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 withgroceries, 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.
Thank God for my sisters’ kids ’cause I’d never hear the end of it.
I follow Lucy to the living room, and we settle on the leather couch; it creaks softly as we sink into its comfort. She tucks her legs beneath her, facing me with her glass resting on her knee. Lucy raises her hand, and I notice a remote; three seconds later, soft music starts playing.
“Tell me something,” Lucy says, swirling her wine. “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done in front of someone’s parents?”
I chuckle, leaning back. “Oh, you’re starting with the tough questions, huh?”
“What?” She grins. “You’re the one who said you were an open book.”
I take a long sip of wine, thinking. “All right. There was this one time in high school. I was meeting a girl’s parents for dinner, and the dog wasn’t supposed to be let out because it would run away. But at one point I went to the garage for a soda and the dog ran out and ran away. They spent the entire night looking for him, and it didn’t come back until the next afternoon.”
She gawks at me.
“I wasn’t invited back.” I laugh at the memory. “Man, her dad was pissed.”
Lucy shakes her head, covering her mouth to stifle her laughter. “That’s terrible! Did you help look for it?”
“Of course I did,” I say, grinning. “But let’s be real, I wasn’t exactly their MVP. The dad kept muttering under his breath about me being a dumb jock.”
Lucy tilts her head, giggling. “And you never saw the girl again?”
“Oh, I saw her.” I smirk. “Just not at her house.” Shelby Bauer and I had lots and lots of secret sex after her dad kicked me out of their house for letting their dog loose, mostly in the bed of the pickup truck I drove in high school. “I was a teenager with raging hormones and a grudge against her dad,” I confess. Seemed like the perfect combination.
“Please tell me you never got caught.”
“Not by her parents,” I admit. “But once, we did get interrupted by a park ranger banging on the tailgate with a flashlight.”
Lucy gasps, covering her face with her hands from the secondhand embarrassment. “You’re kidding.”
