Chapter Eleven
LYRIC
Walking inside my home, I feel slightly tense. I’m not sure if Chase is having the same thoughts as I am, but I can’t seem to rid them from my mind now that we’re here.
Get a grip, Lyri. You haven’t even kissed properly.
You have to do that before you get to the good stuff.
Chase closes the door behind him as I place my bag on the single yellow armchair just inside my entry and move over to the sofa.
Should I just sit down?
“Rawrr… bonjour,” Polly screeches from the back room.
Chase smiles as he walks over to me. “Polly’s fluent in French, too?”
I snort out a laugh. “Well, he can say hello. So, I wouldn’t exactly call him fluent.”
“Your brother really had a good time with him when he was here, didn’t he?”
“Oh, you have no idea of the mischief those two got into.”
Chase chuckles, leading me toward the sofa. “So, shall we order some food?”
I collapse onto my gray three-seater sofa, kicking a pile of mismatched cushions to the floor without a second thought. Chase settles beside me, eyes wandering the room like he’s taking inventory of my soul, because honestly, that’s what this place is. Every corner screams me.
The space isn’t huge, but it’s enough. Cozy, layered, lived-in.
A round wooden coffee table sits in front of us, crowned with a cheerful little potted plant that’s somehow thriving on chaos and neglect.
Against the far wall rests my vintage buffet, wooden with brass handles that gleam just enough to make my dad feel like he contributed something tasteful.
On top, my pride and joy, a tall, green-stained Tiffany lamp casting a soft glow across a scatter of quirky ornaments I’ve picked up over the years.
To the side, a terracotta pot cradles a tall, spiky plant in a forest-green stand, perfectly leveled with the buffet like they’re friends in conversation.
A wicker chair lounges in the corner, overflowing with colorful cushions that don’t match but somehow belong together.
Near the door, my sunshine-yellow armchair beams like it’s welcoming you in for a gossip session.
The television is tucked beside the big bay window, which opens to a sleepy street view framed by gauzy curtains that dance when the breeze sneaks in.
Under it all lies a patterned rug that pulls the whole room into a warm embrace, grounding the space.
Above us, a single blue chandelier hangs, ornate, unapologetically vintage, and a little bit extra.
The walls are peppered with weird, wonderful art, faces, shapes, and colors that make people tilt their heads and say, “Huh.”
But that’s the point.
This room is a glorious riot of the old and the new, the wild and the whimsical.
Nothing here matches.
And that’s exactly why it works.
My whole house follows the same chaotic harmony. Dad insisted on sprinkling in some high-end pieces to soothe his interior designer ego, but honestly? I’d take a secondhand gem with soul over a polished showroom piece any day.
Chase doesn’t say a word, just smiles as he takes it all in.
And I smile too because in here, you can breathe.
“Food, yes? What do you feel like?” I ask, yanking out my cell to order something.
He shrugs. “This is your date. You pick.”
“Oh, you asked for it, Hallmark.” I open the app, ordering Indian—the hotter, the better.
My two loves, sugary sweetness and fiery spice, so tonight I’m opting for the latter.
He leans back on the sofa, his arm outstretched behind me as I cuddle against his side. “I’m so glad you wanted to come here, Chase,” I admit honestly.
He moves his arm around me. “Me, too, Starlight. Me, too.”
“So, you ready for The Night Agent?”
He rubs my arm up and down. “How about a chat first?”
“Sounds serious. You need to admit something. Confess a deep, dark secret?”
He rolls his eyes. “I feel like I should make something up now to shock you, but I’m trying to be serious here.”
I clear my throat. “Right, sorry. Go ahead.”
He exhales. “Anyway, tell me about you, Starlight. I want to know everything about you.”
“Oh, this is one of those chats, is it?”
“Lyri, I’m trying here,” he berates.
I lean up, kissing his cheek. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll behave. Okay, about me…” I glance up at the ceiling. “Well, I suppose you will find this out anyway, so I may as well tell you.” His brows crease like he’s concerned. “My family is kind of famous.”
He jerks his head back in shock. “As in, famous-famous or notorious famous?”
“Aren’t they the same thing?”
He scoffs. “No. One are celebrities, the other are more like, you know… known to the police.”
I raise my brow at him. “Like our biker friends?”
He smirks, raising his brow. “Yeah, they are notorious. Are your family like them, Starlight?”
Grimacing, I shake my head. “Ahh… I don’t think so, well, I guess my brother is a little bit. The damn lunatic can be a bit of a rebel.”
“Okay, so tell me…” He smiles, and it touches his beautiful eyes. “Who is your notorious, famous family?”
I take in a deep breath. “Remember in the car, that song that came over the radio? I made you turn it off?”
“Yeah, Savage Riot, they are a great ’80s rock band. They’re still going, though.”
I purse my lips. “Yeah, they’re still going. I know because the lead singer, Stylo Griffin, is my dad.”
Chase’s eyes widen as he sits completely still, like he’s been struck by a stun gun. “Your father’s rock royalty?”
I tense a little. “You a fan?”
He shakes his head like he’s in awe. “I, ahh… well, yeah! I mean, I guess now I think about it, it makes sense.”
“It does?”
A faint smile lights his face. “Your voice.”
I sink into myself. “I don’t sing, Chase. Remember?”
He nods matter-of-factly. “No, I know… this is just—”
“If you can’t handle this,” I snap, more out of the fear of rejection than anything else, as I sit up from him. I move to get some distance, but he pulls me back down to him.
“Lyri, stop! It’s just a shock. You’re the daughter of someone famous. I need to impress a rock legend. That shit’s daunting for a man.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “That’s all this is?” I point between him and me.
“I swear. We’re good. Tell me more.”
“The thing about my childhood is…” I exhale at the memories, “… Dad was always away on tour. Mom is the band’s manager, so she was forever away with him, too.
” He weakly smiles. “We had nannies and other house staff, but when I got older and more capable, I became the parent to my siblings. I helped to feed them, assisted them with their schooling, looked after the mansion, dealt with the press constantly calling…” I pause and sigh.
“It was a lot for me to take on at sixteen.”
The memory steals my breath. “All I wanted was a normal life. Normal parents who were around and could take me to dance lessons if I wanted to go, which I didn’t, but that’s beside the point. I wanted to go to a normal school and not be hounded when we went outside of our own home.”
I shrug. “It’s so much better the older I’ve gotten, and since moving away from the main home. Distancing myself from the family has helped keep my anonymity. But in those early years, I hated my life. I disliked my parents for being famous, and I abhorred the music industry…”
Chase places his hand on my thigh for support.
“The only upside of being confined to the mansion was that I needed a hobby, so I had the groundskeeper teach me maintenance of the garden. We even made this amazing flower garden by the front of the stairs.”
“Sounds like the groundskeeper was good for you.”
“He was.” I smile. “He helped me research floristry, and that’s how I got to where I am now at Love and Lavender.”
Chase genuinely smiles. “And look at you, you’re incredibly successful at what you do. You’re making a name for yourself all on your own.”
I dip my head. I guess I am.
“Yeah, so hearing their music reminds me of my childhood. Of the fact that my father’s never around.
That’s why I got weird that day.” He nods, and I inhale, clapping my hands together.
“Okay, that’s enough deep and meaningfuls for now.
” I grab the remote, turning on the television to Netflix—The Night Agent, season one, episode one.
“Here we go. You ready for this marathon?”
He sits back, getting comfortable. “Bring it on.”
I snuggle into him, feeling like this is the place I’m supposed to have been all my life.
Chase is like no one I’ve ever met.
If he can accept me for who I am, family connections and all, then maybe, just maybe, this could turn into something exciting.
***
Chase surprised me with the Indian. When it arrived, he told me it was one of his favorite foods.
He ate that beef vindaloo like a damn champion.
Nothing like a hot curry to warm up a cold winter night.
Of course, the one thing I didn’t think of was the garlic breath I now have from the naan bread. But it’s okay because he has it too.
It’s totally fine, right?
We’re deep into The Night Agent, episode seven. The one where Peter and Rose finally share that long-simmering kiss on the boat. It’s tense and messy and impossibly tender. He leans in, she meets him halfway, and for a second, it feels like the world holds its breath.
Not because it’s perfect, but because it’s real.
My heart does that thing, tightens and flutters like it’s trying to whisper… this, this is what love should feel like.
The kind that finds you when everything’s burning down.
The kind that says you’re safe with me, even when nothing else is.
I hug my knees to my chest, casting a glance at Chase sitting beside me, and wonder, could this be real for me too?
I’ve never been a girl who believed in fairy tales, not after everything.
But watching Rose get her unexpected hero, her unlikely partner-in-crime, I can’t help but feel this tiny pulse of hope.
Maybe, just maybe, I get to have mine too.
Someone who is worth the risk of falling.