Chapter 35 Lorenzo
A s I stand in front of Sophia’s childhood home, it’s not what I imagined in the least. We arrived really late last night, and we were both exhausted, so I didn’t get to really see the outside.
It’s a small eastern farmhouse, the wood is worn, and the white paint is chipped away. The roof could also use some work. I’m not sure how it’s still standing, to be quite honest. The lawn is overgrown and in need of some love, too.
“You don’t have to stay, Lorenzo. Go back to Chicago, I’ll be fine here with Mom for a few days,” Sophia says, eyes on her phone. I swear, the woman never knows when to stop working. “You already stayed last night, and I’m sure you’ve got a million things waiting for you.”
She’s right. I have an impending list I couldn’t give less of a fuck about. As long as none of the restaurants are burning down, the rest can go to hell.
I glance at her, and though her blue eyes remain dull, I notice the exact moment her body tenses when her gaze falls on her childhood home. I’ve never seen her so jarred. My girl is usually all smiles and confidence, but that hasn’t been the case these past few days. She’s been on edge, and when I try to pry information out of her, she shuts down. I’m out of my depth here, and I’ve been trying to be supportive, but she’s going to have to start cluing me in. Especially after the fight she had with her sister in the middle of the hospital. I’ve never seen her lose her cool like that.
I grab the grocery bags from the trunk of the car and head toward the house. “Stop trying to kick me out. Are you getting sick of me, Blue?” I gasp, pretending to be hurt.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m trying to give you an escape.”
If only she knew I don’t want an escape. I want to stay right here, next to her. Supporting her in whatever she needs.
“Mom, we’re home!” Sophia yells.
Charlotte was discharged this morning, and Sophia had Bailey come back to the house with her while we went to the pharmacy to pick up her mom’s medication and anything else we might need. I told Sophia we’d stay as long as she wanted, but I know she’d stay forever if she could. Unfortunately, she has to fly back to Chicago in a few days, because her boss is getting impatient. It’s frustrating, because Sophia’s balancing her job and being there for her mom instead of taking time off. I’m keeping quiet about it, though. The last thing Sophia needs right now is more stress.
“In here!” Charlotte calls from the kitchen.
When we walk in, she’s wearing an apron and cooking something that smells amazing.
“Why are you cooking?” Sophia scolds. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I wanted to make my famous pot roast for you two,” she says with a warm smile, glancing back at us over her shoulder .
Charlotte is truly wonderful—sweet and kind. Spending time with her has been a joy. Her motherly spirit is something I’ve never really experienced before, and it’s been comforting.
“I thought we were going to cook together,” I say, setting the bags on the kitchen counter. “You betrayed me!”
Charlotte drops her head back with a laugh. “Oh no, I’m sorry! I just really want you to try it and get your professional opinion.”
I had no problem telling Charlotte how much I love cooking when she asked me all sorts of questions about my life and what I do. When I told her I owned many restaurants around the world, she got so excited. We’ve been talking about food nonstop.
“Lord help me, there’s two of them,” Sophia groans dramatically. “I’m going to gain so much weight between the two of you and all the delicious food you guys keep making.”
“You can use some meat on your bones, honey,” Charlotte pipes up.
Sophia gapes at her, and I simply snort a laugh. My body feels light, and my heart feels full around these people. I never knew something so simple would bring so much joy. I have all the money in the world, all the connections, and everything is practically at my fingertips, but I would give it all in a heartbeat for moments like these.
I know, deep down, it wouldn’t be the same without the woman who has become such an important part of my life. The realization I only want these moments as long as she’s around washes over me, leaving me in a daze.
I’m so fucking screwed.
After devouring an absurd amount of pot roast—because, yes, it was that good—I’m scrubbing the kitchen stove. I insisted on taking care of the cleanup so Sophia could get some work done and her mom could rest.
We’ve been so busy, we haven’t even talked more about the article. I know what I showed her in Panamá must not be enough to go on, but at this point, I don’t know what else to show her. The thought of her writing what she has witnessed and what I’ve told her honestly terrifies me.
“Do you want any tea?” Charlotte strides into the kitchen and asks, startling me.
“Sure,” I reply with a smile, dropping the sponge on the sink.
She nods, grabbing two packets of black tea and the tea kettle. She works in silence as I start washing the dishes that are left.
She places the tea kettle on the stove, turning it on. She leans against the kitchen counter, crossing her arms and staring at me. “Thank you.”
“Oh, it’s no big deal. That roast was delicious, worth washing every single dish,” I quip with a low chuckle.
She shakes her head. “No. I meant thank you for making my daughter smile.”
Her words are like a bucket of water being thrown at me. I stilt my movements for a second, casually shrugging. “It’s easy to make her smile. She’s a naturally happy person.” The lie rolls off my lips without hesitation. I know better now. Sophia can be loud and laugh a lot, but it doesn’t always reach those beautiful eyes of hers. But I have the feeling she wouldn’t want Charlotte finding out.
“You and I both know that’s not true,” she replies, her voice laced with conviction.
She opens a kitchen cabinet, retrieves two mugs, and places the tea bags inside. After grabbing the tea kettle, she pours hot water into the mugs. She then grabs two spoons and a few packets of sugar before tilting her head toward the dinner table.
“I owe a lot to my daughter,” she starts, her gaze drifting to the screen door leading to the porch where Sophia is sitting, absorbed in her writing. “I wasn’t always like this, you know?”
I nod, opting to stay quiet. Sophia has been extremely cryptic about her life—granted, it’s not like I’ve been actively asking her. I’m trying to be supportive and respect the boundaries she sets, because I understand.
“Sophia has shouldered a responsibility I didn’t wish for her to have. Ever since my husband…” Her voice quivers at the word husband . “Died, she’s done everything she can to take care of me. Her father was not a kind man. In fact, because of him, I am the way I am now.”
“You don’t have to share this if it’s too painful,” I say softly.
“I want to. I want you to understand why my daughter is the way she is.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I shake my head. “Because to me, your daughter is wonderful. She’s strong. Funny. Resilient. Challenging. She takes care of people and loves doing it.”
Charlotte’s gaze meets mine, and a heavy silence settles between us. “You love her, don’t you?” she asks quietly.
For a moment, I’m at a loss for words, staring at Charlotte with a blank expression. The idea of loving anyone is foreign and overwhelming. Something I’m…unfamiliar with.
Being around Sophia makes me want to be someone worthy of her. I want to protect her, to be there for her in every way possible. I want to make her laugh genuinely, not the forced laughs she offers to everyone else. I want to see her smile, the kind that makes her eyes sparkle and tugs at my chest with a sharp, bittersweet ache. I want to be her support, her shoulder to lean on. I want to show her she’s not alone in this world. I want her to know I can share her burdens and help her carry the weight of her pain.
But love? That’s not something I can offer.
I clear my throat and take a sip of tea, my throat feeling unexpectedly dry. “We’re just friends,” I finally manage to say.
She takes a sip of her tea while keeping her gaze locked on mine. “You didn’t answer my question.”
I stare at her, struggling to find words. It’s such a complex, tangled question for someone like me.
“When you walk into the room, her face lights up,” she says, her voice catching as she fights back tears. “Do you have any idea when was the last time I saw her eyes full of life? She thinks I don’t notice. But I know my daughter isn’t happy, and as her mother, it breaks my heart. Because I know it’s all my fault?—”
I cut her off gently. “It’s not your fault. She adores you,” I say firmly, trying to reassure her.
She shakes her head with a humorless laugh. “I didn’t set a good example for her. There’s so much you don’t know. I did the best I could with the situation we were in. But now, seeing how it’s affected my daughters, I wish I’d handled things differently.”
I grab her hand and squeeze it, reassuringly. “You raised a wonderful daughter. And I know it would kill her if she knew you were talking about yourself like this.”
She wipes her face with the back of her hand, standing. “Thank you for listening. You’re a great man.” She caresses my cheek in a motherly, tender way. “Thank you for loving my daughter. Even if you don’t realize it yet.” The way she speaks is like she’s privy to a secret Sophia and I haven’t figured out yet. “I’m going to bed, tell Sophia, yeah?”
She exits, leaving me alone in the kitchen, caught in a whirlwind of emotions I can’t quite make sense of, but I’m eager to try.