I loved being the hero.
He pulled out of the hug. "I'm sorry — I shouldn't let my worry ruin dinner."
"Nonsense. I love hearing everything that's on your mind," I said, reaching across the table and pulling my bowl to this side. It ground against the wood, catching on the grains.
"Well…" Luke said, setting his fork down. "I feel kind of guilty about that, too."
My face fell. "What do you mean?"
"I mean… I don't want to put the burden of all of my worries on you. I worry about your job, and you love your job, so it must seem like I'm pressuring you to quit."
He fixed his sky blue eyes on me, and I felt the truth of his words needle my heart like ice arrows. I did feel guilty for doing what I loved. But only because it made Luke worry, and I never wanted to cause Luke any pain.
I wanted to protect him. But I also needed to protect the community.
"I was thinking… maybe I can try therapy again," Luke said softly.
I blinked, then a smile took over my face. "Really? You'd want to try?"
I remembered Luke telling me about his experience with terrible therapists in the past — one of them kept talking about themselves the whole time, and the other kept trying to "get to the root" of why he was gay. When he saw his regular doctor, all he did was give Luke a potent prescription for Xanax. He tried one of the pills, and said he didn't like how they made him feel like a "loose noodle."
"I think this city has better therapists than our small town," he said carefully. "And yes, I'd like to give it a shot. The role of being my therapist shouldn't fall onto you. You have enough stress. And I also want my anxiety attacks to stop."
I marveled at how mature my partner was. Here, right in front of me, was my dream man. He was slim, blonde, beautiful, delicate... Not to mention the perfect submissive in the bedroom. And here he was, conscious of not only his feelings, but also my feelings to his feelings.
It was too much for any one man to keep track of. But, I didn't have to remind myself, Luke was more than a man.
He was an angel.
I felt a rush of gratitude flow through me to my fingertips, lingering on the weight of the engagement ring on my left hand.
Yep, I was one lucky son of a bitch.
We finished our meal, discussing how our days went. I was feeling especially close to Luke, so I held his hand with my left while I balanced food on a fork in my right. He told me all about his day — the projects he was working on in his color theory class, the drama with the other fashion design students, and the ideas he had for an upcoming practice runway show.
"I'm still trying to find my brand, as Professor King put it," Luke said with a slump of his shoulders. "So I asked her, 'What if my brand is just being fabulous?'"
I cackled, nearly spitting out my food.
Luke made a flicking motion with his head as if he had sassy long hair that he was trying to sweep out of his face. "Naturally, she didn't seem to think that was a brand. She said I had to be more specific."
"Do you have any ideas?" I asked, the conversation with Luke wringing the stress out of my day like squeezing water out of a washcloth.
"Well, there's something else in my day that I wanted to talk to you about," Luke admitted. "I had a tarot reading."
I was lucky that I wasn't chewing a piece of chicken because I laughed so hard that it filled the brownstone with my booming voice.
Luke recoiled a bit, unsmiling.
I hushed myself.
"I don't believe in any of that stuff either," he said quickly.
Then he launched into the story about how he had an anxiety attack on the sidewalk, ducked into an alley, and how this strange Russian woman was kind to him. Then how she invited him into her shop for tea and gave him a tarot reading.
"That's how I got those," he said, gesturing to the center of the table where a bouquet of orange tiger lilies was poofing out like a pom-pom.
I shoveled another helping of chicken casserole into my bowl, listening as Luke told me the ominous message the tarot reader had given him.
"You think it's Kirk," I guessed.
He nodded, and I noticed he was fumbling with his fingers, plucking at the cuticles.
"You have nothing to worry about," I assured him, holding his hand steady. "We put Kirk away for having a gun in his dorm, remember?"
Luke nodded, but something was hiding in his expression that led me to believe that he didn't quite buy it.
"You'll never see him again," I urged, irritated that this gypsy had planted a seed of fear in my already anxious partner. "It's impossible."
"Nothing is impossible," Luke argued. "I have the proof right here; you're too impossibly good to be true."
A smile cracked open my serious expression. "Thanks, babe, that's very sweet of you, but remember that people like this make their living from the unknowns."
Luke poked at his chicken sadly.
I noticed he hadn't been eating as much lately.
"Hey," I said, setting my fork on the side of my bowl. "Are you happy here? Here in New York?"
Luke nodded graciously. "Oh, oh, yes. I never want to go back to our small town. At least, as long as I have you."
Happiness shimmered in my body. Being needed by Luke — that was all I needed. And I couldn't deny that the excitement of my job — the nature of being needed and helping an entire community of people — was a nice perk too. Back in our small town, my job simpler. It was mostly about keeping the meth heads away from local businesses, and the teenage degenerates out of trouble.
"Do you like living here?"
