CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ruben
The car hums softly beneath us as we navigate the quiet streets back to her place. Lennon’s head tilts slightly, the glow from passing streetlights catching the delicate curve of her jaw. I’m not ready for the night to end, but I know better than to push.
She shifts in her seat, breaking the comfortable silence. “Thanks again for tonight. It was…different,” she says, her voice soft but steady.
I glance at her, curious. “Different how?”
A small smile plays on her lips. “Told you, different good. Let’s leave it at that.”
“I’ll take it,” I reply, grinning. Her words are a puzzle I want to unravel, piece by piece.
When we pull up to her townhome, she hesitates for a moment before speaking. “Do you…want to come in for coffee?”
I lift an eyebrow, unable to hide my amusement. “Coffee?”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a spark of mischief in them. “I have roommates, so don’t get any ideas. Coffee means just coffee.”
I’m already nodding before she finishes speaking. “Coffee sounds perfect.” And it does. Because for the first time in my life, I’m enjoying the thrill of the chase—the slow, deliberate steps toward something that feels infinitely worth the wait.
The house itself is old but charming, its pale facade glowing under the moonlight. She unlocks the door and steps inside, flicking on a light that casts a warm hue over the cozy interior.
“Welcome to my little corner of history,” she says, her voice tinged with pride and fondness.
The place is small but meticulously cared for. Hardwood floors creak faintly beneath our steps as she gives me a brief tour of the first floor. The living room is a mix of modern and vintage, with mismatched furniture that somehow feels cohesive, like it’s been collected over time. A small dining table sits against a wall adorned with black-and-white photographs, each frame slightly different but perfectly balanced.
“This is incredible,” I say, meaning it. “Feels like a place well lived.”
“I share it with my two best friends from high school.” She glances at me, her expression full of pride. “Freya, my godmother, left it to me when she passed.” Her hand skims the edge of the dining table. “She loved it here.”
Her voice softens when she talks about Freya, and I’m struck by how deeply she values connections, both to people and places. Lennon isn’t just beautiful. She’s layered, intricate, and utterly captivating. The kind of woman who could trap a man without him even realizing he’s been caught. And I don’t want to leave the net.
She leads me to the kitchen, where she busies herself preparing coffee in a machine that looks way too complicated for me. I take a moment to absorb the details. I see the weathered paint on the cabinets, and the collection of mugs she’s tucked away in one of them. There is the faint scent of lavender lingering in the air. Everything about this place feels like her—warm, intriguing, and full of character.
“You’re quiet,” she says, glancing over her shoulder as she pours water into the French press.
“Just taking it all in,” I reply honestly. “It suits you.”
She hesitates, her hands stilling for a moment. Then she presses the plunger down and smiles faintly. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
We sit at the small kitchen table, the coffee steaming between us. I ask her about growing up here, curious to know more about the woman who’s managed to occupy my thoughts more than I’m willing to admit.
The conversation shifts and I find myself telling her stories about my siblings, my childhood, and my favorite meals. The minutes stretch into an hour without either of us noticing. She makes me laugh with stories about her friends, and I lean closer, hanging on to every word like they’re precious. And when she talks about her patients and what she does at the hospital, the way her eyes soften and her voice drops to a tender whisper, I feel something shift inside me. She makes me feel… understood, in a way I’ve never experienced before.
“I’m traveling to Argentina in a few days,” I say, almost reluctantly. The thought of leaving now, when we’re just starting to unravel the mystery of each other, feels almost cruel.
Her expression doesn’t change, but I catch the slight hitch in her breath. “Oh?” It’s a simple word, but the way the air leaves her body makes it feel like it carries more weight.
I nod, watching her carefully. “Work stuff. Just for a week.”
“Well,” she says, setting her cup down. “I hope it’s productive.” Her tone is neutral, but her eyes betray a flicker of something—disappointment? Or is that wishful thinking on my part?
Before I can analyze it further, she stands and stretches. “I should probably let you go. You’ve got a busy week ahead, and I’ve got an early shift tomorrow.”
I follow her to the door, reluctant to leave but knowing I shouldn’t push my luck. As she opens it, the cool night air blows in, and I’m struck by the urge to kiss her again. But I hold back, not wanting to rush what feels like the most important thing I’ve ever pursued.
“Goodnight, Lennon,” I say, my voice softer than I intended.
“Goodnight, Ruben,” she replies, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile that makes my determination to leave crumble.
As I step into the night, I realize I’m completely and utterly under her spell.
? ? ?
Thinking of you, beautiful girl. Call me when your shift ends.
Have a great day and don’t miss me too much.
—Ruben
I hit send and glance at the time. Six-thirty in the morning. She’s likely about to start her shift, the first of three in a row. I can almost hear her voice in my head, teasing me for being up this early, calling me the overachiever I’ve always been. But beneath the teasing, I know she’d be smiling.
It’s a good feeling, knowing I make her smile.
As cheesy as it sounds, I made a couple of stops on my way to work. I sent her two dozen pink roses to be hand-delivered to the hospital and, from a renowned bakery, a sweet treat to help her to make it through the day. I know my girl, and she often forgets to eat.
I’m in a good mood today. A damn good mood, in fact. By the time I arrive at the office, coffee in hand, and settle into my desk, it feels like nothing could knock me down.
It lasts all of an hour.
Aiden walks into my office unannounced, shutting the door behind him. He’s not smiling. That’s his usual, of course, but today there’s something sharper in his eyes, something calculated. He doesn’t sit; he just leans against the desk and crosses his arms. “You’re leaving for Buenos Aires in a week, Ruben,” he says, voice low and firm. “You need to close the theater deal before you go.”
It’s not a request. It’s not even a suggestion. It’s a warning.
I’m no stranger to Aiden’s power plays, but this one feels… personal. Like he’s testing me. Like he’s daring me to defy him. My jaw tightens, but I keep my face blank. It’s a skill I’ve perfected over the years, masking frustration behind calm professionalism.
“Understood,” I reply evenly, though my stomach churns.
He gives a curt nod and strides out, leaving the air in my office heavy and suffocating. The door clicks shut, and my good mood shatters like glass.
Fuming, I grab my phone and send a quick text to someone I trust completely.
Ruben: Lunch today? Need to vent.
Gabriel replies two minutes later, because he always does.
Gabriel: Name the place.
I suggest a coffee shop we both like conveniently located between our offices. His reply comes back almost instantly.
Gabriel: See you there at 12.
By noon, I’m seated at a corner table, nursing an Americano and trying not to look like a man on the verge of losing his damn mind. Gabriel arrives a few minutes later, his sharp suit and easy confidence turning heads as always. He claps a hand on my shoulder before sitting across from me, his expression already serious.
“Talk to me, ‘mano ,” he says.
And I do. I tell him everything. About Aiden. About Buenos Aires. About the theater. About Lennon. About the weight of our father’s legacy and the guilt that gnaws at me every time I feel like I’m failing them all.
Gabriel listens without interrupting, his brow furrowed in concentration. When I’m finished, he leans back in his chair and exhales slowly. “Ruben, you’ve always been the one who puts everyone else’s wishes above your own. But this?” He shakes his head. “You can’t lose yourself for a job. Not for Aiden or the gratitude you feel. Not for anyone.”
“I don’t want to lose my job either,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. “But where’s the line, Gabriel? How do I keep my soul and my career?”
He’s quiet for a moment, then leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “The line is wherever you draw it, Ruben. You’re a damn good lawyer, and you’ve worked your ass off to get where you are. But don’t forget why you started. It wasn’t for power. It wasn’t for money. It was to make a difference.”
His words hit me hard. They’re exactly what I needed to hear, and they leave me feeling both raw and resolute. I’m not sure how I’ll handle Aiden, Buenos Aires, or the theater deal yet. But one thing is clear: I’m not going to let anyone dictate the kind of man I am, not even myself.
By the time we leave the coffee shop, I feel lighter. The world isn’t any less complicated, but at least now, I’ve got a little more clarity. And for the first time in hours, I think of Lennon and smile.
Thinking of you, beautiful girl.