Chapter 7

Luke

By the time I pulled up to the house, the night felt heavier than usual. Dropping Elle off wasn’t how I thought my night would end, but the way she sat so still in the passenger seat, her hands gripping her bag like it was her lifeline.

I shook my head as I turned off my truck, telling myself it wasn’t my business. But as I sat there for a second longer than I needed to, I realized I didn’t completely believe that.

The porch light was on, which meant Mom was still awake. Sure enough, she was sitting in her usual spot, rocking slowly in her chair with a blanket draped over her shoulders. She looked up when she saw my truck, her face softening just a bit.

“You’re out late,” she said as I climbed the steps. Her tone wasn’t accusing—more curious than anything, but there was a tiredness behind it, the kind that seemed to sit with her more and more these days.

“Yeah,” I said, stuffing my keys into my pocket. “Dylan’s party ran longer than I thought.”

Her brow raised, one of those mom looks that said, Really? “Dylan Jacobs ? That boy’s trouble.”

I leaned against the railing, the rough wood pressing into my arms. “I know, Mom. I didn’t stay long.”

She eyed me like she didn’t quite believe me but didn’t press the issue. “You eat?”

“Not really,” I admitted.

“There’s chicken in the fridge,” she said. “Leftover from dinner. Warm it up before you go to bed.”

“Okay,” I replied, but I didn’t move.

The screen door creaked, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Dad stepping outside. His hair was a mess, and he still had his work boots on, even though he’d probably been home for hours.

“Out late, huh?” he said, his voice carrying that mix of teasing and concern he always had when he was trying to gauge if I was up to no good.

“Just came from Dylan’s,” I said, keeping it simple.

He gave me a long look, then nodded. “Good thing your mom made chicken. You’re skinny as a rail, boy.”

Mom rolled her eyes. “That’s because he’s running around all day and not eating enough.”

“I eat,” I muttered, but neither of them seemed convinced.

Dad stepped down from the porch and stood beside me, looking out at the dark street. “Nice night,” he said after a while.

“Yeah,” I said, though I wasn’t really paying attention.

“You alright?” he asked, cutting right to the point like he always did.

“Fine,” I said quickly. Too quickly, because he turned to look at me with that knowing expression of his.

“Alright,” he said, not pushing it. “But you know we’re here if you need to talk.”

I nodded, grateful he didn’t press the issue.

After a while, Dad headed back inside, leaving me alone with Mom again. She watched me for a moment, her rocking chair creaking softly.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said.

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, her tone laced with doubt. “You’re a lot like your dad, you know. Always holding everything in.”

The corner of my mouth twitched at that. “I’m nothing like him.”

“Don’t be so sure,” she said gently. “He worries about you more than you think. So do I.”

“I know,” I said, my voice quieter now.

She gave me a small smile and patted my arm. “Don’t stay out here too long. You need your sleep.”

“Goodnight, Mom.”

“Goodnight, Luke.”

The door creaked shut behind her, leaving me alone on the porch. I stayed there for a while, staring out at the dark street. My thoughts kept drifting back to Elle. I hadn’t planned on stopping for her, but when I saw her walking alone on the side of the road, something made me pull over.

She looked like she belonged in one of those fancy magazines like the cover of Vogue or something like that. Perfect hair, perfect dress, perfect posture. But when she got in my truck, she seemed so… out of place. Like she wasn’t used to being vulnerable, but there she was, sitting in my passenger seat, trying not to look scared.

And then there was her name. Elle Sinclair. I’d heard it enough times around town to know who she was. Her family was practically royalty in Savannah. Her father was an architecture and built most of the house here. Her mother was a lawyer who helps most people with her cases here in Savannah and other towns in Georgia. People like her didn’t cross paths with people like me. My dad was a mechanic and my mom was a housewife. I mean what do you expect from a family with lower income?

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that meeting her was going to stick with me.

Eventually, I went inside and warmed up the leftover chicken. The kitchen was dark, except for the faint glow of the stove clock, and the silence felt heavier than usual. As I sat at the table, eating alone, I wondered what Elle was doing. Was she thinking about tonight the way I was? Probably not.

She had her own world, and I had mine. And no matter how much I wanted to know more about her, I knew better than to think those two worlds could ever really mix.

But as I lay in bed later, staring at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, they could.

Why am I having feelings for a girl I barely even know?