Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Ella
I woke to sunlight filtering through sheer curtains, the scent of salt in the air, and a rare, blissful quiet. No alarms. No little voice calling for Aunt Ella. Just stillness—a fleeting pause in the usual chaos.
Then, the rich aroma of coffee drifted in, coaxing me from the haze. I stretched, reaching for my phone, but my gaze landed on the bedside clock.
Nine o’clock.
Oh no. The tranquility shattered as I bolted upright.
Bess’s birthday party. The drive. I need to go.
“Good morning,” Lucas’s voice came from the doorway, smooth and unbothered, as if we had all the time in the world. I turned to see him leaning against the frame, wearing a plain white T-shirt and pajama pants, hair slightly tousled. He held a steaming mug in one hand, his expression far too relaxed for my current state of panic, as if he hadn’t a care beyond the morning’s serenity.
“I overslept,” I muttered, already scrambling for my clothes.
“You needed the rest,” he said, completely unfazed.
“I need to get home, shower, get Bess ready?—”
Lucas set the coffee on the bedside table. “You’ve got plenty of time.”
“No, I don’t,” I argued, throwing on my dress.
“If you’re late, I’ll drive you. Fast.”
I shot him a look. “What, like a getaway driver?”
He grinned. “If that’s what it takes to get you to eat breakfast first.”
My stomach betrayed me with a low growl. The coffee smelled amazing, and Lucas’s easy confidence was hard to fight.
“Five minutes,” I relented.
He smirked. “That’s all I need.”
The kitchen was warm, filled with the inviting scent of coffee and something sizzling on the stove. Lucas moved effortlessly, flipping an omelet with practiced ease. Barefoot, casual, and utterly at home in the space, he looked nothing like the polished, collected businessman I was used to.
“You’re staring,” he said without turning.
I leaned against the counter, sipping my coffee. “I didn’t peg you for the domestic type.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he said, plating the omelet.
“Now that’s ominous,” I teased.
He slid a plate in front of me. “Try it before you judge.”
One bite in, I groaned. “Okay. You win. This is amazing.”
Lucas smirked. “Told you I know what I’m doing.”
For a few minutes, we just ate, the conversation easy. It was too easy—dangerously so. The kind of comfort that made it hard to remember why I needed to keep my distance.
Then Lucas spoke, his tone quieter. “You’re doing great, you know.”
I blinked. “With what?”
“With Bess. With everything.” He met my eyes. “Most people would struggle with what you’re juggling. But you’re handling it.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I don’t always feel like I’m handling it.”
“That’s because you care,” he said simply. “And if you ever need help, I’m here.”
There was something in his voice—a certainty that unsettled me. It wasn’t an empty promise. It was real.
And that was terrifying.
Lucas insisted on driving me. I protested, but he waved me off with his usual easy confidence. “You’re in a rush. I can get you there faster.”
I didn’t have the energy to argue. The silence in the car was comfortable, broken only by the soft hum of the engine.
“You’re staring again,” he said, amusement in his tone.
I scoffed. “I’m thinking.”
“About?”
“How long it’ll take to get Bess ready. If her shoes aren’t exactly right, it’s a whole ordeal.”
Lucas chuckled. “She knows what she wants.”
“She really does. Stubborn streak and all.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” he said, casting me a sideways glance.
I rolled my eyes. “Are you calling me stubborn?”
“Not calling. Just observing.”
I shook my head, smiling despite myself.
Then he surprised me. “You don’t have to be perfect, Ella. Bess doesn’t need perfect. She just needs you. ”
His words hit harder than I wanted them to.
As we pulled onto my street, he spoke again. “I’ll call Anthony at the Met. He might help with those Chagall pieces.”
I looked at him, surprised. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
That word again. Help. The kind that didn’t come with conditions.
I hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”
By the time Bess and I arrived, the birthday party was in full swing. She eagerly bounced out of the car with the gift bag we’d prepared. The backyard was filled with balloons, streamers, and kids darting between an inflatable slide and a table of cupcakes. Bess found her friends and waved goodbye, leaving me by the gift table. Seeing her so happy was a relief.
“Ella! Over here!”
I turned to see Marie, my assistant, at a table waving from under a shade tree. She was there with her son, Jude, who was busy shoving fistfuls of popcorn into his mouth.
“Hey,” I said, sinking into the chair beside her. “Quite the party, huh?”
Marie laughed, adjusting the brim of her sun hat. “It’s chaos, but the good kind. How’s it going with the exhibit?”
“Busy,” I admitted, glancing toward Bess, who was now scaling the inflatable slide. “I asked Lucas Devereux to help track down some of the harder-to-find pieces.”
Marie raised an eyebrow. “Devereux? As in the Devereux Gallery of Miami? Didn’t they already turn down our request?”
“They did,” I said carefully, not meeting her gaze. “But Lucas might have some connections his father isn’t involved with.”
Marie tilted her head, her expression skeptical but not unkind. “Well, good luck. If anyone can pull it off, it’s you.”
She shifted the talk to logistics, mentioning some museums we hadn't explored. I nodded, thankful but distracted. I nearly mentioned Lucas and us, but something held me back—maybe her tone, or perhaps I wasn't ready to voice it yet.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the party slowly faded into the golden hues of evening. Parents gathered their children, laughter and lingering goodbyes filling the air. I helped Bess gather her things, wiping away the last traces of frosting from her cheeks before guiding her to the car. She chattered the whole ride home, her voice softening with sleepiness as she clutched her goodie bag like a prized possession.
By the time we pulled into the driveway, her excitement had settled and morphed into yawns. I carried her inside, her tiny fingers wrapped around me. After a warm bath, she was tucked into bed, her plastic diamond ring still on her finger.
“Goodnight, Aunt Ella,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed as I kissed her forehead.
“Goodnight, princess,” I whispered, pulling the covers snugly around her.
Soon, the house was quiet, the kind of stillness that made my thoughts louder. As I moved through the rooms, switching off lights and tidying up stray toys, Marie’s words from earlier lingered—her casual mention of Alistair and the Devereux name carrying more weight than I wanted to admit.
I finally settled on the couch, exhaustion pulling at me. It had been a good day. Bess was happy. Mom and Dad were doing better. Lucas... Lucas had been steady and warm in a way I hadn’t realized I needed.
But even with everything falling into place, a faint unease lingered. Maybe it was nothing—just the weight of balancing work, family, and the growing pull of my feelings for Lucas. Or perhaps it was something I wasn’t ready to name yet.
For now, I let it go. Tomorrow could wait.
I was about to head to bed when my phone buzzed on the coffee table. I leaned over to grab it, curiosity prickling at the edges of my sleepiness. It was a text from Lucas.
Lucas: Just spoke with Anthony at the Met. He’s willing to loan you a Chagall, but there’s one caveat. We have to go in person to sign off on it. It’s for insurance purposes.
My heart leaped. A Chagall from the Met? That was beyond anything I’d hoped for.
Ella: Are you serious? That’s incredible!
A second later, another message popped up.
Lucas: Completely serious. Would you mind if we made a trip of it? Maybe take Bess along?
I smiled so hard it hurt. Bess would love New York.
Ella: She’d be over the moon. Let’s talk about this.
Before I could hit send, my phone rang, Lucas’s name flashing on the screen.
I picked up, his deep voice greeting me before I could even say hello. “So, should I start looking up flights, or are you going to insist on driving?”
And just like that, the faint unease from earlier vanished, replaced by the thrill of planning something new—with him.