Lucy’s apartment sits above the detached garage near the side of the main house, accessible by a wooden staircase wrapped in ivy and chipped paint.
I park my truck on the gravel lot next to a shiny black SUV and take a moment to breathe, the lake’s reflection shimmering in the distance, sending ripples of calm through me.
One deep inhale, exhale.
Then I grab the wine.
The steps creak beneath my weight as I make my way up, the evening breeze carrying the faint scent of pine and freshly cut grass. When I reach the top landing, I see the small porch is decorated with potted plants and wind chimes that sway lazily in the breeze.
Her door—a simple navy blue with a brass knocker—feels inviting and personal, and after two soft taps with my knuckles, I wait. My heartbeat kicks up, thumping a little faster than it should for someone who was acting cocky an hour ago.
Then the door opens.
Lucy stands there, barefoot, wearing an oversize cream-colored sweater that falls past her shorts. Her legs are bare, smooth, and slightly tan from afternoons spent outside. Her hair is down, a little messy but in that way that feels effortless. She smells like vanilla and something floral, freshly showered and ready to settle in for the night.
“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.
