Chapter 14 Harris #2
She grins. “You’re going in the dunk tank regardless.”
Half an hour later I’m storing the axe and saying goodbye to the other guys (the actual lumberjacks), waving over my shoulder as I slide into the driver’s seat of my truck.
With the windows down and the wind blowing through my already mussed-up hair, I let the anticipation settle back into my chest.
The weight is heavy—the good kind of pressure before a big game. Adrenaline-like pressure . . .
The kind that makes you want to perform your best.
Back at the cabin I hit the shower. Scrub away the wood chips and dust within an inch of my life. Dry off. Throw on a plain black T-shirt and jeans. Slide on some sandals. Swipe the wine bottle off the counter, and I’m out the door.
The drive to Lucy’s parents’ house takes no time at all, and the scenery alone makes it feel like stepping into a damn postcard.
Towering trees line the long driveway, their branches casting shadows across the gravel as the evening sun dips lower into the horizon.
The house itself is a sprawling lakefront property, all windows and warm wood accents—it’s the kind of place that makes you pause and appreciate how lucky some people are to grow up here, surrounded by nature.
Lucy’s apartment sits above the detached garage near the side of the main house, accessible by a wooden staircase wrapped in ivy and chipped paint.
I park my truck on the gravel lot next to a shiny black SUV and take a moment to breathe, the lake’s reflection shimmering in the distance, sending ripples of calm through me.
One deep inhale, exhale.
Then I grab the wine.
The steps creak beneath my weight as I make my way up, the evening breeze carrying the faint scent of pine and freshly cut grass. When I reach the top landing, I see the small porch is decorated with potted plants and wind chimes that sway lazily in the breeze.
Her door—a simple navy blue with a brass knocker—feels inviting and personal, and after two soft taps with my knuckles, I wait. My heartbeat kicks up, thumping a little faster than it should for someone who was acting cocky an hour ago.
Then the door opens.
Lucy stands there, barefoot, wearing an oversize cream-colored sweater that falls past her shorts.
Her legs are bare, smooth, and slightly tan from afternoons spent outside.
Her hair is down, a little messy but in that way that feels effortless.
She smells like vanilla and something floral, freshly showered and ready to settle in for the night.
“Hey, you,” she says softly, her lips curving into that familiar smile that always throws me off balance.
“Hey,” I manage, holding out the wine. “Hope you’re into red.”
She takes the bottle, her fingers brushing mine. “Cabernet,” she murmurs, inspecting the label. “You really know how to impress a girl.”
Behind me, crickets chirp as the sun dips lower, the orange glow fading into dusk.
I already want to kiss her, but hold myself back to savor the anticipation.
As I step over her threshold—almost needing to duck because of my height—movement flickers in my peripheral vision. Glancing toward the main house, I see her.
A woman peeking out from behind the curtain of a side window, fingers parting the fabric enough for me to catch her watching. Lucy’s mom?
Must be.
She freezes. For a moment, we’re locked in an awkward, silent standoff.
She stares. I stare back.
Neither of us flinches, like it’s some sort of showdown. Then—before I can react—the curtain snaps shut so fast, I half expect the rod to come crashing down.
“I think your mom sees me,” I whisper, turning back toward Lucy.
She rolls her eyes, but her laughter bubbles up anyway. “I swear, if she doesn’t send me a text about you within the next minute, I’d be shocked.”
“Should I wave and get it over with?”
“Don’t you dare!” Lucy grabs my wrist, laughing so hard her grip is weak. I give her a playful wink and pretend to raise my hand toward the window like I’m seconds from introducing myself. She swats me with a giggle. “Stop!”
“I’m kidding!” I say, chuckling. “Sort of.”
I have zero issues making nice with her parents. People love me. I’ve charmed cranky grandmas, tough coaches, and even my one snotty neighbor who thinks I’m “too young to live in such a big house by myself.”
Her words, not mine.
Winning over Lucy’s mom? Easy.
“Get in here before my dad sticks his face against the glass.”
Her dad? Dads love me too!
Lucy closes the door behind me once I’m all the way inside, and my eyes scan the space.
It’s a loft-style apartment with exposed wooden beams running across the high ceiling, rustic and cozy but expensive looking, like something out of an interior design magazine.
The walls are painted a soft cream, with accents of warm, earthy tones.
One wall is entirely brick, which is fucking cool; the open layout makes the place feel bigger than it is.
The kitchen, to the left, has butcher-block countertops and modern brass fixtures.
There’s a large farmhouse sink that looks way too pristine to have ever been used for dishes.
Shelves lined with glass jars full of spices.
A copper-colored mixer. I inhale. The smell of cinnamon lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of fresh pine wafting in from the open window.
To my right, the living room flows seamlessly from the kitchen, with an overstuffed leather couch positioned in front of a small gas-burning fireplace.
On the floor, against the wall? A tall stack of books that looks precariously close to tipping over.
Fairy lights are strung along the exposed beams overhead, casting a soft, ambient glow that makes the space feel even cozier.
The pièce de résistance? The view. Large windows line the far wall, framing the lake outside like a living painting. The surface of the water glitters under the fading sunlight, and beyond it, a line of trees sways gently in the evening breeze. Somewhere out there is my little rental cabin.
“Nice fucking place,” I say, genuinely impressed.
Lucy snorts, setting the wine bottle on the kitchen counter. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is. This view is incredible,” I assure her, stepping closer to run my fingers over the back of the leather couch. “You decorate yourself?”
She nods, a hint of pride in her smile as she pours a glass of wine. “Eh. My mom helped me pick out a few things, but I did most of it.”
“I’m sure she loves having you close by.”
Lucy laughs, the kind of laugh that hints there’s a whole backstory I’m about to hear.
“That’s putting it mildly. Anytime I come home with groceries, she’s standing in the driveway asking ‘Who are those avocados for? You never ate those as a child. Are you having people over? Why are there so many bags?’ Like, Mom, they’re for me. I’m not feeding a secret boyfriend.”
No secret boyfriend? “That’s good news.”
She laughs again, the sound filling the loft and making it feel even warmer. “We’ll see how long it takes for my dad to text asking questions about you. I don’t think he’s home yet.”
“Let him ask away.” I raise my glass. “I’m an open book.”
“Careful,” she teases. “You might become the new family favorite. They’re dying for me to get hitched.”
Yeah, mine too. Kind of. I mean—my mom would love grandkids. She realizes I’m at the height of my career and still young, but brings babies into every single conversation.
Thank God for my sisters’ kids ’cause I’d never hear the end of it.
I follow Lucy to the living room, and we settle on the leather couch; it creaks softly as we sink into its comfort. She tucks her legs beneath her, facing me with her glass resting on her knee. Lucy raises her hand, and I notice a remote; three seconds later, soft music starts playing.
“Tell me something,” Lucy says, swirling her wine. “What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done in front of someone’s parents?”
I chuckle, leaning back. “Oh, you’re starting with the tough questions, huh?”
“What?” She grins. “You’re the one who said you were an open book.”
I take a long sip of wine, thinking. “All right. There was this one time in high school. I was meeting a girl’s parents for dinner, and the dog wasn’t supposed to be let out because it would run away.
But at one point I went to the garage for a soda and the dog ran out and ran away.
They spent the entire night looking for him, and it didn’t come back until the next afternoon. ”
She gawks at me.
“I wasn’t invited back.” I laugh at the memory. “Man, her dad was pissed.”
Lucy shakes her head, covering her mouth to stifle her laughter. “That’s terrible! Did you help look for it?”
“Of course I did,” I say, grinning. “But let’s be real, I wasn’t exactly their MVP. The dad kept muttering under his breath about me being a dumb jock.”
Lucy tilts her head, giggling. “And you never saw the girl again?”
“Oh, I saw her.” I smirk. “Just not at her house.” Shelby Bauer and I had lots and lots of secret sex after her dad kicked me out of their house for letting their dog loose, mostly in the bed of the pickup truck I drove in high school.
“I was a teenager with raging hormones and a grudge against her dad,” I confess. Seemed like the perfect combination.
“Please tell me you never got caught.”
“Not by her parents,” I admit. “But once, we did get interrupted by a park ranger banging on the tailgate with a flashlight.”
Lucy gasps, covering her face with her hands from the secondhand embarrassment. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. We panicked and pretended we were stargazing.”
She bursts out laughing. “Stargazing?”
“I said we were studying constellations,” I say, unable to stop my own laughter. “Shelby went with it, pointing at the sky like she knew what she was talking about.”
Lucy shakes her head, still giggling. “Did it work?”
“Barely. The cop rolled his eyes and said, ‘Next time, study at home.’”
“Oh God, I can’t even imagine.” She nudges my leg with her knee. “I would have been horrified.”
“You asked for embarrassing stories.”
She smirks, setting her glass on the coffee table. “Yup, that’s a good one. But now I’m afraid to take you anywhere with a view of the stars.”
“Relax,” I tease, inching closer. “These days, I stargaze the responsible way.”
“And what’s the responsible way?”
“With wine, a couch, and good company,” I murmur, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, admiring the view of her.
Her eyes flutter to my lips. “You seem to have it all figured out.”
“Only because you’re making it easy,” I say.
“That was so cheesy,” she whispers.
“Did it work?”
She nods.
Our lips meet, soft and warm, the faint taste of wine mixing between us.
Her hand slides up to my shoulder, fingers curling into my shirt as she pulls me closer. The teasing falls away, replaced by something deeper—something I’ve been wanting to do since the moment I saw her smile at the door.