Chapter 3
Iwake up at six a.m. with a to-do list longer than my arm and a nervous energy I can't shake.
The party is in four days. Four days to find the perfect gifts, coordinate vendors, and somehow not make a complete fool of myself in front of Ethan Cross.
No pressure.
I grab my laptop and settle onto my couch with a cup of coffee, pulling up my notes from last night. First priority: the gifts.
For Diane, I'm thinking something sentimental. Something that honors her family. I scroll through jewelry websites, searching for inspiration, when an idea strikes.
A family tree necklace. But not just any necklace. A custom piece with birthstones representing everyone she loves.
I find a jeweler in the city who specializes in custom work and send an inquiry. Then I move on to Claire.
First edition books are tricky. They're expensive, rare, and I have no idea where to even start looking.
I text Maya.
Lily: Do you know anything about rare books?
Maya: Is this for Doctor Mansion?
Lily: His name is Ethan. And yes.
Maya: I know a guy. He runs a rare book shop downtown. Want me to set up an intro?
Lily: You're a lifesaver.
Maya: I know. You can thank me later.
I smile and add "rare book shop" to my list.
By noon, I've contacted three caterers, two florists, and a party rental company. My inbox is overflowing, and my brain feels like it's running on overdrive.
My phone buzzes.
Ethan: How's it going?
My heart does a stupid little flip at seeing his name on my screen.
Lily: Good. Busy. I have some ideas for the gifts but I need to run them by you.
Ethan: Dinner?
I stare at the message.
Dinner. With Ethan.
Lily: Tonight?
Ethan: Unless you're busy.
I should say no. I have the book club meeting at seven.
But the book club meets every week. This job? This is time-sensitive.
Lily: What time?
Ethan: Six thirty? My place?
Lily: I'll be there.
I immediately text the group chat.
Lily: I can't make it tonight. Ethan wants to meet about the party.
Madison: ETHAN. First name basis now???
Chloe: This is getting good.
Holly: Please tell me you're going to his house.
Lily: Yes. For WORK.
Emily: Wear something cute.
Amber: And text us if he's a serial killer.
Maya: He's not a serial killer. Serial killers don't hire personal shoppers.
Chloe: That we know of.
I roll my eyes but can't stop smiling.
By the time six o'clock rolls around, I've showered, changed into a simple black dress that's professional but not boring, and given myself a pep talk in the mirror.
"It's just dinner. A working dinner. You're professionals."
My reflection doesn't look convinced. My brain isn’t either.
I grab my bag, double-check that I have my notebook and laptop, and head out.
The gate opens before I even press the button this time, and I wonder if Ethan was watching for me.
When I pull up to the house, he's standing on the porch again. This time in dark jeans and a charcoal sweater that makes his eyes look even more intense.
"Hi," I say, suddenly nervous.
"Hi." He smiles. "Come in."
I follow him inside, and the smell of garlic and herbs hits me immediately.
"Are you cooking?" I ask, surprised.
"I am."
"You cook?" I wish I could take it back the second it’s out of my mouth.
"Why do you sound so shocked?" He glances over his shoulder, amused.
"I just... I don't know. I assumed you had a chef or something."
"I like cooking. It helps me unwind after long days in the OR."
Of course he does. Because he's not just devastatingly attractive and wealthy. He's also domestic.
I'm doomed.
He leads me into the kitchen, where a pot is simmering on the stove and a cutting board is covered with fresh vegetables.
"I hope you like pasta," he says.
"I love pasta."
"Good." He hands me a glass of wine. "Red okay?"
"Perfect."
I take a sip, and it's delicious. Smooth and rich with just a hint of spice.
"This is really good," I say.
"It should be. It cost more than your car."
I nearly choke. "Excuse me?"
He's smiling now. Full-on smiling. "I'm kidding."
"You're terrible."
"I've been told."
I shake my head, laughing despite myself.
Ethan moves around the kitchen with an ease that's mesmerizing. He's confident but not showy. Precise but not fussy. And watching him cook is doing things to me I absolutely should not be feeling.
"So," he says, stirring the sauce. "Tell me about these ideas."
Right. Work. Focus.
I pull out my laptop and open the file I created.
"Okay. For your mom, I'm thinking a custom birthstone necklace. An Irish tree of life pendant with stones representing you, your siblings, your dad, and any grandchildren. The Irish tree of life will have a celtic knot border around the tree. The top will have her and your father’s birthstones, the next branches have the children’s and then under the corresponding grandchildren.
Like this…" I turn the photo towards him.
Ethan stops stirring. "That's..."
"Too much?" I ask, suddenly worried I overstepped.
"No." He looks at me, and there's something raw in his expression. "It's perfect. She'll love it."
Relief floods through me. "Good. I found a jeweler who can do it, but I'll need to know everyone's birthstones."
"I can get you that information tonight."
"Great." I pull up the next file. "For Claire, I'm thinking a first edition novel. Something rare and meaningful. Do you know what her favorite book is?"
"Pride and Prejudice," he says without hesitation.
"Of course it is." I grin. "I have a contact at a rare book shop. I'll see what he has. It’ll probably be costly."
"Money is no object. And if he doesn't have it?"
"Then I'll find someone who does. I don't give up easily."
Ethan's gaze holds mine. "I'm starting to realize that."
My pulse quickens.
He turns back to the stove, and I take another sip of wine to steady myself.
"Dinner's almost ready," he says. "Why don't you set the table?"
"Sure."
He points me toward the dining room, and I find placemats, silverware, and cloth napkins in a sideboard. I set two places across from each other, trying to ignore how intimate this feels.
When I return to the kitchen, Ethan is plating the food. Perfectly twirled pasta topped with a rich, red sauce and fresh basil.
"This looks amazing," I say.
"Wait until you taste it."
He carries both plates to the dining room, and I follow with our wineglasses.
We sit, and I take my first bite.
Oh my God.
"This is incredible," I say, and I'm not exaggerating. It's the best pasta I've ever had.
"My mother's recipe," he says. "She taught me when I was a teenager. My dad’s mother taught her. An Italian man married to an Irishwoman. We were never without good food at home."
"She's a good teacher."
"She is."
We eat in comfortable silence for a moment, and I'm struck by how easy this feels. How natural.
"Can I ask you something?" Ethan says.
"Of course."
"What made you say yes? To this job, I mean."
I set down my fork. "Honestly?"
"Always."
"The money." I laugh. "I know that's not romantic or noble, but I'm a broke twenty-six-year-old with student loans and a car that's one bad pothole away from falling apart."
"That's fair."
"But also..." I hesitate. "The way you looked at me. When you made the offer. Like you actually believed I could do this."
"Because I do."
"You still don't know me."
"I know enough." He leans back in his chair, studying me. "You're thoughtful. Detail-oriented. You care about getting things right. That's more than most people." Did he Google me, too? Do I want to know? Not if I don’t want him knowing I did a deep dive into him as well.
Heat creeps up my neck. "Thank you."
"What about you?" he asks. "What do you want to do? Long-term, I mean. Is personal shopping your goal?"
I almost laugh. "No. God, no."
"Then what?"
I take a breath. "Graphic design. Specifically book cover and social media design for the book world. I love creating visuals that capture the essence of a story. The mood, the characters, the feeling you get when you read it."
"That's specific."
"I've been working toward it for a while. I'm taking college classes, building a portfolio. But it's expensive, and I need to work to pay for it, which means less time to actually design."
"Catch-22."
"Exactly."
Ethan's quiet for a moment. Then he says, "Can I see your work?"
"My... my portfolio?"
"Yes."
"You really want to see it?"
"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't."
I pull out my phone, open my portfolio site, and hand it to him.
He scrolls through slowly, studying each design. I watch his face, trying to gauge his reaction, but he's maddeningly unreadable.
Finally, he looks up. "These are excellent."
"You don't have to say that."
"I'm not." He hands my phone back. "You have talent, Lily. Real talent."
Something warm and unfamiliar blooms in my chest.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"Have you thought about freelancing? Building a client base while you finish school?"
"I have. But it's hard to get clients when you're just starting out."
"Not if you know the right people."
I blink. "Are you offering to help me?"
"I'm offering to introduce you to my brother who has a few colleagues who might need design work. What you do with those introductions is up to you."
I don't know what to say. "That's... really generous."
"It's practical. You're talented. They need help. Everyone wins."
He says it like it's simple. Like helping me is just the logical thing to do.
But it's not simple. Not to me.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" I blurt out.
Ethan's expression softens. "Why wouldn’t I be nice to you? The way I see it, you deserve to have the same kindness bestowed upon you as you do others."
The air between us shifts.
I should look away. Change the subject. But I can't.
"Lily." His voice is lower now. Quieter. "Can I be honest with you?"
"I prefer honesty."
"I like you."
My heart stops. We might have to call 9-1-1. I’m pretty sure my body has forgotten how to work. I’m holding my breath. My heart isn’t beating. I might just pass out.