Chapter 41
COLE
I’m nervous, and I don’t get nervous.
Not even when I was in court challenging Lulu Smith’s accusation that her ex-husband’s will was forged because he left her with nothing.
She might be one of the biggest movie stars in the world, but her status was something I never allowed myself to get caught up in.
When the paparazzi circus arrived in court, I zoned out and pretended they weren’t there.
But today, here and now, with my hand in Yasmine’s while staring up at the wooden-clad, black-painted Gothic church I’ve invested my heart and soul into, I’m more nervous than a tightrope walker over a lake of alligators.
“What is this place?” she asks, looking up, shading her eyes from the sun with her hand. “It looks like something out of Beetlejuice.”
The quirky angles of the roof and the steeple do make it look like that.
“This is my new house.” I hope she loves it as much as I do. It’s not just my passion project or a hobby, it’s a long-term commitment that’s allowed me to express myself and my tastes through design.
“What?” She drops her chin faster than a blink and asks, “You’re renovating this place?” She doesn’t let me answer as she shoots another dozen or so questions my way, from “What made you buy it?” to “Did you keep the original interior?”
“I’ll show you inside, c’mon.” I softly tug her hand to guide her through the unlocked security fencing, since the decorators are inside painting the vaulted ceiling today.
“I can’t believe you bought a church,” she says in disbelief. “You are crazy.”
I’m crazy about her, she just doesn’t know how much yet. She’ll think I’m crazier than ever when I do what I’m about to once we get inside the unique building.
“Do you like it?” I ask, keeping my fingers crossed that she does.
“It’s different.”
“Different good, or bad?” It’s not everyone’s taste, so I’ll understand if she doesn’t like it.
“Good. Great.” She smiles wide, letting go of my hand, then does a 360-degree walk on the spot, surveying the neighborhood. “It’s so quiet. Pretty too, they even have cherry blossom trees.” She points toward the row just in front of us. “I bet the boulevard is beautiful when they bloom.”
“I know.” It’s fucking epic. “It’s one of the many things I love about the place.”
Mumbling to herself more than me, she says, “It feels magical, Cole.” She turns to face the main entrance and adds, “This place is stunning. It’s beautiful.”
Since she stayed over at the last minute and didn’t bring an overnight bag, today, she’s wearing one of my old black band T-shirts as a dress with her own belt to cinch in the waist, paired with biker boots and my black socks. My new home isn’t beautiful; she’s the epitome of it.
When she was trying to figure out how to remove her very dark eyeliner, she teased me by saying I was worse than a beauty influencer after she found out how many skincare products I use when I asked if any of them would help take off her makeup.
I retaliated, and when I told her I didn’t want to look as old as my brother, Wrinkles, aka Nathan, that made her giggle uncontrollably, and she found it almost impossible to use the cotton pads soaked in cleanser and ended up poking herself in the eye a few times.
That laugh of hers I could bottle and listen to all day, given the chance.
Seeing her now, completely bare faced, standing in my front yard, she appears to glow beneath San Francisco’s midday sun.
A vision of her here at Christmas, birthdays, and everyday life together plays out like a movie in my mind.
With or without makeup, she’s stunning. Every part of her is flawless, and she makes me feel intense emotions that make me want to ask her to spend the rest of her life with me.
It’s way too soon, but I already know what I want.
I want her.
“C’mon.” I signal for her to follow me through the large church doors with rusted decorative hinges and handles that are due for restoration and are on the never-ending list of things to do.
Like a kid in a candy shop, she runs to me, eyes wide, looking excited.
I disappear through the wide entryway, with Yasmine following quickly behind me.
As I step into a small corridor with a wooden partition wall of painted wooden paneling in the darkest gray, she gasps, unable to take it all in.
The wall has stained-glass panels that separate the front area from the open-plan space of the main part of the church, which is now my living room, kitchen, and dining area.
“Is this original?” She runs her fingertips along the name of the church in hand-painted script.
“I’ve had it repainted, but it’s an exact match to the original.” I’ve done everything to maintain its authenticity. “Come see.” I lace my fingers into hers and smile to myself as she looks upward at the ornate ceiling and says a wow to herself.
As we turn the corner into the main living space, she falls silent, her mouth opening in awe at the expansive, black-painted walls that soar upward, leading to a new sublevel for the master bedroom overlooking the main area of the church.
The multicolored stained-glass windows reach up to the ceiling, casting scattered spots and squares of color around us, resembling splashes of precious jewels.
The smell of paint is nearly overwhelming, but I’m hoping that once we turn on the ventilation system I’ve had installed, since the stained-glass windows don’t open, the paint fumes will clear out pretty quickly.
“Cole,” she says quietly, as if not wanting to disturb the building, taking it all in. From the long original altar I’ve restored and will use as a desk and office, to the circular glass roof above the living area to let in more light, every single detail I designed with the help of an architect.
“Do you like it?” If she hates it, I’ll paint everything in whatever color she wants, even white.
“I don’t just like it, I love it. There’s so much to absorb that my brain can’t keep up,” she says with a smile, gazing upward into the exposed steeple. “Hey,” she adds, waving at the decorators above.
“We didn’t realize you were stopping by today, Mr. Hart,” Lenny shouts down, his voice echoing throughout the vast space.
I’m hoping that once the furniture is in place, the echo will lessen. My interior designer has assured me it will, but I worry it might feel more like a cave than a home. I plan to live here for the rest of my life, and I want it to feel warm and welcoming.
“And you two should have hard hats on.” Lenny’s health and safety rules kick in.
“We’ll be five minutes, then we’re leaving,” I assure him.
He makes an okay sign, pinching his thumb and forefinger together, and gets back to work.
I walk toward Yasmine and wrap my arms around her waist as she continues to gaze at the stone sculptures of gargoyles and cherubs carved into the walls, the church a visual feast.
“Could you see yourself living here?”
“Hell yeah. Oops, am I allowed to say hell, or oh my God, I guess I shouldn’t swear either?” she whispers, looking sheepish, covering her mouth with her hand in embarrassment.
“It’s not a church anymore. This is my home.
” Luckily, it doesn’t come with a graveyard; otherwise, I wouldn’t have bought it.
That was a step too far for me. In my opinion, the dead should rest in peace and not have to listen to my rock music late into the night or hear me shouting at the television when a Warriors game is on.
“You have great taste, Cole. I can see why you hate the penthouse, and I am already imagining you living here.”
“Could you see yourself living here?” I ask her again, because I don’t think she was listening, not fully, the first time. “With me,” I add.
“What?” she scoffs, snorting at the same time, which causes her cheeks to fill with color. The sun shining through the windows makes her black shiny hair look like a sheet of black glossy glass.
“Once this place is fully remodeled, do you think you could imagine yourself living here with me? Permanently,” I tack on to the end, making sure she gets the message.
Her brows pull together, and she jerks her head to the side. “Are you being serious?”
“Well, we are dating, and usually that leads to moving in together, then, you know, other things.”
“Other things?” she asks, coyly.
“Yeah.” Screw it, I might as well go all fucking in. “Marriage.”
“Marriage?”
“Yes, Yasmine, wedding rings, I dos. Wedding dresses. You know the kind of thing I’m talking about.” I pinch her waist, making her yelp, because I swear she’s fucking with me.
“I knew what you meant.”
Called it. She’s a tease.
Moving her arms, she laces them around my neck, resting her forearms on my shoulders, and asks, “You can see yourself doing that with me?”
“Yes.”
“Here?”
“Absolutely.” I’ve never felt so sure.
“What about family?”
I flinch. “I think babies are way ahead in the future, don’t you? I don’t think we should think about starting a family. Not yet anyway.”
“I agree. One step at a time, Cole.”
“Let’s just enjoy each other first.”
She nods before complete joy bubbles in the laughter that follows next, her eyes shining bright. “Okay, well, if you are asking me to move in, Cole, my answer is yes, but my mom may have questions. A lot of them, so be prepared.”
“I’ve already thought about that, and I’m prepared.” I am a lawyer, after all; I prepare for all eventualities, good and bad.
She chews her bottom lip as if thinking things through before she questions, “When do we move in?”
We… When do we move in? This woman is messing with my head because she wants to move in with me, which is crazy and scary as hell, but I know how I feel about her.
I never ever felt this way about Stephanie, but everything with Yasmine feels so natural and right. Good. Fucking great.
“Everything is due to be completed within two months.” That’s if everything goes to schedule.
As if smiling in satisfaction, she blows every one of my brain cells when she says, “Well, I guess that gives us heaps of time to get to know one another even better than we do now.”
I think the chats we had on the Wildcard app helped speed things up because I already know her well, including her preference for eating apples fresh rather than baked in a pie, since cooking tends to make the fruit slimy, apparently.
She also donates to women’s charities worldwide that address period poverty, especially in conflict zones where women lack access to menstrual products, and locally she supports a charity that helps women and girls in underdeveloped areas across the state, working to close the gender gap in technology, an issue larger than I initially realized, by teaching women technology, science, engineering, design, and mathematics.
Yasmine doesn’t just have a big heart; it’s made of gold, and she’s super passionate about giving back. We’re similar in so many ways, and there is no doubt in my mind that she’s my twin flame.
I never bought into all that hocus pocus before, but since meeting her, my outlook has totally changed. In fact, I believe in love at first sight because it doesn’t feel like I’m falling; I’ve already fallen for her completely and with all my heart.
“So, what you’re saying, Mr. Hart, is that my mom only has a couple of months to adjust to the idea of me moving out.
” Her voice is smooth and low, but I notice the excitement in her tone.
“By the way, did I mention she has a date with another heart surgeon she met while she was in the hospital?” She raises her eyebrows in surprise, looking as shocked as I feel.
“No.”
“Well, let’s hope that this is her new beau, and then she won’t care about me moving out.”
I’m fucking praying that he becomes her distraction because Ines isn’t just sassy, she fucking scares the living daylights out of me at times, especially when she starts shouting at the television when her favorite show is on.
The villain is a jerk, apparently, and she would happily chop off his balls if she was ever to meet him.
Also, she will do the same thing to me if I mess with her daughter.
I don’t have anything to worry about because I don’t plan on doing that.
“Welcome to your new home, baby.” Fuck, that feels incredible to say.
“You’ve felt like home since the day I met you, Cole.”