15. Fifteen
Fifteen
Lila
The phone rings just as I’m putting the finishing touches on a batch of strawberry shortcakes for Beach Bites. My first instinct is to let it go to voicemail—Luke’s name flashing on the screen throws me off balance more than I care to admit. But something stops me.
I swipe to answer, holding the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Lila,” he says, his voice rough, tired. There’s noise in the background—voices, movement, the faint hum of a bus engine.
“Luke.” His name feels strange on my lips as if I shouldn’t say it so easily. “What’s going on? ”
He exhales the sound heavy. “Sorry to bother you. I know you’re busy. But... I could really use a favor.”
A favor. I shouldn’t feel the soft tug in my chest that his words bring. I shouldn’t feel anything at all. But of course I do. “What is it?”
“It’s my dad.” His voice is tight with worry. “His nurse called. He’s not doing great—nothing emergency room serious,” he adds quickly, “but she’s concerned. He’s not eating, barely leaving his room...”
“Luke—“
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he cuts in. “And if you’re busy with clients, I completely understand. But you’re so good with people, and food is—well, it’s your thing. I just thought maybe...”
“You want me to check on him?”
“Would you?” The relief in his voice makes my chest ache. “Just... maybe make sure he eats something? We’ll be back tomorrow night, but...”
“Text me the address,” I say, already mentally rearranging my schedule—which, thankfully, is clear through the weekend. “I’ll head over this morning as soon as I get off.”
“You’re amazing.” His voice softens. “I mean it... thank you. Really.”
“Just doing what friends do,” I say lightly, ignoring the flutter in my stomach.
“Right. Friends.” There’s a pause. “Dad’s place is just over the Georgia line. About forty minutes north. The nurse, Marie, will be expecting you.”
After getting the details and ending the call, I get back to work, but my thoughts keep drifting to Luke and his dad. I wonder what his dad will be like and if it will help me better understand his son. My thoughts are interrupted by a customer, which is just as well. I can’t believe how nervous I feel at just the thought of meeting someone so close to Luke.
The drive gives me time to plan. I stop at a market, picking up ingredients for simple, comforting dishes. The kind of food that might tempt someone who’s lost their appetite and wants to be left alone.
Sterling Manor sits on several acres, the grounds immaculately maintained even if the house itself has a slightly neglected air. A sturdy woman in scrubs meets me at the door.
“You must be Lila.” She smiles warmly. “I’m Marie. Thank you for coming. ”
“How is he?” I ask, following her inside with my grocery bags.
Her expression falls. “Not good, dear. Since Luke’s mother passed—well, some hearts never quite heal, do they? And this is around the time she passed.”
She leads me through the house—a beautiful home that feels more like a museum, with everything preserved just so as if waiting for someone who’s never coming back.
“He’s in his study,” Marie says softly. “That’s where he spends most of his time lately. Looking at old photos, barely touching his meals...” She eyes my bags, hopefully. “Luke says you’re some kind of food wizard?”
I laugh. “Hardly. Just someone who believes in the power of a good meal.”
“Well, the kitchen’s yours. I’ll let Mr. Sterling know you’re here.”
The kitchen is gorgeous but clearly underused. As I unpack my supplies, I hear Marie’s gentle voice from down the hall: “Mr. Sterling? Luke sent someone to check on you. A friend of his...”
I busy myself preparing a light breakfast—nothing too heavy or complicated. Simple scrambled eggs with fresh herbs, whole grain toast with avocado, and a fruit smoothie packed with nutrients.
“He says he’s not hungry.”
I turn to find Marie in the doorway, looking discouraged.
“Maybe I should try?” I suggest. “Sometimes it’s easier to say no to someone you know well.”
She nods gratefully. “Down the hall, last door on the right. Don’t take it personally if he’s... short with you. Lately, his bad days outweigh his good days.”
I load everything onto a tray and head for the study. The door is ajar, but I knock anyway.
“Marie, I told you I’m not—“ The man’s voice breaks off as I enter. Jim Sterling looks both exactly like and nothing like I expected. He has Luke’s strong features, but grief has carved deep lines around his eyes and mouth. He sits in a leather chair by the window, a photo album open on his lap.
“You’re not Marie,” he says, frowning.
“No, sir. I’m Lila. Luke asked me to stop by.”
“Ah.” He studies me. “The neighbor girl. The one who cooks. ”
“That’s me.” I set the tray on a side table. “I made breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That’s okay.” I start arranging the plates anyway. “But I drove forty-five minutes to make you these eggs, and my ego’s a little fragile. Would you mind at least telling me if they’re terrible?”
He eyes me for a long moment, then sighs. “You’re not going to leave until I try them, are you?”
“Probably not,” I admit. “Luke says I can be stubborn.”
Something flickers in his eyes—amusement, maybe. “He would know.”
To my surprise, he actually takes a bite of the eggs. Then another. Soon, he’s finished half the plate.
“These are... quite good,” he says, sounding almost surprised.
“Thank you.” I gesture to the photo album. “May I?”
He hesitates, then nods. I settle into the chair opposite him, and he turns the album so I can see. A beautiful woman with Luke’s light blue eyes smiles up from the pages.
“Sarah,” he says softly. “My wife.”
“She’s lovely.”
“She was everything.” His voice catches. “Some days, I still expect to hear her laughing in the garden or scolding me for tracking mud on her clean floors...”
“Tell me about her?” I ask gently.
He looks startled, then thoughtful. “She loved roses. Grew them everywhere, even though I told her they were too much work. And she made the worst coffee you’ve ever tasted, but she was so proud of it, we all pretended it was perfect...”
As he talks, he continues eating almost absently. When he finishes, I replace his plate with the smoothie.
“Luke says you’re starting your own business?” he asks suddenly.
“Yes, sir. Private chef services.”
“Sarah would have loved that. She was terrible in the kitchen—except for one dish. Her chicken and gravy.” He smiles faintly. “She made it every time Luke or I was sick. Swore it could cure anything.”
“Luke has mentioned his mom’s chicken and gravy,” I reply with a smile. “Maybe I could make it for lunch?”
His eyes mist slightly. “I wish Sarah was here to eat it with me. She always said good food could cure anything. ”
We spend the next hour looking through photos while he tells me stories—about Sarah’s beautiful singing voice, Luke’s first piano recital, family vacations and holiday disasters and all the small moments that make up a life.
When Marie checks in, she looks shocked to find Mr. Sterling not only eating but talking and even smiling.
I stay through lunch, making Sarah’s chicken and gravy. I keep it simple but tasty—wanting it to wrap around him like a remembered hug. The sauce is silky smooth, and I smile, remembering how Luke said his mother’s gravy had lumps. Luke’s father eats every bite.
“Luke was right,” Mr. Sterling says as I prepare to leave.
“About what?”
“About you being good with people.” He pats my hand. “Thank you, dear. For the food, and... for listening.”
“I’ll come back tomorrow.” I offer. “Maybe you can tell me about the time Luke got his head stuck in the stair railings?”
He actually chuckles. “Oh, he’ll hate that.”
On the drive home, I call Luke.
“How is he?” he asks immediately .
“Better than this morning. We had breakfast and lunch. He told me stories about your mom.”
There’s a long pause. “He talked about Mom?”
“A lot, actually. I hope that’s okay?”
“It’s—yeah. It’s more than okay.” His voice is rough. “That’s the first he’s talked about her since—Thank you, Lila. Seriously.”
“Of course.” I hesitate. “I’m going back tomorrow. He promised to show me your embarrassing childhood photos.”
His laugh makes my heart flip. “Of course he did. I’d better warn you, though—I was an incredibly cute kid.”
“I’m sure you were.”
Another pause, heavier this time. “Lila...”
“I should go,” I say quickly. “Traffic is picking up.”
“Right. Thanks again. For everything.”
I end the call and try to ignore the way my hands are shaking. Because this—caring for his father, hearing stories about his childhood, feeling this deep pull to help heal his family’s grief—is dangerous territory for ‘just friends.’
But as I think about Jim Sterling’s sad eyes lighting up as he talked about his wife, I know I couldn’t have done anything else.
Some things are worth the risk of getting your heart broken.
The morning air is crisp, perfect for sitting outside. It takes some gentle persuasion, but Mr. Sterling finally agrees to join me in the garden.
“Sarah loved this swing,” he says as we settle among the blooming roses. “Said she could solve any problem with enough time sitting in her garden.”
I hand him his coffee—prepared exactly as Marie instructed. “It’s beautiful out here.”
“She’d be happy to see the roses still blooming.” He traces a finger along the swing’s chain. “Not so happy about other things, though.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighs heavily. “The company. Sterling Motors and the mess I’ve made of things.” His eyes grow distant. “Sarah always said I was too trusting. Should’ve listened to her about Marcus Davidson.”
My breath catches, remembering that overheard conversation at the dinner party. About once it goes down, Marcus and his investors will swoop in and take over. Sterling Motors is Luke’s father’s company. I should have guessed.
“When Sarah got sick...” Mr. Sterling’s voice roughens. “The medical bills, the experimental treatments... I’d have sold my soul to save her. Instead, I gave up some of my stock—to Marcus. I also took out a loan I knew would be hard to repay.”
“Mr. Sterling, you don’t have to—“
“And now Luke’s paying for my mistakes.” His hands tighten around his coffee cup. “That’s the real reason he’s with that girl, Crystal, you know. Because Marcus has me—has the company—by the throat, and Luke...” He shakes his head. “It’s not just about the money—My boy’s trying to protect what’s left of the company and the employees. Some of them have been with us for years—they need their retirement.”
My heart aches. “I’m sure Luke doesn’t blame you.”
“He should. I was desperate, and Marcus knew it. Kept pushing for more shares, more control.” His laugh is bitter. “Sarah would be so angry with me. She never trusted Marcus—said he was a snake in an expensive suit. She didn’t even want him on the board.”
“I’m sure It’s not too late,” I say softly. “To fix things.”
“Maybe.” He looks at me sharply. “I probably shouldn’t have told you all this. Luke wouldn’t want—“
“I won’t say anything,” I promise. “But Mr. Sterling? Luke’s stronger than you think. And he loves you.”
“I know.” He pats my hand. “And please, call me Jim. Anyone who makes Sarah’s chicken and gravy like you has earned that right.”
We sit in companionable silence, the swing creaking gently, surrounded by Sarah’s roses. I think about Luke, the weight he’s been carrying, and all the puzzle pieces finally start falling into place.
No wonder he’s been so careful about ending things with Crystal. It’s more than saving his father’s company—he’s protecting the employees and their retirement. It’s about keeping his father’s dreams from crumbling completely.
“You care about him, don’t you?” Jim’s voice is gentle. “Luke?”
“We’re friends,” I say automatically .
“Mm… hmm.” He smiles faintly. “You know, Sarah used to look at me the same way Luke looks when he talks about you. His friend and neighbor.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “It’s... confusing.”
“Love usually is.” He stands slowly. “Come on. You promised to show me how to make that lemon tart Luke keeps raving about.”
As we head inside, I glance back at the garden. Somewhere among these roses, a woman once sat and worried about her family’s future. I hope, wherever Sarah is now, she knows her son is fighting to protect everything she loved.
No wonder Luke is still seeing Crystal. He’s right—it’s complicated.