Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lucy
Stella’s waiting for me when I limp down Nash’s front steps, my crutches click-clacking against the concrete, while a thousand variations of ‘what the heck just happened’ spiral through my mind.
Did Nash Kincaid really just offer me a place to stay like some kind of white knight in a romantic comedy?
And did I really say I’d think about it like that’s a totally normal thing for a near stranger to offer?
But what was I supposed to say? No, thanks, I’d rather keep sleeping on a couch and making my friend drive me to your house every other day at weird, random hours because you work like a maniac?
Trish is welcome to sell my stuff, you know, since I’m broke and have no ability to replace it all?
Me taking Nash’s spare room does make logistical sense.
It just doesn’t make any other kind of sense.
The passenger door of Stella’s ancient hatchback is already open, cool air blasting from the vents and something sugary wafting from a bag in the cupholder.
“Get in, gimpy. I brought donuts.”
“My hero.”
She helps me fold into the seat, maneuvering my crutches into the back with the same care she reserves for library books and bottles of wine. Her hair’s twisted into a haphazard bun and her smile is wide as she drops the bag of baked goodness into my lap.
“Don’t get too excited,” Stella says, pulling away from the curb. “They’re from the gas station. I just thought, given what you’re about to step into with your parents, you might need a little sweetness beforehand.”
“What I’m about to step into… What I just stepped out of…” I grab the bag and give her the wide-eyed, you’re-not-ready-for-this look. “Donuts were the right call.”
Stella peers over her sunglasses. “Do I need to turn around and have a serious conversation with Nash Kincaid?”
I take a bite, shaking my head while I chew slowly. “Already had one.”
I fill her in on the text from Trish and Nash’s subsequent offer to let me use his spare room. “For my stuff… and for me.”
My stomach twists as I wait for Stella’s response, and she does not let me down.
Her brow rises in shock.
Her lips part.
Disbelief settles into her dark eyes.
“He offered you his guest room? What kind of creepy, romance hero stalker vibe is he going for? I mean, what’s the play here? Trap you in his house, win you over with chivalry, then seduce you with grumpy glares and perfect hair?”
I scoff. “Now see, that’s what I wondered when he offered to help rehab my ankle in the first place and you seemed to think that maybe he was just a nice guy. I think the words you used were ‘uncommonly generous.’”
“Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Stella tosses her glossy, black hair with a laugh. “The world’s a dark place, Lu. Selflessness doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Says the woman who let me sleep on her couch for a week, driving me all over Stillwater Bay like she doesn’t have a life of her own…”
“That’s not selflessness. That’s obligation.” Stella makes an exaggerated face. “Come on. Get with the program.”
“Right. What was I thinking?”
“Clearly you weren’t.”
“Clearly.”
We drive in silence for a few minutes before Stella turns to me with a wry grin. “So after everything we’ve been through, you’re ditching me for your hot doctor?”
“It’s not like that,” I mutter, cheeks heating. “At all.”
“Isn’t it, though?” She grins, making it clear she caught the blush, and I shoot her a look.
“I’m thinking about ditching your couch for a room with a door.”
Stella doesn’t respond right away. Then she sighs, deep and slow. “You trust him?”
I think of the way Nash explains things without talking down to me, how he shows up even when he’s bone-tired, how he doesn’t try to control me but somehow makes me feel steadier just by being near. For all his gruffness, for every time I’ve doubted his intentions, he’s proven me wrong.
“Weirdly, yeah.”
“Then I trust your gut.” She flicks on the turn signal. “Even if your gut’s totally distracted by biceps.”
A laugh bursts out of me. “Shut up.”
Another few blocks pass in quiet before she murmurs, “That’s messed up about Trish though.”
“Right? Speaking of, I need to call her.” I open my messages and pull up Trish’s contact.
“You doin’ it now?” Stella asks, glancing my way with a mixture of concern and admiration.
I nod. “If not now, when?”
My thumb hovers. My stomach flips.
“You got this,” she says. “Channel your inner badass.”
I hit call.
It rings. Once. Twice.
“Yeah?” Trish answers, sharp and dismissive, like she doesn’t owe me at least one conversation after what she’s done and how’s she’s treated me.
“Yeah?” I snap back. “That’s all you’ve got?”
Stella mouths get her.
I breathe. Center myself. “I saw your text about my stuff and look, you’ve got your own thing going, and I’m not there, and maybe that makes it easier to pretend I’m not an actual human being that you’ve already screwed over once.
But you don’t get to just throw away my life. That’s super villain territory.”
Trish huffs and I continue before she has a chance to speak.
“I let a lot slide, Trish. I made excuses for you, backed you up, gave you grace when no one else would. I believed in you when people warned me not to. So now I’m asking you to return the favor.
Don’t sell my stuff. I’ll send you money to ship what I can’t lose—my clothes, my journals, my gear.
Box it up and send it to me. You owe me that much. ”
Stella holds up a fist in silent victory while I worry about my bank account. How much does it cost to ship things across the country?
My voice softens. “I know there’s a part of you that cares, even if you’d rather pretend otherwise. That’s the part I’m talking to right now. Just… do the right thing.”
A beat of silence, then a grudging, “Fine.”
I hang up before she can change her mind, blowing a puff of air past my lips. I can’t believe I just did that.
Stella whoops, one hand slapping the steering wheel. “Hell yes! Now just channel that energy right into talking to your dad.”
“I don’t think that would go quite as well,” I whisper, grimacing at the thought.
Holiday Coffee & Cake smells like heaven.
The pastry shelves are stacked with cinnamon rolls, iced sugar cookies, and honey-vanilla bloom bars as a seasonal spring offering.
Simon Holiday stands behind the espresso machine wearing a cardigan with elbow patches, gray streaking the dark hair at his temples.
When he sees me, he smiles, and let me tell you, it is the best smile. It feels like homecoming and happiness.
Violet—his wife, business partner, and an absolute sweetheart—flutters out from behind the bakery case in a Holiday’s apron and jeans.
I spent so many afternoons here with Stella and Gabby during high school, she almost felt like a second mom, and the wide grin spreading across her face says the feeling might be mutual.
“Would ya look what the caffeine dragged in! Haven’t seen you since the day of the accident.”
I wave a crutch. “Hi, Violet.”
“I still can’t believe that happened to you right outside this shop.
And that your doctor was my nephew! Although, I guess that’s not that big a coincidence in a town this small.
” She immediately sweeps me into a one-armed hug, mindful of my balance.
“You still take your coffee as sweet as you are?”
“Nowadays it’s just a house blend. Black.”
She twirls back to the counter, where Simon’s already busying himself with coffee.
“Okay, well, can I interest you in a Meyer lemon cream cold brew instead? It’s a lightly sweet, springy twist on cream cold foam.”
While I’m not completely convinced, he looks so enthusiastic and has never steered me wrong when it comes to coffee. “If you’re making it, I’m sure to like it.”
“It’s been a hit since we introduced it.” Simon’s grin intensifies. “I think you’re gonna love it.”
Violet nods her agreement and kisses her husband on the cheek. I find a seat near the window and distract myself by watching how happy they are together. Is there something like that for everyone? A relationship that gives instead of takes? That grows together rather than apart?
The bell chimes again, and there they are.
My parents.
Mom’s in her Sunday-best blouse, hair too neat for a casual meet-up. Dad’s in slacks and a pressed polo, eyes already scanning for weakness. Then he sees the crutches and the glint of I told you so fills his eyes.
“You’re hurt? What happened?” Mom gasps, rushing over. “Are you okay?”
I nod, stiffly. “A distracted driver almost hit me. I twisted my ankle pretty good jumping out of the way.”
Dad frowns, slow and deep. “That’s Los Angeles for you. Everyone too busy on social media to pay attention to the real world.”
I brace because here it comes. The admission I should have given them the day of the accident. Mom’s gonna be hurt and Dad’s gonna be… I can’t even guess. Whatever it is, it won’t be pleasant.
“Actually, it happened the first day I got here. Just right out there at the corner of Main and Baybreeze.”
Dad pulls out the chair across from me but doesn’t sit. “And now you can’t work?”
Not even a glint of concern in his eyes.
“Not at the moment,” I say behind a stupidly pleasant smile. “No.”
Simon walks by and drops off my coffee with a quiet thunk. “For the walking wounded.”
“Thank you,” I mutter as he lays a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
I hear Stella telling me to channel my inner badass with my dad, and Nash telling him that none of this is about him, but for some reason, even with all these people in my corner, I feel like the little girl who only wanted to earn her father’s approval again.
Mom sits, visibly trying to rein in her concern. “I wish you would’ve called.”
“I know. I just…” I trail off unsure how to say I wasn’t ready to face Dad’s wrath with the man standing right there.
Mom’s expression says she understands and the flush to her cheeks says she’s angry but won’t do anything about it. “I just hate that you’ve been here this whole time and we didn’t even know you were in an accident.”
The hurt in her eyes makes me feel small. I should have called her.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Dad says, finally lowering himself into the seat. “You’re hurt. You’re unemployed. And you’re… what? Still going back to Los Angeles tomorrow? How?”
I look out the window and take a deep breath. This is all too familiar, him on the attack and me on defense. “I’m staying with Stella.”
And quite possibly moving in with a man I’ve known for less than a week.
But there’s no way I’m bringing that up now.
Dad nods like I’ve offended him. “Still no health insurance?”
“Nope.”
He exhales slowly. “Lucy—”
“I don’t need a lecture.”
I need compassion. A soft place to land. A battle plan instead of an I told you so.
“I’m not lecturing. I’m pointing out that this is exactly the kind of instability I was worried about when you left.”
“I didn’t plan to get injured, Dad.”
“No, but you planned to pursue a job with a short shelf life and no safety net. I told you this would happen. I told you not to pursue dance as a career. I told you everything about this whole Los Angeles plan of yours was poorly thought out and bound to fail.”
“Russ…” Mom puts a hand on Dad’s and shoots him a pleading look and silence descends around us.
My fingers curl around the warm mug as I exhale slowly. This is exactly why I put this conversation off for so long. Who would willingly sign up for this? It’d be one thing if he balanced it by saying anything nice. Ever. But every time we talk, it’s this.
He’s smart. I’m dumb.
He’s got it all figured out. I never will.
Mom reaches across the table. “He’s just scared, sweetie.”
“I know,” I say even though I want to scream.
“I don’t know what to do with you, Lu,” Dad says. Quiet. Gruff. “You’ve always made things harder than they need to be. I want better for you.”
Yeah, well, I want better for me, too. And I had it. For one shining, beautiful moment, I had it. That contract with Sandro René would have changed my life.
Violet flits by and drops three plates of brightly frosted sugar cookies on the table.
“Someone really smart once told me, ‘colorful vibes fix everything.’ I didn’t believe him at first, but it turned out he was onto something.
” She winks at me. “Your dad means well, sweetheart, but Russ Calder has been a grumpy old man since the second grade.”
Mom actually laughs. To my surprise, so does Dad. The tension breaks for a second. And in that breath, I realize something.
People are messy and we’re probably at our messiest when dealing with the ones we love.
For as frustrated as I am with my dad and the broken pieces between us, he’s probably equally as frustrated with me.
The knot in my chest loosens a little. Maybe we’re all just doing the best we can with the mess we’ve got.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner,” I say, extending an olive branch. “Since I’ll be in town for at least the next couple weeks, maybe we can get together more. Have dinner. Coffee. Whatever works.”
Mom claps her hands together in excitement while Dad bobs his head.
“That sounds nice, Lu,” he says, picking up his fork and dragging a plate in front of him.
Turns out, colorful vibes really do help. Who knew?