Chapter 17 Felix
FELIX
The past three days in Skylark have been remarkably perfect, and I’m starting to understand why my brother settled here. It’s a hidden gem of a town but not so small that you can’t have a decent private life, even as a celebrity.
Tyler’s staying in the guest house on Ian and Sadie’s property, which allows us to keep to our training schedule at a local gym. No frills, but it gets the job done and has been blessedly clear of rabid autograph seekers.
The neighbors have been chill about having an NFL player in residence once more.
Ian’s been around enough that they’re used to it.
Although it’s a little different since I’m going to be wearing the orange and blue uniform of the hometown team.
Ian never played for Denver and arrived after he retired.
Most people in Colorado are convinced God made sunsets orange because He’s a Grizzlies fan.
The eighty-year-old lady at the end of the block stopped me on my run yesterday to tell me she expects the Grizzlies to make the playoffs next season. “My grandson plays receiver for his high school team,” she’d informed me, hands on her hips. “He watches your highlight reels. Don’t let him down.”
It was sweet, and a good reminder that what I have to prove on the field this season is as much for the fans as it is for me.
It’s Wednesday morning, and I’m sitting at Piper’s kitchen table watching her make coffee while Ellie colors at my feet. The house is way smaller than either the cabin or my Denver McMansion, but there’s something about it that makes my chest feel less tight than it has in months.
Maybe it’s the worn hardwood floors that creak under my weight, or the way the rooms feel comfortably lived in, like it’s a place to build a life and welcome you home.
I’m guessing that last part is just the fact that Piper’s here, moving around the space with an ease that makes me crave things I have no business wanting.
The house itself is kind of a time capsule.
Most of the furniture looks like it could have been purchased when her mom was alive.
There’s an overstuffed plaid couch that’s seen better days, a scuffed coffee table and a worn recliner in the corner.
Family photos line the walls, most of the sisters as kids.
There are a few touches that are obviously Sadie’s, like dog-training certificates and a wedding photo, but nothing in the common living area screams Piper.
The lack of personality reminds me uncomfortably of my childhood home.
Not that our house was welcoming. Quite the opposite, actually.
We lived in a run-down duplex where nobody gave enough of a shit to fix the leaky faucets or patch the drywall.
After the divorce, Dad moved to a bachelor condo, filling it with fake-leather furniture and a fridge perpetually empty except for beer, olives and mustard.
Once we were old enough, Ian and I tried to fix things at Mom’s place. I mowed the lawn, and he updated what he could. But you can’t fix everything with elbow grease and embarrassment.
Our fingers brush as Piper hands me a mug. You’d think I’d get used to the jolt of electricity every time we touch, but a bit of coffee sloshes over the side of the cup before I manage to hide my reaction.
“Thanks,” I grunt, and she gives me a funny look.
“Fee, wook!” Ellie holds up a drawing that’s mostly purple scribbles.
“I’m looking, munchkin.” I bend down to study it. “Is that a dinosaur?”
Her feathery brows draw together. “It doggy!”
“Oh, yeah. Obviously a doggy, and so purple. I can see that now.”
“Pi, wook at Ellie doggy.”
Piper smiles as she slips into the seat across from me. “That is an excellent doggy, Ellie Bean.”
I take a sip of coffee, trying not to think about how perfect this feels. How I can imagine Piper smiling down at our baby in a few months.
“I have a meeting in Denver today,” I blurt.
Her head tilts as she shifts her gaze to me. “Thanks for sharing?”
“It’s at my new house. With the interior designer.”
“Okay.” Something that could be disappointment flickers across her face. I guess I’m not the only one enjoying our pretend life together. “Ellie and I will be great here.”
“Actually, I was hoping you’d come with me.” The words come out before I’ve fully thought them through. “I’d like your opinion on some things. And after, we could take Ellie to the zoo. Make a day of it.”
She blinks, clearly surprised. “You want my opinion on your house?”
“Why do you sound so shocked?”
“Because it’s your house. My opinion doesn’t matter.”
A whole bunch of wrongs tied up in that response, but I decide to let it slide. “It matters to me. Plus, the interior designer is kind of terrifying. I need backup.”
The truth is, I want to show her the house and have her see where I’ll be living. Where our baby might visit. I’m curious to know if she can picture herself in it, even though there is zero indication that will ever happen.
“Okay,” she says after an interminably long pause. “But we need to get a polar bear stuffed animal at the zoo gift shop. Ellie needs one for her collection.”
“Ellie needs one, huh?”
Her cheeks flush. “Fine. They’re my favorite animals at the zoo. Sue me.”
God, she’s adorable when she’s flustered.
The morning goes by in a flash, and at around twelve-thirty, we pull up to the house in a newer gated community near the Cherry Hills neighborhood. I watch Piper’s face as she takes it in. The house is definitely impressive—all stone and glass and perfectly manicured landscaping.
“Wow,” she says. “This is...big.”
“My agent insisted,” I admit. “He went on and on about ‘establishing my brand in Denver.’”
“It’s very nice,” Piper says carefully.
“You hate it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. Your face said everything I needed to know.”
She laughs. “Okay, fine. The modern mausoleum vibe is not what I expected from you. But I’m sure the inside is cozier.”
I run a hand along the back of my neck and sigh. It’s not, but I don’t tell her that. She’ll find out soon enough.
Leslie Cummings climbs out of her Mercedes sedan, looking like she walked off the set of Selling Sunset with her sleek black hair, designer heels, and a smile that looks like it’s waging war against whatever toxins and fillers she’s injected.
She was my agent’s pick, too. I was so overwhelmed with taking care of Ellie, I let Brandon make the decisions for me.
“Felix.” She air-kisses near my cheek like we’re old friends, even though we’ve only met in person one other time. “So glad we could finally get together. And you brought—”
“Ellie,” I supply as the toddler nestles against my chest, suddenly shy. “And Piper. A friend I enlisted for decision-making assistance.”
Leslie’s smile tightens slightly as she gives Piper, who is throwing some major side eye, a full once-over. “The more the merrier.”
“It’s going to be so merry,” Piper agrees with a smirk as she takes Ellie from my arms.
Leslie’s kohl-rimmed eyes widen. “Right. Shall we?”
The designer, who has a key, unlocks the front door and ushers us through the vaulted-ceiling foyer to what will soon be my updated kitchen. She has samples and paint swatches ready for my approval, although to me they all look like variations of “rich asshole gray.”
“And for the backsplash,” she says, her manicured nails clicking against her tablet, “I’m thinking a geometric marble in Calacatta gold. Very high-end and statement-making.”
The statement her choices seem to make is that I’m an uptight prick, but I nod anyway, because what the hell do I know about interior design?
“Looks great.”
“Which paint color?” Leslie asks, and I realize I’ve been staring at the doorway to the kitchen because Piper hasn’t followed us in. Did she get lost? Did she make a break for it?
Leslie clears her throat, and I turn my attention back to her.
“Uh...” I gesture vaguely. “That one?”
“Dove Wing or Revere Pewter?”
They look identical to me, but before I can randomly choose one, another voice cuts in.
“Neither.”
I turn to find Piper finally entering the kitchen, and my heart does that stupid skip thing. Ellie is pressed tight against her, as if she finds this house, or maybe just the woman facing me, scary as shit. Can’t say I blame her.
“Excuse me?” Leslie’s tone could freeze molten lava.
“Your color palette is too cold.” Piper rubs her palm in slow circles on Ellie’s back. I might be jealous. “Felix needs warmth. He wants a house that feels like a home, not a museum.”
“Piper, right?” Leslie raises one delicately arched brow. “Do you have a background in interior design?”
“I know Felix,” Piper says smoothly, and you couldn’t pay me enough to argue with her. “May I?”
She shuffles through the samples as we watch. I, for one, am fascinated. Also slightly enamored, but that’s becoming par for the course with Piper. “Here.” She holds up two swatches from the bottom of the pile. “These are warm but not overwhelming. They’ll make the space feel inviting.”
“Those are far too traditional,” Leslie protests stiffly. “Felix needs a modern aesthetic, something that screams success and—”
“Felix wants to feel like he belongs in his own house,” Piper interrupts. “He doesn’t care if it looks like a magazine spread with a bunch of furniture he’s afraid to sit on.”
“True statement,” I agree, grateful beyond belief that my temporary nanny agreed to have my back today. Because what Piper described is exactly how I’ve felt looking at Leslie’s inspiration boards. They’re impressive but also stuffy and sterile. Definitely not me.
“As far as the backsplash,” Piper continues, “forget the geometric marble. What about subway tile in a muted blue? Classic, timeless, and a nice nod to his new team.” She turns to me. “You’re putting in a deck oven for bread baking, right?”
I nod, surprised she remembered that detail.