Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
“Hey, you,” she says softly, her lips curving into that familiar smile that always throws me off balance.
“Hey,” I manage, holding out the wine. “Hope you’re into red.”
She takes the bottle, her fingers brushing mine. “Cabernet,” she murmurs, inspecting the label. “You really know how to impress a girl.”
Behind me, crickets chirp as the sun dips lower, the orange glow fading into dusk.
I already want to kiss her, but hold myself back to savor the anticipation.
As I step over her threshold—almost needing to duck because of my height—movement flickers in my peripheral vision. Glancing toward the main house, I see her.
A woman peeking out from behind the curtain of a side window, fingers parting the fabric enough for me to catch her watching. Lucy’s mom?
Must be.
She freezes. For a moment, we’re locked in an awkward, silent standoff.
She stares. I stare back.
Neither of us flinches, like it’s some sort of showdown. Then—before I can react—the curtain snaps shut so fast, I half expect the rod to come crashing down.
“I think your mom sees me,” I whisper, turning back toward Lucy.
She rolls her eyes, but her laughter bubbles up anyway. “I swear, if she doesn’t send me a text about you within the next minute, I’d be shocked.”
“Should I wave and get it over with?”
“Don’t you dare!” Lucy grabs my wrist, laughing so hard her grip is weak. I give her a playful wink and pretend to raise my hand toward the window like I’m seconds from introducing myself. She swats me with a giggle. “Stop!”
“I’m kidding!” I say, chuckling. “Sort of.”
I have zero issues making nice with her parents. People love me. I’ve charmed cranky grandmas, tough coaches, and even my one snotty neighbor who thinks I’m “too young to live in such a big house by myself.”
Her words, not mine.
Winning over Lucy’s mom? Easy.
“Get in here before my dad sticks his face against the glass.”
Her dad? Dads love me too!
Lucy closes the door behind me once I’m all the way inside, and my eyes scan the space.
It’s a loft-style apartment with exposed wooden beams running across the high ceiling, rustic and cozy but expensive looking, like something out of an interior design magazine. The walls are painted a soft cream, with accents of warm, earthy tones. One wall is entirely brick, which is fucking cool; the open layout makes the place feel bigger than it is.
The kitchen, to the left, has butcher-block countertops and modern brass fixtures. There’s a large farmhouse sink that looks way too pristine to have ever been used for dishes. Shelves lined with glass jars full of spices. A copper-colored mixer. I inhale. The smell of cinnamon lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of fresh pine wafting in from the open window.
To my right, the living room flows seamlessly from the kitchen, with an overstuffed leather couch positioned in front of a small gas-burning fireplace. On the floor, against the wall? A tall stack of books that looks precariously close to tipping over. Fairy lights are strung along the exposed beams overhead, casting a soft, ambient glow that makes the space feel even cozier.
The pièce de résistance? The view. Large windows line the far wall, framing the lake outside like a living painting. The surface of the water glitters under the fading sunlight, and beyond it, a line of trees sways gently in the evening breeze. Somewhere out there is my little rental cabin.
“Nice fucking place,” I say, genuinely impressed.
Lucy snorts, setting the wine bottle on the kitchen counter. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is. This view is incredible,” I assure her, stepping closer to run my fingers over the back of the leather couch. “You decorate yourself?”
She nods, a hint of pride in her smile as she pours a glass of wine. “Eh. My mom helped me pick out a few things, but I did most of it.”
“I’m sure she loves having you close by.”
Lucy laughs, the kind of laugh that hints there’s a whole backstory I’m about to hear. “That’s putting it mildly. Anytime I come home with groceries, she’s standing in the driveway asking ‘Who are those avocados for? You never ate those as a child. Are you having people over? Why are there so many bags?’ Like, Mom, they’re for me. I’m not feeding a secret boyfriend.”
No secret boyfriend? “That’s good news.”
She laughs again, the sound filling the loft and making it feel even warmer. “We’ll see how long it takes for my dad to text asking questions about you. I don’t think he’s home yet.”
“Let him ask away.” I raise my glass. “I’m an open book.”
“Careful,” she teases. “You might become the new family favorite. They’re dying for me to get hitched.”
Yeah, mine too. Kind of. I mean—my mom would love grandkids. She realizes I’m at the height of my career and still young, but brings babies into every single conversation.