Chapter 13 Lilly
THIRTEEN
LILLY
Kat and I are on our way to meet a real estate agent.
We are growing gradually and steadily, and it’s time to expand our operations.
I tell Kat about the three employee candidates I like the most. Two of them are young and energetic, and the third is a seasoned professional with experience in the field, who will become the manager overseeing the second store.
Tomorrow, I have five more interviews. I hope that by the end of the week, our team will have grown to ten.
We meet with the realtor downtown. The area flourishes during the work week, and it’s the perfect spot to open a second juice bar to target the local workforce.
Dressed in an impeccable suit, she looks as if she sells sunshine rather than rents properties. After exchanging greetings, she walks us through the location, which has a modern, industrial touch.
Inside, an enormous, open space is available that we can easily renovate to match the first LuKo Juice location, creating brand consistency.
I look at Kat, whose eyes flicker with ideas. By the time the realtor finishes the tour, I say, “We’ll take it.”
She smiles, nodding in approval of our quick decision. “Great. I’ll draw up the papers then.”
With elbows looped together, Kat and I walk around.
She sniffs the air. “Do you smell the success? We’re going to be self-made women.”
I giggle. “We already are.”
In my last year of college, I started juicing. I fell down a rabbit hole of healthy habits and stumbled upon that. I analyzed the market, studied the benefits, and explored the combinations of fruits and vegetables.
But doubts crept in, keeping me from pursuing my dream as I finished my studies—until our trip to Seattle. That night with Ian made me realize it’s okay to be afraid, but I would pass up great things that could happen to me if I didn’t take the risk.
On our flight back, I told my best friend about my idea, and she went right along with it, panning out a business plan. After we finished college, we started LuKo Juice. And now, two years later, we’re expanding.
Walking back to our cars, I think of who I’d like to share my big news with, and Ian is the first to pop into my mind. I check the time on my phone. He’s still at practice, and then he’ll go to visit Levi.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” she asks.
“I want to tell Ian first.”
A pensive look crosses her face. “He’s becoming your person, Lilly.”
There’s no point denying it. I have slept at his place ever since that night.
“He’s having a rough time.”
“I’m sure he would love the good news,” she says softly, always encouraging this thing between me and Ian.
I sigh. “I hate that I can’t help him.”
She pats my hand, eyeing me warmly. “I’m sure you being there helps.”
“He’s like super organized. My place is chaotic, but his is neat. Like, even his pantry is neat. And he even eats my food.”
She arches an incredulous brow. “He was the first person you wanted to cook for. You couldn’t even heat soup.”
“Hey,” I say and shove at her arm playfully.
“Why do you think that is?” she asks, suddenly serious.
I chew on my lip. “I…”
“You’re just friends even though neither of you goes out or dates.”
“It’s…” No excuse rolls off my tongue quick enough.
She seizes the opportunity to make her point. “You should take the leap at more with him.”
My phone pings, and I see a message from Ian. My heart flutters like crazy in my chest—like he’s the moon and my insides are the tide, completely helpless at his pull.
Italian?
A smile tugs at my lips.
“Why are you smiling?” she asks, tilting her head to me.
A warm feeling settles in my belly. “We try to come up with a daily takeout schedule based on what we like most.”
“Aww. That’s adorable.”
“We’ve had Chinese and Italian twice, Greek, Mexican, and vegetarian. He always orders grilled chicken and steamed vegetables. He says he’s eating vicariously through me.”
Can’t tonight.
I see the conversation dots appearing and disappearing while I peel my cuticle with my teeth. Why do I feel guilty? I am about to type something more when he finally replies.
Kat snatches my phone from my hand, and I let a sound of protest out.
“Why can’t you tonight? You’re backing away? Really?” Her harsh tone only intensifies my nervous state. Ignoring my true feelings. Lying to myself. Pretending we’re just friends. How long can I continue this path before my foundation crumbles?
“It’s not that. We need a bit of distance. We spend way too much time together.”
She sends me an intense look, sighing. “All I hear are excuses.”
Once back at my building, in the elevator, I search for the keys in my bag, digging out his first. Not tonight. It’s not normal for just friends to sleep together. One night, it will be fine to sleep on my own in my apartment.
I glance at his door. Longing grips me, forcing me in the direction my heart wants to go. With a will that seems supernatural, I walk to my apartment.
I take a shower, thinking we’d have dinner afterward. Wrapping a bathrobe around me and a towel on my head, I go into the bedroom. His hoodie lies sprawled on my chair. Picking it up, I inhale deeply. It still preserves a bit of his woodsy scent.
I miss him. I miss his space. Why doesn’t my apartment feel like mine anymore? This is crazy.
I try to watch some mindless TV, but he’s not there to remind me we’re watching the film for the first time, and he doesn’t know either. Or shushing me whenever I add a sarcastic commentary. It’s no fun, so I shut it off and climb into bed, tossing and turning.
Get a grip. But it’s like my pillows are stone and my bed cement—terribly uncomfortable. There’s no heat blanketing me or his scent making me feel safe—at home.
What has this man done to me? I had two relationships, and mediocre as they were in hindsight, I can’t remember ever feeling this all-consuming need. This craving has permeated every cell of my being, altering my very nature.
I squeeze my eyes shut when my phone rings. I answer like I’m compelled.
“I can’t sleep. What have you done to me?’
It’s a small consolation, but it proves my point. We’ve become too co-dependent.
“Can I come over?” he asks. His hopeful tone almost undoes me.
I chew on my lip. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?” There’s a bite of frustration in his sharp tone.
“Because friends don’t need each other to sleep,” I sigh to emphasize my point.
“It’s not only about that,” he mutters.
“We can talk.” I offer instead. So lame.
“Fine,” he says, sulking. He’s adorable enough that I almost give in.
He hangs up and I gape at my phone, not believing he did that. Not even a minute later, there’s a knock on my door.
Opening, he greets me with a panty-melting grin. “I’m here to talk.”
“Really?” I ask incredulously. He has a way of getting his will that is as thrilling as it is terrifying.
He shrugs, not appearing guilty at all. “You didn’t specify.”
I shake my head at him, but let him in—so utterly weak for him.
He strides inside, going straight for the bedroom. I follow him as he makes himself comfortable in my small bed. I will blame that grin for agreeing. One more night.
I climb next to him, and he props an elbow on the mattress, his cheek resting on his palm.
“You’re the best thing in my life. My stability. I can’t lose that too.”
His vulnerability breaks my heart. His sincerity has me hugging him. “Ian… this seems like we’re setting ourselves up for trouble.”
His jaw sets in a firm line. “We managed so far, haven’t we?”
I nod, but I am not convinced at all. Snuggling myself further into his chest, he strokes my back, lulling me into blissful peacefulness.
“You’re starting to feel like home, Ian,” I whisper.
He presses a kiss on the top of my head. “You’re my home.”
Gulping down the ball of emotions, I ask, “How was today?”
“Made it through,” he groans. “And yours?”
I stiffen, and he tips my chin up, his eyes boring into mine. “What is it?”
I doodle a pattern on his chest absentmindedly and shrug. “Mine was great, actually.”
He cups my face and kisses the tip of my nose, eliciting goose bumps to stroke my body alive.
I can’t tell him to stop, famished for his ministrations—those sweet kisses and touches here and there.
“I want to hear all about it,” he says in that deep voice of his that could lull me into doing anything.
“But—” I start to protest, knowing his wasn’t good, but he cuts me off, eyeing me intently.
“No. It’s your success, and you’re going to enjoy it and tell me all about it.”
Stop stealing my heart. Stop being this perfect.
I finish by telling him, “And we signed the lease. You should see the place.”
He grins. “I will. Soon.”
The space between us fills with promises, a life we can only imagine at night.
I cup the side of his face, caressing along his defined cheek.
“I believe in you, Ian. I have watched other players, but no one is like you. Your energy, your presence, your hard work, and your talent shine through. You’re strong enough to pull through this difficult time.
I will be there for you. Through every win and every loss,” I say with conviction like a promise my heart approves.
“Thank you. That’s all I need.” Honesty clings to every letter.
“I have you,” I murmur.
He places his forehead on mine, and as we breathe each other in, he says, “I have you too.”
“Promise?” I ask, voice choked up with raw emotions.
He takes my hand and places it over his heart. “No need to promise. I’ll show you.”
I fall asleep with dreams of more unfolding before my eyes.
That’s the thing.
Nights I spend with him are hidden from prying eyes, secluded by darkness, trapped in a bed. It’s a secret only the two of us share.