Chapter 21
LILY
Two weeks have passed since Josh came over to have his stitches removed and stayed for dinner like it was normal.
It wasn’t, but we didn’t say that out loud, giving us the perfect excuse for it to happen again, and again.
We ate together almost every night he hasn’t been on a shift, or that Penny and I haven’t been out. Like tonight.
We’re at Dorian’s place for our weekly family dinner. These used to happen at Mom’s, but once Josie and Dorian went public, it became simpler to gather beyond gated walls where the paparazzi can’t crowd the curb.
The private chef doesn’t hurt, either. Not that Mom is ready to hand over her wooden spoon. She arrives early to cook alongside Alfred, the chef. So now our meals retain that homemade, familiar quality, but with a finish a judge on a cooking show would call “elevated.”
The stars above Dorian’s infinity pool glitter across the black velvet expanse of the sky. Brighter here than anywhere else in LA, like even the cosmos gives celebrities preferential treatment.
I take a sip of wine that costs more than my weekly grocery budget, wondering how sipping Opus One on the patio of a rockstar’s mansion for family dinner became my new normal.
Dorian’s hand rests on the back of Josie’s chair, his thumb absently stroking her shoulder like he can’t help touching her.
My sister’s face glows in the ambient lighting that some professional designer no doubt spent hours perfecting.
And I am so happy for her, but tonight, the absence of a man by my side who can’t keep his hands off me is harder to bear.
Maybe because for once, there’s someone I’d want around—even if I’m not able to make space for him.
I’m not the only one thinking about Josh. Penny finishes another of her stories, and I lose count of how many times she mentioned him tonight.
“—and then Josh said that if I beat him at Marco Polo next time, he’ll let me pick the movie for our next pizza night,” my daughter explains, waving her fork for emphasis. A piece of broccoli flies off and lands somewhere in the decorative shrubbery.
In the last couple of weeks, we’ve started orbiting each other in these little routines.
Josh always a text away from showing up with some obscure ingredient he swears will change the way we eat forever, or calling to ask Penny if she wants to help him on one of his handyman side projects, fixing Mrs. Patel’s wobbly ceiling fan or adjusting Mrs. Porter’s stubborn sliding glass door that kept getting stuck.
“Who is this Josh?” my mom asks, eyes dancing to me.
I spear a glazed carrot, letting Penny take this one.
“Our new neighbor. We played on Saturday,” Penny continues, oblivious to the adult subtext swirling around her. My family has the subtlety of a marching band. “Josh showed me how to do a cannonball that makes the biggest splash.”
I focus on my plate, avoiding eye contact with everyone at the table, glad they don’t know Saturday didn’t end with a casual encounter by our complex’s pool.
That afterward we went for a spontaneous trip to Penny’s favorite ice cream place in Venice that led to us strolling down the Ocean Front Walk for hours, Penny darting between street performers and souvenir stalls, Josh buying her a ridiculous pair of heart-shaped sunglasses, the three of us huddling at some hole-in-the-wall burger joint on the beach for dinner.
I also hope Penny won’t blabber how after dinner, I got roped into agreeing to taking a camping trip together.
All it took was Josh mentioning he sometimes misses the woods.
Penny saying she’s never been camping. And I was outnumbered two to one to plan the adventure.
We’ll go in three weeks when Josh has a full weekend off in his work schedule rotation.
I love to hike, but am not overnight-outdoorsy.
I wouldn’t feel safe doing it alone. And I want Penny to have these experiences, especially now, with her class doing that entire unit on ecosystems and California wildlife.
She came home last week, vibrating with questions about nocturnal animals and how to identify constellations, holding up her science workbook like it was a treasure.
How could I not let her enjoy the real thing when the opportunity presented itself?
It made sense to say yes. Practical sense. Educational sense.
Two full days and a night with Josh? That’s…
manageable. We’ll sleep in separate tents—I made that clear immediately, maybe too emphatically, judging by the flicker of amusement in Josh’s eyes.
Ground rules established. Boundaries maintained.
This isn’t some romantic getaway; it’s a camping trip with a kid present.
There’s nothing intimate about s’mores and bug spray.
Except.
Except it is bigger than our usual hangouts.
Those come with endpoints, natural moments when we say goodnight and retreat to our separate apartments, separate lives.
Camping means waking up in adjacent tents, morning breath, and messy hair, no escape route if things get too comfortable or too complicated.
Josh will teach Penny how to build a fire while I prep dinner, the three of us crammed around a picnic table like we’re… a unit.
A family doing what families do.
I told myself I’d be more cautious after that first weekend, after I realized how easily Josh slipped under my defenses.
And I have been careful. Every time I’ve gotten too close, I’ve pulled back, recalibrated, reminded myself why this can’t be more than friendship.
But Penny’s disappointed face when I hesitate, Josh’s easy “no pressure” that makes me want to say yes more—I’m tired of being the person who always says no to everything.
So: two tents. Penny as a buffer. An educational adventure for my daughter. These are the parameters that make it okay. Safe. Decidedly non-romantic.
I can do this. I can go camping with Josh and keep it what it needs to be—a friend helping another friend give her kid a memorable weekend. Nothing more.
But am I playing with campfire? Am I being reckless?
I keep telling myself it’s for Penny, that every kid should know how s’mores taste when you roast them over actual flames.
But underneath, a crackling awareness sparks in me whenever Josh is around.
This fluttery, nervous heat. I’m inching closer to something I shouldn’t touch.
I know I’ll get singed if I’m not careful, and yet I don’t back away.
“Sounds lovely,” my mom comments with a barely contained hopefulness in her voice that makes my stomach knot.
She wants me to be happy, to find someone new, to move on and rebuild.
She worries about me being alone, about Penny growing up without a father.
But the glint in her eye is destined to fade.
Josh is not the person I can move forward with.
Josie, who knows Josh is in the “non-datable” category and why, keeps throwing me these worried side-glances. Her eyes scream “we need to talk” every time Penny drops Josh’s name, which is approximately every single sentence tonight.
“I told Josh he should come to family dinner sometime,” Penny announces, and I choke on my wine.
My eyes bug out. “When?”
Penny shrugs. “The other day.”
“That would be lovely,” Mom says before I can plan a response that doesn’t include profanities.
“We should meet this Josh,” Aunt Moira declares, setting down her fork with a decisive clink. “Is he hot?”
“Aunt Moira!” I chime.
“What?” She blinks. “It’s a legitimate question.”
Penny nods pensively. “For someone old, I guess. He’s hot even in regular clothes. I still haven’t seen him in his uniform, but Gossip Granny told me men in uniform are hotter.”
“They are, sweetie.” Moira toasts Penny with her wine glass. “I need to meet this lady.”
“Uniform?” Mom perks up. “Is he a police officer?”
The quiet laughter dies as Penny, with her characteristic bluntness, drops the bomb. “No, he’s a firefighter. Like Daddy was.”
The temperature at the table plunges twenty degrees in an instant.
Mom’s face crumples into an expression of such complete apprehension that heat prickles at the base of my nose.
Josie freezes mid-sip, eyes darting between Mom and me.
Even Aunt Moira, who never met a tense situation she couldn’t defuse with an inappropriate joke, seems at a loss for words.
It’s like we’re back standing at Daniel’s funeral, the folded flag pressed into my numb fingers. The sirens wailing in salute as they lowered his empty casket into the ground.
I can’t breathe. The fairy lights strung above the patio blur into fuzzy halos as my eyes sting. I want to run, but my legs feel stuck in concrete.
“Who’s ready for dessert?” Dorian’s voice breaks through the silence, saving me. I shoot him a thankful look. He winks back, standing up. “Alfred made his famous tiramisu.”
I’ve never been more grateful for my sister’s boyfriend and his social grace.
“I need some air.” I stand, pushing away from the table. “I’ll be right back.”
I escape to the far side of Dorian’s massive garden, past the pool where the property ends in a metal railing overlooking the city below.
Los Angeles sprawls beneath me, a glittering carpet of lights stretching all the way to the ocean.
On a clear night like this, it looks magical rather than smoggy and congested.
I grip the cool railing to steady my breathing, wondering when Josh Collins embedded himself so thoroughly into our lives that my daughter can’t go ten minutes without mentioning him.
And why, despite my absolute certainty that I will never date another firefighter, I can’t stop thinking about him or seeing him.
Footsteps approach on the flagstone path behind me, and I know it’s Josie without turning around. My sister never gives me space once she decides I need comfort, even if I’d rather be left alone.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say before she can speak.
She steps up beside me anyway, her shoulder brushing mine as she leans against the railing. “Fair,” she says simply. After a pause, she adds, “But are you okay?”
I stare out at the city lights, watching an airplane’s blinking path across the night sky. “I don’t know if I’m okay,” I admit. “I haven’t been okay in four years.”
Josie doesn’t push, doesn’t offer empty reassurances about time healing wounds or Daniel wanting me to be happy. She stands with me, silent and steady, her presence both comforting and irritating, in the way only sisters can.
“Talk about something else,” I request, not looking at her.
“Like what?”
“Like you,” I suggest. “Are you worried now that Billie Rae is out of rehab?” After months spent under the radar, Dorian’s equally famous ex-wife made her grand return to the social scene this week, and the internet had a field day.
“Think she’ll come after you guys again?
” The pop singer created trouble for them last year when she discovered they were together and Dorian had moved on from her.
Josie sighs, her gaze fixed on the same cityscape I’m pretending to study. “No, not really.”
“Not even after that song she released? ‘Lost Your Love’?”
Josie’s face pinches. She’s quiet for a long moment. “Dorian said it was Billie’s way of saying goodbye. Nothing more.”
“Was it a blow for him?” I ask.
The lyrics are heartbreaking, not angry. A one-eighty from the diss song she wrote last year about them. But it could also be a different way for Billie to poke at Dorian.
“He listened to it in private,” Josie admits. “Disappeared into his studio for a day afterward. That’s what he does when he’s upset.”
I reach out and massage her arm. “And how about you? Are you okay with it?”
Josie’s shoulders rise and fall in a heavy sigh.
“Billie Rae will always be a sore point for me.” She turns to face me, her expression serious in the dim light.
“She was his wife, Lily. I spent too much time despairing over that relationship, thinking it was solid, that they were forever. I’ll never be able not to be wary of her.
” She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “But I trust Dorian, so it’s okay.”
“Do they talk?” I can’t help asking. “Dorian and Billie?”
“No.” Josie shakes her head. “But he sent her his best bodyguard, Nick, the moment she got out of rehab.”
I frown. “Why would he do that?”
“He said Billie will be vulnerable after their label dropped her. That she needs someone decent around to protect her not just from stalkers but also from the vultures Hollywood is filled with.” Josie can’t mask the lingering uncertainty.
“How does that make you feel? That he’s still looking out for his ex-wife?”
Josie turns to face the view again, her fingers tracing patterns on the metal.
“It hurts,” she admits quietly. “But he wouldn’t be the man I love if he washed his hands of her.
” She glances at me, a small smile playing on her lips.
“I love him so much because he is that good. He was hurt by this person, cheated on, berated, and still has enough care in him to forgive her and wish his ex to be safe and happy.”
I return her smile, warmth replacing some of the anxiety that’s been churning in my stomach. “You played a big part in his being able to move on,” I tell her. “His last song, ‘Learn to Love Again,’ is an ode to you.”
Josie smiles. “It’s an ode to anyone who has lost a great love and then found another.” She stares at me pointedly.
“Well, he’s lucky to have you, and you him,” I deflect. “Men with hearts of gold like that are rare.”
Josie bites her lip, studying me with that too-perceptive gaze that makes me feel like she’s reading my mind. “Josh seems to be one of the rare ones, too.”
My face hardens. “We’re not talking about Josh.”
“Okay. But not dating him doesn’t matter if you’re falling in love with him anyway.” Josie’s tone is gentle, but the words land like a punch to my solar plexus.
“No one is falling for anyone,” I snap. Falling for Josh terrifies me so completely I can barely breathe. “We should go back, or the others will finish the tiramisu without us.”
I push away from the railing and head for the patio, but Josie’s words follow me, echoing through the empty cavities in my body. Not dating him doesn’t matter if you’re falling in love with him anyway. The thought is a splinter beneath my skin, impossible to ignore now that she’s put it there.
The words I flung at Josie—sharp, certain, final—echo back empty. They rattle around in my head, not as solid as they should. They’re hollow.
No one is falling for anyone.
If only saying it could make it true.