Becoming Rain (Burying Water #2)(79)

“Are you suggesting we break the garden’s law?” His eyes widen with mock seriousness.

“Because you have a problem with that, right?”

“That’s right, I do. You’re leading me astray with your wicked ways.”

“I’ve been known to do that.” I chuckle. “Relax. It’s a Wednesday and they’re calling for heavy rain this afternoon, so no one’s going to bother us.” I know because I tend to come here on those days and stand on the Moon Bridge, letting the drops soak through my hair, my clothes, and my skin as I capture the downpour using the waterproof casing that I bought.

He smiles. “Don’t worry about me. I think my conscience can handle breaking the garden’s law.”

I hesitate. “Your conscience is already handling quite a bit, though, isn’t it?” We haven’t so much as hinted at Luke’s work with his uncle since the night on the yacht. Either Elmira was right and pillow talk does loosen these guys’ lips substantially or he regrets ever telling me.

By the look on his face, I’m afraid it may be the latter, and I need to be careful. To be honest, I’m not sure I want to know. It will only add to the guilt. I brought him here because it’s private enough to enjoy our time together but public enough that it can’t get out of hand again, like it did at the movies.

“It’s getting a little bit harder lately, but nothing I can’t deal with,” he finally admits.

“Do you plan on doing it forever?”

“I dunno . . .” He kicks a loose stone off the path and follows it as it skitters away. “I’ve just always figured I’d spend my life working for and with Rust. I don’t know what else I’d do.”

“Well, you could just work in the garage, right? And you like fixing and reselling those cars with Jesse.”

His jaw tightens. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?”

I sense the first bricks of a wall being laid between us, and that’s something I absolutely can’t have. Slipping my arm around his waist, I step in front of him, my body intentionally pressed against his, as I look up into bright blue eyes that I’ve begun to see in my sleep. “I just don’t want you to get into trouble, or get hurt.”

“I’ll be fine.” He pushes my hair back from my face and smiles. So confident.

So very wrong.

“And what are you planning on doing, anyway, ‘Miss Figuring Out Life’?”

So he remembers that ambiguous answer. He really was listening to me that first day. “I’m not sure yet. It’s hard to know which path to take when you’re so young, when you have so much to experience.”

His stomach grumbles between us, making us both laugh and his cheeks turn just a touch pink. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him at all embarrassed. We step into a small, leafy alcove with a simple wooden bench and I hand Luke his sandwich. He has it unwrapped and in his mouth before I even sit down.

“You’re the fastest eater I’ve ever met in my life,” I muse.

“So, seriously . . .” He balls the foil up in his fist, his tone growing somber. “You’re not planning on going back to D.C., are you? I mean, I know you have your friends and family there, but . . .” His words trail off.

I’m a natural liar. I tell lies all day long. So why is it becoming harder to lie to Luke with each passing day that we spend together? I feel the urge to get up, to step farther away, as if that will somehow make this easier. I wander over to a nearby lattice structure. “I don’t know. Maybe one day.” I hesitate, knowing I shouldn’t make this harder on myself by asking. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Maybe.” Sincere eyes meet mine. “Honestly, I don’t really know what I’m doing with my life or how things are going to play out here. But I do know that, if I looked out my window tomorrow and knew that you didn’t live across from me anymore . . .” He clears his throat and ends with a soft, “I wouldn’t like it. At all.”

“I know what you mean.” I turn away from him so he can’t read the fear on my face. More and more, I catch myself trying to imagine a permanent life here. A real life. With Luke. It always ends with the same damning question: how could that ever work, with him being who he is and me being who I am?

It can’t.

That reality weighs more heavily on me, but I have to push my growing disappointment down and keep pretending for Luke’s benefit. For the success of the case.

“I do love Oregon.” My gaze wanders over the quiet, natural beauty surrounding us, which isn’t limited to just this garden. “Being near the river, and the ocean, and the rocky mountains, and all this nature . . . the weather.”

He chuckles. “I’ve never met anyone who actually loves rain. It’s kind of weird. But cool, too,” he adds quickly, as if afraid to offend me. “I just don’t get it.”

I shrug. “It’s not so much that I love rain. I just have a healthy respect for what it does. People hate it, but the world needs rain. It washes away dirt, dilutes the toxins in the air, feeds drought. It keeps everything around us alive.”

“Well, I have a healthy respect for what the sun does,” he counters with a smile.

“I’d rather have the sun after a good, hard rainfall.”