Admittedly, the destination was a test. She was curious enough about Luke to want to know how he’d react to a decidedly low-tech, low-excitement, highly educational and culturally significant site.
He parked the car and gazed at the tile-roofed buildings and chapel. “You’re taking me to church?”
“It’s a beautiful place.” She opened her door. “The monks made wine here. You can pretend it’s a frat house.”
“Sweet.”
They toured the living quarters of the friars, the kitchen, the peaceful quadrangle and the beautiful church, still with its original frescoes. Summer watched Luke to see if he’d act bored and restless, if he’d crack jokes and focus on himself.
He didn’t. He lowered his voice, responding to the hushed, sacred atmosphere, and abandoned his swagger, adapting to the reverent spirit of the place. Luke did let loose one crack that made it plain he’d never become a monk, but that was funny, if not totally obvious.
So he was Zac’s brother after all, with depth, gentleness and intellectual curiosity. It fit in with her personal theory that while pain could alter behavior, it couldn’t change the core of a person.
The only downside was that Summer’s nice, easy reason to dismiss Luke out of hand had been seriously weakened, which made her attraction to him more complicated, and more compelling.
After the tour, they walked back to the car, shoulders and hands bumping occasionally.
“Do you want to go get something to eat?”
Summer glanced at her watch. “Don’t you have to get the car back to Zac?”
“Oh.” He scratched his head, grimacing. “Yeah. I guess I do.”
Yeah, she guessed he did, too, and was grateful for the reality check. Maybe he’d just lost track of time, but she’d bet he’d put that responsibility completely out of his mind, and that it was how he usually operated, doing what he wanted when he wanted, without thought to anyone or anything else—a hot button for Summer, who already felt responsible for herself and her younger siblings and sometimes her parents. She wanted to be with someone who’d share in that responsibility, not add to it.
“I’ll drive you home, then.”
“Thanks.” She got into the car and buckled up, feeling confused and crabby.
“You trust me enough to tell me your address now?”
“Yeah.” She sent him a look. “You do anything that pisses me off, Zac will kick your ass.”
He turned on the radio, making a face when a jazz station came on. “I might kick his ass for having such bad taste in music.”
“Why, what do you like?”
“Guess.” He shot her a bet-you-never-will look, all mischief and humor, and pulled back onto the highway, heading south.
“Hmm, let me see.” She went through a mental catalog of her brother’s heavy, loud music. “NOFX? Rancid? Judas Priest? Hüsker Dü?”
“Hoosker who?” He shook his head. “Never heard of them. I like more mainstream stuff than that. Linkin Park, Green Day, Panic! at the Disco, Fall Out Boy. What about you?”
“My Chemical Romance, Rise Against, Boys Like Girls. But I also like classic oldies. The Beatles, Motown, and some artists and bands my parents listened to—Joni Mitchell, Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.”
“No kidding.” He sent her an admiring glance. She felt as if she’d passed some kind of test and was annoyed at herself for being pleased. “So what’s your home life like?”
Immediately she felt herself shutting down. He’d mentioned boundaries—this was one of hers. “It’s fine.”
“You live with your parents?”
“Nope. I moved out.”
“When was that?”
“Right after I graduated high school.” She tried to figure out how to change the subject. “I’m nineteen, in case you wanted to know.”
“I did. Why’d you leave? Bad stuff happening at home?”
Summer looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. She didn’t want to talk about her family. A brief summary of guys she’d dated was one thing. But this was too personal, too intimate. It was stuff she’d only share with someone she felt strongly about. Not because her home life had been dramatic or crippling, just everyday drab and ugly and embarrassing. “Not terrible, not the greatest.”