashed into the sofa, tipping his head back. He hadn't told Liam anything about the call from his former manager or about Cynthia. Despite the age difference- Liam had left school by the time he learned to count- he had grown close to his second oldest brother while working with him over those eight years. Liam had been married for 20 years, to a lovely woman Luke had first met when he was nine. They had met in high school, dated for about eight years, before tying the knot. Everybody in Luke's family had married before the age of thirty. His parents had married when his mom was 21 and his dad 23. Over the five decades of their conjugal life, no one had ever seen them fighting or quarrelling. On the contrary, their love had been like an example to them all. Many of them had often seen them locked in a loving embrace in the mornings, or cuddling on the sofa while watching TV. One never ate without the other, and they still slept on the same bed, unlike many of his friends' parents who lived under the same roof but slept in different rooms.

He and Diana had gone through the ups and downs of life as a couple. And he had done the same with Cynthia as well. He closed his eyes, an image of Diana's face forming in his mind. And then, uncontrollably, the image changed to Cynthia's face.

His eyes snapped open. The thought scared him and made him feel guilty. Someday, Diana would only be a distant memory. He would no longer be able to recall her face, or her laugh, or her scent. The images would fade. The thoughts would become bleak.

But that was the reality. He could not fight it. Life would take its own course. It would lead him to new people, new memories. Just like it had led him to Cynthia.

He slipped his hand inside the pocket of his pants, and fished out his phone. He scrolled through the numbers over and over again, but he didn't find Cynthia's number.

And then it hit him. He hadn't taken her number, dammit!!

Of course, he hadn't needed her number at all. And he had completely forgotten to either take her number or give her his when she was leaving. He shook his head, feeling like the fool that he was. He missed her. He wanted to hear her voice, feel her against him. Kiss her again and again.

The truth was, he thought about her all the time. He'd often wondered what it'd feel like to make love to her. He had thought about that a lot of times, while falling asleep, while having a shower. He had loved holding her, having her close. When he'd kissed her at her sister's wedding, he'd enjoyed the delicious anticipation when their lips met, the slow fire in his body when her skin brushed against his. He loved her feminine scent, the whiff of strawberry in her hair, and the soft fragrance of moisturiser on her skin. He loved everything about her.

In retrospect, it all made sense. Why he had distanced himself from the world, why he hadn't thought of being with anyone after Diana, why his dates hadn't worked. Unknowingly, he had been waiting for Cynthia.

That was it, he thought, as he dashed out of the sofa and went into his bedroom. He grabbed two pairs of jeans and t-shirts and a fresh pair of underwear and stashed them in a small hand bag. Without stopping to think of the time or the distance, he clutched the bag in his hand and loaded his pockets with his phone, wallet, and car keys. He headed for the front door, stopping only to look at Diana's photos on the wall. A watery smile spread across his face as he gently caressed one of the photos with his fingers.

"I love you, Di," he whispered. Then he turned out the light, and walked out of his apartment.

Five hours later

It was pouring heavily when he got out of his car, his heart refusing to stop its loud thumping. He had encountered the downpour the moment he entered Velmont Town, and it had been quite difficult to drive in the shower at midnight. The rain had soaked him within seconds, but he didn't care. With quiet hands, he opened the unlocked gate of Cynthia's house, closing it as quietly once he was on her lawn. He walked up to her front porch, not surprised to find the whole house dark and quiet. Scott's house too was dark. They were late sleepers, but he didn't expect anybody to remain awake at two in the night.

He rang the doorbell, his fingers trembling. His heart raced wildly while he waited, water streaming from his hair, clothes, and fingers. He rang it again when she didn't answer and held his breath and listened for noises inside the house, any indication that she was going to answer the door. Several seconds went by... then a minute... then two. Luke stroked his hand across his face in frustration. He had driven for five hours to reach here. He couldn't go away just like that.

Just then, a light glowed inside the house. And then the door scraped open.

Cynthia was standing there, looking adorable as hell in her pyjamas, her hair tussled. Her eyes were questioning, but still sleepy. She squinted, obviously having difficulty in seeing in the dark without her glasses, and then her eyes went wide when she recognised him.

He reached her in two strides, and his hand drifted to her hip. It settled there and pulled her closer. In a microsecond, she was against his chest. His wet clothes left damp patches on her t-shirt, her restless heart throbbing against his body. He gathered her in his arms, her movements frantic and a little desperate. He backed her into the house and kicked the door closed. His car keys slid to the floor making a clanging sound. Luke stared into her eyes, lost in the beauty of them.

"Just the words of a love song..." He sang against her lips. "Just the beat of my heart..."

Resting his forehead against hers, he held her face, the rainwater on his hand moistening her cheek. "Just the pledge of my life, my love, for you."

And then he brought his lips down to hers. He felt every nerve and fibre of his body coming alive. I love you, Cynthia, he thought as his mouth engulfed hers and felt her kissing him back. She was chiseled to perfection. His breathing quickened, as did hers. He began nuzzling her neck with delicate kisses. So faint, they were whispers. Their breaths mingled. In moments, the soft caress had become deeper. He savoured her lips and the quickening of her breath that matched his own. A kiss like this was a beginning, a promise of much more to come.

***

With a hand on his chest, I managed to push him away. Panting, he looked down at me, the bewilderment in his eyes matching mine.

"Hold on, man," I said, looking into his eyes. "You will knock the air out of me!"

I laughed a little, feeling like a giddy teenager. I was still trying to figure if I was awake, or if this was some midnight fantasy of mine. Seeing him again had made me so happy nevertheless, as though an unanswered prayer had come true.

And then I measured him. He was dripping wet, like he had just taken a dip in a pool.

"I'll get a towel," I reacted on impulse. Luke grabbed my hand, pulling me close to him again.

"I'm sorry," he said, his breathing still heavy. "I wanted to call you but I realised I never took your number."

"You're here because you want my number?" The whole thing seemed hilarious to me. Luke had driven to Velmont Town through the night only because he didn't have my number!

"Yes," he blurted, and then promptly shook his head. "No... I mean... I...."

"Come in," I held his arm and led him to the sofa. "I don't have men's clothes," I said, running to the bathroom to fetch a towel. "But I can give you a bathrobe to wear until these clothes dry."

"That won't be necessary," he said, as I made him sit on the sofa and wiped his hair. "Although I do love the idea of traipsing around your house in a bathrobe."

"Take these off," I tried to squeeze out some of the water from his t-shirt. "You'll catch a cold."

"Cynthia." His hands came up to cup my face. I tried to ignore the pounding of my heart, the thrill and nervousness of having him so close, and the strange fear bubbling inside me.

"I want you in my life, Cynthia Adamson," he breathed, lifting my face up to his. "You make me feel things I'd thought I'd never feel again. You give me hope, like there is still something to look forward to, something to live for." He pressed his lips on my forehead, and my eyes dropped close at the warmth coursing through my body. "I don't want to lose you."




Will Be Yours Ch. 15



"Where did you get that?" I asked, looking up at him and thinking how sexy he looked with the wet hair across his brow. "You're not going to lose me. I'm right here."

He traced the curve of my neck, before tucking my hair behind my ear, and claiming my lips again. I melted, like a lump of butter on toast, allowing his hands to caress my body. He found my breasts and softly squeezed them through the fabric of my t-shirt. His hands trailed lower and relished the feel of the smooth skin of my small waist, while his lips fought for dominance over mine. Pushing me back on the sofa, he caressed my neck, the sides of my face, and my earlobes with his mouth, making me let out a small squeak of pleasure when his teeth scraped across my jawline.

The low giggle that suddenly escaped from my throat made him withdraw.

"What was that?" he looked down at my face, his hands on either side of my body. I covered my mouth with a hand, laughing.

"I spent a whole weekend with you at your place, and yet you didn't make a move," I said, holding him by his hips. "And then you turn up at my place past midnight to make love to me."

Luke moved away from me, and clasped his hands between his legs, looking serious all of a sudden.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, giving me a brief look. "It's not as easy for me as it used to be."

I knew what he was talking about, and in a lot of ways, I related to it. If that moment had come in my life even a year ago, I was sure I'd have turned and walked off, pushing away the man. The thought of being with someone again would seem too risky to me even till a few months ago. I'd trusted Sam and believed him. But what had he done with my trust?

With Luke, I found my fears evaporating. He wasn't perfect, but then, I wasn't perfect either. And after dreaming of so-called ideal men and relationships for years, I had finally come to know and accept that you didn't have to be perfect. You just had to be right for each other.

"I understand." I sat up and moved close to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "And I want you to know I'm not trying to replace Diana."

"No, you're not." He looked at me, his lips breaking into a smile. "You're succeeding her."

He leaned in and kissed me on the lips again. "You and I are so similar, aren't we?" he said. "We both liked to hide from our pain, pretend everything was fine. We both hated people walking on eggshells around us so we wouldn't get hurt anymore. We learned how to mask our pain in front of our friends and the other people we know, and we did it well. Ever since Diana left, you were the first and only person with whom I could be myself and breathe easy."

He lifted my face up to his and studied it. "I've come to realise that being in love is like jumping blindly into the abyss," his voice was gruff with emotion, "I don't know when I jumped, but I did. The question is- will you be brave and jump after me?"

I circled my arms around his neck, kissing him below his ear. He couldn't be more right for me. We had survived bad things in the past, we both were living with an unsaid emptiness, and we both needed someone to share our lives with. Being that close to him was like being set on fire. But I couldn't say anything. Not yet. I just wasn't sure all of this was real. The embrace lingered for an eternity that I didn't want to give up. For that one brief moment, I felt complete, whole; as if the missing part of my soul had been found. Yet, I worried that this moment was fleeting.

But I loved him. That was the greatest truth in that moment.

"Just so you know," I whispered, when I finally pulled away, "I'm not sure when I jumped either. But it must've been pretty much around the same time that you did."

Luke smiled contentedly and brushed his lips against mine. "You jump, I jump, right?" he said and his smile made him look smug as hell. I laughed softly, curled my fingers in the collar of his t-shirt, and pulled him close. Luke brushed his nose against mine, letting his fingertips leave a fiery trail along the small of my back.

"I think you should take off your clothes," I spoke into the kiss. "We can put them in the washing machine in the morning."

Luke opened his eyes and smiled wickedly. "So, you'll let me stay the night?" he chuckled, his fingers curling in my hair. I tugged at his t-shirt, helping him take it off. When it lay on the floor, my throat dried at the sight of his torso. No chiselled muscle or six-pack abs. Only firm, natural body covered in dark chest hair. I swallowed uneasily, the fire in my body too much to bear already.

"What?" he looked worried. "Don't you like it?"

I laughed, kissing his nose. "I like it a little too much," I said. "I've been waiting for this moment ever since you kissed me."

I stopped, running my fingers through his dark, wet tresses. Somewhere a tinge of hesitation was still alive in me, making me wonder if he'll regret this the next morning.

"Are you sure you want this?" I asked him. "I don't want you to feel guilty or—"

"Cynthia, do you think I came all the way just to kiss you and go back?"

His smile comforted me. It wasn't the smile of a man who was unsure of what he was doing. And we were kissing again, my hands reaching out to feel his hairy chest. My need was fierce, and the ache between my legs was growing, but I wanted to take it slow, to prolong the moment. Our first night together couldn't be hurried.

"Oh shit." He yanked his lips away and cursed softly, his hands making their way inside his pant pockets.

"Did you forget something?" I asked, seeing him search his pockets.

"Yes. Condoms." He looked at me and sighed. "Blame it on the lack of practice."

"It's okay," I smiled. "It's not needed."

"You're protected?"

"Not really. But I haven't been with anybody ever since I came here. Have you?"

"Not since Di..."

"Then we're safe." I kissed him on the forehead.

"I don't want to put you into trouble," he shook his head.

"I'm not going to get pregnant," I assured him.

I cannot, I thought.

I rose and tugged him by the hand. "That is my bedroom. Do you want to go in or spend the night talking?"

"Wow," he got up and took my hand. "Am I lucky, or am I lucky?"

I giggled as I led him to my bedroom, which was neat and decorated, but was too small for two people. For the very first time, I wished I had a bigger house, a bigger room.

"You want to do it in the living room?" I asked him. "Is the bed big enough?"

Luke kissed the curve between my neck and shoulder, before letting his hands caress my arms. "It's perfect," he whispered.

I sighed and leaned against him, hearing him murmur against my ear. "And we also have the floor and the dining table...."

I laughed at his words, and turned around to face him. Lifting my hand, I ran it down the side of his face. He held my hand, kissing each of the fingertips. Pulling me close to his body, he kissed me again, as though he couldn't have enough of me. My hands met the fly of his jeans, and without another thought, I started unzipping him.

"Uh." He grabbed my hands, grinning naughtily. "According to rules, you must undress as well."

Without further ado, I crossed my arms and grabbed the hem of my t-shirt, yanking it off at one go. I didn't have any bra on, and Luke's eyes widened.

"Come here," he grabbed me by the hips and picked me off the floor. He gently put me down on the bed, his gaze letting me know the he loved what he saw.

Luke hurriedly unzipped his pants and shrugged out of them, sucking his boxers along with it. He lifted my hips, pulling down my bottoms to reveal my underwear. Embarrassment crept into me, and I squirmed.

"You have a lovely body," he kissed my cheek, before moving on to my neck. His erection poked at my stomach, giving me a hint of what was to come. I closed my eyes, fisting the sheets in my hands, arousal pooling between my legs. I had waited almost four years to feel this way again. When he positioned himself in between my legs and felt my wetness, parts of my body that I had all but forgotten throbbed in anticipation. I closed my hand around his arousal, guiding him in. It took him some time to settle, and for me to adjust.

"Oh!" Luke groaned, his eyes squeezing shut.

"Are you okay?" I breathed, spreading my legs wider to accommodate him.

"Yeah... I'm just out of practice." Then he tried to laugh. "It's like getting drunk too quickly when you drink suddenly after abstaining for years."

We laughed quietly, before he leaned in and claimed my lips hungrily. I grabbed his hips as he started to move. Luke breathed and groaned and occasionally grunted while he thrust in and out of me. I ran my hands down his back, feeling his slick skin. I found him gripping the mattress and clenching his teeth, his eyes locked with me. Within a few minutes, I felt the tremors beginning inside him. Almost at the same time, he faltered, his eyes filling with tears.

"Please don't leave me alone," he croaked, stilling inside me. Struggling to fight my own emotions, I moved his damp hair out of his face. I understood the fear and emotion in those words, which could only be admitted in the height of passion.

"Never ever," I said, holding his shoulders. "I'll be with you forever. Just let it go, Luke. Just let it go."

He closed his eyes and hid his face in the crook of my neck. Two more thrusts, and his body spasmed. It continued for a few long seconds, before his body collapsed on mine. I felt his warm essence inside me, probably rolling down on to the mattress.

Luke moved off my body and turned on to his side so he could hide his face from me. I could read his movements, understand that he was wiping off his tears.

"Hey." I crawled closer to him and kissed his back. "Are you alright?"

Luke remained quiet, probably embarrassed.

"It's okay," I said. "You don't have to hide from me."

He finally turned, but it was some time before he looked into my eyes again.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, sniffing back the tears. "I can make such an arse out of myself."

"Tell me what's going on inside you," I lay beside him, folding one arm under my head, and stroking his chest with the other.

"I cannot."

"Luke, I'm not your family or friends. You don't have to hide your emotions from me. I will always understand."

"I love Diana," he finally said, his voice breaking. "I don't think I can ever stop loving her."

"I don't want you to stop loving her," I said in all honesty. "She's a part of you. She made you the man that you are. I can see it in everything you do."

I kissed his chest, keeping my head against it. His heart was beating in a panicked rhythm under my ear.

"I just hope you have enough love for both of us," I added, closing my eyes.

"I do." His heartbeats slowed a little, and I realised he was relaxing finally. His hand came up to my head and stroked my hair. The bed wasn't big enough for two people, but I loved the idea of being snuggled close to him the whole night.

"Have I ever told you that I had wanted to end my life?" he said all of a sudden.

"Yes, you mentioned it once." I looked up at his face. "Did you really consider anything like that?"

"Six months after Diana died, my depression was at its peak. Late one night, after a drink too many at a pub, I staggered down a bridge and tried to climb the ledge in order to jump into the river. But I started puking, and couldn't make the climb."

He smiled wryly at me. "My family and friends didn't know how to deal with me anymore," he said, "I felt isolated and deprived of human contact. It was like I had not only lost Diana, but also the other people in my life. I'd just wanted it to be over."

"Thank god you didn't succeed," I sighed. "I know it was hard, but ending your life wasn't going to do anybody good."

"I realised that later. I understood that it would have been so selfish and unfair if I had done that. My friends, my parents, my siblings would be devastated. Losing Diana had broken my heart in the worst way, and taking my own life would do that to them. And I don't wish that kind of pain upon anyone."

"Does anybody know that you considered..."

"No. You're the only person to know." He linked fingers with me as a flash of lightning lit up the room for an instant. "You're a special woman listening to all this."

"Don't you always say that we need to vent from time to time?"

"Yes. I've never shared all this with anybody else."

"Well, at least take heart in the fact that you had a family and good friends. My life would be so different if I had found that support."

"I feel bad that you lost your baby." His hand had started to course through my hair again. "When my sister Maureen lost her second child, she was absolutely gutted. I think it's the same with every woman. Maureen was severely depressed for weeks after the miscarriage, despite having her husband, family and friends. I don't want to imagine how you coped."

"You don't have to imagine." I laughed, ghosting my lips against his. His tenderness engulfed me, and I curled against his body, feeling more contented than I had in a long time.

"Did your mother know about your pregnancy?" he asked hesitantly.

"No," I sighed. "Scott had tried to tell her but she refused to hear."

I looked up at his face. "I loved your gift," I smiled, drawing circles across his chest. "I wasn't expecting it when I opened it this evening. I wonder how you managed it."

"The day you visited your mom, I reached early to pick you up," he said, smiling. "I found the gate of the house open, and sneaked in to pluck a flower." His arms came around me in a warm embrace. "I hoped you would like it."

"I cried when I saw it."

"That bad, huh?"

"No. That good."

We laughed while kissing again, and soon I was underneath him. I softly kissed his shoulder and put my arms around his warm body. I had missed it. Missed being so close to someone, sharing not just a room or bed, but my life, a part of my soul. Luke drew circles across my belly, making me squirm and giggle.

"Stop that," I slapped his arm, only to have him kiss and tease me some more. "You said you wanted to call me" I reminded him while he was busy kissing me. "What did you want to call me for?"

He looked up from my breasts, remembering something important.

"Yeah," he nodded, propping himself on one elbow. "I'm a little confused. Thought it would be a good thing to talk to you."

"Nothing bad, I hope?"

"No. Something too good to be true."

He paused, inhaling deeply. "I got a call from our former manager this morning," he said. "He informed me that a leading record company is offering me a two-album deal."

"Seriously?!" I sat upright immediately. "This is fantastic. An original album?"

"Yes. There maybe a couple of covers. I'm not sure."

"So when do you begin recording?"

"I haven't said yes yet."

"Why not? Don't you want it?"

"I do, I do," he sighed, lying on his back. "There cannot be a better career for me."

"So what is the confusion?"

Luke closed his eyes without a reply. I snuggled close again, putting my arm across his belly.

"Singing will remind you of Diana?" I asked, my hand making its way up from his belly to his chest. Luke held my hand and squeezed it softly, exhaling.

"Maybe," he finally offered a reply. Then he opened his eyes and looked at me. "Won't I look like a fool shuttling between careers?"

"That's what you're worried about?" I smiled, "You're a very known singer. I was surprised when I found people recognising you on the streets. And when you sang for me at the wedding, I felt all my sorrows disappear." I put my head on his shoulder, running my fingers through his chest hair. "Singing suits you better. You're too handsome to be a business coach."

He laughed softly, his chest vibrating underneath me. In the quietness, I heard the sound of the rain, still pouring heavily.

"People can have multiple careers, you know..." I murmured after some time.

"Yeah..." he responded.

"What do you want to do?" 

"Have you again," he said with humour in his voice.

"And I was thinking you're tired after driving all the way," I giggled.

"Tired?" Luke rolled us over and pinned me to the mattress. "I'm yet to make you scream my name."

"Scott lives right next doors," I bit back a smile.

"Do you get to hear when he is having sex?" he asked seriously.

"Shhh!" I laughed, "Don't give me ideas."

Laughing, Luke kissed me, making the fire that had just died down come alive again. He trailed open-mouthed kisses down my body, and I gripped his hair when I realised what he was planning to do.

"I'm not shaven," I mumbled shyly, staring at the ceiling. Luke pretended to not hear, and kept going lower, until he was at my navel. Thankfully, he left it alone after just a few licks and kisses, and decided to concentrate on my womanhood. He spent the next few minutes unwrapping me from my frilly, feminine trappings and making close friends with my intimate parts. I arched and gasped, my womb clenching in greedy hunger. His tongue worked with ruthless skill, pushing me over the edge. Clutching the sheets, I bit my lips, my vision blurring. Within moments I was taking my release, a long anguished cry of relief leaving my lips. I hadn't felt that in years, and the sensations moved me.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked nervously when he had come back up to me.

"About what?" he covered my body with his and stroked my hair.

"Being with me..." I looked at him with tear-laden eyes. "I don't have anything. I can never match up to the life you have..."

Luke wrapped me in his arms and kissed my shoulder. "I just want you, nothing else," he said. "You are all that matters to me."

"Doesn't my past bother you?" I croaked.

"No."

"My small town life? My modest business?"

"No."

He smiled at me, and then dropped a kiss on my head. "I'm proud of you, Cyn. You're strong, successful, and extremely beautiful. You've survived so much... and I find that kinda sexy."

I closed my eyes and inhaled his musky aroma, sniffing back the tears. The rain was still pouring, although lighter now, and the closed windows made the room warm and cosy. As Luke pulled a blanket and covered us with it, I looked up at him with my puppy eyes.

"What?" he laughed, removing a few strands of hair from my face. "You look like I've just scolded you hard."

"I don't know about that," I pressed my body to his and smirked. "But if you refuse the album offer, I'm going to scold you bad."

Luke's lips sealed on mine in a deep kiss as our breaths mingled. I wrapped my arms around his hips and pulled him even closer.

"I'll take it up," he said, his voice full of promise. "But I need something from you in return."

"What?" I couldn't help the sudden bout of worry.

"You have to let go of your past," he said firmly. "Tonight confirms that you have given in to a new life. You are never going to feel ashamed or guilty again. You will set your ghosts free. Understand?"

I happily closed my eyes, hoping this wasn't a dream that would end. Then I smiled lazily.

"I have," I murmured. "I already have."

(To be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 16



For the first time in almost four years, Luke woke up next to a woman, feeling more sated than ever. He didn't know how long they slept, but it wouldn't have been long. When he drifted out of sleep, he realised he was on his stomach, with Cynthia lying against his back, their legs entwined. Half-asleep herself, she softly kissed and scratched his back, and Luke had a hard time trying to keep from laughing and giving away that he was already awake. Keeping his eyes closed, he enjoyed the feel of her hands, her warm breath against his skin. She took her time scratching all over his back, and Luke couldn't help wondering just how many men got their backs scratched by a woman first thing in the morning. There was no denying that the back was the hardest place to scratch on your own. 

"There." Luke twisted one arm and pointed to a place near his waist that could do with some attention. Cynthia's fingers moved downwards, before stopping abruptly. 

"You're awake?" she looked down at his face and asked. 

"Keep going," he mumbled, his eyes still closed and a look of satisfaction on his face. She resumed her gentle scratching, her hand moving across the side of his hips. Then she pinched the muscles of his waist with her fingers. 

"You have excess weight here," she announced sleepily, letting her hand slide underneath his body, across his stomach. "And here too." 

Luke pulled her down from his back and folded her in his arms. "I'm on the wrong side of thirty," he said, dropping a kiss on to her head. 

"That's no excuse." She kissed his chest, purring softly. 

"I've missed my work-outs the last few weeks, while I ate freely here. And my genes also have a part to play." 

"You go to the gym?" 

"Yup. Five days a week." 

"Why don't you try and get Scott to do the same? He's put on an awful lot of weight." 

"He keeps saying he doesn't have time," Luke responded. 

"Speaking of time," Cynthia freed herself from his arms and sat up. "I need to be at the shop, and head to the flower market in the afternoon." 

"There's enough time." Luke pulled her close, moving her hair out of her face. "I want to savour you." 

Cynthia draped herself over his body, her lips sealing on to his. It was then that he remembered he had forgotten to bring his razor along. Her lips were soft and tender, gliding along his like a butterfly. The room was quite except their breathing and vocalisations, but there was another sound coming from somewhere. He had got it at night, but had thought it was just the rain. But now he knew it wasn't the rain. 

"What's that sound?" he opened his eyes and asked. Cynthia giggled at the question. 

"Frogs." She laughed now. "Remember the tadpoles that had been put into Scott's fountain, along with the goldfish? They are rapidly growing into frogs now." 

"Oh no." He sighed, having forgotten what frogs sounded like. "We're going to have a complete invasion of frogs." 

"Yes. I'm looking forward to it. Without their opera every night, I feel so lonely." 

He laughed along with Cynthia, finding a different kind of freedom in talking silly. But when her bosom pressed to his chest, he felt his arousal coming alive again. Her tongue sneaked out and wound around its counterpart, and Luke almost moaned into the kiss. He hadn't felt that passion in a long, long time. Last night had given their relationship a new dimension, a hopeful sort of permanence. And it definitely had been way better than his imagination. The neat sheets of her bed were totally crumpled and hanging from all sides, and a couple of pillows were on the floor, along with the clothes. 

Oh god. He had almost forgotten what that kind of intimacy felt like. Cynthia provided him with a feeling of completeness and fulfilment, making him realise just how much he had missed having a special someone again. 

He opened his eyes and looked at Cynthia when she straddled him all of a sudden. The naughty smirk on her lips was a dead giveaway. 

"Do you like a morning nookie?" she asked, raising herself up on her knees, positioning him between her legs, and sliding down all the way until her butts touched his thighs. Luke hissed, unable to reply. Her womanhood felt like a velvet fist, forcing him to clench his teeth as she leaned forward and balanced herself with her hands on his chest. The warmth of her womb covered his erection and the sight of her taking control made him swell even more inside her, filling her until she moaned. He caressed her thighs, his entire body tightening. Cynthia swelled and engulfed him deeper, as her fingers played with his nipples. Luke held her, pulling her face close to him and resting his forehead against hers. Their lips met, their moans mingling. She moved her hips slowly, and he helped her by thrusting upwards. Gripping his shoulders for leverage, Cynthia increased her pace, as if she couldn't get enough of him. His eyelids grew heavy, every muscle in his body taut with the drugging ecstasy. And then her body stiffened, and she moaned onto his lips. Luke wasn't far behind, and he groaned under his breath, spilling his seed inside her. Cynthia writhed and groaned and Luke held her securely, the intense pleasure robbing him of all thoughts, except one- he wanted her in his life forever. 

He wrapped her in his arms when she collapsed over him, and rolled her over. She looked sated, and more beautiful than ever. 

They had given themselves over to one another in the most complete way possible. 

They were truly bonded now. 

He looked back on the night, thanking himself for having made the drive. It had turned out to be the best night of his life in years. He wouldn't mind waking up that way every morning. 

"The album offer," she said languorously, "You're really taking it up, right?" 

"Right." He reached down and kissed her neck, sucking for long enough to leave a mark there. 

"Hey!" Cynthia gripped his hair and pulled his face away. "I'll have a hard time covering that up!" 

"Sorry," Luke chuckled, shifting down to caress her breasts. They were the perfect size for a petite woman like her, and also very cute. He felt Cynthia sigh, and the sound warmed his soul. He always wanted her to be relaxed and happy that way. 

"I'm so excited," she said, "I've never heard you sing professionally, so I'm looking forward to it." 

"I had a little chat with Liam last night. He said I can do my own thing. Of course I'll always be there to help the company..." 

He rose on his elbows and looked down at her face. "Maybe I'll dedicate the album to you," he smiled. 

"Uh-uh," she ran her index finger across his lips. "Dedicate it to Diana. She deserves it more. And it will also be a good way to remember her." 

Luke's heart lurched, his throat tightening with emotion. His dates after Diana's death hadn't known about his tragedy. He hadn't wanted them to know because he dreaded the overwhelming sympathies he would get, and also because they'd see he was still hung over on his dead girlfriend and her memories. They'd most definitely accuse him of not being able to move on. Cynthia had been considerate from the beginning, not in a sympathetic kind of way, but a more practical sort. She respected the place he had for Diana, and he loved her all the more for that. 

"I can include both of you," he said, kissing the side of her face. 

"You're in a cottage in a hilly town when you should be hopping studios," she tsked. 

"I like the hilly town," he lay down and smiled. "This place feels like home." 

"One wrong decision set the ball rolling," she rued, "And I ended up coming here." 

"I wish you didn't have to go through all that," his tone was sympathetic. "You could have been here even without having to experience the bad things." 

"Nah. Without the bad things, I wouldn't be here. I'd be in a big city, working 48 hours a day, making lots of money and status, but feeling lonely all the time." She looked at the closed windows and sighed. "Or maybe, I wouldn't even have the time to feel lonely." 

"There's something good in everything bad, is that what you mean?" he asked. 

"Maybe," she answered. "I hadn't known that those things would bring me here. But I'm happy that I came to this town. In Birmingham I was chasing a goal. Here, I learned to live. I made friends, which I think is my biggest achievement yet. I used to be such an introvert. But I blossomed here... just like those roses." 

Luke stole a glance at the pot of roses on the window sill, suddenly realising where the sweet smell in the room had been coming from. 

"In many ways, I'm chasing a goal as well." He sighed, and then smiled at her. "Only that I have no idea what the goal is." 

"You're not happy being a business coach?" she asked. 

"I won't say that, because I enjoy this profession. But I'd always wanted to be a singer. All four of us had. But since the band ended, we have gone so far away from music." 

"Why did the band end?" 

"Because we had parallel careers. We weren't full time singers. Devoting time to both music and work didn't seem feasible after a certain point. The others also had families by then. Balancing became an issue." 

"So you chose to give up the band?" 

"The band wasn't our source of livelihood. Giving it up wouldn't cost us anything." 

"Too bad." Cynthia put her arms around him, exhaling deeply. "I've loved your voice from the first time you came to my shop. And when I heard you singing at Scott's house the same night, I felt like I could fall asleep to your voice every night." 

He felt her lips smile against his chest. "That has a chance of coming true. What do you say?" 

"I'd love that." Luke's heart soared at her happiness. The thought of singing to her every night and watching her fall asleep in his arms was better than anything else in the world. Signing the album deal would mean extensive travelling again, robbing him of precious time with her. But she too had work. Hopefully something would work out. An arrangement that would let them fulfil their commitments while still keeping them close. 

"What happened?" Cynthia looked up at his face, the sleep finally gone from her eyes. Luke shook his head with a smile. 

"I still can't believe I'm here with you," he said, twirling a few strands of her hair in his fingers. 

"No. Something's bothering you." 

"You're just like Megan," he laughed. "Always seeing through me." 

"Tell me what's bothering you." 

"I wonder if I have it in me to give in to the demands of music again, after all that I've been through." He stared at the ceiling, noticing the small chandelier for the first time. "What if I can't make it?" 

"You haven't even begun," she smiled. "Things will work out. You just need to have faith." 

"You'll be with me?" he asked uncertainly. Cynthia held his hand and kissed it. 

"I'm always with you." she smiled. 

Luke bent over her, showering her face with small kisses until he found her neck again. 

"Luke!" Cynthia pushed him off. "Which part of 'I'll have a hard time covering that' up don't you understand?" 

Luke laughed, shifting closer to her and holding her by her waist. She hid her face in the crook of his neck, purring contentedly. He kissed her head, holding her close to his chest. He didn't want to let her go. He had only just got her completely to himself, and he feared he'd lose her if he allowed her to go... 

"Care for a shower?" she mumbled, smiling sleepily. "We also have to put your clothes in the washing machine." 

"It's okay," he smiled, kissing her forehead. "I have a fresh change of clothes in the car." 

Cynthia's eyes widened. "You came prepared?" 

"I thought you'd let me stay the night," he chuckled. She happily circled her arms around his neck. 

"I'm glad you thought that," she said, getting off the bed. "Come on, let's clean up," she pulled him by the arms. Luke climbed down the bed and they walked naked to her shower. As the warm water drenched them, Luke claimed her lips in an urgent kiss. She was beautiful with her long hair slithering down her body, small beads of water glistening on her smooth skin. Cynthia kissed his chest and put her arms around his hips, holding him tight. Luke sighed contentedly, so sure that his solitary journey had finally ended. Life had blessed him with someone to love, someone to find happiness in again. Cynthia was the perfect woman he could ask for. He prayed they'd be together always, for many, many lifetimes. 

"I was pondering over Megan's idea," he said after they had freshened up and were drying each other. "A website for your shop wouldn't be bad." 

"What do we need it for?" she asked, letting Luke wipe her hair. 

"For more sales, more popularity around the country. I work with these things, I know the difference a website can make to a business." 

He slung the towel across her waist and pulled her close. "I'll hire our best designers to build the site," he smiled, feeling happy about being able to do something for her. "You can have the website up and running in as less as three weeks." 

"Will it cost a lot?" she asked nervously. 

"You don't have to worry about that." 

"I can't let you do it for free!" 

"It's not for free." 

Cynthia frowned, cocking her head to a side. "What does that mean?" 

"Well, you allowed me to stay the night in your bed," he said, tongue in cheek. "I think I'll gift you a fabulous website in return." 

They laughed, and Luke realised all over again how much he loved the sound of it. 

"You're a sweetheart," she giggled, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. Then she glanced around. "Why didn't you bring in your clothes?" 

"I can fetch my bag," he turned to leave the shower, but Cynthia grabbed his shoulder. 

"You can't go out of the house in a towel!" she looked horrified. Luke laughed, leaning in to kiss her lips. 

"Jealous?" he smiled against her lips. Cynthia slapped his arm. 

"Take the bathrobe," she said, grabbing a rather long robe from the shelf. Luke slipped off the towel, put on the robe, and proceeded to walk out of the shower. He picked up his car keys from the floor of the living room, before opening the front door. The moist smell of grass greeted him as he stepped on to the front porch, reminding him of his boyhood days when he'd play football on rain-soaked fields with his friends. The rain had receded but there was still a drizzle, and the overcast sky gave the indication of more rain. Luke walked barefoot on the wet grass, unable to recall when he had last done so. Everything looked so fresh, so green, so new. As he turned back after fetching the small luggage he had brought along, he found Scott and Josh out on their lawn. Luke tried to sneak into the house, but was noticed. 

"Hi Luke!" Scott raised a hand in his familiar style. "Good morning." 

"Good morning, Luke," Josh piped in, enjoying the drizzle. Luke returned the greetings hurriedly and rushed back inside the house. Cynthia peeped from her bedroom. "What happened?" she asked, having noticed the way he rushed inside. Luke shook his head. 

"Scott and Josh saw me in a bathrobe," he mumbled, dropping the bag on the sofa. Cynthia laughed and came out of her room, dressed in a printed, kneelength dress. 

"You had said you like the idea of traipsing around my house in a bathrobe," she laughed, kissing his cheek again. She was so tender, Luke would never get tired of her kisses. 

"Must you go?" he asked longingly. "Can't you be home today?" 

"I'm afraid not. We have a few special orders and I need to get the flowers for those." She wrapped her arms around him and kept her head against his chest. "I wish I could stay." 

Luke held her lovingly, unable to shake off the little fear that was working inside him. He had lost Diana; when he now had Cynthia, he didn't want to miss any moment with her. But she also had to work. 

"Can I drop you?" he asked, hoping she'd agree. But she shook her head. 

"I need the car. I have to go to the flower market." She smiled, lightly tapping his chest. "Stay home, laze around, make yourself comfortable," she said, "There are groceries in the kitchen and in the fridge. Make yourself something if you want to." 

Luke sighed and nodded. He had wanted to return in the morning, but he decided to stay. He would give Liam a call and explain later. Cynthia did everything all by herself. He thought of making dinner for her that night. 

"Can you be home a little early?" he hoped she'd be able to keep this request of his. 

"I will," she nodded. "I wouldn't like you to be alone all day." 

"Great. I'll give you a surprise." 

"What surprise?" she frowned. 

"If I tell you it won't remain a surprise." 

"I'd love that," Cynthia laughed. "Now, I'll quickly make breakfast. Oh, the washing machine is there. Could you please put your clothes in?" 

"There's no hurry, love," Luke said, pulling on a fresh pair of briefs. "I've got the whole day." 

"The vegetable carts pass by often," she said from the kitchen. "If you happen to need anything more, just fetch it." 

"Okay." Luke laughed, putting on his jeans. Cynthia resembled Megan a lot when it came to running the house. Laundry, groceries, meals, cleaning, as well as work and everything that it brought along... he had seen Megan manage everything so expertly. Cynthia was way younger and not married, yet her life was so organised, unlike the mess that he lived in. 

He could get used to it, he thought, picking out a t-shirt from the luggage and putting it on. He loved the town, its simplicity and the little pleasures. He loved the people for the warmth they showered on others. He loved this house and its size. And he loved its owner more than he thought he could love anyone again. He could get used to this life, and come to love it. Just like he had loved his childhood. 

After a breakfast of pancakes and baked beans, which Luke thought was better than the breakfast he often grabbed from a nearby cafe, he saw Cynthia till the front gate, hating to see her go. 

"Put your car in the garage if you don't need it," she said, handing him the keys. Luke nodded, leaning down to the window. 

"Is there an ATM around?" he asked, realising he hadn't got enough money with him. 

"There's one near 8th Day Cafe, and another near Astley Hall. Oh, give me your phone." 

Without questioning, Luke handed her his phone. Cynthia typed in a few keys and saved the number. 

"You have my number," she smiled mischievously, handing him back the phone. "Feel free to call." 

Luke kissed her head and smiled. "Thanks. Drive safe, please." 

"I'll try to be as early as possible," she smiled, before giving him a deep, seeking kiss. Luke waved at her as she drove out through the gate. His followed her car as far as he could, and then he turned back with a heavy heart. Lifting his eyes, he found Scott watching him from the doorway of his house, a naughty smile on his face. The boys had left for school and Carrie for the restaurant. All to himself, Scott waved at him. 

"Join me for a round of coffee," he called out. Trying to shake off the nagging worry at the back of his mind, Luke found the invitation too good to turn down. 

*** 

"Well, this is certainly some news." Becky said, staring at me in wide-eyed astonishment. 

We were both busy working in the back room while Leah took care of the store front. I had arrived shortly after ten thirty, feeling warm and fuzzy after the night and the morning with Luke. I still had difficulty believing that last night had actually happened. I hadn't been able to stop giggling while I arranged my bedroom that morning. Clothes, kitchen supplies, and pillows were spread all over the room, which itself looked like it had been subject to a mini-tornado. The pillows had been Luke's idea anyway. Getting chocolate syrup had been mine. Several well-used muscles protested in the best way while I drove to work. My body hadn't been so delightfully used in ages. Our tender lovemaking had lasted for the first couple of hours, before the animals inside us took over and devoured each other like there was no tomorrow. Who knew I had it in me to be so wild, or that Luke would like it so much? I had never thought that the things and the moments I'd imagined with Luke would come true this way. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 16



In the best possible way. 

"You know, when you texted me this morning and said you were going to come in late, I didn't think so much about it. I just thought you were staying home, feeling lazy, or maybe feeling a little down, licking old wounds." Becky's lips twitched. "But that wasn't the case at all, was it? You were too busy licking Luke!" 

"Quiet!" I poked her in the rib. "There are customers outside!" 

"Uh-huh?" she raised an eyebrow. "See how it feels when you tease me?" 

We laughed, and Becky hugged me tight. "But I'm happy that we finally have something to tease you about," she said, smiling. "All these years-" 

"Becky, can we please forget the past few years?" I held her hands. "Luke and I are making a new beginning. We want to start afresh, leaving behind the bad things of the past." 

"I told you yesterday that Luke believes in seizing the moment," she patted my cheek and then picked up a bunch of carnations that would go into an order we needed to deliver the next day. "If he hadn't turned up at your place unexpectedly, you'd still be mulling over your feelings." 

"I guess I believe in the old school of thought, that the man must make the first move." I bunched my hair to a side and made a lose braid. "And I think I was also unsure of how he felt about me. I've never been the type to rush. I wanted to give both of us as much time as needed." 

"I knew he feels differently about you when you told me about his weekend invitation," Becky's hands worked expertly on a bouquet while she kept talking. "And then, the way you look at each other..." 

She fanned her face with her hand, making me look at her in surprise. 

"What?" I frowned. "What is it about the way we look at each other?" 

"Well, one of the days I saw you flirting with each other, I had to go home and take a cold shower." She gave me a fleeting glance. "The heat you two give out could start a blaze. Seriously." 

I felt my cheeks flush even as I tried to be indifferent to her comments. Luke and I were indeed attracted to each other, but what had happened last night and that morning was more than just desire. For two people who had loved and lost, surrendering their bodies and souls to someone again required a great deal of strength and trust. My mother never found either the strength or the trust to open up to somebody again. No matter how much I wished she'd find a companion to share her joys and sorrows with, she remained alone. I was glad to be able to feel that trust with Luke, and I knew he felt it with me. 

But I couldn't deny that I sure was looking forward to getting home. I didn't know what surprise Luke wanted to give me, but I did know that I would make love to him again. And this time it would be... 

Hotter. Wilder. Wake-the-neighbourhood kind of stuff. 

I used to be glad no one had noisy sex in my neighbourhood. Now it looked like I was going to negate the theory myself. 

Becky looked at me when she heard me laughing softly. I was arranging a few sticks of amaryllis in a tall vase, but the smile refused to leave my face. I had never felt that kind of happiness. Not even with Sam. 

The errant thought disturbed me. I left the vase and closed my eyes, my smile disappearing. I had freed my ghosts, and I had told Luke last night that I wouldn't think of the past again. Then why did Sam's thoughts come back to haunt me from time to time? 

"What's wrong?" Becky left her chair and came up to me. "Why did your smile vanish?" 

I opened my eyes and shook my head, keeping the finished vase in its designated place. Then I picked up a few red roses and pulled close to me the bouquet Becky had been working on. When I remained quiet, she softly squeezed my shoulder. 

"You still think about your ex, don't you?" she asked quietly. I closed my eyes again for a brief moment, wishing she hadn't said that. I wanted a new life with Luke and forget all about my past. 

"Cyn." She held my face between her palms and made me look at her. "Memories aren't a bad thing. Just make sure you don't let them affect your present. You have a special thing here. Don't let anything ruin it." 

Despite myself, I found tears filling my eyes. I bit my lip to keep it from quivering, but Becky noticed. She put her arms around me in a comforting hug. I kept my head against her shoulder, the tears threatening to spill over. 

"I gather that you must have gone through traumatic things in the past," she said, her tone understanding. "Things that still hurt you and make you cry. It's crazy how much a man can make a woman suffer. If someday I get that son-of-a-bitch within my reach, I will teach him a lesson." 

I pulled away and swiped the edge of my eyes with a finger. Wiping the slick finger on my dress, I forced a smile. 

"You don't have to do anything," I said, gently patting her arm. "Life is often the biggest teacher." 

Once I had finished arranging the flowers in the small wicker basket, I took a final look at it. We got so many wedding orders that I had become adept at making even the most elaborate bouquets. Events like birthdays, baby showers, parties, and memorial services also brought in a major chunk of orders, and with Luke planning to give us a website, I hoped things would only get better. 

"Luke is going to make a website for the shop," I found it important to share the news with Becky. "We may soon have an online portal." 

"Oh my god!!" she screeched, recklessly grabbing my arms. "Really?" 

"Yes. He's going to talk to the designers and start working on it soon. I just have to provide him with the details." 

"I don't believe this," Becky pressed her hands to her cheeks in astonishment. "Luke is gifting you a website?" 

"Us." I corrected her, rising from the chair. "It's thoughtful, isn't it?" 

"It is!" she laughed. "Isn't it crazy we never thought of it? Just imagine the exposure we're going to get." 

"It was Luke's sister's idea," I explained. "He found it too good to discard. I told him we wouldn't need it, but he still insisted." 

"It's such a sweet gift!" She came up to me and propped her chin on my shoulder. "Hold on. Your small neighbourhood flower shop may not remain small anymore." 

We shared a laugh while working on the bunch of dahlias. My mind kept going back to Luke and I wondered what he was up to. I couldn't wait to finish at the flower mart and head home. I heard Becky sigh and turned my face. 

"What happened?" I asked. Becky shook her head. 

"I wish my man could pick such useful gifts," she rued. 

"Your man does pick some very useful gifts," I chuckled, referring to the vibrating thong he had once ordered for her online. Becky had been so overwhelmed when the surprise gift turned up at her door that she'd called me and screamed down the line. My ears still rang when I recalled that moment. For a long time after that, I hadn't been able to look at them together and not imagine the things they must have done with the gift. 

"Geez, I know what you mean." Giggling, she picked up a bucket of dahlias to make a bunch. "Allen can be really naughty. He's a beast in the bedroom." 

"The beast loves you like crazy," I pointed out. 

"Just the way Luke loves you," she retorted with a chuckle. 

"Only that you didn't take so long to realise your feelings." 

"Actually, I did. I mean I knew I have feelings for him, but it wasn't before three months that I realised he was the one." 

"And what clinched it?" 

"The fact that he didn't give up. You know I have a very strong personality and all the other guys before him were like, 'Ok, you're mad, I cannot put up with this.' Allen not only put up with it but also fought back. It was like a slap on my face, but I realised if he respected me enough to not walk away, then he was definitely for keeps." 

She laughed, flipping her hair around. "He sure deserves a medal for putting up with me. I'm sure there are times when he wonders who the hell let the Tasmanian devil loose in his house, but he's still here." She gave me a wink. "We might just tie the knot in a couple of years." 

I could relate to it. My love for Luke had only got deeper when he accepted me without judgements and I realised that I could be fearlessly and unabashedly open with him. He was such a gentle, caring man that it was hard to believe he could be an expert lover as well. But oh, he had definitely given me the best comeback sex I could ever imagine. 

The thought of last night made a strange tingling sensation run through my body. Thank goodness for the scarf around my neck or Becky would give me grief over the very visible marks Luke had kindly left me with. A smirk spread on my face as I dressed up the bunch of dahlias with nice foliage. I would pay him back with more marks tonight, in places he had no idea. 

"So what plans for tonight?" Becky asked, as if reading my thoughts. "More awesome sex?" 

"Luke said he wants to give me a surprise," I smiled, handing her the flowers. Then I leaned closer and whispered into her ear. "I have a surprise for him as well." 

Becky laughed, before holding me by the arms. "You know what?" she said, "Life is not what we see in the movies. Reality sweeps you off your feet with nobody to catch. Most of the times, it will make you fall for people you mustn't fall for. It will drag you, make you bleed, and hurt you in ways you never knew possible." 

She tied my loose scarf properly and smiled. "But the best kind of love is the one that completes you, makes you look forward to tomorrow without any fear, and heals all wounds... when you are ready to go through it all, just to wake up next to the person you love, to another beautiful morning, expecting nothing but a smile in return. That is what true love is all about― to make the ordinary seem extraordinary." 

I knew what she meant. What I felt for Luke was different from all other feelings. Consummating our relationship had only made me more unafraid and liberated. I felt like a new person. 

I hugged Becky, happiness flooding my heart. I couldn't thank the town and its people enough for the chance they had given me. After years of pain and guilt, I finally felt free. The town would be there for me, as would Luke. The love I had only dreamed of for so long was finally a reality in my life. And I was also happy to have helped Luke heal and move on with my love and companionship. 

Together, we were whole. 

"Cynthia, there's someone to see you," Leah called for my attention from the store front. 

"I'll be there," I answered, thinking someone needed a consultation for a special kind of arrangement. I left the flowers to Becky and walked out of the room, but there was no one there. 

"Who is it?" I asked her, looking around the shop. Leah pointed at the door, and I turned my gaze to find a raincoat-clad man standing right outside. When he removed his hood and looked at me, I felt my heart stop. For some unknown reason, I stared, unable to look away. And then realisation dawned on me, and fear gripped my being. The man took two steps inside the shop and made an attempt at a smile. 

I froze, my breath catching. 

"Sam?" 

(To be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 17



The recognition shook me to my bones. Sam was at my shop, water dripping from his raincoat. Except for the glasses, he hadn't changed much. Sure, his hair had thinned a bit and he had also lost weight, but there was no way I couldn't recognise him. I did a quick mental calculation, concluding that he was past forty now.

"Hi Cyn." His voice was soft, like it had always been. He smiled a weak smile, his eyes rarely moving anywhere from my face. My mind, in the throes of panic, could hardly think.

What is he doing here? What does he want?

"I came to talk to you," he said, hesitating. Then for a fleeting moment, he looked at Leah and Becky, who had come out of the back room. "Can I have a minute with you, alone?" he asked me.

That didn't sound good. What did he want to talk about after all had been said and done?

I looked over my shoulder to find Becky wearing a rather confused expression, a deep scowl on her brow. Leah, who was more easygoing, was attending to two customers. And then I returned my gaze to Sam.

Samuel Fischer. The man who had ceased to exist for me was suddenly standing there in my shop. Like a nasty blast from a past I wanted to forget.

"We're kind of busy here," I mentioned, glancing uneasily around the front of the shop. I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't want to relive the agony.

"Please." He took a step forward and I instinctively backed a little. "I won't take a lot of time."

Becky had been watching me and him rather suspiciously, and I found it better to go outside and talk to him, than stand there and be subjected to some intense scrutiny.

I excused myself for a while and he stepped outside when he saw me approaching the door. The sky was dark and the rain was moderate, making the day gloomy and depressing. We walked down the wet street in silence, me following him, until we reached a narrow strip of lane perpendicular to the main street.

"What are you doing here?" I finally asked, when we had entered the lane. The shade of the houses sheltered me from the rain to a great extent. "What do you want?" My tone was defensive, trying to show my displeasure.

"I had to see you." Sam glanced at the sky, like he was struggling for strength. "I needed to talk to you."

"How did you find out about me?" I frowned, crossing my arms against my chest.

"I came to know you had been in Birmingham the past weekend," he said. "I went to your mother's house, to seek information about you."

I closed my eyes and shook my head, realising the mistake I had made by giving mom my card.

"Weren't you in London?" I asked, looking at the vehicles and pedestrians passing me by, down the rain-soaked street.

"I went to Birmingham for you."

"What do you need me for, after all these years?" I threw up my hands, my voice rising. "You ruined me! Now what else do you want to snatch away?"

"Cyn—"

"Don't call me that!" I raised a hand in front of my face. "You lost the right to call me that the day you deserted me."

"Let me say, please," he insisted, coming closer to me. "At least, hear me out."

I fell silent and waited for him to speak. He took a deep breath, running a hand across his face.

"Your mother said you aren't aware of a lot of things," he began, his gaze fixed on the ground. I hated my mom for sharing my information with him. If she thought I was still in love with him, she couldn't be more mistaken.

"What things?" I snapped, crossing my arms again.

"Norma-Jean and I are divorced," he announced. The words made my jaw drop. Above us, the overcast sky rumbled, startling me.

He was divorced? But...

"I know what you must be thinking," he said, moving even closer and holding me by my arms. His touch softened me, yet I was trying to rein in the anger I suddenly felt. He had left his wife, but he wasn't with me. If he had got the divorce, why did he break up with me?

"I got the divorce last year," he added, staring at my face.

"But hadn't you...?" I couldn't complete the question. I just couldn't bring myself to uttering those words and pushing myself back to the times I had no intention of revisiting.

"Yes, I had," he nodded. "But once I came to know her lie, I filed for divorce again. She made it nasty and bitter, and it took more than two and a half years—"

"What lie?" I asked abruptly, knowing that the answer would shock and stun me but wanting to hear it at the same time. The masochist streak in me had suddenly taken over.

Sam remained silent, his face sad and pensive. I brushed his arms away and gripped the sleeves of his raincoat.

"Tell me." I breathed, shaking him slightly. "You came here to talk. Now spill it!"

"Kurt wasn't sick." His voice dropped sharply. When he lifted his gaze and looked into my eyes, I could see the sadness in them.

"Jean made up the whole thing just to make me leave you and stay with her," he added. "She had taken a couple of doctors at her clinic in confidence and used them to bring out fake medical reports."

My hands dropped from his sleeves and I took two steps back to hold the wall of a house for support. I felt like I had lost my voice. My knees felt weak, my hands were trembling. My heart was pounding so bad I feared it would burst out of my chest. It was then that I remembered that my mom had tried to tell me something when I visited her but I never heard.

"By the time I found out the truth, it was too late," he continued. "I tried to get in touch with you, but nobody knew where you were. I... I wanted to apologise, to make up for my mistakes."

Apologise? My life had been ruined because of a lie and he had come to apologise?!

"Cynthia..." he pulled me close to him, my body weak and limp. "I have no words to describe how sorry I am for what happened to you because of me... I left you and made you go through everything alone, when I should've supported you and stood by you..."

I closed my eyes, warm tears streaming down my cheeks. In my mind, I travelled back in time. Sam had broken up with me over a phone call. I had become pregnant. My mother had kicked me out of the house. I had been humiliated in front of everybody. I'd given up my ambitions and settled in a small town in order to go far away from my mistakes.

And after all those years, he had sprouted back in my life, only to tell me that he had believed a lie and shunned me from his life!

"Please forgive me," he said, raising his hand to caress my face. "There's still time. We can start over—"

"Start over?!" My voice was hoarse because of the tears but still surprisingly strong, given what I had just heard. "What do you want to start over?"

"I'm leaving for the US," he said. "I may never return to the UK. I want you to come with me. I know you gave up everything because of me and settled for this flower shop, but we can start afresh. You can go back to the corporate career you had dreamed of."

A wry laugh escaped my throat, and I moved away from him.

"Tempting me, Dr Fischer?" I asked, sniffing back the tears. "You think it's easy to convince me?"

"I still love you, Cynthia."

"I used to. And I had to go through terrible things because of that. I was insulted and looked down upon by everybody because I had slept with my cousin's husband. My mother disowned me and turned me out, not knowing that I was expectant and had nowhere to go—"

"Wait!" He interjected, perplexed. "What did you say? You were...."

"Expecting your child," I finished the sentence for him. Sam looked visibly shaken and astounded. With his mouth parted, he stared at me, tears filling his eyes. I had always known it would move him. But it was four years too late.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice unsteady.

"I tried," I shrugged. "But I couldn't reach you. You never answered my calls or messages after you broke up with me."

With an exasperated sigh, he shook his head, running a hand through his damp hair. He looked like he was sorry.

"You were pregnant with my baby?" he opened his eyes and looked at me. "And I could do nothing for you..."

"You wouldn't have needed to do anything," I said softly. "I had a miscarriage."

Sam gasped, his big eyes widening. He took off his glasses, lodged them in the pocket of his raincoat, and moved close to me again.

"I know I don't even deserve your forgiveness." His voice was throaty from the tears. "But can't I have one chance? The first thing that came to my mind when I learned my wife's lie was that I had to get you back. She used our little boy to play her nasty game, I wasn't going to carry on with the marriage any longer. But I couldn't get you back.... If only I had managed to get any information..."

"Sam." I put a hand on his chest to quieten him. "It was over a long time ago."

"Cyn..."

"I had wanted to meet you just once. Remember what you had said?"

"Cynthia-"

"That it's like stabbing the same wound over and over again. That someday it would make sense." I paused, filling my lungs with air. "It does make perfect sense now."

"Can't I—?"

"No."

I moved away, feeling slightly dizzy. "You had wanted me to be happy, hadn't you?" I said. "I'm happy here. This is my life now. I don't want to be anywhere else."

"I want you back—"

"It's too late now. You couldn't keep me when you had me. There's nothing to be done anymore."

"Cynthia." He tried to hug me, but I stepped back. I had no feelings for him. Not even the weakness I used to think I had. After that day, I wouldn't even think of him again.

"Go away," I told him. "Please leave me alone. My life is different now. There's no place for the past. I've moved on." I breathed in, trying to stop the trembling. "I'm happy. Just.... go away."

Without another word, I turned around, folding my arms around my body. The rain came down on me the moment I moved away from the shade of the houses but it didn't matter. I took a few steps, before stopping.

"I loved you, Sam." My voice broke and tears washed my face again as I looked over my shoulder. "But it turned out to be the biggest mistake of my life."

I picked up speed, and in a few seconds I was standing at the door of my shop. Becky, who had been pacing up and down inside the shop, rushed out on seeing me.

"Who was that?" she asked, holding me by my arms. I looked at the street and found Sam getting into a passing taxi. Becky followed my gaze, the scowl returning to her face. Then she looked at me again.

"Are you alright?" she asked, taking me inside. "Why are you crying? Who was—?"

She stopped, her eyes widening in realisation. "Was that your ex?" she asked me. The shop thankfully had no customers at the moment, allowing her to continue her interrogation. "Was it the...? I can't believe I got that son-of-a-bitch so close and yet..."

She looked out of the door again, to check if he was still there. "Damn!" she growled, slamming her fist on to her open palm.

"Becky, calm down." Leah left the counter and came up to us. "She doesn't look okay." Putting an arm around my shoulders, she took me to the nearest chair. Then she held my hands.

"Cynthia, what happened?" she asked, kneeling in front of me. "What did he say?"

I was in no position to speak. I had just heard the most shocking revelation from someone I'd never expected to see again and it made me feel sick. I felt like I'd throw up any moment. More than three and a half years ago, Sam had ruined my life in a very similar fashion, by breaking up with me on a moment's notice because his son was sick and he had to withdraw the divorce petition for his sake. Today when I had managed to pull myself back to my feet, he had come back to ruin me again.

He doesn't love me. He never loved me. It's Luke who loves me, and I love him back.

I wouldn't allow anyone to come between us.

I wiped off my tears, and straightened myself in the chair.

"What's the time?" I tried to behave normally. "I have to go to the flower market."

"You're not okay," Becky said, looking angry. "Clearly, that bastard must have said something terrible."

"You remain with her," Leah told her. "I'm going to the market."

"You have a fever," I said to her. "I can't let you go such a long distance in the rain."

"He must still be in the town," Becky wasn't letting this go. "I'm going to find him out and—"

"Becky."

Leah stood and glared at her. I remained silent, feeling too emotionally exhausted to fight Becky.

"Can we not talk of this now?" Leah asked her, crossing her arms against her chest. "The poor girl is already so shaken-"

"I'm fine," I cut in, taking off my glasses to wipe off the raindrops. "Leah, just get me my bag please. I should leave."

"Cynthia, let me go, please," she insisted. "You take rest."

"I cannot take rest." I rose from the chair, wearing my spectacles. "I need to be back early. Luke will be waiting for me."

"I'm driving you," Becky announced. "You cannot go in this condition."

"I said I'm fine. I can go."

"Cynthia," she glared.

"Look, I don't have time for this. I must hurry."

"Are you sure you can drive?" Becky finally asked, when I had got my bag on my shoulder. I nodded, putting on a brave face.

"I'll go straight home from the flower market," I told them. "So, close when you have to and leave. Okay?"

They nodded obediently. I gave Becky a quick hug and walked out of the shop, feeling the unsteadiness of my feet as I ran through the rain to my car. Once inside, I took a few deep breaths to gather myself. It was a special day. Luke would be waiting for me at home. For the first time, I had someone to return home to. I couldn't- wouldn't- let old things spoil the moment.

I fastened the seat belt and started the car, the raindrops splattering down on the windshield the moment I drove out. Turning on the wiper, I gripped the steering wheel firmly, keeping my eyes on the road. Traffic was heavy and slow because of the rain, and I tried to keep my head straight while negotiating vehicles. Everything would be alright once I went home to Luke. His arms had the power to squeeze out all my sorrows and pain and replace them with joy and peace. Maybe I'd even tell him...

Tell him what? That NJ had made up a lie to make me suffer? That Sam had suddenly returned to my life?

I broke into renewed tears when the thoughts ran through my head. Closing my eyes, I bowed my head and bit my lips, while my hands on the wheel became lighter. I felt like I had no strength left in me. After losing my all, I had picked up the pieces to begin life afresh in this small town. I had managed to establish a business of my own, made friends along the way, and also found love after years of loneliness. I loved my new life. I was happy.

But the things he had said played in my mind again. Sam had finally got freedom from his wife. He was leaving the country forever. And he wanted me back. I hadn't been able to forget him, and it gave me a strange sense of angst that he hadn't forgotten me either. But I couldn't take him back. I had freed my ghosts. There was no place for either him or any kind of bitterness in my heart.

I opened my eyes to meet a pair of garish headlights. With cloudy vision, I could make out a truck speeding my way. I panicked, desperate to avoid a collision. I turned the wheel, barely enough to let the truck pass without hitting my car. But I had forgotten that the street was wet, and the wheels skidded, making the car careen out of control. Before I knew it, I was hurtling towards the pines.

The field was slushy and I frantically turned the wheel. Nothing happened. The sound of my scream echoed through the air, followed by the sound of breaking glass and twisting metal. And then there was darkness.

***

Not for the first time, Luke smiled at the neatness of Cynthia's house. He had tried to guess the area of the house while he was parking his car in the garage. The total space, including the lawn and backyard, would be no more than 800 square feet. But it was arguably the neatest cottage he had ever seen. Despite being new and unfamiliar with the placement of things, he had little difficulty in finding the box of detergent, or the plates and cutlery, or the bottles of spices. His thoughts wandered while he put his clothes from last night in the washing machine right next to the bathroom. It was past way past noon, although the dark sky already made it seem like late evening. She was supposed to go to the flower market. Luke checked his watch again. She must be wading through the mud and the puddles, he thought, smiling again. Cynthia was a patient woman, hardworking and intuitive. He remembered the occasion when she had taken him to the flower market, swimming through the awful traffic and then navigating through the slush and crowd at the market. But he hadn't heard her grumble or complain. Perhaps it was her love for her shop, or her obsession with flowers, or her innate nature that made her take everything in her stride. He wondered if she ever got angry. She dealt with hundreds of different kinds of customers on a daily basis. She had to be patient and courteous if she had to run such a popular flower shop.

But at that moment, Luke missed her and wished she'd return home soon. He had already made preparations for dinner. The meat had been marinated, the box of cheese had been kept on the kitchen counter lest he forgot, and the vegetables were all set to be cut. He had also got a couple of scented candles from the store when he had gone out for a little trip around the place that morning after having coffee with Scott. The reason for his visit was no secret to Scott, who had seen him come out of Cynthia's house in a bathrobe, and then seen him kissing her. They had chatted for an hour or so, and Luke had realised that Scott had always known they were going to fall in love.

And boy, did he love that feeling. He felt alive after so long. He didn't remember the last he'd had a candlelit dinner. It seemed a nice way to surprise his newfound soulmate when she came home from work.

Putting in two spoons of detergent, he closed the lid of the washing machine and pressed the required buttons. He kept the box of detergent in its place and came to the living room, finding the morning paper on the sofa. He reclined against the cushions and picked up the newspaper, flipping through the pages without reading. His mind was somewhere else. He had called up Liam and apologised about his 'urgent' visit to Velmont Town without notice. His brother had been evidently concerned, but he had assured him that he'd explain everything once he returned tomorrow. He couldn't wait for his family to meet Cynthia. Megan had met and loved her. He was sure the rest of his family would also welcome her. After all, she was so lovable.

There was someone else too he needed to call. Keeping the paper away, he fished out his phone, searching the call list and hitting the green button.

"Aaron?" he spoke when the call connected. His former manager was delighted to hear from him, and it took him barely any time to figure out the reason for the call.

"Yes, you're right," Luke laughed, surprised how confident Aaron was about his response. "I think I'm going to take up the offer... Yes, I'm sure... Next week? Sure, I'll drop in.... It's great to be back... Yes, I'll let you know... See you, Aaron."

Luke laughed again once he ended the call. Aaron was a great guy with a strong business sense. He could take one look at someone and say if the person had it in him to survive in the music industry. The faith he had shown in him was amazing. He had reduced his passion to only a hobby, and Aaron would help him bring it back to the fore again.

It was all because of Cynthia, and the strength she had brought alive in him.

He swiped the screen of his phone again, finding her number. Feeling like an excited teenager with the number of his latest crush, he pressed the call button. It didn't connect. He tried again but was unable to reach her. Luke stared at the phone screen, frowning. Why couldn't he connect? Maybe she was driving, he reasoned. Maybe she was busy at the flower market. Or maybe there was a problem in network connection due to the bad weather.




Will Be Yours Ch. 17



Remembering what he had told her about the website that morning, Luke opened his contact list again. The advantage of working as a business consultant was the number of useful connections he had made over the years. He planned to take Cynthia to Birmingham for a meeting with the web designer. He could picture the website in his mind's eye. It would be stunning, sexy, and very, very attractive, just like Cynthia.

After exchanging a few texts with the best designer they had worked with, Luke put the phone back in his pocket, leaving the sofa to head into the kitchen. At one glance, anybody could tell that no man lived in that house. Things were organised and well kept, and he noticed it all the more in the kitchen. Most of the furniture in the house, except the bed and the sofa, looked previously owned. She still had a small box TV on top of the cabinet, which reminded him of the TV they used to have at his childhood home. At one point, they only had two channels. But then his dad brought home a satellite dish that somebody was throwing away. And suddenly, instead of two channels, there were 200 channels. He could get tons of American music channels- early hip hop, music television, stuff like that. They were also one of the first families to get a microwave oven around the same time, and it made him feel like the richest kid on earth. When in reality, they weren't rich all. They just got lucky sometimes.

Cynthia's house was like his childhood home. There were few modern conveniences, unlike his apartment that had a modular kitchen. Her kitchen had a few wooden shelves and racks on the wall, rows of drawers below the counter, a modest gas stove that was rusting near the edges, an old oven, and a small fridge. He had noticed the magnets on the fridge while taking out the cheese. She obviously loved fridge magnets. There were floral shapes, pictures of kittens, along with famous quotes. He recognised one of the quotes and also realised why she had stuck it at a place where she'd see it all the time.

'The winds that sometimes take something we love, are the same that bring us something we learn to love. Therefore we must not cry about something that was taken from us, but yes, love what we have been given. Because what is really ours is never gone forever.'

Bob Marley. Luke smiled while staring at the words. There couldn't be truer words to express what he had been feeling ever since he met Cynthia. Life had taken away Diana, but it had given him Cynthia— a woman who was extraordinary in her ordinariness.

In so many ways, Cynthia reminded him of his simple, fun-filled childhood days. The three room house where they lived as kids was hardly enough for nine people, but that never bothered them. He loved the fields where he learned to ride horses, the football grounds where he played his very first games, the movie theatres where he and friends would sneak in to watch 'grown-up' films. He also loved the lake, where he learned to fish and to swim. But most of all, he loved their no-frills, ordinary living. Their dad's stories, their mom's cooking, the protectiveness of the older siblings towards the younger ones, the love and togetherness in all that they did... everything was still so dear to him. They were still as close and tight knit, but he sure missed those days.

Cynthia, and this town, took him back to those gentler, kinder times. He was sure he'd have healed much earlier if he had come here years ago.

He took out the chopping board and began to peel and cut the vegetables. He knew Cynthia's love for roast duck, although she never openly admitted it because it reminded her of her mother. He also knew she'd love this innovative roast duck recipe that Diana had taught him. It was Diana's own recipe. Before that, he'd had no idea that cheese could go with roast.

He thought of Cynthia again. It was 2 p.m. Luke wondered if she was still at the flower market. She had said she'd come straight home from there. The slow roast would take at least an hour, so he decided to wait for some more time before putting the duck in the oven. Meanwhile, he planned to set the table.

Leaving the vegetables on the chopping board, Luke came out into the dining area. In the far end of the room, her cycle caught his attention. He used to have a cycle when he was a boy. It was red and yellow in colour, and had been gifted by his dad on his 8th birthday. He loved to ride it all over the neighbourhood and around town, and show off to his friends who weren't yet that lucky. He could buy another bicycle, and he and Cynthia could ride their bikes together through the town.

The scented candles were on the table, waiting to be fixed into the candle stand he had fetched from the cabinet in the living room. Clearing the fruit bowl, the salt and pepper tray, and the water bottles from the table, he put the candle stand in the centre and put in the two candles he had bought. He'd light them when she came home.

The washing machine pinged, and Luke headed in that direction to turn it off. Almost at the same time, he heard a car stopping in front of the house. Overjoyed that Cynthia was home so early, Luke rushed to the front door and opened it. He saw Scott running across the lawn up to him.

"You have to come with me," he said, looking worried.

"Where?" Luke asked, glancing inside the house. "I mean, Cynthia should be here in a little-"

"Luke." Scott grabbed his shoulders. "We have no time to waste. Come on."

Confused, Luke slowly turned and headed back inside the house, before grabbing his wallet and turning out the light.

"What's wrong?" he asked while locking the front door. Scott had reached his car by then and got behind the wheel. The heavy rain had turned to a very light drizzle, but the sky was still overcast. Luke got in next to Scott. Something did not seem right.

"Scott, will you tell me what happened?" he asked again, fastening his seat belt. "Where are we going?"

"You'll get to know in a while." Scott's reply was brusque, and he hardly looked anywhere except the road ahead. He drove through the heavy and slow traffic, occasionally cursing when he couldn't go faster, while Luke leaned back in the seat, unable to help the little worry growing inside him. When Scott's phone rang, he turned to look at him, trying to understand what was going on.

"Hi mom," he spoke down the line, without taking his eyes off the road. "Yes, you heard that right... I'm not sure. We're on our way. I've instructed the car to drop the boys at your place.... No, you don't have to come. Just feed the boys, it will be enough...."

Luke saw Scott pause and his face sadden for a moment. "Thanks, mom," he finally said, "I'll get in touch later."

"Scott," Luke said softly, visibly afraid now. "Is everything okay?"

Scott didn't reply. He slowed down, took a left turn, and halted as they approached a blue and white building. It looked like a hospital.

"Is the A&E department this way?" Scott asked one of the guards at the main gate. The guard nodded and Scott rounded the building, before stopping in front of a flight of staircase leading up to a glass door. There were nurses and other medical staff inside.

"What are we doing here?" Luke's anxiety was at its peak now. "What happened, Scott?"

Scott let go off the wheel and unfastened his seat belt.

"I got a call from the hospital sometime ago," he finally said. Then he lifted his face and looked him in the eye. "Cynthia has met with an accident."

---

Luke followed Scott inside the hospital, feeling too numb. He wasn't sure he was seeing or hearing anymore. His hands were cold, and his steps were unsteady as he walked behind Scott like an automaton. Scott's words still hadn't registered. Cynthia had made love to him that morning. They had showered and eaten breakfast together. She was supposed to return early and then they would enjoy a romantic dinner. No, there was some mistake there. It couldn't be Cynthia.

Somewhere along the corridor, they met a nurse, and Scott asked about Cynthia. The nurse nodded in comprehension, crushing the hope Luke had been holding on to. She took them through a number of passages, until they met a doctor.

"Hi Scott." The doctor sounded grave when he saw them approaching. He was tall, possibly middle-aged, with greying hair at the temples. He seemed to know Scott, but then, everybody in the town knew him.

"Dr Baker, I got a call from here about Cynthia," Scott asked at once. "What happened?"

"Yes. Cynthia." The doctor's reply was grim. "It was a terrible accident. The car probably skidded down the road, hit a tree, and upturned. The rescue team had to cut open the car to be able to reach her."

Luke didn't want to believe he was hearing that. He hoped it was just a nightmare he'd wake up from.

"Oh god." Scott tipped his back, his eyes closed. Then he looked at the doctor again. "Is she conscious?"

Dr Baker's lips were a straight line as he shook his head. "No, she hasn't shown any sign of consciousness as yet. We've kept her in the Critical Care Unit, under observation. She's got a broken leg, several open gashes—"

"Can I see her?" Luke was surprised to have managed to form a coherent sentence. The doctor looked at him for the first time, rejection on his face.

"No," he shook his head again. "We don't allow anybody in at this stage."

"Please." Luke's voice choked even as he fisted his hands by his sides to hold back some of the fast-diminishing control. "Just once... I want to... see her... please."

"He's Luke Harris." Scott told the doctor. "Her boyfriend."

Dr Baker's gaze softened and he nodded with a smile.

"Come with me," he said, and Luke followed him. The doctor led him through a door, and pointed to a small, glass window in the distance.

"We cannot allow you to go in," he said, "You can see her through the window." He gently patted him on the shoulder. "We know it can be shocking, but remember you have to be strong. Go ahead, I'm right here."

Luke gulped slowly, willing his legs to move. Suddenly everything was moving in slow motion. Luke walked closer to the glass window. Each of his steps seemed to last an eternity, each of his heartbeats making him tremble. The sound of his shoes filled in his ears. He leaned, taking his face near the glass window. And then he jumped back, covering his mouth with his hands, eyes wide in horror.

(To be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 18



Note: Sorry for this 'depressing shit', as someone commented on the last chapter. *giggles* Life is so depressingly shitty sometimes. This is just a slice of it. Tough times build character, remember? ;) Thank you and keep reading! 

***** 

There are moments in life when words are rendered impossible. Glimpsing Cynthia through the small window in the CCU was one such moment for Luke. Shock, horror, and disbelief turmoiled inside him even as he wondered if everything happening at the moment was true or just his imagination. 

Cynthia. The woman he loved now lay in a small, glass cabin, covered in wounds. Several pipes, tubes, and other pieces of medical equipment were attached to various parts of her small, thin, pale body and connected to blinking machines and monitors. Luke didn't recognise most of the equipment, except the ventilator and the saline drip. Her face was barely visible through the window, but he could see the thick dressing on her arm and the bandage around her right hand. Broken pieces of glass had pierced her flesh in various parts, requiring surgical procedures to remove them. She had also lost a lot of blood from the gash on her arm. 

By late evening, Carrie, Becky, and Leah had arrived. Carrie was still in a state of shock, and Becky was devastated. Leah was still holding on. The police had been there some time back, reconstructing the accident. Luke had distanced himself from the conversation, not willing to hear the details. Instead, he had remained seated on the bench outside the CCU, staring blankly at the ceiling and occasionally rising to have a glimpse at her. 

She was barely distinguishable from the white sheets of the bed. From a distance, she looked like a cluster of pipes and tubes wrapped with bandages. Diana hadn't gone through all that. She'd been declared brought dead at the hospital. In so many ways, Luke now found it better and easier than having to see someone in that mutilated condition, struggling for life. 

But she is alive. 

There's time. There's hope. 

But her critical condition worried Luke. Cynthia hadn't woken up nor shown any movement. And when Dr Baker, the trauma surgeon, took him and Scott to his room to discuss something, he feared the worst. 

"Okay, so there are a few things you must know," he began, joining his palms on the table. Luke and Scott sat in the chairs facing him, waiting for him to continue. 

"The fracture on her right fibula wasn't as bad as we'd thought it to be," he said, "We've repaired it with a minor surgery, and the cast will take care of the rest. As you can see, she has suffered very severe external injuries, and has also lost a lot of blood. But that isn't what we're worried about." 

Luke frowned and exchanged a glance with Scott. 

"Then what are you worried about?" Scott asked. 

Dr Baker sighed. "She has suffered a traumatic brain injury." He turned his computer monitor towards them. A scanned image of Cynthia's brain was before their eyes. Dr Baker pointed to certain parts of the image. 

"It's called a closed head injury," he added. "The bleeding has been internal, resulting in a clot under the bone." 

He paused, gauging their expressions. Luke's hands were trembling under the table and he clasped them together. 

"W-What must be done now?" he stuttered, his throat feeling dry. 

"A neurosurgical procedure to remove the clot is the only option," the doctor explained. "Otherwise, the clot may displace the brain to the other side of the skull." 

Luke felt the words jolting his body. He didn't know what a displaced brain was. And he didn't want to know either. He wanted Cynthia to be alright, and he'd go to any extent to make sure of that. 

"So why are you still waiting?" Scott asked, "Why don't you perform the surgery?" 

"We cannot." The doctor's reply surprised Luke. What did he mean they couldn't perform the surgery? 

"This is a small hospital with a small team," he added. "Only an expert neurosurgeon can perform this life saving surgery, but we don't have such a surgeon among us." 

"Is this a joke?" Luke left his chair, agitated beyond words. "A patient is battling for life, and you say you don't have the ability to save her? You're a doctor!" 

"Luke." Scott rushed to him, trying to calm him down. "We can sit down and talk about it." 

"Sit and talk?!" Luke screeched. "She'll be dead by then!" 

"Luke!" 

Scott grabbed his arms and shook him vigorously. Luke bowed his head, realising what he had just said. 

"I'm sorry." He looked away and mumbled. Scott let go of his arms and looked at Dr Baker. 

"Just give us a minute, please," he said to him. Dr Baker nodded sympathetically. Scott guided Luke out of the room, before giving him another shake. 

"Think positive," he told him firmly. "Cynthia is going to be okay. Nothing will happen to her. Do you understand?" 

Luke nodded, leaning against the wall to regain composure. The hospital was indeed small. It was a town, not a city. Not many expert surgeons were usually available at such places. 

"We can shift her to Birmingham, can't we?" he asked Scott, dropping his head back. 

"We can, but will she be able to make the journey?" Scott reasoned. Luke hadn't thought about that. In the distance, he could hear Becky crying, and Carrie trying to comfort her. 

"It's all my fault," he heard her say. "I shouldn't have allowed her to go. She was in no position to drive." 

Something snapped inside Luke and he walked over to Becky. She had always appeared to be a very strong, level-headed woman. He'd never imagined she could cry. 

"Why wasn't she in a position to drive?" he sat beside her and asked. "What had happened?" 

When Becky didn't reply, Luke felt the hair on his arms standing on their ends. Something must have happened at the shop. But what? 

"Becky," he repeated. "Tell me, please." 

"She was very upset," she said hesitantly. "Someone had come to see her, and she was absolutely shaken after meeting him." 

"Him?" This time it was Scott. "Who was it?" 

"She called him Sam," she said. Luke's eyes darted at Scott, who looked equally shocked. Cynthia's ex had come to meet her? What for? And what had he said that made her upset? 

"Oh my god." Carrie looked more horrified than she already was. "What does he want?" 

"I can't believe he came all the way here," Scott exclaimed. "He's such a—" 

"There are more important things right now." Luke got to his feet and faced Scott. He had no desire to waste his thoughts or energy on unimportant things. Cynthia needed him. He had to take care of her, help her get back to life. 

"What are we going to do about her surgery?" he asked, his face incredibly serious. 

"This isn't a decision I can make alone," Scott announced. 

"What surgery?" Carrie asked. With every word, she was turning more anxious, more afraid. Luke had always found Scott and Carrie very similar in the way they remained calm and collected during emergencies. She was a former Army wife, after all. This time, however, while Scott had managed to remain brave, Carrie had cracked. He didn't blame her, though. He himself was finding it extremely hard to keep himself together when every part of him was breaking loose. 

Scott quickly told them what Dr Baker had just shared about Cynthia's condition. While Carrie and Leah looked concerned, Becky was plain angry. 

"I'm responsible for all this." She muttered under her breath. "I hate myself as much as I hate that wretched ex of hers." 

"Becky..." Leah shook her head, frustrated at being unable to get her to calm down. Then she walked over to the bench and sat beside her. 

"You decide what you want more," she told her. "Spend your energy on being angry or being there for Cynthia. Does that bastard deserve your attention more than your friend?" 

"Friend?" Becky sniffed back her tears, fishing out another tissue from her bag. "She's the closest thing to a sister I've ever had. And she is here, in this condition, because of that man." She dropped her head back against the wall. "And because of me. I'm responsible for this. I shouldn't have let her go." 

"I'm the one who offered to go to the market, remember?" Leah reminded her. "You offered to drive her. But she didn't listen to us. You know how adamant she can be. Stop blaming yourself." 

"Did you decide anything?" Dr Baker had come out of his room upon hearing all the crying and the heated discussions. He was a soft-spoken, bespectacled man, with a smiling face. One look at him, and Luke regretted his earlier outburst. He was trying to help. There was only so much he could do being a small town doctor. 

"What kind of surgeries do you have here?" Luke asked, more in control of his emotions this time. 

"This is a general hospital," he said. "We perform all kinds of surgeries, except serious cardiac and neurological cases. We have a small staff, so for complicated cases, we either bring in surgeons or ask family members to shift the patient to London or Birmingham for further treatment." He paused and looked at each of the people present there. "We give references and also make necessary arrangements if the patient is in a condition to be moved." 

"Is Cynthia in a condition to be moved?" Luke asked. 

The doctor's face turned grim for a brief instance. "No," he shook his head. 

"Do you have the necessary equipment and infrastructure for the kind of surgery she needs?" 

"Yes, absolutely." 

"Can her surgery be performed here if a neurosurgeon is brought in?" 

"Yes." 

Luke closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled sharply. There was hope. All he needed was strength. He loved Cynthia. Love would provide him with strength. 

"By when should the surgery be performed?" he asked, staring at the clean, marble floor of the passageway. 

"Within 48 hours." Dr Baker checked his watch. "She was brought in at two this afternoon. So—" 

"If I bring in my own surgeon, will that be okay?" Luke broke in. 

"Yes. We have the support staff." 

Luke nodded, lifting his face to look at Scott. Then he looked at the doctor again. 

"Could you please give me the details of her condition?" he asked him softly. "What is wrong exactly, what needs to be done... you know what I mean?" 

The doctor nodded with a smile. "Sure, I'll get it done," he said. When he had gone, Scott came forward. 

"What exactly do you intend to do?" he asked, visibly confused. "Where is a neurosurgeon going to come from?" 

"I have someone." Luke dropped his head back, feeling unbearably tired but refusing to admit it. He needed to be strong. He needed to use his energy wisely so that Cynthia could come back to him, where she belonged. 

"You do?" Scott raised both eyebrows. "Who?" 

Luke leaned against the wall and closed his eyes again. "I know the perfect person." 

"Listen to me," Carrie spoke up from a corner of the passageway. "Go home. You have been here for a long time." 

"I don't want to go." Luke really didn't. He couldn't be at peace anywhere else when he knew Cynthia was struggling for life in a glass cabin here. 

"We are here." She came forward and put a hand on his shoulder. "You and Scott go home and freshen up. Come back later." 

"Allen is going to be here in a while," Becky said. "And we'll let you know if anything is needed." 

"I think they are right." Scott nodded, checking the time. "It's late and I need to pick up the boys. Come on, Luke. Let's go together." 

"I don't want to go," he repeated. 

"Luke." Scott put a compassionate hand on his arm. "We'll freshen up and come back. We'll relieve the girls and stay the night here. Just a couple of hours, come on." 

Although unwilling, Luke finally relented, aware that he needed a shower and a few moments alone. Luke remained silent through the journey in Scott's car, looking away from Jake and Josh, afraid of being asked anything about Cynthia. He later realised that they didn't know anything. Scott would probably tell them once they got home. He wondered how they would react. They were close to Cynthia. Would they be sad? Would they be afraid? Would they cry? Would they understand at all what was happening? Or would they manage to remain hopeful and strong even when things looked bleak? 

When the thing was, he needed strength more than anybody else. And the realisation hit him anew when he entered Cynthia's house, feeling like a different man. Standing at the door, he turned on a dim light. As the living room came into view, Luke felt the lump in his throat. The scented candles wouldn't be lit. The roast wouldn't be made. The night he had planned for them wouldn't come true. 

Don't give up, a little voice whispered inside him. It sounded like Diana. 

"I won't." he murmured, his vocal chords barely functioning. But he knew he wasn't a strong man. He did give up easily. Had that not been the case, he would've never thought of ending his life all those years ago. He wouldn't have retreated from the world. He wouldn't have closed himself to love for so long. 

But this time, he would be strong. He had to. He had lost Diana. He couldn't afford to go through the same thing again. 

And there was one man who could help him. 

He sank into the sofa and fished out his phone from his pocket. Scrolling through the contact list, he came upon the number he was looking for. It was late, but doctors stayed awake for a long time. His presumption turned out correct when the call connected after two rings. 

"Luke! What a surprise! How are you, sonny boy?" 

Luke squeezed his eyes shut and bit his quivering lip. Dave was a fun man despite being a surgeon. That was one of the most important reasons why he got along so well with his parents. But Luke was having a hard time keeping his emotions in check. 

"Luke?" The husky voice came again. "Can you hear me?" 

"I need your help." Luke bit his knuckles to rein in the sob rising up his throat. He had never begged for anything, to anybody. But for Cynthia, he would do everything. 

"What help?" he asked, his voice heavy with concern. "What has happened?" 

"I need you to come to Velmont Town," he said. "In the shortest possible time." 

Luke didn't bother asking about his schedule or his other commitments. Dave was family. Had things been perfect, he'd be his father. Diana and he may have not married, but that didn't make Dave any less of a father to him. There were no formalities involved when speaking to your dad. 

"Velmont Town?" surprise had joined the concern in Dave's voice now. "The hill station?" 

"Yes." 

"But why?" 

"There's an emergency," his voice broke as he tried to form a sentence. He bit his knuckle again, to keep the tears at bay. 

"But what are you doing there?" Dave asked. Luke shook his head, not finding enough strength to explain the whole thing. 

"Luke?" he repeated, his voice gentle. "Tell me what's wrong. Are you alright?" 

"No." He took his finger out of mouth and covered his face with his hand. "Only you can help me." 

He breathed in, gathering his thoughts. "I was visiting a friend here," he said. "And that friend met with an accident this afternoon." 

The image of Cynthia lying in the CCU came back to his mind, and he instantly opened his eyes in order to fend off the disturbing memory. 

"The hospital doesn't have the kind of surgeon required for the live-saving brain surgery," he added. "And it has to be done in less than forty-eight hours." 

"Is there a haemorrhage?" Dave inquired. 

"Yes, but internal. And that's resulted in a major clot below the skull. They called it a..." 

Luke tried to remember the term Dr Baker had used to describe the clot, but could not. 

"Hematoma?" Dave filled in. Luke sank back in the sofa, knowing he was in good company. 

"Yes." Luke rested his head against the back of the sofa. "Please help me, Dave." 

He heard Dave sigh. It wasn't a good sign, since he could already feel the hesitation. Dave was his only hope. Without his help, Cynthia wouldn't live. 

"Luke," Dave spoke slowly. "I haven't performed a major surgery in many years." 

He was aware of that. Since Diana's death, Dave had gone more into teaching and writing, and drastically moved away from practising medicine. But that didn't diminish the fact that he was one of the most prominent neurosurgeons in the country. He had saved countless lives through the years, and proved his skill and precision every time. Cynthia needed a miracle, and Dave was the only person to deliver it. 

"Please don't turn me down," the tears made their way down his cheeks. "She is critical. If she doesn't have the surgery done-" 

"She?" 

"Yes. Cynthia." 

A few seconds passed in an awkward silence. Luke hadn't realised that the name would strike a chord with Dave, but it did. Luke knew he was affected, because when he spoke, his tone wasn't hesitant anymore. 

"Cynthia?" he asked, his voice slightly shaky. 

"Cynthia Adamson." Luke wiped his tears off and sat straight. "She is severely wounded, unconscious, and unable to breathe on her own. She needs help immediately." 

Fresh tears sprouted in his eyes as he leaned forward in the sofa, resting his elbows on his legs. "I couldn't do anything to help Diana," the words came out brokenly. "I just want to make sure Cynthia finds help so that she doesn't suffer the same fate as Di." 

Dave remained lost in contemplation for a little while, and Luke prayed he'd agree. Dave was a kind man, not someone who turned down patients. Yes, he hadn't performed a major surgery in a long time, but he was pretty sure he'd handled a lot of cases like Cynthia's. 

"Which hospital is this?" he finally asked, making relief wash over Luke. 

"Velmont Town General Hospital. Have you been here before?" 

"No, although I have treated patients referred to Birmingham from the hospital." 

He paused, pushing back the worry in Luke. But his next words made him certain that he'd agree. 

"Do you have the details of the case with you?" he asked, "I just need a brief summary of what is wrong." 

"I do." He searched his pockets and found the paper where Dr Baker had written down the details. Luke read the contents of the paper to Dave, who listened intently, as if taking notes. When he finished reading, Dave remained silent for some time again. 

"This is on me," Luke said, breathing hard. "I'm going to pay for all kinds of treatment she that she needs. But I want her to be alright. That's all that I ask in return." 

"I cannot say anything until I see the patient," the doctor in Dave took over. "How long it takes to get there from Birmingham?" 

"About five hours by road, if traffic is light. It takes about an hour by air." 

"Great. I'll be there early tomorrow. Meanwhile, do you think you can make me speak to the team at the hospital?" 

Luke couldn't believe his ears. Dr Dave Nesbrit had just agreed to come over to Velmont Town and operate on Cynthia. He looked at the ceiling and exhaled deeply, not sure if he had actually managed to pull off the feat. 

"I'm returning to the hospital in a while," he finally said. "I can make you talk to them." 

"Do you have their number? I can call them." 

Luke's eyes widened. "You'd do that?" 

"Why not?" Dave smiled. "You sound really tired. Give me the number. I'll talk to them." 

Luke opened the folded paper again, and rattled off the number on the letterhead, along with the address. 

"I'll come to receive you tomorrow," Luke said. 

"That isn't necessary. I'll meet you at the hospital. I'm talking to her doctor and making arrangements." 

Luke pursed his lips, the tears threatening again. "I cannot thank you enough," he murmured, his voice trembling. 

"You don't have to," Dave laughed. "Just because we have different surnames doesn't mean you're not a son to me." He sighed deeply. "Diana maybe gone, but our relationship is forever. I don't know the patient, but I'll do it because you love her." 




Will Be Yours Ch. 18



After Luke ended the call with Dave, he took out his clothes from the dryer, and then took a shower. In less than a day, his new sense of completion had been replaced by the sense of déjà vu. There was only one difference- Diana had been dead by the time she was reached to hospital. Cynthia was still alive, still fighting. Although the only thing that indicated she was alive were the blinking lights and monitors. 

When he walked out to the front porch in a fresh pair of clothes, he heard Scott and Jake having a bit of an altercation. He could make out some of the words, letting him comprehend the topic of argument. Jake wanted to be at the hospital the next day, but Scott was adamant about sending them to school. The rain had stopped and there were patches of clouds drifting across the sky. Luke sat on the steps, recalling the times he and Cynthia had spent there. He remembered the sound of her laughter as it echoed through the lawn, the way his heart pounded when she gracefully moved around the house, the moist imprint on his cheek when she kissed him goodnight. He missed her gentle voice when she told him about the town and its little known facts. He missed the hot chocolate made by her, and the way they had a marshmallow fight on her backyard. He missed her touch, and the things it did to him. 

It wasn't only him. Without her, the plants and flowers looked lonesome and the house seemed empty. Even the frogs were silent, as if in mourning. 

He looked up at the sky, finding a few stars peeking from behind the clouds. He recalled the night of Cynthia's sister's wedding, how he had enjoyed the quietness and solitude of the banquet garden in her company. They had also shared their first kiss there, under the starlit sky, a moment that would be etched in his memory forever. Almost involuntarily he raised a finger, trying to connect the dots in the sky, just like Cynthia had done that night. He couldn't figure out any of the stars. But the tears trickling past his temples didn't go unnoticed. 

"You will be alright, sweetheart." He whispered, staring at the sky. "Just hang in there. Please don't give up." 

The altercation next door had stopped. Luke saw Scott leaving his house, and he quickly wiped off his tears, because he was heading that way. 

"Hey." He smiled at him, as he opened the gate and stepped on to the lawn. He jogged over to him and took a seat on the steps. "You okay?" he asked. 

Luke shook his head honestly. He was far from okay. 

"You're sending the boys to school tomorrow?" he asked him. 

"Yeah. They will be scarred for life if they see Cynthia in this condition." He glanced at him. "They can visit her when she becomes better. Speaking of which— what about the surgeon you were talking about?" 

"I've spoken to Dave. He's arriving early tomorrow," Luke said, turning his face to look at him. "Dave is Diana's dad." 

Scott's eyes widened in recollection when he heard the news. He had never met Dave, but had heard a lot about him. Luke was sure everybody in the country had heard about him. 

"Oh yeah. I hadn't thought about him." Scott smiled at him, probably the first time since that afternoon. Then his face turned sympathetic. "I know how this must be for you," he said. 

Luke nodded. "Cynthia is very similar to Diana in many ways," he croaked, his gaze on his shoes. "But I never thought the similarities would extend so much..." 

He lifted his eyes and gave Scott a dry smile. "I'm so unlucky," he said, his eyes welling up. "Every woman I love—" 

"Luke, haven't I asked you to think positive?" Scott slipped an arm around him. "This isn't easy for me either. I'm the one who brought her here. I was supposed to take care of her." 

He moved his arm away and sighed. "But I failed." 

"You couldn't have stopped this from happening," Luke pointed out. 

"I can say the same thing to you," Scott replied with a smile. 

"Do you think we should inform her mom?" he asked. 

"I don't know." Scott shrugged, looking in the direction of his house. "The last time she was in hospital, I'd called her up, and even gone to meet her in person. But I hadn't been able to make her understand that her daughter should be more important to her than her mistakes." He sighed again, bowing his head. "She had slammed the door on my face." 

"From what I saw of her, I think she has softened." Luke's heart ached when he thought of the past weekend. If only he had known the future, he wouldn't have allowed her to go that morning. 

"Maybe. But Cynthia has us. She doesn't need her." 

Scott remained silent for a few minutes, lost in thought. When he spoke, his voice was sad. "When I received the call from the hospital this afternoon, it reminded me of the time when I had received a similar call three-and-a-half years ago. I had reached the hospital to be told that she had fallen down the staircase and had a miscarriage. She also had a broken rib and a grave wound on her head. And she had no friend, no family, absolutely no one beside her but me." 

He opened the Velcro strap of his waterproof shoe and took his foot out. "I never knew how much she means to me until today," he said wistfully. "It's like a member of my home is missing without her." 

Scott looked at him and smiled. "You've been such a help. If you hadn't known Dave..." 

"I need your help," Luke said. "I cannot do this alone." 

"We're right here with you. But Cynthia needs you the most." 

"I'll do everything I can," Luke's voice was hoarse from the tears. "I only hope and pray that she'll be fine." 

"She will." Scott tapped his knee. "She's a fighter. She's survived so much. With you by her side, she'll be absolutely alright." 

Luke stared at the sky, his eyes closing in silent prayer. He wished tomorrow would come sooner. And he also wished Cynthia would be strong enough to pull through. 

-- 

The quietness of the hospital passageway was broken by the sound of footsteps very early the next morning. Even without opening his eyes, Luke could tell it was the nurse caring for Cynthia. She came around every few minutes, either to hook up a new IV, or to change the saline drip, or just to check on her. But the sound of the footsteps, instead of passing him by, stopped near the bench. 

"Mr Harris," she spoke softly, obviously not intending to disturb him in case he had dozed off. But he hadn't. He was only trying to calm the storm inside him. 

He and Scott had returned to the hospital last night and made Carrie, Leah, Becky, and her boyfriend Allen go home. Throughout the night, they had hoped for some progress, some movement, some sign that she was waking up. But there had been no such thing. Instead, her brain oxygen level had plunged some time very late in the night, prompting the doctors to adjust the amount of oxygen being administered to her. For those minutes, as Luke helplessly watched from outside, he'd found every ounce of strength leaving his being. Soon after that, he was puking in the hospital washroom, even as he reminded himself that he'd been through it before and survived. And with every fibre of his body, he had to make sure that he survived this time too.  

Luke opened his eyes and looked sleepily at the nurse standing next to him. 

"Dr Nesbrit has arrived," she informed him with a smile. Luke's eyes opened wide, and he sprang up from the bench. 

"W-When?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. "Where is he?" 

"In Dr Baker's room. He's asking for you." 

Taking a look at Cynthia through the window, Luke turned and followed the nurse down the corridor. Patients were being wheeled in, frantic friends and family members were either waiting or speaking to the staff, and nurses and ward boys were busy tending to patients. Since the past day, these sights had become familiar to Luke, as had the typical smell of a hospital, which he used to find sickening. When they reached Dr Baker's room, he saw Dave having a discussion with the rest of the team. He had already had a phone conversation with the staff last night, and Dr Baker had explained everything to them. Scott had signed on the bond, since it was a high-risk surgery. There was another man accompanying Dave who Luke didn't recognise. 

"Oh. Luke." Dave smiled on seeing him. He then left his chair and came over to give him a hug. Luke needed that. He'd wondered through the night it would be right to ring up his parents and talk to them. But they had no clue that he was in Velmont Town, or that he had fallen in love again, or that he was set to lose the woman he loved even before they had begun their journey. Since he didn't feel strong enough for long explanations, calling up his parents was out of question. He had then toyed with the idea of calling Megan or Paul, but they had small kids who kept them on their toes all day. Luke had backed out of calling them too, because they needed their night's rest. 

When he felt Dave's fatherly arms around him, he realised all over again how much he needed that assurance. 

"You came?" he asked, relieved beyond words. 

"Yes. What did you think?" 

Luke shook his head, mentally chiding himself for having doubted Dave. 

"Listen, we have made all arrangements," Dave told him with a smile. "I studied her case and the possible risks and complications, and I'm happy to say that we're having the surgery in a couple of hours." 

Luke felt his heavy heart lighten slightly at those words. Dave had not only arrived to the town after only one phone call from him, but had also got down to work without wasting time. He couldn't describe how thankful he was to have had someone like Diana in his life, and that she had a dad like Dave. 

"But before you prepare her for the surgery," Dave looked over his shoulder and said to the others in the room. "I want to see the patient." 

"Sure," Dr Baker was forthcoming with his help and assistance. "Please come with me." 

Dave instructed the other man to accompany him, as he walked out of the room. Luke watched him talking to Dr Baker while they headed for the CCU, unable to help thinking that Dave was very fit and strong for a 70 year old. He was tall and lean, with blue eyes like Diana's and a bald patch on the back of his head. He also had a very energetic gait, indicating his vigour and vitality at that age. When Diana died, Dave had remained stronger than his wife Daphne. He had cried and mourned, but he'd also managed to be steady enough to take care of things. Being a surgeon made the man mentally tougher than anyone else Luke knew. 

Dr Baker guided Dave inside the CCU, while the other man waited outside. Luke stood at some distance, from where he could see the two doctors exchanging a few words. Scott had gone home for a little while, and Leah and Becky were supposed to arrive in a few minutes. The girls had decided to keep the shop closed for a few days, until at least Cynthia showed any improvement. 

Dave and Dr Baker exited the cabin shortly, and at the same time he saw Scott approaching them. He nearly sprinted to where Luke was standing when he noticed Dave. 

"We'll begin the surgery sharp at 8 a.m." Dave checked his watch, before looking at Luke and Scott. "They'll take about an hour to prep her." 

"How long will it take?" Scott asked. 

"It should be done within four hours, but it may take a little longer, depending upon what procedures we need to apply." He looked at the man he had brought along. "He is Dr Murray, a neuro-intensivist. When I spoke to the team last night, I learned that they don't have a neuro-intensivist to oversee her care. So I found it wise to bring him along. He's worked with me for many years." 

Dr Murray offered them a smile and shook hands. Luke felt his throat dry at the thought of the surgery. As much as she needed it, he also knew that the chances of success and recovery varied from patient to patient. 

"Will she be alright?" he asked, blinking back his tears. Dave smiled wryly. 

"That's a million dollar question, my boy," he patted his back with a sigh. "She's so young. It breaks my heart to see her like this. She also looks very frail. But people who look frail and delicate are often stronger." 

He looked at him and Scott in turn. "There's something I want to tell you," he said, lodging his hands in the pockets of his trousers. "A craniotomy on a patient like this is quite a gamble. We cannot say anything for sure until the patient shows signs of recovery. As her near ones, you have to remain strong and hope for the best." 

He patted Luke's cheek. "Take care of yourself," he smiled. "She needs you." 

Dave started to walk away, but stopped and came back when he remembered something. 

"She'll need blood transfusion during the surgery," he told them. "Is any of you B positive?" 

"B positive?" Luke was unable to hold back his surprise. 

"Yes. I checked her test reports. Her blood group is B positive." 

"I am." Luke breathed, feeling pumped up for some reason. "I can give my blood." 

Dave smiled, while Scott looked on, visibly relieved. 

"Come with me." A nurse said to him after being instructed by Dr Baker. 

Scott gave him a pat on his back as he proceeded to follow her, while Dave, Dr Murray, and Dr Baker went in another direction. For the next few minutes, while Cynthia was prepared for the surgery, Luke lay on a bed in another room, an IV injected into his arm and connected to a blood bag. He heard Dr Baker instructing the person attending to him that the blood would undergo a quick examination before being used for transfusion. 

Luke closed his eyes, trying to be brave. He saw her there, in his mind. Her long black hair that reached till her lower back. He recalled every detail, how her large expressive eyes sparkled when she smiled, the way the right side of her lips went up in a quiet half-smile when she was naughty. The look on her face when they made love, the way she squirmed and laughed when he tickled her sensitive navel. 

He tried to remind himself that Cynthia was a strong woman. She had lost her family, her baby, her ambitions. She had gone through terrible things. But she hadn't given up. Deep inside, he wanted to believe she would prove her strength this time as well. He wanted to believe that she'd wake up soon and be in his arms again, kissing away the emptiness from his chest. 

"You're lucky." The attendant taking off his IV said to him. Luke hadn't realised it was done. He'd been too engrossed in his own thoughts to notice the pain of the needle or the sharp pull in his vein. When he looked at him, he continued. "My wife is crazy about her flowers. She gets a different bunch every day from her shop when she's out for her jogs in the morning." 

As his gloved hands taped the blood bag and safely discarded the syringe, Luke watched him smile. 

"When my wife was having a complicated pregnancy last year," he said. "I had gone to pick up a bouquet for her before visiting her at the hospital. Cynthia had made a special arrangement, complete with a handmade card. Our son was born the next day, and she was here with a bunch of peonies. My wife literally cried, and named our son Peony." 

He turned to look at him. "I cannot imagine what you must be going through," his smile had disappeared. "But all I'm trying to say is that she is a special woman, and you're lucky to have her." 

"What would you do if you were in my place?" Luke asked him, as he helped him sit up. 

"Honestly? I wish I am never in your place." He paused, taking off his gloves. "But if I were, I would do everything in my means to help and cure the woman I love. I wouldn't give up. And I hope you don't either." 

Luke closed his eyes, feeling slightly dizzy. He hadn't eaten anything since the previous afternoon, despite Scott and Carrie's insistence. The very sight of food made him sick. 

"All done?" Dave walked in, instantly bringing the small room alive with his powerful voice. 

"Yes. This will go for a quick testing." The attendant referred to the blood bag in his hands. Dave looked at Luke, smiling. 

"They're bringing some milk for you," he said to him. Luke shook his head, his legs dangling from the bed. 

"I can't eat," he mumbled, wishing the room would stop swaying. 

"It's just milk. You gave away quite an amount of blood. You're weak." 

"I'm fine." 

"Stop trying to be macho." Dave crossed his arms against his chest. Just then, the door opened and a nurse came in carrying a tray with a glass of milk. 

"Have it." Dave said firmly. Luke glanced at the tall glass of creamy milk, feeling sick to the pit of his stomach. 

"Please." He repeated. 

"I'm not moving anywhere until you empty the glass," Dave announced. "We don't have much time. Hurry. Be a good boy." 

Luke picked up the glass and took one sip. The milk was surprisingly tasty, and although his stomach was in knots, he managed to drink the whole glass, telling himself all the way that he needed to be okay for Cynthia. 

"There now." Dave's smile was wide as he patted his back. "You have to take care of yourself, do you understand?" he told him. "Cynthia will require extreme care. If you want to be there for her, you must be good to yourself." 

"I'm glad you came." He said quietly, hiding his tear-laden eyes from him. 

"Me too." Dave softly sighed. "I lost my daughter because she didn't receive help in time. I felt it's my duty, as a doctor, to spare another parent the same horror." 

Cynthia's family had got rid of her long ago. He wondered if her mom would even believe him if he called her, or if she'd hang up on him, like she had done with Scott. 

"She doesn't have parents," he said. "Not here, at least." 

"So I heard." Dave smiled at him. "But she has you. And you love her so much." 

"How do you know?" 

"I see it in your eyes, I feel it in your voice. When you called me last night, I knew it isn't just a regular friend you're seeking help for." 

"I'm sorry I called you away so suddenly. You had work." 

"Oh, just a few classes, and two conferences. I've cancelled all programmes for two weeks. Now, let's get going." 

Dave held his arm as he got down from the bed. The tiny rupture sealed with a Band-Aid ached a little, but he could ignore it. By the time he joined the others, Leah, Carrie, Becky, and her boyfriend Allen had arrived. Luke slumped in a corner of the bench, feeling weak and distressed. Cynthia had been wheeled to the operating room, and a little later, Dave, Dr Baker, Dr Murray, another doctor and two nurses, all in protective gear, passed them by. 

"Dave?" Luke spoke softly. Dave stopped and half turned. When Luke looked at his face, his eyes were misty. 

"Please save her," he croaked. Dave smiled reassuringly. 

"I'll do my best," he nodded, before disappearing inside the operating room. 

For the next four-and-a-half hours, no one spoke. Carrie had her head on Scott's shoulder, while Becky had one hand laced with Leah and the other with Allen. Luke could vaguely hear human voices from other parts of the hospital, and he concentrated on that, in a desperate bid to stop himself from mental overload. At one point he thought he had dozed off, but the sound of the operating room's door opening made him look up. The nurse came and went in silence, and Luke closed his eyes again, feeling nauseous. But there was little he could do, except wait. For the millionth time, he prayed she'd pull through. In his mind, he pictured Dave exiting the operating room and telling them that she did great and was going to wake up in a few hours. He heard Leah weeping softly beside him, and Becky wrapped her arms around her. Carrie came up to him and said something about going to the café to grab a bite, but Luke shook his head. He wasn't going anywhere until Dave assured him that Cynthia would be fine. 

When the door of the operating room opened again after an eternity, Luke saw Dave exiting, taking the mask off his face. He looked grimly at each of them. Luke scrambled to his feet and approached him. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 18



"Is she okay?" he asked hopefully. Behind Dave, the other doctors looked equally grim. 

"We've removed the clot and repaired the blood vessels," Dave stated as matter of fact. "But she needs to be kept in the ICU until she is able to breathe on her own." 

"She is not...?" Becky trailed off, looking appalled. 

"No, she isn't," Dave shook his head. "We need to keep her under observation for some time." 

"Is she going to be okay?" Carrie asked. 

"Yes, but we don't know in how long. You have to hold out hope and be patient." 

"The patient's been moved to the ICU," one of the nurses announced behind them. Dave grabbed Luke's shoulders. 

"This could be long and hard," he sighed. "I need you to be strong." He looked at the others and repeated his request. "I need all of you to be strong." 

"I want to see her," Luke bit his lip, his body trembling. 

"Nurse, get him a protective gear," Dave called out to one of the nurses, before looking at his face. "A few minutes, okay?" he smiled. "And remember that she may wake up any moment. Do not speak as if the patient were not there." 

Luke nodded, though not sure how much he comprehended at the moment. He was taken to a room where a nurse helped him put on a surgical gown, mask, and gloves. Afterwards, he was led to the intensive care unit, and the door was opened for him. He heard the door quietly shutting behind him as he looked at Cynthia, swathed in heavy bandages and surrounded by blinking machines. There were tubes and pipes connected to all parts of her body. Luke pulled down off his mask, quietly walking closer to the bed. Up close, Cynthia's face looked horrific. There were cuts and bruises all over, not to mention the dressing on her head that covered half of her face. The oxygen mask took up the other half. Red blooms of blood scarily screamed though the dressing on her arm, shoulder, and hand; the sides of her were face swollen. 

Luke felt he was breathing under water when he stood beside her bed, his gloved hands fisted to his sides. Cynthia was barely visible amidst the tubes and pipes and machines, she was barely recognisable. One of his fists loosened and crawled to her wounded hand. He tenderly ran two fingers across the dressing. His throat tightened, pushing up the tears that so long had only been a trickle or two, even as he gently lifted up her frail hand. It felt so heavy, it almost seemed lifeless. Holding her hand close to his face, he wept bitterly, the sound filling up the quiet glass cabin. He knew there were people outside, and that they were watching. But everything except Cynthia was a big blur to him. His body shook as he wept, briny tears streaming down his cheeks and past his nose. 

"I love you," he sobbed, the words barely coherent. The tears seeped through his lips and he tasted salt. "I love you, Cyn. Now and always." 

He thought it. He felt it. And he was ready to give every ounce of his love if that could bring her back to him. 

(To be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 19



Dear readers, I've been overwhelmed by the touching comments and messages about this story. I am a writer for whom words are both a passion and a source of livelihood, but my biggest reward is the difference I make to people's lives- if at all. Thank you and keep reading :)

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The cloudy evening was dull and heavy. There was no rain, no breeze. Not a leaf fluttered. Luke couldn't tell if the sun had set, because the surroundings were still bright and clear. The silence bothered him when he awoke from a slight doze. Carrie had driven him home and made lunch for him and the boys. When he felt full after only two bites, she packed the rest of the food and handed it to him while he was coming away. He'd quickly washed up and changed his clothes, but the lunch box was still staring at him from the table when he sat up on the sofa in Cynthia's living room. He preferred the sofa over the bed because it felt wrong to use her bedroom when she wasn't around. Luke pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew he needed to eat, but his stomach always remained in complete knots. Dave had told them that it was now a waiting game. Cynthia could wake up any moment, but it could also take days.

He hated the quietness of the house. Suddenly, he missed the frogs.

Jake and Josh too had changed. They didn't go cycling with their friends, nor did they play football in the backyard. Their usual mischief and pranks had disappeared. They either read books in their room, or watched TV, or slept after school. Carrie hardly screamed after them, and Scott's singing had died down. Luke had always known the Wilson family to be one of the strongest and happiest. Their daily life hadn't come to a halt, but the changes were very noticeable. It only went on to show how much Cynthia meant to all of them.

The sound of the front gate startled him slightly. Luke slowly rose from the sofa and walked over to the door. When he opened it and stepped on to the porch, he found a little girl, not too older than Anna Rose, standing in the middle of the lawn. She had something in her hand but she'd been holding it so protectively that Luke couldn't see what it was.

She looked at him, her eyes sad and inquiring at the same time. When she took two steps forward, he noticed she walked with a slight limp. Luke walked down the steps and approached her.

"Who are you?" she asked, when he kneeled in front of her on the grass. Luke now saw that she had a card in her hands. While he and Carrie had been leaving the hospital, they'd met two women who expressed concern about Cynthia and asked when they could see her. Two of her friends, Bobby and Andrew, had also dropped in. When Luke arrived home, he found several get well soon cards and flowers near the front gate. He had always known Cynthia was loved by everyone, but he now knew just how much and how deep.

"I'm guarding the house," he said, as seriously as she had asked the question.

"From what?" she frowned.

Luke shrugged. "Thieves, maybe."

"There are no thieves in this town."

The girl's faith in the town brought a smile to Luke's face for the first time in more than twenty four hours.

"What's your name?" he asked her, noticing her lovely brown hair tied in two small plaits, and a trail of freckles running down her neck.

"Katrina. I live in the last house at the end of this lane."

The name sounded familiar. Luke had a vague memory of Cynthia once mentioning a young mother in her neighbourhood with a spunky daughter. Going by her demeanour, he figured this was the kid she'd spoken about.

"Are you alone?" he asked, when he found no one else in the vicinity. 

Katrina nodded. "I wanted to give her this." She held out the card she had brought. Luke received it, staring at the bright flowers with sad faces, painted with crayons. Within a speech bubble were the bold words We Miss You.

"Can you give it to her?" she asked hopefully. "My mom's out of town. I can't visit her until she comes back."

"Is she your friend?" Luke smiled, appreciating the sincere effort that had gone into making the card. All the other cards he had picked up from the lawn so far were readymade.

"Yes. She's my only friend."

Luke looked up from the card, meeting the sad gaze of the child. She wasn't going to cry, but it still broke his heart.

"Only friend?" he asked.

"No one wants to be my friend because I cannot run or play like them," she replied. "But Cynthia always says that god made me different because I'm special."

Luke's eyes welled up again, as if he hadn't cried enough for the day.

"She teaches me poems, gives me strawberries, and helps me with the sums." She smiled for the first time. "I scored nineteen out of twenty in my class test yesterday. I wanted to call her, but granny said she's in hospital, sick and asleep."

Her smile disappeared. "Do you think she'll wake up before my birthday?" she asked him.

"When is your birthday?" He looked at the card again, hiding his droopy, tired eyes from her.

"Next month. She'd said she'd decorate my house with flowers and lights."

Luke gently pinched her cheek, smiling with teary eyes. He was right in thinking that Cynthia had a natural affinity towards children. And the reason was simple to him— her heart was as pure as that of a child.

"I hope she will." That was the most honest reply he could come up with. Luke couldn't bring himself to telling her that she'd wake up by her birthday, as much as he wanted to. Because it would be a lie. They had been asked to be prepared for everything, a long wait was one of them.

"I will give this to her," he added, referring to the card.

"Tell her I miss her."

"I will."

"Thank you." She smiled, and threw her arms around his neck. Then she pulled away and turned to leave.

"Hold on." Luke rose behind her. "I'll drop you home."

Katrina waited as Luke rushed inside, kept the card with the other cards and flowers, and grabbed his wallet. While he and Katrina walked out of her house hand in hand, she suddenly stopped and looked back at the lawn.

"Do you think she'll be back in time to grow strawberries?" she asked him. 

Luke closed his eyes and tipped his head back, seeking strength to go on. The little girl didn't know the magnitude of the situation, but something told him she was more hopeful than all the grown-ups combined.

"I don't know, sweetheart," he replied, with a voice that contained a stone. "What do you think?"

She looked at his face, her eyes suddenly glowing with certainty. "I know she'll wake up before my birthday."

The small parking lot of the hospital always remained full. That evening was no different, and Luke struggled to find an empty spot for ten whole minutes. Cynthia hadn't woken up, but he still wanted to be there, close to her. He didn't want to lose her any more than he already had.

He ran out of the parking, towards the entrance of the A&E department, and collided with an elderly couple on the way.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, not having seen the old people. "I wasn't seeing. Are you okay? You aren't hurt, are you?"

"It's alright, son," the man spoke slowly. "We weren't watching our step either." He looked at the woman beside him, his wife in all likelihood. "After seeing Cynthia—"

"You were here to see Cynthia?" Luke cut in, his voice full of surprise.

"Yes." The woman wiped her eyes with a napkin, her voice shaky. "We never thought we'd have to see her in such a state. She's a lovely girl, as beautiful as her flowers."

"She's got a heart of gold." The man held the woman's hand. "And we don't say this just because she buys us our medicines."

"Who are you?" The woman looked at him through her thick glasses.

"I'm her friend." Luke didn't know what else to say.

"You're the new man we heard about?" The man's sagging cheeks went up in a smile. "They said you brought in a surgeon for her."

"What's your name?" The woman asked, smiling.

"Luke." He ran his hand through his hair, feeling embarrassed. Word took very little time to spread in small towns. But what amazed him more was how popular Cynthia was all over the place.

"You're lucky to have her." The woman patted his arm with her wrinkled hand. "She's a gem of a woman."

The couple walked off slowly, the man having an arm around his wife. Luke took in a deep breath, pride and pain blending inside him. Cynthia was just another girl in a town of 15,000 people. There would be no eulogies, no newspaper articles, no memorial events if anything happened to her. But this town loved her. It showed from the way random people turned up to visit her. They had even gone on to collect quite an amount of money for her treatment. They missed her, and would continue doing so until she became better and returned to what she did best- spreading love and cheer.

Luke was halfway to the waiting area when he heard Becky's voice. She was screaming, and Scott and Allen were trying to pacify her. Worried, he ran the rest of the way, until the people came into view. Besides Scott, Becky, and Allen, there was another unfamiliar man, with his back to him. He was tall, with a large build.

"Becky, we should go home," Allen had both of his arms around his girlfriend's waist, but he wasn't being too successful at restraining her. "I cannot let you remain here and end up hurting somebody."

"He deserves to be hurt!" she cried, flinging her arms indignantly at the unidentified man. "This bastard is responsible for Cynthia's accident."

"What's going on?" Luke asked, breathing hard. The strange man turned, looking him straight in the eye.

"He's the one who came to the shop to meet her that afternoon," she said angrily. "Her goddamned ex."

"I'm surprised at your audacity." Scott sounded angrier that he looked. "You traced her all the way till here! Is it so difficult to leave the girl alone? You've done enough to damage her life already."

"I just want to see her," the man spoke in a voice full of guilt. "I couldn't stop myself from coming here when I saw the notice on the shop—"

"You'd gone to the shop again?" Becky's eyes threatened to fall out. "What are you? A first class stalker?!"

"I'm not stalking her," he said. "I'm leaving in a couple of hours. I want to see her before I go... Just once, please."

"Dr Fischer." Scott came forward, slightly irritated now. None of them had slept in hours, and it was beginning to take its toll. "You could not respect her when you had her. You left her alone and pregnant, you didn't support her when she was humiliated and disowned by her family. You—"

"What?!" Becky exclaimed, and Allen's grip on her loosened a little.

"Yeah. Sorry." Scott sighed, moving away. "Cindy's very guarding of her past. She never wanted anyone to know."

"She always said she doesn't have a family," she said.

"I know," Scott nodded. "Her family didn't want her. So she moved here because she wanted to start afresh without her family."

Becky involuntarily lunged at Cynthia's ex, but Allen was prompt to hold her back again.

"What are you doing?" he said, pulling her away. "Are you crazy?"

"He ruined her!" she cried. "I never knew why she always remained sad, but now I do. This man has—"

"I know, I know." He grabbed fistful of his hair. "I know I've done terrible things to her. I know all of you hate me, but... please, can I have just one look at her? I do know I'm partly responsible for this. But—"

"You can't see her," Becky announced, fuming.

"It's okay." Luke finally spoke up. "Let him go."

"Are you crazy?!" Becky shrieked, looking almost feral. "This man returns to haunt her after so many years, and you want him to see her?"

"He's learned his lesson." Luke came up close and looked at the man with big, froggish eyes. "But before I let you see her, you have to give your word that you will go away from her life forever."

"I will." He looked like he was ready to beg and plead. "I'm leaving the country forever."

"Good. Because if you return to haunt her again, I will have to take action against you."

Luke shoved his hands inside his pant pockets, his voice so calm, he surprised himself.

"Allen, take Becky home," he told the man concerned. "I'll check if they will let him see Cynthia for a moment." Luke turned around and looked over his shoulder at him. "Come with me."

He slowly proceeded out of the waiting area, discreetly glancing behind him to see if the big man with fluffy hair was following him. He was, and he looked pretty anxious. For one moment, Luke felt like taking pity on him. Perhaps he did love Cynthia, but had too weak a character to stand up for her. But what he had done to her was unpardonable. He didn't deserve either pity or anger. Luke decided he'd simply remain cold towards him.

Besides, it wasn't the time to let the little things that drove them crazy come to the surface. He knew that man was a jerk, but it would be best to just let it roll off without getting worked up about it.

He found Cynthia's evening nurse and asked her for permission. Although reluctant at first, since no one except the five of them were allowed to see her, she finally agreed to give him five minutes. Luke looked at him.

"You can only glimpse her through here," he referred to the small glass barrier between them and the cabin. He came forward very slowly, as if afraid. He leaned, and Luke saw him flinch when his eyes caught sight of Cynthia. Crossing his arms against his chest, Luke glanced sideways at her ex to find tears in his eyes. He'd decided to remain cold and indifferent towards that man. Hence, the tears meant nothing to him.

"W-Will she be okay?" He finally asked. His eyes were still glued to the glass window, as though he wanted to have enough of her before he left forever.

"Hopefully." Luke answered in a voice that was calm and strong, unlike what it had been till a few hours ago. "And even if she isn't, we're here for her. We'll take care of her, keep her safe."

Luke narrowed his eyes at him. "Isn't that what love is all about?"

He smiled sadly and turned to Luke. "She loved me more than anybody, and I was such a fool to send her away." He bowed his head. "And it took me years to realise that when I lost her, I lost everything."

He looked into Luke's eyes, tapping his arm in a friendly gesture. "Don't make the same mistake." he told him. "Don't lose her."

"I won't." Luke replied coarsely. He didn't know how he guessed he and Cynthia were together, but he did know that he was neither foolish nor mean like him. And he also knew that Cynthia had no feelings for her ex anymore.

"You must leave," Luke said firmly. "The nurse is heading this way."

He took one final glance through the glass barrier, and wiped his eyes dry. Then he looked at Luke again. Luke felt his blood boil. Under normal circumstances, he would have gouged those eyes out.

"I'm sorry if I caused this in any way." He said in a broken voice. "But I always wish the best for her."

"Then leave her alone." Luke snarled. "Her life is different now."

"I know."

He pushed up his glasses and turned around. Luke watched him as he walked away. He looked nothing like the charming, smooth-talking, talented professor and chess player Cynthia had spoken about. Anybody who was as cruel and stupid to break her heart and turn her away couldn't be a talented anything.

But one thing he knew for sure. If her ex, or anybody from her past, turned up to bother her and haunt her again, he'd protect her with his life.

With slow steps, he walked over to the bench outside the ICU and took a seat. Cynthia's neurological and medical care was being supervised and monitored by the neuro-intensivist, Dr Tom Murray. Cynthia was sedated, despite her unconsciousness, and the team was keeping a close eye for infections, seizures, and increased intracranial pressure. He hoped and prayed none of those would happen. She was already in a great deal of pain; he wouldn't be able to watch her go through any more of that agony.

"You're here." Dave smiled as he walked up to the bench and sat beside him. "Who was that man?"

"Just another random person who dropped in to see her," he replied casually.

"I see. She's so loved here. Is she an orphan? Everybody says she has no family."

"Her mother lives in Birmingham. We tried to inform her, but she's gone to Bath on some work for a fortnight. We left a message with the bank she works with, since her number was unreachable."

"So I assume she doesn't get along with her mother?"

"Kind of. There's a long, painful story behind it."

"I don't want to know if it's her personal matter. But the way the whole town has come together for her, I'm seriously amazed."

Dave looked at him and smiled. "Have you eaten anything?"

"Yeah, I had a little bit of noodles." Luke dropped his head back, closing his eyes.

"A little bit?" Dave inquired, crossing his legs.

"I don't feel like eating."

"Feelings have nothing to do with eating. We eat because we must. You've donated blood. Your body needs food to make new blood fast."

"I know. I know." Luke leaned forward and massaged his temples, feeling more exhausted than he cared to admit. "I don't feel hungry."

He felt Dave's arm against his back. Luke put his hands down and laced his fingers.

"How long have you known each other?" he gently asked.

"About a month," Luke replied, straightening himself. "Although it seems like we've been together forever."

"The best ones are always like that." He patted his back. "I'm so glad you've found someone again."

"And all set to lose her again," he murmured, his voice catching in his throat.

"Don't say that. There's still time."

Luke glanced at him. "She'll be alright?"

Dave pursed his lips, withdrawing his hand. "Luke, you'll always have the truth from me. I'm not god, so I cannot really predict how a patient is going to end up. But there's good reason why I asked all of you to be strong."

He took off his glasses and put it in the pocket of his shirt. "Until the patient becomes conscious, we cannot know what lies ahead," he said. "The injury was serious. If she hadn't been operated on in time, her chances of survival would drastically plummet."

"Can she--- can she go into a coma?" Luke's voice was thick with fear as he asked the question.

"I hope not." Dave replied. "If a patient is unconscious for over a month, only then is it termed coma. Let's give it a week, at least."

"So what happens when she wakes up?"

"I don't know. You will have a lot of catching up to do."

Dave looked at him and laughed, and Luke realised he was trying to make him feel better. He'd known him for ten years, and nothing had been able to change him.

"I can't tell you how relieved I am that she's under your care," Luke confessed, playing with the ends of his wristband. "A small town like this isn't capable of handling such complicated cases."

"I know. That is the reason I rushed here. I wouldn't want a critical patient to suffer because of me."

Dave pulled out his watch from his pant pocket and checked the time. "I must commend your promptness," he smiled, fastening the steel watch on his wrist. "You wasted no time."

"I'm worried about her," Luke closed his eyes again, feeling the nervousness working within him. "I'm afraid."

"You cannot afford to be afraid. A patient like this is unpredictable. She can lose her memory or part of it; she can become paralyzed for life; she can lose sensation in some parts of her anatomy. The risks are huge."

His arm came around him again. "You can either decide to stay with her no matter what life brings, or call it quits right now because it seems too difficult. It's your choice."

"I'm not going anywhere," Luke said firmly, feeling a little offended. "I'm staying right here, with her."

He looked at Dave, tears pooling in his eyes. "You know the kind of man I am, don't you?" he asked. "I love with my all. I give without expectations. For Cynthia, I'm ready to give every drop of my blood to make sure she's back on her feet again."




Will Be Yours Ch. 19



Dave smiled at him, knowing what he meant. Luke had always heard Dave appreciating the fact that Diana had met a man like him. He still loved him. Their relationship hadn't changed. They couldn't have known what the future would bring. If anything, then the tragedy had only made them stronger as a family. He hadn't been able to save Diana. But he wouldn't make the same mistake with Cynthia. He was ready to go through everything in order to cure her.

"I want you to do everything you have to do for her treatment." Luke said with determination. "I'll bear all the expenses, including your fees. Money shouldn't be a barrier to her treatment."

"When was the last time you saw a son paying his father for anything?" Dave laughed softly.

"This is your profession. Your livelihood."

"Luke, saving lives isn't my profession. It's my duty. During my student years and early work life, I've been to places as far flung as Mali in Africa to treat patients. I may be a neurosurgeon, but back then, I did everything from delivering babies to fixing broken bones. And believe me, I never charged a single penny."

He paused, uncrossing his legs. Then he looked at his face. "If this was Diana in Cynthia's place," he said. "Would you say the same thing?"

"This isn't Diana..." Luke responded.

"Doesn't matter. She's somebody's daughter, right? She could be my daughter..."

He sighed, gently patting his knee. "But if you really want to give me something, then start by looking after yourself. You look like hell."

"I'm going through hell," he said. For a moment there, he felt like he was talking to his own dad.

"Keep going, because nothing is permanent. Now, would you mind joining me for some pizza?"

"You're diabetic," Luke squinted at him.

"That's borderline diabetes," Dave threw his hands up. "It runs in my family."

"I don't feel like eating," Luke said quietly.

"There's nothing pizza cannot make better. I've heard the pizza parlour down the road is pretty good. Come on."

Dave grabbed his arm, pulling him off the bench. When he turned his face to look at the glass window of the ICU, Dave put an arm around his shoulders.

"She's going to be alright." His smile was hopeful, one that made Luke believe that the best was yet to come.

---

The cafeteria of the hospital wasn't big, but the menu was so varied and delectable, not to mention nutritious, that most of the staff and the near ones of patients flocked to the twenty-seater place. Luke had been coming there for more than a week, though he didn't remember ever finishing his meals. He had tried the soup, the stews, the sandwiches, and the sausages, but every day the amount of food going into the trash can just kept increasing.

He wondered if it was just him, because there were other family members in the cafeteria, and they all seemed to be going about life as usual. There was one man in particular who came to the cafeteria every day. He'd never spoken to him, but from the conversations of the employees of the hospital and the cafeteria he'd learned that his wife had been in the ICU for a long time due to kidney failure. Luke watched him as he ate, wondering about his wife upstairs. He knew such patients didn't live long. But the elderly man always managed to enjoy his meals and finish them, while Luke couldn't get anything down his throat. More importantly, the man seemed to take his wife's illness in his stride, managed to do everyday things like reading books and making conversations, and still smiled at people. Sometimes, when he saw him lost in a novel, he wondered if he read because he enjoyed it, or because he wanted to forget his pain and loneliness.

He wondered about his relationship with his wife, whether he'd found her beautiful first thing in the morning, with her hair tousled and eyes sleepy. He wondered if he'd taken her for motorcycle rides, only because he wanted her to hold him tight. He wondered if he'd watched her sleep and found it the most heavenly sight in the whole world.

Luke pushed the tray of half eaten sandwiches away, and leaned back in the chair. He had been lost without Diana. Cynthia came in and gave him reason to live. Now without Cynthia, he was lonely again. He wondered how some people, like the man in the cafe, found the strength to go on, while others like him struggled to keep the broken pieces together.

A low buzzing sound pulled him out of his reverie. After some initial confusion, he realised it was his phone. Reaching into his pocket, he fished out his cellphone. He recognised the number. It was Megan.

"So kind of you to finally think of switching on your phone," she said with her usual dry humour. Luke found her voice a refreshing change from the usual sights and sounds of the hospital and the quietness of the house. Not that he went home too often. Cynthia had been having problems. If one day she had breathing trouble, then the other day her blood pressure fluctuated. One night they had quite a scare when her heart rate dropped below normal, and Dave and his team spent more than thirty minutes resuscitating her, while Luke and the others watched in panic.

She'd been doing better that morning, although she still needed the ventilator. She had difficulty breathing well enough on her own and she was also being given drugs that suppressed the breathing to some extent.

In the last ten days, he had familiarised himself with all the machines connected to her body. He now knew which one was the Patient Monitor, the Ventilator, what functions the IVs and the NG Tube performed, and exactly how the Blood Pressure cuff and the Urinary Catheter worked. He, Scott, and Carrie were active participants in her plan of care. They knew every medicine, every procedure, and most importantly, their requirement. Luke had memorised them.

"The battery had died," he said, scratching the beard that had grown on his face. "I got time to charge it today."

"I've been trying to reach you for more than a week," she explained, "No one picked up at your house, and your cell was unavailable. I called Liam and he told me that you've gone back to Velmont Town."

She paused, catching her breath. "It must be something about Cynthia, right?" she smiled, mischief ringing in her voice. Luke pinched the middle of his forehead; the thought of having to recount everything to his sister scared him. He had told Liam that he'd stay in the town for a while because there was an emergency. Liam had been concerned, but he was talking so little since Cynthia's accident that giving long explanations made him feel sick. Moreover, Liam didn't know who Cynthia was. Megan did. She'd be hurt if he hid the news from her.

"Yes, it is," he replied, his hand still on his forehead. "But something very different from what you're thinking."

"What am I thinking?" Megan said, and Luke could sense the look on her face.

"Meg." He sighed. "Can't you ever be serious?"

"I am serious," she protested. "And I know you've rushed back to Velmont Town because you're serious about Cynthia. I could see it coming. You two are totally head over heels. Cynthia is an angel. Except for her hair, she looks so much like Maureen when she was younger. When is she visiting again? I hope she—"

"Meg." Luke closed his eyes and bowed his head. A family came chattering in and passed by his table. Luke concentrated on their voices in an effort to distract himself from the thoughts Megan was sprouting in his mind. Of course, she didn't know, but then...

"Luke?" she asked, a little calmer this time. "Are you alright? Why do you sound so low?"

"Cynthia has met with a car accident," he blurted. "She's critical."

"What?!" Megan shrieked. "When?"

"Ten days ago. She's still in intensive care."

He told her about Cynthia's brain injury and her surgery by Dave, the scary fluctuations of her condition, and the possible situations they needed to be prepared for when she woke up.

"I don't believe this." Megan's voice dropped to half. "So much has happened and you didn't bother to inform us?"

"I thought of calling you, but I'm usually always at the hospital, and I also didn't want to trouble you with bad news..."

"Luke, have you forgotten the promise Paul and I made to you at Diana's funeral? We promised you that we'll be there for you always, no matter what."

"You have kids, and work. I didn't have the heart to..."

"Do you want us to come over?"

"No. There are people here. The whole town is with us." 

Luke smiled fleetingly at the thought. When he had asked Cynthia about her friends, she had spoken about three or four people. But she had no idea that everybody in the town was her friend. There weren't just flowers and cards; over the ten days, there had also been offers of all kinds of help, including financial and medical. Some of her good friends like Bobby, and Lauren, who was the mother of Katrina, had also volunteered to be relievers for them. He couldn't imagine random people from his neighbourhood going to that extent for him.

"I'm so thankful you called Dave," Megan continued. "She's in safe hands. I'm sure she'll recover soon under his treatment."

"I hope so." Luke reclined in his chair, feeling the tightness in his back. "But she isn't out of danger yet."

"You're thinking about what happened to Diana," she announced. "I can sense it in your voice."

"How can I not?"

"You shouldn't. These are two different situations."

"Involving the women I love."

"You're just being tested. It's not enough to say that you love someone. You have to prove it. Situations like this help us get our priorities straight."

"I have my priorities straight."

"Do you?"

He heard a loud noise down the line, followed by Megan yelling at Harry. There was a minute's commotion, and when she came back to the phone, she had Harry with her.

"Okay, where was I?" she asked, slightly out of breath.

"Priorities," Luke reminded her.

"Right. So have you figured if you're going to be a suave business coach all your life, or return to music? If you do return to music, have you thought of the possible demands it will bring? And where in all that does Cynthia figure? Are you going to continue living in Birmingham, or shift base to Velmont Town so you can be close to her? Because obviously, if you live here and she lives there, how are you going to have babies? But being in a small town isn't going to help your career..."

"There's time to figure all that," Luke reasoned, feeling perturbed at the things she had just said. He hadn't thought of anything. He hadn't got the opportunity to think. But he did know that every decision he made henceforth would revolve around Cynthia. There was nothing more he wanted than to be with her all the time.

"See? You haven't thought of anything," Megan sounded smug. "That's the reason you need to have trials like this."

"I'm not thinking anything except Cynthia's recovery right now. She is my first and only priority at the moment."

"I'm sorry," her voice was gentler now. "I was trying to ease your tension. I know what you must be going through."

Luke silently appreciated his sister's concern. Despite how different their personalities were, they had always been close. He was glad that she was married to his best friend. That way, he always found his two biggest support systems together, at one place.

"Does she have a family?" she asked. "Parents?"

"We tried to reach her mother, but she's in Bath, and her phone is unreachable." Luke replied, wondering if Cynthia would've wanted her mother to be there. "I had left a message with her workplace. When Carrie called them yesterday, they said she's been informed."

"Poor girl," Meg sighed, compassionately. "I dread the pain she must be in."

"Do you think she'll wake up?" Luke asked softly, his voice a little louder than a whisper. He'd been meaning to ask this to somebody, but Scott, Carrie, and everyone else there was already too worried to handle another question with no possible answer.

"Yes, she will. I believe it." Megan sounded confident about it, and he knew she wasn't saying that to comfort him. "There's something about the two of you. In that short time, while she was visiting us, I could see the way you bond with each other. The way you laugh quietly at private jokes, the way she holds your arm, the way your face lights up when she smiles at you... You have to be together, like you're meant to be. I cannot imagine fate conspiring to bring you together only to force you apart. It doesn't happen that way. Didn't you say your blood groups matched?"

"Yes."

"You don't see the signs! She is yours. You're destined to be together."

Megan paused for a while, telling something to Harry. Luke could hear his nephew babbling on the other end, and the sound made him smile.

"Consider this an acid test for your new relationship," she said after sometime. "Somehow I feel this accident will only cement your bond, bring you closer."

"Dave said it may be a long wait." Luke responded once her words had settled.

"And we're in this together. We'll wait together, pray together, and when she wakes up, we'll celebrate together."

Despite the tension, Luke laughed. "I'm glad you called."

"Do you need any help?" she asked. "Anything I can do for you?"

"Remember James Remington?" he said after a little thought. "The guy who made your website?"

"Of course, I do. What about him?"

"Do you think you can give him a call or meet him to discuss something?"

"I can, but discuss what?"

"The website for Cynthia's flower shop." Luke had taken the details from Becky and Leah, although he wasn't sure when he could meet or talk to James.

"What? You're working on her website! That's fantastic!"

"Yes. I told her on the morning of her accident, and texted James that I'd come to meet him this week. But..."

"Oh, don't worry. Give me the materials, and I'll take care of the rest."

"The rest...?"

"The design, silly. Since Cynthia isn't around for a consultation with the designer, I'll fill in her place."

Luke straightened his back, not believing how lucky he was to have a sister like her. Megan had designed her own website, and Luke was sure she'd also design something brilliant for Cynthia.

"I'll email you the details and the brief she gave me, okay?"

"I'll handle it," she assured him. "I know how much this means to you."

"It does."

"I want you to know it means to me just as much. I'll make sure it's the best."

"Thanks, Meg. You're of such help."

"Keep me posted about what's happening there? I'll be worried."

"I will."

"Take care of yourself, please. And don't be shy to ask for help. Okay?"

"Okay."

Luke put the phone in his pocket and rose from the chair. His back was indeed hurting from sleeping on the sofa for days. He could easily use her bed, but the feminine ambience of the house reminded him of her all the time. Plus, he didn't want to go back to an empty bed again when Cynthia was supposed to be there with him.

He walked over to the trash can, pushed it open with one foot, and dropped the sandwiches in them. It felt so wrong to waste food. But he also needed to show the others that he was eating, even though he looked like a dead man.

His phone buzzed again, and this time he was surprised to find Scott calling.

"You won't believe this," he voice was full of nervous excitement and disbelief as he said the words. "She's breathing on her own!"

"What!" Luke screamed so loud that a few people in the cafeteria craned their necks to look at him. Without caring to hear anything more, Luke turned towards the exit and ran as fast as his legs would allow him, out of the cafeteria, down the compound of the hospital, and through the A&E department. When he reached the ICU, he was panting like a dog.

He saw Dave and team gathered around Cynthia, monitoring her. But the biggest noticeable difference was the absence of the ventilator.

"They're trying her on breathing just room air," Scott spoke beside him. 

Luke pressed his trembling hands to his mouth, amazed at the first sign of improvement in her condition. With Scott was Bobby, who filled in for Luke whenever he went home for a shower or to eat at the café. Becky and Leah had gone back to managing the shop, and though Leah turned up for a couple of hours every day, Becky hadn't come in much since the evening when Cynthia's ex came to the hospital. Leah told them that Becky felt guilty about having let Cynthia drive that afternoon, and Allen, who dropped in frequently, almost every day, confirmed it.

The news had surprised all of them, because Becky wasn't someone to sit at home, feeling guilty. Scott had decided to go to her house or to the shop, and talk to her.

The three of them watched with bated breath as the doctors tried her on breathing without the ventilator. For the first few minutes she struggled a little, as indicated by one of the monitors, but she stabilized slowly. Dr Baker exited the room with a smile on his face.

"She is out of danger." he announced. 

Scott and Bobby smiled widely, but Luke's heart was beating so fast he couldn't even manage that. He felt his breath catching as he watched Dave instruct Dr Murray about something, while he monitored Cynthia without the ventilator. His mouth was dry, and his knees slightly wobbly. He wasn't even aware of his own breathing anymore. Dave was next to exit the room, followed by the others. He pulled off his mask and gloves, and placed a hand on Luke's shoulder. He flinched, and he felt like his heart had just started beating again after a brief pause.

"She's showing signs of recovery," Dave smiled at them. "We're not sure she won't need the ventilator again, but at least for now, she is better."

"Can we expect her to wake up now?" Scott asked.

"Normal breathing isn't a sign of consciousness," he explained. "A comatose patient is also able to breathe on their own."

A shiver ran down Luke's spine when he heard those words. He had often heard from Dave about patients who took months or years to wake up, and who died after being unconscious for a long time. Dave had given Cynthia a week's time post surgery before calling it a coma. Ten days had passed since....

"We'll continue to monitor her," Dave added. "If she has breathing trouble again, we may need to put her on the ventilator." He looked through the window again. "With patient like this, everything is unpredictable."

Luke moved a little closer to the window, thinking she looked better without the mask covering half of her face. Even from afar, he could make out the lines around her mouth and nose caused by the mask.

"Do you want to go in?" Scott asked him from behind. He had no reply. They didn't allow anybody to stay in the ICU, or he'd have asked for a bed and stayed right there beside her 24 hours a day.

"Get him a pair of gloves," Dave instructed one of the nurses. All of them were used to that drill by now. No one entered the ICU without the gloves and the mask.

While he wore the gloves, he could feel how cold his hands were. If he was so overwhelmed by the first sign of improvement in her, he was sure he'd die from happiness when she woke up.

He walked in as the nurse held the door open for him. When the door had shut, he watched her from a distance for a few minutes, his heart aching because of how frail and vulnerable she looked. He'd always found her peaceful when she slept. But this time, the pain showed on her face even when she was unconscious.

He didn't want to know what her ex had said that made her upset. But he wished he hadn't returned to bring alive old memories just when she was learning to move on. Cynthia was a careful driver, not someone who'd be in a road accident. If her ex hadn't come to meet her, this wouldn't have happened. It was too late to blame anyone. He knew blaming him wouldn't make Cynthia better. But he hadn't forgiven him for putting Cynthia through hell. He wouldn't forgive him for indirectly causing her accident, either.




Will Be Yours Ch. 19



He walked up to the chair beside the bed, which was kept there because he spent long hours with her, holding her hand. Most people would find it sickening to spend too much of time there, but Luke had surprisingly got used to the sight and smells pretty early on.

Love made him brave.

"Cyn." He said very softly when he was by her bed. "I'm so happy you're able to breathe on your own again."

He gently held her hand, watching her face for any sensation. The first few days he was absolutely terrified to see her in such a state. Anyone would be. But he had got used to it now. He treated her as normal. Not crying or weeping anymore. Not showing he was afraid, even if it was killing him inside. Cynthia could be hearing everything. He didn't want her to know he was nervous or scared. Whenever he remained in the room, he talked to her, and imagined her responding. He had imaginary conversations with her during those few minutes when he went home to change. It made him feel better.

"They said you're going to be okay." He watched the patient monitor showing the usual red and blue lines. "Dave is an amazing doctor. He's treating you with a lot of care. Oh, Megan had called. She said she's going to talk to the designer about your shop's website."

He smiled unmindfully, running a tender finger across the dressing on her hand, feeling the tips of her fingers.

"You know, I've been thinking of all the things we'll do once you're alright. What things? Well..."

Luke paused, staring at her small hand in his much bigger palm. Then he smiled again.

"We'll leave each other treats, to be found through riddles in post-it notes placed randomly around our home. We'll awake to find our fingers softly running through the other's hair. Our mornings will begin with a smile that says 'I love you more today than I ever have'. When one of us needs space, that's totally cool – we'll understand and respect each other's time alone, but we'll rarely leave each other's thoughts...."

His eyes welled up, and he blinked several times to make the tears go away.

"We'll marathon through our favourite movies, stopping only to order more pizza. We'll pore over maps of the world and plan adventures or simply dream together of a life out of reach. We'll communicate through a squeeze of a hand or a kiss on the forehead, and we'll both know exactly what that means....."

He felt his voice choking as he struggled to continue.

"We'll dance together, to our favourite music, turned up to maximum. We'll drink, knowing no matter how much we embarrass ourselves, we're loved. We'll make love for hours, whether it's sweet and tender or rough and primal...."

He paused again, catching his breath, willing the lump in his throat to stop hurting.

"When life deals us blows, we'll be there for each other unconditionally. When life deals us triumphs, we'll revel in each other's successes. We'll talk about horses, and babies; about raising a family together, and inside we'll both hope for our unborn that they have a parent as amazing as us...."

A tear rolled down his cheek, landing on the faded material of his jeans. He wiped it off, and kissed Cynthia's hand.

"There's no point at which things get so difficult that we're no longer prepared to sacrifice for each other; this is it for us – pure commitment...."

Luke rested her frail hand against his forehead and closed his eyes, tears streaming down his unshaven cheeks. He hadn't heard her voice in days. He hadn't seen her smile. But what he missed most was her touch. The way she hugged people easily, the way she touched their arms while talking. He missed that.

He felt a slight twitch in his hand, and his eyes snapped open, just in time to find one of her fingers move. Eyes wide and mouth to dry to speak, he hit the nurse call button. He was still staring at her hand when her day nurse came in.

"Dr Nesbrit," he said incredulously. "Call him fast!"

(To be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 20



"What's the matter?" Dave rushed into the cabin, looking worried. Along with him was Dr Murray. Luke jumped out of his chair, pointing at Cynthia. 

"She just moved!" he exclaimed, staring wide eyed at her. "I was holding her hand and her finger twitched. Twice." 

Dave came up to Cynthia, surprising Luke with how unmoved he looked despite what he'd just told him. For the next few seconds, the doctors and her day nurse checked up Cynthia in complete silence. 

"Which hand was it?" Dave asked, checking her pulse. 

"The right hand." Luke's heart was beating madly. He thought he was sweating in spite of the cold in the room. He watched Dave examine Cynthia, checking her heartbeats, blood pressure, breathing, and several other things on the monitors. Then he came forward slowly. 

"Are you sure?" he asked Luke. Was that even a question? Luke had never been so sure of anything else. 

"Of course I am," he said energetically, his gaze alternating between Dave and Cynthia. "I was holding her hand. I felt it. I saw it." 

"It was just a reflex," Dave announced. Then he glanced sadly at Cynthia. "She isn't awake." 

"What...?" Luke's face took on a pained expression when he heard that. He felt like someone had stabbed him in the heart and split it into two. He had seen Cynthia's fingers twitching in his hand. How couldn't she be awake? 

"But she moved her fingers!" Luke tried to make him understand what he had seen. "I was holding her hand and talking to her, and her fingers moved. She is waking up. An unconscious person cannot move her fingers. I'm telling you, she is—" 

"Luke." Dave put a compassionate hand on his shoulder. "I know what you saw. But it was just a reflex. A reflex is an automatic response to a stimulus. Perhaps, your touch brought about that stimulus." 

He held Luke by both shoulders and smiled reassuringly. "Keep holding her hand, talking to her. Maybe she will respond to it and wake up soon." 

"What I saw was nothing then?" Luke's eyes filled with tears again. Suddenly, all the tiredness that he always tried to ignore in order to remain strong sprang back to life. He felt he didn't have the strength to carry on.  

"It was something," Dave nodded. "But we need it to happen again before we can say anything for sure. Let's wait for some time, okay?" 

But much to Luke's- and everybody else's- dismay, it didn't happen again. Every day while he held her hand and talked to her, he hoped there would be some sign that she was waking up. His heart only broke a little every time. Cynthia was still and quiet, but it was very different from sleep. Her breathing was almost mechanical, with no change in pattern. Her arms felt heavy and lifeless when Luke held them, and her wounds were healing very slowly. The fractured fibula that had been set in place with plates and screws had shown little progress. 

But they weren't as frightening as the thought of paralysis or memory loss. Luke felt nauseous whenever he wondered what the future held for her... for them. Diana had been dead and gone too quick, and even though it wrenched his heart, he was glad that she hadn't gone through the agony Cynthia was in. On the other hand, he also found solace in the thought that Cynthia was still with them. Whatever the future brought, they'd deal with it together. 

Luke rarely went home or did anything besides sitting by her bedside. The chair had become a permanent fixture now. Even when it was removed for some reason, the nurses made sure to put it back. He had spoken to Aaron and told him about unavoidable circumstances not making it possible for him to come for an in-person meeting. His considerate manager had arranged a phone discussion between him and the CEO of the leading record company of the country. As hard as it was for Luke to go about business as usual, the promise he'd made to Cynthia wouldn't let him give up the album deal. And then there was the lingering hope of seeing her cheering for him from the audience when he performed live... 

"Luke, Cynthia's mother is here." Scott burst into the ICU with the announcement while Luke was telling Cynthia about her new website. It was shaping up fast. Megan was working hard on it along with James. In the midst of the setback, Becky and Leah had something to feel good about. 

Luke gently put down Cynthia's hand and rose from the chair. His back still hurt, but this time it was probably from being seated for too long. 

"Where?" he asked, looking at the passageway through the small window in the cabin. 

"Carrie is explaining the situation to her," he said, walking up to Cynthia. "Hey sweetiepie, don't get mad at us for calling her here, please. Your man thought she needed to know." 

Luke shook his head with a sigh. Scott and the others would worry about his sanity when they earlier found him talking to an unconscious person. But ever since her fingers twitched while he'd been talking to her, everybody had started doing the same. He wondered what the nurses thought. 

"How did she react to the news?" Luke asked. When they had left a message with the bank she was employed with, they'd only mentioned that Cynthia was seriously unwell. He wasn't sure of the effect the news of a devastating accident would have on her, and Luke had found it wise to keep the news from her until she arrived. 

"I don't know. I wasn't there. Why don't we go home and let Carrie deal with her?" Scott offered, as they walked out of the cabin. "I think there's going to be another round of crying here." 

"I can't leave her like this," Luke said, taking off his gloves. 

"You look terrible," Scott pointed out. "When did you last shave?" 

"I don't remember." 

"Did you eat anything?" 

"I had breakfast at the café." 

"Breakfast? It's almost lunch time. Aren't you hungry?" 

"No." 

"Luke, don't do this to yourself, please." Scott put an arm around his shoulders. "When Cynthia wakes up, she's going to give us hell because we couldn't make you eat." 

"You're worried about that?" Luke said. "I'll be happy if she just wakes up. What she says after she wakes up is a different matter." 

"Of course she'll wake up. She's a strong girl. She's going to make it." 

"Will they allow her mom in?" Luke asked. 

"They will, but for a short time. She also needs to wear protective clothing." Scott looked at him again. "Becky still isn't around. I don't understand why she is taking it on her herself." 

"She feels guilty about letting her drive that day," Luke sighed. "But it wasn't her fault. She couldn't have known what was going to happen." He gave Scott a fleeting glance. "I was at the shop a few days ago, and although she expressed her happiness over the website, she looked really down." 

"I know. I guess we have to wait till Cynthia is alright. Only she can convince Becky that it wasn't her fault." 

Scott looked down the hallway, finding Carrie approaching the ICU with Cynthia's mother in tow. Luke measured her. Cynthia always said her mother was a strong woman. Seeing her nervous and afraid while she walked slowly towards the cabin didn't give Luke any inkling of the strength in her. He had a feeling she was going to find the whole thing harder than all of them. 

"I'll see if they will allow her in," Scott quickly excused himself to go to the nurse's station. He still didn't quite like her. Luke could feel that from a mile off. 

"Luke..." Bethany exclaimed when she was close enough to him, looking slightly relieved and also a little surprised to find him there. Luke reached out and gave her a hug. 

"I'm sorry, Mrs Adamson." He added, sympathetically. Bethany found it difficult to form words after that. She wasn't crying, but she looked obviously shaken. When she went close to the window, Luke warned her. 

"Are you sure you can handle seeing her?" he asked softly. Bethany stilled, inhaled, and nodded. 

"She's my daughter." Her voice was broken. "I can do everything for her." 

"They will allow you in for a couple of minutes," Scott returned with the announcement, and Cynthia's day nurse in tow. 

"Come with me, please," the nurse said to her. "You have to wear some protective clothing." 

Once Bethany was gone, Scott leaned closer to Carrie. 

"How long is she going to stay?" he whispered. 

"As long as she wants to," she answered, amused at his question. "She's already checked into a hotel." 

"She has? Oh, thank goodness." Scott put a hand on his chest, pretending to be relieved. "I thought we have to keep her in our guest room." 

"We can take her home for tea," Carrie said. 

"Tea?" Scott appeared shocked. "It's almost lunchtime. I'm hungry." 

"Then we invite her for lunch." 

"You're no wife of mine if you do that." 

"Scott..." 

"Carrie, we informed her because this gentleman here found it important. She's no guest of ours. She doesn't even need to be here. What is she going to do except shed tears?" 

"But we've known her for a long time," Carrie touched his arm. "It's courtesy." 

"Courtesy?" Scott laughed dryly. "Remember she'd slammed the door on me?" 

"You still don't like her?" Luke smiled at their little exchange. He smiled so rarely now that he remembered the times he did. 

"Don't get me wrong, I used to admire her. A lot. For the way she brought up her girls, took care of her home and job, remained strong despite a broken marriage..." He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "But the treatment she meted out to Cynthia made her sink so low in my eyes. I never understood how a mother could be so thoughtless..." 

He stopped when he saw Bethany and the nurse coming back. Luke turned, finding it important to tell her about the ground rules they had set. 

"Mrs Adamson, there are a few things we want you to know before you go in," he said gently. "First, no crying in the room. Because even though she is unconscious, she might be able to hear. Second, do not say anything negative. Third, if you feel sick, please leave the room immediately. Okay?" 

Bethany nodded, clearly uncomfortable in the green protective clothing. 

"Why don't you go in with her?" Carrie said to him. Luke shook his head. 

"If somebody has to be there, it should be her." He looked at the nurse. "Would you mind accompanying her in?" he asked. "If you explain to her what the machines and tubes are for, she might feel less afraid." 

The nurse nodded with a smile, and held the door of the ICU open for Bethany. She stepped inside, the nurse followed, and Luke, Scott, and Carrie watched through the window. The shock and horror showed on her face. She went close to the bed, and they saw the nurse telling her what the various pieces of equipment were for. That didn't help her at all. If anything, then it only made her tear up. She covered her mouth with her gloved hands, but it was too late. Tears kept spilling from her eyes, and even though they were silent tears, Luke felt bad for her. Someday she had wanted to get rid of Cynthia, and she clearly regretted it so many years later. As a mother, it was the closest she had come to killing her own daughter. Luke wondered what had brought about the change of heart. It wasn't just Julie's wedding. Something else must have made her realise her mistake. 

The nurse accompanied her out after a few minutes and Bethany had paled by then. She followed the nurse to another room, took off the protective clothing, and returned to them. Dr Murray appeared at the same time, to check on the patient. Dave had gone back to Birmingham for a few days but was supposed to return in a short time. Luke did the introductions, and he smiled at Bethany. 

"Don't worry," he said to her. "She's taking time, but she'll be okay." 

"Will she be able to return to normal life?" Bethany finally managed to form a sentence. 

"It's too early to say that," he replied kindly. "We just have to wait until she wakes up." 

Dr Murray headed into the ICU along with the nurse. Carrie asked Bethany to lunch, much to Scott's displeasure. 

"I can go back to the hotel and have something," she said, "I'm not really hungry, anyway." 

"We've gone through that." Carrie came forward and held her hands. "None of us could have a proper meal for days after the accident. But life must go on, right? And it's your first time here. You must visit us." 

"I want to be here." She looked through the window again. "I want to be with her." 

"You can come back," Carrie told her. "Luke remains here most of the time. They don't allow anybody else to remain in the room." 

Bethany looked at Luke, offering him a weak smile. "Cyn's lucky to have you," she said gratefully. "Others have only broken her heart in the past." 

Luke stole a glance at Scott who was fidgeting rather impatiently. Had circumstances been different, he was sure he'd have killed him by now for calling Cynthia's mom there.. 

"Come on, let's go home." Carrie turned around, looking over her shoulder at Luke. "You're coming, right?" 

Luke only shrugged in reply. Carrie sighed, glancing around her. Scott was already walking away. 

"This is a hospital, Luke." Carrie found it important to remind him. "She's got a dedicated nurse to herself. You can come home for lunch." 

"I'm not hungry." 

"I don't believe this," Carrie shook her head. "We're supposed to be gluttons. Why do we now have to be coaxed to eat?" 

"You people go ahead," Luke said, "I'll join later." 

"It's lunchtime and you have to eat," Carrie stopped and half-turned. 

She wasn't letting this go, was she? 

"Come with me, Beth." She put an arm around Cynthia mom. "Luke, please hurry." 

Luke watched as the women walked off, wondering what had happened to the pushy, undiplomatic Carrie. Taking a fleeting glance at the ICU door, he started down the hallway. He took a mental note of doing a few push-ups when he went home to change his clothes. It still seemed so crazy to him how, in a matter of a few days, Cynthia's home had become home to him as well. He immediately corrected himself. It wasn't the house. His heart belonged with Cynthia. And home was where the heart was. 

The cyclonic circulation that had brought about the rain for the past couple of weeks had moved away, making room for a clear sky with patches of white clouds. The scent of honeysuckle was in the air, and the trees were in full bloom. Cynthia loved that kind of a day, when the trees were covered in green, the flowers on the branches looked like frosting on a cake, and the soft sun brought cheer to the heart. The apple tree on Scott's lawn had started to bear fruit, but Jake and Josh showed no interest in them. Scott had brought Jake to see Cynthia one Sunday; as shocked as he'd been on finding her surrounded by the machines, he'd still pretended to be a stoic and showed no emotion. Later that night, however, he had asked Scott if she would be able to ride bikes with them again. 

When Carrie stopped the car before their house, Bethany looked out of the window, her eyes sighting Cynthia's cottage. While Carrie parked the car, Scott got off and headed inside the house. In all the years he had known Scott, Luke had never seen him disliking someone so much. 

"That house is lovely." Bethany said, as Luke held the car door open for her. "There are blooms everywhere." 

"That's Cynthia's house." Luke shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled. "She grew all the flowers herself. She can live without everything, but not without flowers." 

Bethany's smile was shadowed by a pall of gloom when she heard that. She looked at Cynthia's house again, biting her lower lip to keep the tears at bay. Luke noticed yet again how similar her features were to that of her daughter's. The same oval face, the same thin lips, the same slender form. Except for the hair and the specks of grey, the height, and the very visible lines on Bethany's face, pretty much every other feature was similar between Cynthia and her mother. 

"That... that's her house?" she asked softly, still staring at the picturesque cottage. 

"Yes. Her sanctuary." Luke sighed when he remembered how out of place the very feminine look of the house used to make him feel earlier. Cynthia was a homely person, and over the three weeks that he had spent in the town, she had dragged him to her house whenever she became free from work a little early. When he had first come to her house, he hadn't the slightest idea that someday he'd be the one taking care of the place in her absence. Now when he looked back, he realised that there was nothing more he would want than to watch the regular, day to day Cynthia moving about her house with an easy charm, cooking, talking, making him laugh. 

"Would you like to come in?" Luke offered. Bethany debated for a few moments, before shaking her head. 

"I shouldn't," she said, "Not when she isn't here." 

"I understand." Luke glanced behind him to find Carrie waiting for them. With a tilt of his head, he conveyed what he wanted to say. Carrie nodded with a smile. 

"Beth," she called out. "Come over. I've kept lunch ready." 

Once Bethany had entered their lawn, Carrie narrowed her eyes on Luke. "We'll be waiting for you," she said firmly, crossing her arms against her chest. Luke smiled. 

"I'll change my clothes and join," he nodded, unlocking the front gate of Cynthia's house and stepping on to the lawn. When he turned around after closing the gate, his gaze stopped on one of the flower pots lining the porch. Roses were among Cynthia's favourite flowers, and there were several kinds of roses adorning the porch and the window sills, besides the rose bush in the middle of the lawn. Luke walked up to the porch and kneeled next to the pot of pink roses. Just the other day, the bud had been tight. But it had begun to open, already a deeper shade of pink. Luke touched the silky petals; they were smoother than he'd imagined, cooler too. He tried to will it to open faster, craving to see the beauty that was inside. But Nature had its own timing. 

Luke smiled to himself, withdrawing his fingers to admire the flower from a distance. The flower was almost like an epiphany. It seemed to tell him that good times were ahead. He closed his eyes and inhaled the soft fragrance of the flower. Good times would mean Cynthia waking up. And Nature would decide its timing, just like it decided when a bud was supposed to bloom. 

Bethany and Carrie were sitting at the table and talking when Luke entered their house after getting into fresh clothes. Through the last fourteen days, the washing machine had been working the most. He had only got three sets of clothes with him, and although they were thick t-shirts and sturdy denims, he often wondered how long they'd last, given all the washing. 

"Hi Luke, want some coffee?" Carrie offered with a smile. Luke shook his head, passing by the table and walking over to the window. The sun was hazy, and the gentle breeze could only be noticed if one stopped to feel it. While Scott heated the lunch, the rich aroma of jasmine rice and beef curry floated out of the kitchen and cloaked the house. At other times, Luke's stomach would have growled and his mouth watered. But despite being surrounded by two cooks and delicious food, he never felt hungry. 

"There wasn't any need for these arrangements," Bethany said, when Scott laid the table. The boys had gone to their grandmother's place after school, and were supposed to remain there for the next two days. 

"You're Cynthia's mom," Carrie piped from the kitchen. "And this is the first time you've come to the town and to our house. We couldn't let you go away just like that." 

"I don't deserve to be a mother." She took off her jacket and put it around the back of the upholstered chair. Luke saw the unshed tears in her eyes, the gentle quivering of her lips. Scott was about to say something, but Carrie was quick to intervene. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 20



"The past is in the past," Carrie smiled, holding her hands. "Now isn't the time to bring up old things." 

"She's right." Luke slowly walked up to the table and pulled a chair. Scott put the steaming bowls of rice and beef curry on the table, followed by the plates. Luke inhaled the aroma of the food, hoping it would bring back his appetite. 

"The worst is over, Mrs Adamson," he said, clasping his hands on the table. "We just have to be patient until Cynthia wakes up." 

"I've treated her inhumanly," she said in a broken voice. "How could I turn out my young daughter without thinking twice?" 

She wiped off a few tears that had trickled down her cheeks, without lifting her face. "Sam had only played with her," she said quietly, "He took advantage of her vulnerability and used her in his moment of weakness. I wish I had not trusted NJ so much. I wish I had seen the whole thing in a different light and stood by my daughter..." 

She finally looked up at Scott, who was standing next to the table. "I should have at least heard you out," she lamented. "You came to meet me but I..." 

"Let's not talk about this, please," Carrie interjected, giving her a glass of water. "We have to be together in this. It will be beneficial for Cynthia if we stand united in this difficult time." She looked over her shoulder to find Scott walking away to the kitchen. Then she smiled and tapped Bethany's hand. 

"I'll be right back," she nodded, before rising from the chair and following her husband. Luke sighed, taking pity on the lady. Cynthia had made a mistake by choosing the wrong person to love, and her mother had made a mistake by refusing to understand her. But then, who was perfect in the world? The most important thing was to learn from those mistakes and move on. Cynthia had moved on to a great extent, but her mom's life had come to a standstill after she left. She hadn't been able to forgive herself. 

"Why didn't your elder daughter accompany you?" he asked. He had assumed she'd not have the time or opportunity to inform anybody else, but he'd also hoped Cynthia's sister would at least know. 

"She isn't here," Bethany replied. "She's on her honeymoon. I wouldn't want to spoil their good time." 

"I tried to call you many times, but your number remained unreachable. I left a message with your bank." 

"Yes, I was away on work, and the weather in Bath was terrible. I returned as soon as I got the message." 

"I'm sorry we proceeded with the treatment without your knowledge," Luke mentioned. 

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Bethany smiled at him. "You did the right thing. Delaying the surgery would have been so dangerous..." 

Bethany looked in the direction of the kitchen where Scott and Carrie were having a conversation. "I wish Carrie hadn't brought me home," she rued. "Scott hasn't forgotten my rude behaviour." 

"Mrs Adamson," he said gently, looking at her sideways. "I understand how you must be feeling. But you have to be strong. You're her mother. You're the best person to take care of her." 

"I lost that right the day I turned her out." She smiled wistfully. "Cyn was gentle, loving, unassuming. And I-" 

"There's no use of saying these things now," Luke reminded her. "We must invest our energy in Cynthia. She needs us." 

Bethany looked at him, her moist eyes sad. She reached out one of her hands and placed it on Luke's arm. 

"You're not going to break her heart, are you?" she asked, her voice exuding fear and concern. "You're not going to do what Sam did with her, right?" 

Luke closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, a pang of anger suddenly stabbing his chest at being compared to her ex. 

"You think I'm capable of something so low?" he asked, looking away. 

"No, I don't think you're like that. But men are hard to trust." She sighed, pinching the middle of forehead. "I had my heart broken, my daughter went through the same thing." 

"It's over," Luke announced firmly. "Cynthia is always going to have me. I love her too much to let her go." 

He looked comfortingly at Bethany. "You can trust me on that." 

Bethany smiled, hugging him warmly. "I do, my boy. I do." 

-- 

Luke's phone hadn't stopped ringing for the past one week. He and James had been doing a lot of to and fro with the website, and Luke often found himself swiping images and sending emails while keeping Cynthia company, despite the poor network connection inside the hospital. Megan, the motormouth that she was, had also explained the whole situation to Liam, much to Luke's displeasure since he hadn't intended to embroil Liam into his private matter. Now, along with Paul and Megan, his brother had also started calling him almost every day loaded with endless questions about the new woman in his life. 

Three weeks had passed since Cynthia's accident but she still hadn't woken up. Quite surprisingly, her friends, neighbours, customers, and well wishers continued to visit the hospital, even though Luke had expected them to lose steam after a while. Bobby was present there almost every day, filling in when he or Scott needed to be away for some time. Lauren dropped in every evening while returning from work, no matter how tired she was. There were others who visited every day, and some who came every couple of days. Whenever Luke visited Cynthia's shop to consult the website contents with Becky and Leah, he found the girls going about business as usual, although they did look very down always. Leah once said that it felt like Cynthia was away on a long vacation and had left the shop to them. 

But what touched Luke the most was the way the town dwellers remembered Cynthia all the time. And their affection also extended towards him. In a small town, everybody knew who was dating whom. Cynthia was guarding of her private life, but the fact of her singlehood was known by all. While Luke knew how the single, eligible men in the town who coveted Cynthia's affection reacted to the fact that she had bypassed all of them and chosen a city guy, he hoped he'd be able to win the hearts of the people there and become one of them. He could already feel their love for him. 

While leaving home after a quick shower that morning, he had noticed two more blooming buds. One was a white rose on her window sill, and the other was a dahlia on the lawn. When he arrived, Bethany was already there. Luke saw a rosary around her neck, which was permanently present there. She didn't talk much. Sometimes she counted the rosary beads, sometimes she cried silently. At other times, she watched Cynthia through the window. When Carrie came, she took her to the café or to show her around the place. 

That afternoon, Carrie had taken her home for lunch after Luke had used the best of his persuasion skills to convince her that he'd grab lunch at the café. Not that he had kept his word. It was well past 3 p.m. and he hadn't moved out of the chair in the last three or four hours. He had talked to Cynthia about how well her website was shaping up and how everybody was eager for her to get better soon. 

Luke must have dozed off when he was jerked awake by one of the machines beeping loudly, while Cynthia frantically flailed her arms, trying to free herself from everything injected into her body. Too panicked to even notice that she was awake, Luke hit the nurse call button, while trying to hold her down, to stop her from struggling, but very strangely, Cynthia seemed stronger than him. 

The door burst open and her nurse bustled in. 

"She's beginning to wake up," she beamed, "but it seems she isn't too happy about it." 

She gave Luke a quick smile, and he found himself wondering how many times she had been faced with this. He saw the nurse calling for Dave, Dr Murray, and Dr Baker, and in a few seconds they had arrived in the room. 

"This is wonderful." Dave exclaimed, smiling widely. "Nurse, give her a mild sedative to calm her down. We'll be present in the room when she moves again." 

The nurse nodded and proceeded to do as told, and Luke tried not to wince as the needle slid into Cynthia's arm. Within moments, she became still again. 

"What if...?" Luke tried to speak but found his throat too dry. Dave smiled at him. 

"She's not unconscious anymore." He told him. "Just asleep. She'll wake up again in a short time. In the meanwhile, inform the others. They must be here when she opens her eyes." 

Luke nodded dumbly, leaving the room. Once out on the passageway, he leaned against the wall, his legs wobbly. When his hand slid inside the pocket of his jeans, his trembling fingers could barely close around his phone. Scott was at his café, Carrie was home with Cynthia's home. Becky and Leah were at the shop. He wondered who was calm enough to handle the news. Carrie would be too overwhelmed. The girls couldn't close the shop abruptly. 

Gulping slowly, he finally fished out his phone and found Scott's number. 

Then he hit the call button. 

Eyes closed and pulse racing, he waited for him to pick up. When he picked up, he sounded anxious. 

"Is everything alright?" he asked. He could hear the sounds from the café kitchen, people talking, cars passing. But he struggled to make his voice work. 

"Luke? Is Cynthia okay?" Scott asked again. "What happened?" 

Luke swallowed again, in an attempt to moisten his throat. His eyes were still closed and he grabbed the wall to steady himself as he managed to come up with two words. 

"She's awake." 

True to what Dave had said, Cynthia started to stir again after a while, this time a little calmer. She was moaning and sweating when Scott, Carrie, Bethany, Becky, and Leah arrived. The ICU was suddenly full of people. Dave was standing by her bedside, gently calling out her name. Cynthia continued to moan and sweat, sometimes moving her right arm. Luke stood outside the room, his hands trembling and heart beating furiously. She hadn't opened her eyes yet. Maybe the light in the room hurt her eyes. Her lips were slightly parted, and she frequently swallowed air. 

Three weeks of hell were over. Cynthia was finally awake. And Luke suddenly found his strength back. The strength to face the future. He knew Cynthia wouldn't be exactly like before. She'd require a lot of care and patience. Luke was prepared for it. He'd feed her, bathe her, sing her to sleep, wake her up with kisses, hold her when she felt weak... He'd be with her through every step of her recovery. 

"Luke, come in." Carrie poked her head out of the room and said to him in a hushed tone. He tip-toed towards her and reached the door, putting his head in first. Dave looked happy, Scott looked relieved, Bethany looked nervous, and Becky and Leah were still trying to decide how to react. Cynthia was mumbling something very feebly, and the way her eyes were squeezed shut indicated she was feeling pain. 

"Come here, lad," Dave called him close. "There's nothing to be afraid of anymore. We're moving her out of the ICU." He said to everybody present there. "She'll have another scan, and then we'll keep her in a room of her own. Okay?" 

Everyone nodded in agreement, except Luke. His eyes were fixed on Cynthia's face. He always thought hers was the calmest, the most serene face he'd ever seen. Over those three weeks, he'd never stopped hoping that he'd see her lips moving, her eyes blinking again. Her fingers were still twitching while she let out moans and incoherent words. The sedative was still active, and he dreaded to think the pain she'd feel once she became fully conscious. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to kiss away her pain. 

"Prepare her room," Dr Baker instructed the nurses. "Dr Nesbrit, should we perform the scan now?" 

"Yes, before she's shifted to the new room." Dave looked at the visitors in the cabin. "She should be okay from now on. However, we cannot say if there has been any long term damage until a few days pass." He smiled at Luke and patted him on the back. "Don't worry," he said. "I'd told you she'd make it. She did." 

Luke nodded, tears bubbling inside him. "Thank you, Dave," he murmured. "You've given me back my everything." 

"Don't thank me," Dave said while leaving the room. "Your love brought her back. You're meant to be together." 

Luke and the others watched as Cynthia was wheeled away for the scan. Bethany crashed into the nearest bench and fished out her handkerchief to wipe off her tears. Becky and Leah hugged each other again. They had been too overwhelmed to speak properly since they arrived at the hospital. Carrie still looked a little anxious, as she paced up and down the corridor, visibly impatient for Cynthia to be moved to a normal room. The only one smiling was Scott. He came up to Luke, slipping an arm around his shoulders. 

"You look funny," he laughed, making Luke smile out of relief. He ran a hand across his face, feeling hungry for the first time in weeks. 

"Do you think she remembers everything?" he asked Scott nervously. 

"I hope she has forgotten her ex and the things he'd done to her." Scott looked at him and smiled. "I have a feeling she remembers everything. Her home, you, flowers, her shop... things that matter to her. I can't imagine her forgetting the things that make her who she is." 

"I'm worried about her scan report," Luke said. "I wonder how much she's healed." 

"Well, she wouldn't have woken up if she hadn't healed at all. The rest of her recovery will take time but she'll make it." 

He gave him a little squeeze. "We're together, Luke," he assured him. "We'll help her through this." 

"We will." 

"Anybody you'd want to call?" 

"No. Not now." 

"I'll give my mom a call and tell her." He patted his back again. "Cheer up. She's okay." 

Luke couldn't be so sure. Not until she opened her eyes or said something coherent. He worried about her memory, her vision and hearing, her movements... Practically everything would continue to worry him until she fully came back to life.  

"The patient has been moved to her room," a nurse came to them with the announcement after sometime. "Dr Nesbrit wants all of you to be there." 

When they went to the small, neat room which she now occupied, Dave was trying to make her respond. She was half-awake, half-asleep; she moved her head very faintly from side to side, while still mumbling incoherently. 

"Cynthia?" Dave spoke very gently. "Can you hear me?" 

Her fingers twitched and lips moved in response. Luke almost involuntarily opened his mouth to say something, but held himself back. Dave turned to look at him. 

"Did you say something?" he asked. Luke shook his head, embarrassed. Suddenly all eyes were on him. 

"Come here," Dave called him near her bed. "Sit by her side." 

As if entranced, Luke slowly walked closer to her bed. For the first time, he seemed to notice that her hair had been cut. It was better than a shaven head, but Cynthia would still be sad about losing her amazing hair. Her hand and shoulder wounds had healed a lot, and the sutures had been removed. Doctors suspected the broken bone of her leg had also patched up to a great extent. 

Luke gently sat by her bedside, afraid of jerking or scaring her. She was breathing fast, her chest heaving. The cuts on her face and lips had begun to dry, leaving brown scars on her pale skin. His tongue darted out and moistened his lips as he opened his mouth and tried to think of something to say. But words failed him. They would've been together for these three weeks had her ex not turned up. They would've had countless precious moments had she not driven in the rain. 

He held her hand and kissed it, still thinking of what to say. And then he gave up, deciding to resort to what he did best. 

"I'd gladly walk across the desert, 

With no shoes upon my feet, 

To share with you the last bite of bread I had to eat... 

I would swim back to save you, 

In your sea of broken dreams, 

When all your hopes are sinking, 

Let me show you what love means... 

As the others in the room stared on endearingly, Luke tried to keep himself from choking on his tears. His voice was broken and out of tune, but he continued to sing. 

 

"Love can build a bridge, 

Between your heart and mine, 

Love can build a bridge, 

Don't you think it's time? 

Don't you think it's time?" 

Luke was still singing hoarsely when Cynthia's hand closed around his thumb. There were a few audible gasps in the room. Her mumbling had stopped; she was calm now. Something told him she was searching for him in her stupor. Luke wiped his tears off and kissed her hand again, cherishing her tender hold on his fingers. The woman he loved, who had given him back everything he'd ever lost, was alive and awake. He had never believed in miracles. But right then, he knew he had experienced it. Cynthia was with him again. There was no miracle greater than that for him. 

(To be continued)



Will Be Yours Ch. 21



The quietness of the house was broken by the melody of a cello coming from the living room. Luke poked his head out of the bathroom, his face full of shaving cream and the razor in his hands. He had just put down the phone a couple of minutes ago. He wondered who it was again so early in the morning. Was it the hospital? 

The thought made him drop the razor in the basin and grab a towel. He rushed to the centre table in the living room and picked up his phone, feeling relieved only when he saw Megan's number flashing on the screen. He dropped himself on the sofa and pressed the call button. 

"Hi Meg." For the first time in so many days, his smile was genuine. 

"Paul just told me Cynthia's awake!" she exclaimed. He had been on the phone with his best friend just five minutes ago. 

"That's right," he said, wiping the foam from his face. Since she awakened, he had been sleeping at night on the spare bed the hospital had arranged for him in Cynthia's room. He had shopped for some clothes since he was going to stay there for a while, and on his way home that morning, he had also bought a shaving kit from a departmental store. He'd also had a big breakfast at Scott's house half-an-hour ago. 

"Since when?" his sister screeched ecstatically. 

"Two days. She's recognised all of us. She is responding to touch, to commands like 'raise your hand', and is mumbling feebly to questions." Luke dropped his head back, recalling the last two days. The day she woke up, he held his breath while Cynthia's confused gaze travelled across each of the people in the room. She said nothing, but when her eyes stopped on him longer than they should have, he did fear for a moment that she wouldn't recognise him. And then she'd tried to lift her hand, without taking her eyes off him. When Luke was by her side, she'd held his hand and drifted off to sleep. The next morning, she had spoken for the first time, calling out each of their names in a voice Luke barely recognised as hers. 

As the day progressed, she'd been able to follow simple commands, and reply to questions with a shake of her head or broken words. At other times, she remained sedated, to keep the pain away, and help her rest. 

"Oh god." When Megan sighed, he could sense the relief in her voice. She and Paul had been in constant touch with him, comforting him, giving him strength. When he cried, Megan distracted him and made him hope for the best again. When he felt frustrated, Paul gently reminded him that he needed to be strong for Cynthia. 

His Cyn. The angel in his life. 

People had trouped in to see her once word spread that she was awake. They mostly found her asleep, and only the lucky ones saw her eyes open or her lips moving. She obviously had a lot to say, but words didn't come easy to her. The best she could do at the moment was utter their names, whether it was Scott, or Becky, or her mom. And whenever she uttered his name, he felt all his sorrow, all his grief move aside to give way to the overwhelming sense of love he had for her. 

"Is she off the feeding tube?" she asked. Luke wiped a bit of foam from the edge of his mouth with his thumb and rubbed it on his pants. 

"Not yet," he replied. "They intend to, in a few more days." 

"Is Dave still there?" 

"Yes. Even if he does leave on work, he returns in a short time. Once she is more aware, more stable, they need to check what the damages have been." 

"Has she spoken to you yet?" 

"They have only been incoherent murmurs so far. She wants to say a lot, I understand that. But I'm ready to wait. There's no hurry." He smiled at the memory of Cynthia holding his hand, like she'd never let him go. "I can't explain how much I love her," he said softly. 

"You don't have to," his sister smiled down the line. "You wouldn't have done so much for her if there wasn't selfless, unconditional love involved. And I'm sure there has been no major damage. She'll just be weak and incapable of day to day things for a few weeks, but she's going to be okay after that." 

"You speak like you have a lot of experience with this." 

"I don't. I just know. When do you think we should come to see her?" 

"You have three kids, Meg." Luke pointed out. "I don't want you to leave them and come down here." 

"It's an hour's flight," she said. "And I can at least send Paul to visit you, even if I can't make it. We also have to plan the party." 

Luke frowned. "What party?" 

"I'd told you we'd celebrate once she woke up." 

Despite himself, Luke laughed. That was possibly the first time he truly laughed in more than three weeks. 

"What?" Megan feigned innocence. "Did I say something funny?" 

"No." Luke checked the time and rose from the sofa. "I'll call you later, Meg. I should return to the hospital now." 

"No problem. I'll text you. Give Cynthia our love." 

"I will. Bye, Meg." 

Luke finished the rest of his shaving, and dressed quickly. The house did feel empty without Cynthia, but he had got quite used to it in the last few weeks. The boundaries still existed, though. He mostly restricted himself to the living room and the front porch of the house; whenever he needed to doze, he used the sofa, and the kitchen was hardly ever needed. He didn't know much about flowers or how to care for them, but whenever he returned to the house during the day, he sprinkled water on the potted plants on the windows and on the porch. The plants on the lawn got too much of water anyway, with the sudden rainfall every now and then. Cynthia loved her house a lot. It was her most important possession. She loved her shop too, but since she had taken over somebody else's business, she shied away from giving herself full credit. Her little house was the closest to her heart. Even without being told, he knew the amount of love she had poured into the place. 

It was drizzling when Luke reached the hospital. On his way, he had stopped at Cynthia's flower shop and bought a bunch of daisies. Leah insisted he didn't have to pay but he still did. Cynthia wasn't yet in a condition to appreciate flowers or other kind gestures people had been showing her. But he still wanted to take flowers for her, so that she'd remain surrounded by things that made her happy. 

"Good morning." The nurse greeted him when he entered the room. The place was bright and well-ventilated, unlike the ICU which felt like a concentration camp to Luke. He returned the greeting and looked for a place to put in the flowers. 

"I was about to give you a call," she said to him, while noting things in the chart. "She's been calling out your name every now and then." 

"Did she say anything?" he asked, moving closer to the bed. Cynthia's eyes were closed and she was breathing steadily. 

"No." She finished her writing and looked up. "She might tell you." 

Luke kept the bunch of flowers on the small table beside the bed, supporting it on the wall. The nurse smiled. 

"I'll get a glass for that." With a nod, she turned and exited the room. 

Luke sat on the edge of the bed, cherishing the look on Cynthia's face. She was still in pain very obviously, but she was also healing well. In the last two days, she had begun to look like her normal self- calm, peaceful. Heavenly. 

"L-Luke...?" Her mouth parted and the faint word left her lips. Luke held her hand, smiling. 

"Yes, baby," he responded. "I'm right here." 

She didn't open her eyes. Only her lips moved very slightly as she tried to talk. 

"I'm sorry." The words were slurry and barely audible, and Luke had to take his face close to her mouth to be able to hear her. 

"What are you sorry for?" he gently asked. Cynthia swallowed slowly and he felt her breathing become rapid for a few seconds. Then she calmed down, and opened her mouth again. 

"Sam..." The laboured words made Luke's stomach churn, while also relieving him at the same time. Her memory was perfect. She had forgotten nothing. 

"He was here..." her voice came again, and the hand Luke held in his palm felt different for a little while. He looked at the patient monitor to find her heartbeats increasing. 

"It's okay. Don't talk anymore. Please." Luke tried to soothe her and send her back to sleep. "You need rest." 

He wasn't sure if she heard him, but she said nothing more. Unnoticed by him, her fingers had wrapped around his hand. Luke smiled at the sight, his eyes slowly travelling to the patient monitor again. Her heartbeats had returned to normal, her breathing was softer. Luke was about to leave the bed, thinking she had fallen asleep, when she spoke again. 

"Luke?" 

He leaned closer again, still holding her hand. "Yes, love?" 

"Will you take me..." she croaked, her voice breaking off at places. 

"Take you where?" he gently encouraged her. 

"To Diana's grave?" 

For a few seconds, Luke fumbled for a reply. Even in those moments, when she had evaded death by a whisker, she'd not forgotten about Diana or her rightful place in his life. The tears spilled over from his eyes and landed on the white sheet of the bed, as he looked away for a while, trying in vain to remain steady. 

"Luke..." her feeble voice sounded again, and he inhaled deeply, sniffing back the sobs. 

"I will," he croaked, nodding vehemently even though she couldn't see it, "I will take you anywhere you want me to. But first, you have to get well soon." 

She fell asleep soon after, appearing serene and content. Luke wiped his tears off and brought her hand up to his lips, kissing it. He wished he could take her in his arms and hold her like there was no tomorrow. But he needed to wait. As of now, he was content watching her, finding solace in the knowledge that her pain would soon begin to subside. She was responding well to treatment. At night, he'd stay awake for a long time, staring at her from his small bed. He loved to notice her normal breathing pattern, something that didn't happen during her unconsciousness. Although the nurses were on duty, he'd still remain alert through the night, watching out for any movement, any sound. Cynthia often moaned softly in her sleep, and though initially he'd just leap out of bed and hold her hand, after Dave explained that it was normal, he had learned to be more in control of his anxiety. 

Luke gently pulled his hand away from her hold, and rose from the bed. Along with the normal IVs, she was now also being given analgesic injections and sedatives, that kept her either asleep or drowsy. The first day, when Dave had asked her if she felt pain, she'd faintly nodded, and a tear had rolled down her temple. Luke's heart ached when he thought of that moment. She needed the sedatives, or the pain would kill her. 

He found Cynthia's mom outside on the bench when he opened the door. She was talking to somebody over the phone. When she saw him exiting, she hung up and stood from the bench. 

"Good morning," Luke smiled. 

"Good morning," she returned his greeting with a smile. "Is she okay?" 

"More or less. Why are you here? You could come in." 

"I saw you with her. I didn't want to intrude in your privacy." 

"You still haven't got used to being here, have you?" he crossed his arms and smiled. Bethany had noticed from the first moment that Cynthia didn't need her. She had so many people to take care of her and help and support her through her recovery. The doctors still had difficulty getting used to the fact that she had a mother, and preferred to talk to Scott or Luke. All that made Bethany feel like an outsider. 

"Everybody loves her so much," she said sadly. Then she sat down on the bench again. "The whole town worries about her, prays for her, cares about her. And what have I done for her?" 

She looked at his face and smiled wistfully. "I evicted her from the house, without wondering where she'd go. How long did it take me to realise my mistake? Three-and-a-half years." 

Looking away, she wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye. She leaned back in the bench, heaving a deep sigh. 

"I'm the cruellest mother in the whole universe." 

"You cannot turn back time," Luke said, sitting on the other end of the bench. "You cannot undo what you did to her. But you can start afresh. Just like Cynthia has. She's moved on so beautifully, without letting her past surface back. The town doesn't love her for nothing. There are very few people here whose lives she hasn't touched in some way." 

"I can see that. I don't know if I even have the right, but I feel so proud of her." 

"You should," Luke smiled. "She is an amazing woman. And it has a lot to do with her upbringing." 

Bethany shook her head. "I used to think I've done a great job with my girls," she said. "But I ruined it all with one reckless action." 

"At least you realise that you made a mistake." He looked up at the nurse as she returned to the room, carrying a glass in her hand. When the door shut, he looked at Bethany. "Move on, please. It's never too late to make a new beginning." 

Bethany looked at him, smiling gratefully. "What you're doing for her speaks a lot about your upbringing as well," she said. "Your parents are lucky to have a son like you." 

Luke waited for the nurse to pass before letting out a soft sigh. "So consider this a son's request to a mother," he said, angling himself towards her. "Please let go of the past. Cynthia has a new, different life. A life she created from scratch. Please don't keep dragging her back to what was." 

Bethany nodded with a smile. "I won't," she said, her voice choking. "I want her back. I want us to erase the last few years and bond again. But will she ever be able to forgive me?" 

"She doesn't blame you for anything. She's still a little sensitive about her past, but she has nothing against you." 

Luke turned his face to look at the door of Cynthia's room. She wouldn't wake up in a while, but he would still be around, in case she needed him again. 

"Why don't you go in?" he asked Bethany. "Sit with her. You'll feel better." 

"Is she awake?" she asked hesitantly. 

"No, she's asleep. But she may wake up any moment." He rose from the bench, looking inside the room through the wood-panelled glass door. "Please go in. You can talk to her if she wakes up." 

Bethany got up to her feet, looking nervously at the door. Luke knew she had good reason to be hesitant. Cynthia had spoken only to him since waking up. No one knew how she'd react if left alone with somebody other than Luke. 

"I'm around," he added with a smile. Bethany found her strength, and gently pushed open the door. Luke watched from the other side of the door, while Bethany went up to Cynthia's bedside. She had been in her room earlier, but never alone. Luke saw the fear and anxiety on her face, the hesitation in her hands as she wondered which part of Cynthia's wounded body to touch. If Luke hadn't known the truth, he'd have thought she was a new, unfamiliar woman, not her mother. 

There was obviously a big distance between the two women. Cynthia had moved on alright, but when it came to her relationship with her mother, she was still raw. Although she tried her best to not show it, Luke could see the pain she still felt when she thought of her past and the way her mother had disowned her. Clearly, one weekend hadn't changed her feelings. He only feared her reaction towards her mom when she became more conscious since they hadn't had the opportunity to seek her permission before calling her. 

He didn't have to wait long. 

It was a week since her waking up. They had been trying her on having liquid and semi-solid food, but she had lost her appetite completely and each day was different from the other. The first day she vomited, resulting in a drastic rise in her blood pressure. The next day, she became agitated when her mom tried to feed her, and started pulling at the tubes attached to her arm. She remained sedated for the rest of the day. The day after she ate without a fuss, but complained that the chicken soup had no taste or smell. Luke, who had been feeding her, looked down at the bowl of soup in his hands. He had had a bit of the soup before giving it to her, and although it was a little bland, it tasted good and also had a lovely aroma. He said nothing about it while he fed her, but soon after he found Dave and spoke to him. The doctors spent the remaining day checking her up. Her vision and hearing had already been found undamaged, and her sense of touch was also unaffected. What she had lost was her sense of smell and along with it a good part of taste. They tried her on smelling everything, from coffee, to detergent, to perfumes, to flowers, to onions and eggs. They made her taste bitter chocolates, spicy food, saccharine-sweet cakes, and citrus fruits. But the result was the same. She smelled or tasted nothing. 

No one told her openly about the damage, but she got the message anyway. She remained unmoved to a great extent, although he did find tear stains on the pillow and around the edge of her eyes. Dave had told them that the damage might not be permanent. If her lost senses did not return by six months or a year, they would know it was irrevocable. 

"Good morning, sweetheart." Luke smiled as he returned from home after a shower, and entered the room that morning to find her staring into space. Her bed had been propped up a little. The nurse had also cleaned her and changed her clothes. Her head moved and she looked at him. 

"Who informed mom?" she asked feebly, tracking him with her eyes. He had been expecting that moment. Luke replaced the old flowers with fresh ones, preparing himself for what was to follow. 

"Who was it?" she repeated her question. Luke dropped the old flowers in the bin, and sat on the edge of her bed. 

"It was my idea," he answered. "I thought she needed to know." 

Cynthia closed her eyes for a moment, before opening them and looking out of the window. 

"I don't want her here," she announced. Luke fumbled for a response. He didn't want to agitate her, and saying the wrong thing would do just that. But he didn't know the right thing to say either. 

"Cynthia..." he began, hunting for the right words."She isn't here to stay. She'll go away once you're better." 

She closed her eyes again in response. Luke couldn't bring himself to imagining what her mental condition was like. She had survived a near-fatal accident, dealt with a complex surgery, become conscious after three weeks to lose her sense of smell and taste and strength in her left arm. She didn't need to have somebody from her prior life around her, adding to the trauma. 

"Cynthia..." he softly touched her hand when she didn't offer a reply. "Say something please." 

"I don't want her here." She faintly uttered the words and promptly fell asleep. Luke waited for some time, hoping she'd look up again. When she didn't stir after several minutes, he quietly left the bed. Taking a few steps towards the door, he half-turned to look at her. 

"I love you," he whispered, even though she couldn't hear. 

Scott was approaching when he opened the door and stepped out. 

"Is she awake?" he asked him. 

"She was," Luke replied. "But she went back to sleep." 

"She's so weak," Scott observed, looking through the door of the room. "But why do you sound so low? Did she say something?" 

Luke sighed and walked over to the bench next to the door. He was still contemplating his next course of action after what Cynthia had just said. 

"You were right," he said softly. "She doesn't like her mother to be around." 

Scott came up to the bench and sat beside him. "What did she say?" he inquired. 

"She said she doesn't want her here." 

Hearing that, Scott leaned back in the bench. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. In the quietness, Luke heard voices from other parts of the building, along with other sounds that he didn't recognise. 




Will Be Yours Ch. 21



"What should I do?" Luke finally decided to ask. Scott let out a deep sigh, before shaking his head. 

"I'm not sure," he said. "Everybody here knows she doesn't have a family. And suddenly, her mother appears out of nowhere. I understand how it must be for her." He paused. "We cannot just ask her to leave, right?" 

"I should've known this was coming," Luke sighed, dropping his head back. "The way she reacted the other day upon seeing her mom..." 

"But Cynthia isn't someone to become agitated." Scott looked at him. "Didn't Dave say her behaviour could be erratic? That she could become agitated easily?" 

Luke nodded. "But it's bad for her..." 

"Listen to me. Let's wait it out, okay? Her neurological condition isn't stable right now. Her hormones are acting up, her behaviour is inconsistent. Don't you see every day is different?" 

"What about her mother? What do we tell her?" 

"Ask her to be careful. Learn to gauge her daughter's moods." He crossed his legs and crossed his arms. "What else can we tell her?" 

"You didn't want her here either," Luke mentioned. 

"Yeah, but now that she is here, I'm not going to tell her, 'Look, your daughter doesn't want you. Please leave.' It doesn't happen that way." 

Scott smiled up at the nurse as she walked into Cynthia's room. There were injections and medicines scheduled for every morning before breakfast. Then the physical therapist would come in to gently exercise her legs and arms. There would be more medicines and a couple of IVs after lunch. Luke had got used to the routine. His only worry was Cynthia's lack of appetite. Dave had said it could be because of her loss of taste and smell. 

"And moreover," Scott added. "I think it's time all of us moved on." 

"I remember the look on your face when you saw her ex," Luke pointed out. 

"I can't believe what a fool he is," Scott threw up his hands. "After what he did to her, he came back so many years later to try and reconcile. What did he think? That she'll crawl back to him?" 

He gave him a small smile. "I was surprised at your composure," he said. "The way you handled the situation... If you hadn't arrived, Becky would surely have ended up hurting him." 

"What Cynthia or her mom did was a mistake," Luke said. "Cynthia was young and naive, and I understand why her mom reacted that way. But what that man did wasn't even close to a mistake. It was intentional. He shouldn't have got into a relationship nor lured a young, impressionable girl into it when he was very much married. He had put a lot of thought into it, hadn't he? So it wasn't impulsive. It wasn't a thoughtless, reckless act. He knew what he was doing." 

Luke rose from the bench, moving closer to the door to find the nurse noting something in her chart. Cynthia was still asleep. 

"I have nothing against him," Luke continued. "He isn't my foe. But he ruined the life of the woman I love." He looked down at Scott. "I just find it unacceptable that someone could be so cruel with a girl like her." 

Scott nodded, rising from his seat to come up behind him. The nurse came out of the room, assuring them that Cynthia was sleeping without any trouble. Once she was gone, Scott put an arm around his shoulders. 

"I think this event is going to help all of us move on and begin on a clean slate," he observed. "Have you had breakfast?" 

"No, I wanted to see her first," Luke replied. 

"Let's go to the café for some pancakes then." 

Luke glanced unsurely at the door at the room. Scott smiled at him. 

"She'll be alright," he said. "Everything will be alright." 

Luke smiled, finally agreeing to the breakfast. Deep inside he knew everything was already okay. Because sometimes, life was the greatest miracle of all. 

-- 

"Carrie, this is ridiculous. She has one pair of eyes, for god's sake!" 

Scott put his hands on his hips and looked wide-eyed at his wife who had picked six eyeglass frames for Cynthia. Luke smiled from their kitchen, sipping on the remains of his coffee. Dinner had been a big meal of lamb roast. Cynthia was doing a lot better, and Carrie had decided to celebrate with some food. 

"But these are gorgeous," Carrie argued. "I'm sure she'll love all of them." 

"I think two are enough," Scott announced. "How many pairs of glasses does a person need? Her prescription has gone down as well." 

Three days ago, an ophthalmologist had come in to test Cynthia's eyes, only to find that her prescription had become half of what it used to be. Either it was because of the injury or because she hadn't got her eyes checked in a long time. 

"This one's rimless, the kind she loves to wear," Carrie held up one pair. "And this one is half-rimmed. It'll suit her oval face. And this one—" 

"You know what?" Luke kept the mug down and came out of the kitchen. "Give me all of them. I'll let her choose." 

"That's a great idea." Scott nodded. 

"I like this one," Josh looked intently at the butterfly frame. Carrie rolled her eyes. 

"These aren't for boys," she said. "Luke, take them. And tell her she can have all of these." 

"Okay." Luke laughed and took the bag in which Carrie had put in the eyeglass frame boxes. 

"I'll see you in the morning," he smiled, grabbing his jacket. "Good night." 

"Good night, Luke!" The whole Wilson family chorused behind him as he walked out the door and got into his car. It was a little more than two weeks since she became conscious, and she had shown gradual and steady progress. No, she hadn't got back her lost sense of taste or her olfactory functions, or the strength in her left arm, but her behaviour had become more consistent. She hardly became agitated, she slept for fewer hours, and greeted everyone with a smile. Among all the visitors she had every day, Katrina was the youngest of them all. She had twice come to visit her with her mother, and although Cynthia had asked Becky and Leah to decorate her house for her birthday, little Katrina had insisted that she didn't want to celebrate that year. 

"You get well soon and I'll have a big birthday party next year," she had said. "You will decorate my house then." 

For Luke, it was like getting the old, familiar Cynthia back. And the day he saw her smiling and talking to her mom while she fed her, he had no difficulty believing that good times awaited all them. 

Even though she was horribly frail and weak, and her speech was still a little slurry, she was beautiful to him all the same. It wasn't her hair or skin or her perfect body that made her beautiful. It was her heart, and the way it reached out to others, that made her what she was. 

"I missed you." Cynthia was looking longingly at the door when Luke entered. The dressing on her head was still there, as were the other bandages. But almost all of the tubes and pipes had gone. She somehow looked clutter-free. 

"I think I left you with your mom," he said, plonking himself on the chair and softly kissing her lips. Her days with her mother varied. Sometimes, she asked for her is she came in late, sometimes she didn't want to see her. Sometimes she chided him because he had called her there, while sometimes she said that he'd done the right thing. 

"I sent her home a long time ago," she said. 

"Becky was also here." 

Cynthia had spoken to Becky about her accident, made her understand that it wasn't her fault. Becky had since been back in form, chattering, giggling, and sometimes snarling at people. 

"I sent her away as well," Cynthia said. 

Luke frowned at her, but she kept staring at him with liquid eyes. He held her hand as he sat in the chair. 

"How do you feel?" he asked. She nodded quietly in response. 

"Are you in pain?" 

"Yes. But not when you're with me." 

Luke smiled tenderly, laying a kiss on her forehead. She had thrown up that morning while having a semi-solid breakfast, and he was glad she was feeling better. 

"I don't want you to spend the nights here," she said, her voice dropping. "You need to sleep." 

"I sleep here," he smiled. 

"You should go home." 

"My home is with you." 

Cynthia closed her eyes and turned her face away. Luke kissed her hand, feeling more at peace than ever. The feeling of being with her, holding her hand, talking to her, was something he would never be able to put into words. There was no other place he'd want to be. 

"They told me you never left my side," she spoke after sometime. 

"Hmm-mm," he nodded. When she turned her face, he looked into her eyes. "You jump, I jump. Remember?" 

"Are you sure you want to be with me?" she asked, closing her eyes again. 

She had become overly photo-sensitive after her accident. Even the least amount of light hurt her eyes and head. 

"It's crazy you should even ask this," he replied, tracing a finger across her cheek. "I'm in it for life. I'm going nowhere." 

"I cannot give you what you dream of." 

"What do you mean?" 

She breathed in sharply, and Luke's eyes darted at the monitor that kept track of her breathing and pulse rate. The blue and red lines were moving faster now. 

"When I had a miscarriage," she croaked, tears trickling down the corners of her closed eyes. "I was told that I had suffered from uterine damage... that I may not be able to become a mother again..." 

She opened her eyes and looked sadly at him. "You dream of children, of a family. But I..." 

That was true. He planned to marry her in a few years, once she was ready. He also planned to have a house in the town, and raise a family with her. And what she just revealed failed to bother him. 

"That's okay." Smiling, he wiped the tears from her temples. "It doesn't matter. Right now, we are far enough from kids. When the time comes and we try for children and then, if nothing happens, we'll seek help." He patted her hand. "I don't believe you are infertile. And we'll never know unless we try. Right?" 

"You deserve better than a disabled partner." 

"Shut up. You're not disabled. Your recovery time is two years. By then, you'll be stronger." 

Cynthia swallowed slowly, moistening her lips with her tongue. Luke reacted on impulse. 

"Do you want some water?" he reached for the glass on the bedside table. When she nodded, he held the glass to her mouth, while supporting the back of her head with his other hand. She took two sips before pulling away. 

"I'm sorry," she said, "I was unmindful. It was raining and the truck came out of nowhere..." 

"Let it be," Luke held her hand again. "You don't need to recount the horror." 

"I don't love Sam," she found it important to mention. "But I wish him well." Cynthia looked at him with tear-laden eyes. "I wish he finds someone to love again. I wish he raises his son to be a good person. I want him to be happy. I have no bitterness towards him." 

"I know," Luke smiled. "You aren't capable of bitterness." 

"I hope he realises that some relationships aren't meant to be." Her fingers closed around his hand. "And that some relationships are for eternity." 

"I think he already realises that. Don't you always say that life is the biggest teacher?" 

She nodded faintly, her hand withdrawing from his palm and crawling over to his arm. She could use only her right arm. Even though she was undergoing regular physical therapy, she was yet to regain strength in her other arm. But her touch felt like a slice of long-lost heaven to him. 

"You've lost weight," she observed. Her hand came up to his stubbly cheek. "Have you stopped shaving?" 

He shook his head, laughing softly. "I'm fine." He held her hand and kissed it. "If you're okay, I'll be okay." 

"They make me walk tomorrow." It was the third time she had said it that day. She often repeated things because she didn't remember many of the things that she did or said. If today she shouted at somebody, then tomorrow she forgot all about it. If she talked about something in the morning, then she forgot it by evening and spoke about it again. Luke hoped it wouldn't last forever. Cynthia was a strong, independent woman who knew how to run her own life. She would never be able to accept living with the after effects of her injury. 

"Are you afraid?" he gently asked her. He knew he had to be patient. He had understood long back that she wasn't going to be fit or strong like her pre-injury days. Dave had told them that her short term memory had been affected, and even though Cynthia was too weak to realise her forgetfulness now, soon she would. And it was his responsibility to make her understand that she would recover over time. 

"A little. Carrie said you haven't been eating properly." 

Luke smiled, bowing his head. It was like glimpsing the normal Cynthia who always insisted on eating well. 

"I was too worried about you," he replied honestly. "I never felt like eating." 

"I'm sorry for putting you through this," she said, her eyes saddening again. "For putting all of you through this." 

"It isn't your fault. You couldn't have known." 

Her eyelids had started to droop by then. While he'd been leaving for home that morning, she'd said she was in pain. The sedatives would be administered for the rest of her time in hospital, and pills would be prescribed if she was unable to sleep once she went home. 

The mere thought made a wave of relief and happiness wash over him. They planned to keep her for another fortnight because she was still yet to walk. But it would be Luke's happiest day once she came home after spending two months in hospital. And it didn't matter whether that day came after a fortnight or after another month. He was going to wait for her, for as long as it took for her to become better. 

"Luke..." her sleepy voice sounded slurry again. He brought his face closer to hers and smiled. 

"Yes, love?" 

"Thank you. For everything." 

"You've already thanked me by waking up." 

"Sing something, please." 

Luke's heart jumped. For the whole of her slumber, he'd sung to her. Now when she was awake and asking for it, he felt his nervousness return. His voice was far from perfect after all the crying. And then he shrugged it off. It didn't matter. Perfection sucked, anyway. 

"Serene as the night breeze 

When the stars gaze down at me 

There was nothing else I needed 

I could see it all in your eyes 

When hope had come here to die 

How did you know I was there? 

Waiting for you on the side of the road 

I opened up my arms but 

You took my hand and didn't let go 

Nobody but you, knows where I'm going 

Nobody could discover the truth in me 

Nobody but you, gave peace to my soul 

Gave me faith to look far beyond the sun 

You made your way into my heart 

Without asking you made my life whole 

Two lonely hearts came together 

Two lonely hearts together as one 

A twist of love you've given me, 

From here to the moon 

Today your light shines down on me 

My love for you is... 

By the time Luke trailed off, Cynthia was asleep. He smiled, put her hand down, and rose from the chair to flatten the bed. Then he laid a soft kiss on her forehead. 

"I love you, baby," he whispered. 

"Good." Cynthia spoke up suddenly. And then, for the first time since she woke up, her lips curled into a smile. "Because I love you, too." 

(To be concluded)



Will Be Yours Ch. 22



Dear readers, as we reach the end of this series (yeah, yeah, I know some of you must be heaving a sigh of relief!) I'd like to thank all of you who have loved the story and appreciated my efforts. And to those who left harsh comments against Cynthia because she was someone's accomplice in cheating, I'd like to say that life is sometimes stranger than fiction. It could be you in her place- a victim of circumstances. We're too quick to judge others. But like Marvin J. Ashton put it, 'if we could look into each other's hearts and understand the unique challenges that each of us faces, we would treat each other much more gently, with more love, patience, tolerance, and care.'

Thank you everyone.

Love, LG :-)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The lazy wind pushed against the unmown grass like a child sending dandelion seeds on their way. Velmont Town was famous for its perennial rainfall, but whenever it wasn't pouring, the weather felt remarkable. The early summer sun brought a welcoming warmth that coated everyone as good as caramel over a harvest apple. The roses had bloomed, the dahlias looked like vibrant bursts of colour. Small puddles of rainwater were scattered all across the lawn. Sparrows and pigeons danced about on the porch and on the lawn, sometimes pecking at the leaves of the trees, sometimes preening and sunning themselves. It had rained through the night and the frogs had sung to their hearts' content. There was something in the air. There was something in the season. There was something about that morning that made everything look and feel different. Or maybe it was just a new beginning.

Cynthia was home, after two months that had seemed endless. With a little help from Carrie, Luke had cleaned and dusted the house, organising the things, changing the sheets and curtains, and decorating her room with flowers. He also often scattered grains for the birds, just like he had seen Cynthia do, and tended to the plants. Cynthia often lamented that she would never be able to smell flowers again, and every time she said that, Luke told her that she was going to recover her senses. He believed she would.

Her remaining days in the hospital hadn't been too good. She had lost most of her balance, and along with it, most of her courage as well. Her left arm usually remained numb, but her right hand wasn't too strong either. She dropped things when she tried to hold them, could not squeeze anything, and her hands often trembled. The doctors had said that it was in equal parts because of the injury and also because of the strong medicines and IVs. Her head hurt if she tried to read. Loud noises made her cry. Too much light irritated her eyes. Although her broken bone had healed, she still had to undergo a lot of physical therapy in order to walk without support.

But the most significant thing, one that signalled that she needed psychological help, was her fear of the streets and moving vehicles. While she had slowly learned to sleep without the sedatives, she often awoke at night, crying and trembling.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Luke asked her the first time it happened.

"The truck...." was all she'd been able to murmur in her shaky voice.

The nightmares hadn't gone away, unlike what they had hoped. Instead, they had only been aggravated by her journey home. Bethany and Becky had remained with her in the ambulance, while Scott and Luke had followed in the car. Though she hadn't reacted through the drive, she had remained shaken for the rest of the day. It was only the next morning when she regained her form and started to feel the joy of being home.

But despite the concern of everyone, Cynthia seemed to have taken her disabilities in her stride. Although they did often find her sad and depressed when she lost her balance, or couldn't taste her food, or didn't recall what someone had just told her, she rarely expressed her sadness in words. Her hair was also gone. Not that she said anything, but they realised her anguish when she made permanent enemies with the mirror. The new life was going to be hard for her to get used to, but Luke hoped she'd slowly become better once her rehabilitation and physical therapy progressed.

"Mum," she said to her mother as she was leaving for the night. It was two days since her discharge, and Bethany, on Scott's insistence, had moved to their guest room, so that it was easier for her to look after Cynthia. Luke had asked her to stay with Cynthia while he could move to the guest room, but Bethany wanted them to be together. "She needs you more than she needs me," she'd told him.

"Yes, honey?" She returned to the bed and sat beside her.

"Will you stay for a couple of weeks more?" she asked. Her mother smiled.

The two of them were on the path of reconciliation. Bethany had been tending to her daughter, and Cynthia had finally realised that she deserved a chance. She hadn't shouted at her again.

"I am staying until you're able to walk without support," her mother smiled. "I've never taken a long leave in the whole of my work life. I can stay for a while."

"Luke needs to return," she stated as a matter of fact. "He begins recording soon. Sitting here with me isn't going to do his career any good."

"He's there with you in spirit even when he's away," Bethany patted her cheek. "No distance is too great for love."

"Will you visit me?" she asked. Bethany had finally come to terms with the fact that Cynthia's life was in Velmont Town and she would never return to Birmingham. She needed to see her life to understand that her daughter wasn't a college-going girl anymore. She was a successful woman with her own world. Luke was glad she had accepted that, without asking her to move back again.

"I will," she smiled. "This place is wonderful. Maybe I'll take care of your lawn until you're better. Will you let me do that?"

Cynthia nodded. "This town is considered remote and far-flung. Tourists come here to unwind, but the young people here leave for the city life. Others come back to raise a family."

"This place suits you," Bethany said. "I don't regret that you gave up your ambitions, because what you have here is priceless."

"I can't believe Luke went the whole way for me," Cynthia sighed. "I never thought I'd ever find someone like him..."

"He's a great guy. And he loves you so much." Bethany kissed her forehead. "I pray you two always remain together," she said.

Luke had been overhearing the conversation while Carrie chattered near his ears, and it made him smile. He prayed for the same thing, that he and Cynthia always remained together. When Bethany left the room and prepared to leave, Luke hugged her and Carrie and saw them till the door. Cynthia's eyes were closed when he entered her room, but she opened her eyes when she sensed him around.

"Why did you sleep on the sofa last night?" she frowned. Luke kept his phone on the nightstand, and sat beside her.

"The bed isn't big enough for two people," he said, smiling. "I mean, it would feel big enough if we snuggled, but you're still in pain, and I don't want to end up hurting you accidentally..."

"Do you plan to sleep apart tonight as well?" she asked, but even before he could respond, she added something more. "Do you find me ugly?"

Luke's heart lurched at those words. He was only trying to be careful. He had no idea he had only ended up conveying the wrong message.

"Not at all!" He moved closer to her and held her hands. "I'm sorry if that is what I made you feel. I just wanted to give you more room to be able to sleep comfortably."

"You think I'm not comfortable with you?"

"It's not that—"

"You're getting tired of this." She lifted her eyes and looked at him. "I don't want you to be my caregiver. I don't want our relationship to become that."

Not one to react, Luke recalled what Dave had said. Cynthia wasn't in a stable neurological condition. She could be irrational, illogical, and misunderstanding. He breathed in and strengthened his resolve to remain patient.

"You're beautiful," he said reassuringly. "And I'm not saying this because I want to pacify you, but because you really are. Always were, will always be."

"You're upset that Sam was here?" she asked softly. Luke put a finger under her chin and lifted her face.

"You think it bothers me?" he smiled into her eyes. She nodded.

"It doesn't," he clarified. Moving even closer, he kissed her lips. Cynthia's mouth parted, drawing him in. For those three weeks that she'd been unconscious, Luke had resisted kissing her. It felt wrong, as though taking advantage of her. But not anymore. He planned to kiss her every minute for the rest of their lives together.

"It bothers you," he added, ghosting his lips against hers. Cynthia pulled back.

"Yes." She lifted her gaze and looked at him. "My life is with you. And I don't want you to take this the wrong way. I didn't know he'd turn up here..."

"Stop worrying, okay?" Luke said, kissing her again. "It's a small thing. I don't bother about it."

Luke saw tears glistening in Cynthia's eyes as she bowed her head and bit her lip. He encased her hand in his, frowning slightly.

"What happened?" he asked gently. "Are you alright?"

She didn't reply. Instead, she withdrew her hand and swiped the edge of her eyes. Luke held her slick fingers and kissed them, tasting salt. Cynthia tried to pull her hand away again, but he didn't let her.

"Why are you sad?" he asked. "Remembering past things again?"

When she looked away, he gently held her face and gazed into her eyes. "Tell me, please," he implored her. "What's troubling you?"

"I think this is my punishment for the mistake I'd made with Sam," she croaked, closing her eyes.

"Cynthia, why do you keep thinking of it?" he sighed, "You've moved on. Your past doesn't matter."

"I know most people still look down upon me. They still think—"

"Who cares what they think? You have a different life now."

She looked at him, her eyes full of questions. "Do you think what they think?" she asked quietly. "That I was a homewrecker?"

"No." There was no other answer. He'd never thought that. And nothing in the world would change his opinion. People had judged her and despised her for being in a relationship with a married man, who turned out to be her relative. But what about her ex? Why did nobody ever see anything wrong with what he did to her? Was it only because he was a man, and as a dignified professor commanded a certain respect? Cynthia had been a young woman of 20, finding her feet in the world. The man in question had been close to forty; clearly, he should have known better. Cynthia didn't cheat, her ex did. She had simply been a victim of circumstances, whose only mistake had been to trust the man she loved and rely on his promise. Luke didn't even want to utter his name.

"I love you, Cynthia," he finally said. "And not for a moment since the first time you told me about this have I judged you. I know your side of the story, and I know his. You made a mistake, he made a mistake, your mom made a mistake. It's hard to argue we don't live in a patriarchal society where the man always has it easy. But the past is behind you. Let it remain there."

He kissed her hand, smiling. "Moreover, you must not be crowding your mind with these thoughts when you're in need of rest. Everything is okay. Just try to relax."

He saw Cynthia slowly easing back against the pillows, a small smile breaking out on her face.

"You know what is my favourite place in the whole world?" she asked him.

"Yeah, it's the river," Luke tapped his chin with a finger. Cynthia laughed very softly, shaking her head.

"Hey, you'd told me!" he protested.

"I know, but my favourite place has since changed," she smiled.

"What is it now?" he asked, returning her smile. Cynthia twisted a finger and beckoned him closer. When he was barely millimetres apart from her, she kept her head against his chest. He instinctively folded one arm gentle arm around her bony body, and heard her sigh.

"This is my favourite place in the whole world," she said. "And it will never change."

Luke's heart swelled with happiness. She was three-and-a-half years worth waiting for, and he loved her more than words could describe.

"When are you leaving?" she asked, her head still against his chest.

"Next week," he replied softly. Cynthia lifted her head and looked at him.

"Geez, have I asked that earlier?" she bit back a smile. She had indeed asked that thrice more through that day, but Luke laughed softly, knowing she was slowly getting used to the new life.

"It's okay. I'll keep reminding you," he nodded, moving a strand of short, black hair from her face. The dressing on her head was still there, and her hair peeked from below it. It was no style at all, just hair snipped off very badly, but she still looked good in it. The short hair suited her small face well.

"I'll miss you," she said. She tried to lift her left arm, but only succeeded in moving a finger. Luke helped her, gently flexing her arm.

"Do you feel anything?" he asked, studying her face. She nodded.

"It feels too numb when I try to move it," she complained.

"Is it any better than before?"

"Hmm-mm. A little."

He leaned in and kissed her again. "I don't want to leave you," he confessed.

"You promised me..." she reminded him.

"It's more important that I remain with you."

"There are people to look after me. I'll be okay."

When she had been unconscious and he had been thinking about the future, he'd often wonder if she'd need a full-time attendant. Of course, then her mother had arrived and taken up her care on her own shoulders. But her mom was well past her prime. Looking after a patient like Cynthia was taxing, and the hard work could take a toll on her.

"What?" she asked, when she found him lost in thought. Luke shook his head, his eyes travelling to the big box of medicines sitting on the nightstand. Cynthia had vomited the first time she took the blood capsule the other night. Tonight it had been the case with the other capsule, meant for healing the blood vessels in her brain. She had said more than once that the injections were better.

"Recording won't be long. Two months at the most." He took her hand in his and looked at the marks left by the wounds. "I'll be here whenever I'm free."

"Luke—"

"Cyn, I am committed to being there for you," he interjected. "Nothing in the world is greater than you for me. If you think a music album is going to keep me from being with you, for you..."

He tapped her cheek with two fingers, smiling his cheekiest smile. "Then you've been harbouring a very wrong impression about Luke Harris, Ms Adamson," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

Cynthia smiled shyly, a very vivid blush entering her pale, sunken cheeks. Dark circles had appeared around her eyes and bags below them. Her arms had become so frail, he could easily count the number of veins in them if he wanted to. The cast on her leg had been taken off, and a light blue bandage now occupied its place. Her clothes almost seemed to hang from her structure now. But she was still the same Cynthia, the lovely young woman they all knew and adored. And when she blushed, she still resembled a blooming rosebud. Just like the ones adorning her house.

"I liked Diana's dad," she said, playing with the buttons of his white shirt. "I hadn't thought I'd meet him under such circumstances, but it was still so nice."

Dave had joined them at her house that evening, before he left for Birmingham in the morning. Cynthia so long hadn't been told who he was, and she hadn't shown any interest to know either. But when she learned of his identity, she was delighted. Not because he had saved her life, but because he was Diana's dad. It was the closest she could come to knowing the woman who had paved the way for her and Luke to come together. Even though he didn't express it, Luke could tell that Dave found his daughter in Cynthia. The equation seemed to fit both of them. Cynthia had never had a dad, and Dave still hadn't recovered from the emptiness Diana had left behind. Luke hoped that was the beginning of another relationship, of a father and a daughter.

"He's going to oversee your treatment even when he's in Birmingham," he said, "You can ring him if you have any problem, okay?"

She nodded, and Luke saw her fingers stop on one of the buttons, a second before she looked up at him.

"When are you taking me to Diana's grave?" she asked. Luke gasped softly, his eyes widening.

"You... you remember?" he exclaimed. "You'd spoken those words in your stupor..."

"I was conscious. I remember what I said." Her face turned sad for a moment. "Don't you want to take me there?"

Luke smiled, kissing her forehead. "I will," he said. "But before that, you have to get better, so that you're fit to travel. Alright?"

Cynthia kept her head against his shoulder, sighing again. He kissed the side of her face, relishing the warmth of her skin against his.

"Tell me I haven't asked you when Megan and Paul are visiting," she said, sleepily. Luke stopped a low chuckle that was rising up his throat. But Cynthia heard it nevertheless.

"I have," she sighed. Luke laughed now.

"Yes, you have. But I'll tell you again. They're planning to visit next week."

"You'll be away."

"All the more reason for them to visit. They'll keep you from missing me."

"I think you're more handsome than Paul, and funnier than Megan."

Luke wanted to laugh at those words, but could not. Instead, he only felt an immense sense of relief that she was slowly coming back to shape.

"They'll still help in keeping you occupied enough, so you have less time to miss me." He stacked the pillows and helped her lean back. Once she was settled, he reached out to dim the lights.

"Sleep with me," she implored him. Her eyes were already closed and her words were turning slurry.

"I will. Give me a moment to change, okay?" he smiled down at her.

"Luke?" she murmured.

"Yes, baby?"

"This place, with you by my side, is where I always want to be."

The love and contentment in her voice moved him. His eyes welled up, and he leaned closer to lay a soft kiss on her head.

"Me too, sweetheart," he whispered. "Me too."

***

Four years later

The late October sky in Velmont Town was unlike what the rest of the country usually got to witness. While in most others places autumn made its presence felt with shorter days, longer nights, scarlet leaves, and chilly, misty mornings, Velmont Town only received hoards of rainclouds and almost incessant downpour. The sky was blanketed with a sheet of grey clouds that morning, and it drizzled every now and then. It had rained intermittently through the night, leaving the lawn soaked and full of puddles.

There was a noise somewhere outside which made me leave the kitchen and go out to the front porch. The sight made me smile. Little hands held a small, green, plastic spade, digging the soil where I intended to plant some green chilli plants.

A few metres away, Jake and Josh and a couple of their friends were scattered all over their lawn, armed with buckets, bags, boxes, bowls, pillow cases, and fly catchers. I felt something wet against my foot, and looked down to find a medium-sized, healthy looking, green frog hopping across. He stopped to look at me, and I smiled at him (it looked like a male). When he had hopped away, I sighed and leaned against the door frame, taking in the moist smell.

It would be an understatement to say that the initial stage of my recovery had been very difficult. It had taken me more than a month just to be able to walk without anybody's assistance and I'd needed the orthopaedic stick for a while. The head injury had kept me in pain for a long time, and the rest of my body hadn't been any better. It would hurt to turn, to sit, to lie. It would hurt to breathe and to blink. I'd usually wake up to tear-soaked pillows every morning. Two women- Alex, my physical therapist, and Pam, my psychological therapist- had ensured to a great extent that I was able to move and walk comfortably and sleep undisturbed at night.




Will Be Yours Ch. 22



Not that my problems had ended there. The almost perpetual fatigue often made me doze off in unusual places- on the porch, in the kitchen, on my shop's counter. My short-term memory left me frustrated when I couldn't recall a particular flower arrangement that I had created, or when I forgot what I had read on page two by the time I reached page four, or when I had a hard time remembering the directions to a known place. I often felt my brain wasn't my brain anymore. It seemed a different brain had taken over me. There was no other explanation to why I became confused when spoken to in whole paragraphs, or why I often lost my way home.

But all that was in the past now. Four years later, I was able to go about life normally, cooking, baking, growing flowers, although I had forgotten all my known recipes and had needed to re-learn them.

The clumsy digging was still in full force at the lawn, and I only sighed when I thought of the extra work that had suddenly cropped up for me.

I turned my head to look inside the quiet house. Luke was still sleeping, having arrived late in the night after another round of promotions for his new single which had debuted last week on number 2 on most charts. Since then it was everywhere, on the TV, on the radio, on the video and streaming sites. Luke's voice was such a gift. I always thought that great singers weren't good-looking, and vice-versa. Luke proved an exception. The other week, he had found time to perform at one of the pubs in the town. Through the years, as he slowly established himself as a solo singer, his association with the town and its people had also deepened. The people loved him and turned up in large numbers to hear him. Luke was electrifying as he connected with the crowd while belting out the songs. And that smile.... Oh boy, I could live a thousand lifetimes just to see that smile every day.

Gentle hands crept around my waist, pulling me against a strong, warm body. I hadn't heard or seen him approaching.

"Good morning," Luke mumbled sleepily, breathing a kiss into my hair. I twisted my head to look at his face. With the messy hair, the stubble, and the sleepy eyes, he looked like a dream. He had also put on some weight. I could see the t-shirt clutching at his chest rather tightly.

"Slept well?" I asked, smiling at him.

"Oh yeah. I think I was tired." He yawned, squinting when he saw the group of boys in Scott's house.

"What's going on there?" he asked, looking incredulous.

"Frog hunting," I chuckled, thinking that the boys hadn't changed one bit in those years. "They are going to export them to France and China and become rich."

"Seriously?" Luke exclaimed. I looked at him with a straight face.

"What do you think?" I said. We stared at each other for a few moments before laughing out. He leaned in and kissed me. I gently nudged him away.

"Little eyes could be watching us, you know," I reminded him. He looked around him.

"I thought she's sleeping," he said.

"No." I pointed at the lawn. Spade thrown away, the little hands were playing with a small puddle now. I wondered why I hadn't yet budged from my place.

"Oh my." His arms slipped away, and a moment later he was hurrying down the porch.

"Diana!" he picked up the one-year-eleven-month-old with her daddy's green eyes and my black hair. "Aren't we being a little dirty here?"

The baby laughed and gurgled and threw her muddy arms around Luke's neck. Father and daughter shared kisses, caresses, and unintelligible words that made my eyes well up. Two years after my accident, once he was sure I had recovered completely, Luke proposed marriage over dinner one night and I happily agreed. It was a simple, small-town affair, where all of his family and mine, and our friends had been present, besides half of the town.

But what had shocked me the most was my unexpected pregnancy, shortly after our marriage. What had followed were 31 nervous, exciting weeks, a bad case of morning sickness, pre-term labour, and then a healthy, little girl, screaming and kicking her way into the world. Of course, I had gone for a hysteroscopy soon after Luke popped the question, just to be sure. When the doctor had told me that my womb was fit enough to carry a child and later handed me the report, I hadn't been able to trust my ears or eyes. She had said that injury-induced miscarriages and D&C procedures often made the womb weak. But the medications I had been administered after my miscarriage and also the rest I had given my reproductive system had healed me.

Whenever I saw Luke playing with little Di, I felt my heart soar. She was our little miracle. She was Luke's lost love who had returned to his life as his baby angel.

"Now, let's clean you up, okay?" Luke carried Diana to the porch, nuzzling her face with his. She was one beautiful and happy baby. She talked to everyone in her own words, laughed a lot, and had a habit of toddling out into the lawn after me, which had made Luke buy her the spade.

"I'll make breakfast," I announced, following them into the house. When we had just started talking marriage and family, I'd suddenly felt that my one bed-one bath house was too small if we had to raise a family in the town. He had given me two options: either I'd have to sell off this house and buy a bigger one, or I'd need to think of something that would make the house larger. I'd chosen the second option. I loved my house too much to sell it off, and I also wouldn't want to go away from Scott.

As if coincidentally, one of my neighbours was selling off his house and moving at the same time. Luke bought the property, and then drew up a plan to remove the boundary wall and merge the two houses. The work took about five months to be completed. We now had three-and-a-half bedrooms, two bathrooms, a bigger living and dining room, an attic, two bigger porches, and a more spacious lawn.

We spent almost equal time at Velmont Town and at his flat in Birmingham, keeping close to his family, my mom, and everything that we loved.

Ten minutes later, as I was frying the bacon and making Di's porridge, I saw Luke enter the kitchen. It was Becky and Allen's first marriage anniversary and we were having a big party that evening.

"We're leaving at seven," I told him. "Becky will be mad if I'm not there early to help her."

Luke chuckled, pulling me close to him. Here was a gorgeous, caring, Grammy award-winner cuddling me in my kitchen. I shook my head immediately, mentally correcting myself. To me, he would always be my soulmate, the best husband and the best dad in the world. I'd never forget how he'd taken care of me through my recovery and through the pregnancy. He was my guiding light.

"So where will they dump them?" he asked me, ghosting his lips over mine. "The frogs, I mean."

"Scott has instructed the boys to leave them in the forest. I have serious doubts, though."

"Why?"

"The forest is far and these aren't the kind of boys to waste a Saturday dumping frogs in the woods." I put my head down on his shoulder and sighed. "I'm sure they'll leave them in somebody's lawn and sneak off for a movie or a game of football."

We laughed, and I sank into his arms, enjoying those stolen moments with him, away from young eyes. Everything was just as it was meant to be. I could smell the moist wind and taste my coffee again. Scott had joined the gym, Carrie was less nosy, the flower shop was bigger and more popular now, and I was still there, capable of not only living my life, but also enjoying it like always.

Most importantly, I had a family now. Something I never thought I would.

A noise broke us apart and we looked outside to find Diana, all clean now, banging her toy drum kit in the living room. We shared a laugh, staring at each other.

"I always knew she'd take after you," I observed, playing with the buttons of his tee. "When she gives me grief at meal times, I turn on the TV, search for some channel that's playing your songs, and tell her, 'Look there's daddy.'"

He raised an eyebrow. "That works?"

"Like nothing else," I giggled.

"Well...." he leaned in and kissed me. I laughed into the kiss, putting my arms around him.

"I always believed you'd be the most amazing mom," he said to me.

"Uh-huh?" I smiled at him.

"Yes. I knew it since I saw you cuddling Harry." He kissed my forehead, and I had to hold the kitchen counter to keep my balance. A warm tear dripped down the side of my face, and I quickly wiped it off. Luke nibbled on my earlobe, his hands crawling inside my top and tickling the skin on my back. I slapped his hand away, giggling.

"Stop that!" I whispered. "We have a child in the house."

"Oh, I love that," he smiled, hugging me. "Having you girls around. You're my everything."

"I love you," I whispered. It didn't just sound right. It felt right.

"I love you all the way back, my darling." His arm snaked around my waist and pulled me tighter against him. "My heart is full of overwhelming love for my little family."

"Do you have room for one more?" I asked quietly.

"Wait. What?" He jerked back and stared at me, shocked. I bit my lip, smiled, and slowly nodded. Luke's jaw dropped, and I burst into another giggle. Diana's drumming wasn't the most perfect background music for the moment, but it kind of worked. Luke sealed the short distance between us, pressed me to his body, and laid a rather passionate kiss on my lips. I relished the feel of his mouth, the way his tongue loved to tease mine.

"I do," he whispered in nervous excitement. "Of course, I do."

(Concluded)