Chapter 19
LILA
It takes me less than an hour to pack, and when I’m finished, everything in my apartment has been stuffed into one suitcase and two duffel bags.
“Are you sure that’s all of your stuff?” Fisher asks, and I can see the skeptical line etched in his forehead from where he’s sitting on my couch. He looks comically oversized in my tiny space.
Well, my former tiny space.
During dinner, we decided that I should move in with Fisher right away—like, tonight. Since our offer has been accepted, inspections on the firehouse could begin any day. Fisher insisted on staying while I packed so he could drive me to his place.
When I told him I could just take transit so he didn’t have to wait for me, he said, no wife of mine is taking the metro while carrying her own luggage.
I look at Fisher across the room now and smile. “I’m sure. We’re good to go.”
“But what about furniture? Kitchen appliances? Decor?” He waves a hand around. “You know…stuff.”
I shrug awkwardly, tracing my fingers along the handle of my suitcase.
“My art supplies all stay downstairs at my station, and this place was fully furnished when I moved in. Which was perfect since I sold most of my mom’s larger items when I moved out of our apartment after she passed.
That’s one of the reasons I moved out, actually.
The rent we shared was too much for just me, and I…
needed money to pay for the funeral and burial arrangements.
” I force a smile as I look at him. “Who knew dying was so expensive?”
“I’m so sorry, Lila.” Fisher looks stricken despite my attempt to lighten the mood. “She was your only family?”
“Yes. But don’t be sorry. I’m lucky to have Rebekah and Masha looking out for me. And since I’ve started selling some of my paintings, I'm not hard up financially anymore.”
“Sometimes I forget how different other people’s lives look compared to mine.
” My husband looks up at me, his green eyes almost ashamed.
“The resources the Fisher family have are so vast, it’s embarrassing.
My granddad’s funeral was a spectacle, and instead of thinking about how his money should have all gone to charity or something, I was sitting there feeling sorry for myself about my inheritance, thinking of my own problems, when I still make more than I’d ever need to live on.
I also have a huge family. I’m selfish.”
I frown. “I think you’re too hard on yourself sometimes, Fisher.”
“Sometimes I think I’m not hard enough on myself.” He shakes his head as he looks around the blank space where my few belongings were scattered just moments ago.
His eyes meet mine again, and there’s a glassy sheen to them. “I hate that you had to live here because you lost your mom and couldn’t afford your old apartment anymore.”
I walk forward and crouch down in front of him where he’s sitting on the couch, so we’re at eye level.
“And I hate that you grew up in a family who never loved or appreciated you for who you are.” Gently, I touch his knee.
“I might have grown up poor by some people’s standards, but my life was rich with love.
I was always encouraged to be myself, to embrace the person I am, and live my truth out loud.
That’s worth its weight in gold, and something I want you to have, too. ”
Fisher swallows and then reaches out and places his large hand over mine where it rests on his knee. The touch of his warm, callused fingers on the delicate skin of my knuckles sends a shiver of sensation up my arm.
“You, Lila Chen,” he says, then pauses. “…you might be the most incredible person I’ve ever met.”
“And here I was thinking that honor went to your cousin running for the Georgia state senate.” I quirk a smile, hoping a joke will calm my suddenly racing heart.
I’m gratified when he laughs, soaking in that rough, low laugh I’ve come to crave the sound of.
“Well, you’re a close second to him, of course,” Fisher says with a wink, then groans. “Ugh, I can’t even joke about that twat being my favorite person. He’s the worst.”
“Not going to lie, I kind of want to meet him. See if he lives up to the hype,” I say as I untangle my hand from Fisher’s and stand up again. Fisher stands, too.
“My parents will be bad enough, believe me.” He grimaces at his own words, then bends to pick up one of my duffels, slinging it over his shoulder like it’s light as a feather. I reach for the other, but he bats my hand away.
I chuckle as he loads the other duffel onto his shoulder beside the first one. “Fine, I’ll just take the suitcase.”
“You will do no such thing.”
“Yes, I will. I’ll have you know I’m a strong, independent woman.
” I point my nose in the air as I grab the suitcase handle and tug it forward.
Even on wheels, the thing weighs a ton, and I have to brace my muscles to drag it towards the door.
Which, of course, leads to the stairs. I eye them, attempting to disguise my apprehension.
I can’t exactly back down now, so I step onto the top step, tilting the suitcase at an angle to drag after me.
“You’re a stubborn woman with a death wish, is what you are,” Fisher says, grabbing the handle from me before I can protest again. Even weighed down with two massive duffels, he lifts the suitcase like it’s a minor inconvenience and strides off down the stairs.
I follow him, pouting but also enjoying the way his biceps are straining against his blue T-shirt.
“You can’t tell me what to do just because we’re married now,” I tut when we’re both at the bottom of the stairs.
He turns around and looks at me in shock.
“Of course not. I’d never tell you what to do.
If anything, you can tell me what to do; you’re clearly the smart one in this marriage.
But I’m not letting you carry your own heavy bags.
That’s a non-negotiable for me.” He smiles.
“Plus, this suitcase probably weighs more than you do, and I could bench twice this with my eyes closed.”
“Well, thank you. I guess.” Strange as it is to have my own personal pack mule, how can I argue with that? I’ve never had a man in my life before to do these kinds of things for me, and I’ve got to admit, it’s kind of…nice.
“I’m a proud feminist and I love strong women, but I still need to feel useful as a man.” Fisher winks. “So as long as we’re satisfying my hero complex, I’m happy to take a backseat and let my girl take charge anytime.”
His statement sounds just naughty enough that my cheeks heat. Fisher’s eyes rake over my face and his mouth slides into a slow, sexy grin. His eyes gleam as he adds, “Well, almost anytime. There are some situations I definitely like to be in charge.”
With that, he smirks and swaggers toward his vehicle, leaving me staring after him, cheeks blazing and at a loss for words.
“This is it, home sweet home,” Fisher says half an hour later as we exit the elevator and approach a red door labeled 3B—which happens to be in the most beautiful brick apartment building I’ve ever seen.
My stomach bubbles with nerves as Fisher turns his key in the door.
The door swings open to reveal a huge, open concept space with vaulted ceilings and massive picture windows that flood the room with the golden sunset.
A dark gray and black cat basks on the couch, soaking in the last rays of sun for the day.
I barely have a moment to register the birds-eye view of the Golden Gate bridge from the living room before Ally squeals and draws my attention.
“Lila!” She hops down from where she’s sitting on the kitchen island, grating a block of cheese, and runs over to throw her arms around me. “I’m so happy to see you. Are you staying for dinner?”
Shit. Obviously, Fisher didn’t text them to give them a heads up while I was packing. I blink at Ally, who’s still beaming at me like I’m her long-lost best friend. “Oh, I, um—”
Noah turns his head from where he’s at the stove, stirring a huge pot of something that smells delicious and comforting. “I made enough chili to feed about twenty people so you’re more than welcome to join us, Lila. Penn and Hazel should be home any minute, so we’ll eat when they get here.”
Fisher drops both my duffels to the ground and snags a piece of avocado from the salad bowl on the counter. “We already grabbed a bite at a place near the firehouse, but we’ll definitely go for some leftovers tomorrow. Or later tonight, when I get hungry again. Did you make cornbread, too?”
“It’s in the oven,” Noah responds.
Fisher pumps his eyebrows. “I could kiss you right now.”
“Please don’t.”
“What’s with the bags?” Ally tilts her head as she studies my luggage.
“Oh, Lila’s moving in,” Fisher says casually as he pops the avocado chunk in his mouth.
“Is he serious? You’re moving in with us?” Ally looks almost hopeful as she asks this.
“I am…if that’s okay with you guys, of course.” Maybe they’d prefer not having another person crowding their space.
“Of course it is!” She nudges her boyfriend. “Right, Noah?”
He doesn’t reply to her, his shrewd gaze focused on Fisher, who makes a face at him. Noah shakes his head as something unspoken passes between the two.
Eventually, Noah nods. “It’s fine with me that you’re here, Lila. You’re staying in Fisher’s room?”
“It’s just temporary,” I say, like this explains everything.
Noah smirks as he gives the pot of chili another stir. “Sure,” he says, like he doesn’t believe that for a minute.
“I’m so excited!” Ally jumps up and down on the spot. “Hazel’s here all the time, but she doesn’t technically live here, so it’ll be great to finally have a female roommate.”
“You want the grand tour?” Fisher asks.
“Please,” I rush the word out, anxious for a reprieve from the prying eyes of Noah and Ally.
“Well, this is the kitchen.” Fisher throws his arms out in an exaggerated gesture and spins around the expansive area.
“There’s a spare shelf in the pantry if you want to store your own stuff, and we can clear you a spot in the fridge too.
We all share food for the most part. Downsby does pretty much all the cooking around here because he’s our daddy, and he likes it that way.
But if you’re into cooking, I’m sure we can kick him out of the kitchen now and again so you can have a turn. ”
“I’m a terrible cook, so Noah can remain the primary chef…er, Daddy?”
Noah’s shoulders heave in a heavy sigh.
Fisher laughs. “Somehow I doubt you’re terrible at anything, Lila.”
“You haven’t seen me try to catch a ball yet.”
“I’m looking forward to that.” Fisher grins, stepping around the kitchen island and into the gorgeous living space. “This is our living room, and our furry roommate, Harry Styles.” He nods at the sleeping cat.
“You forgot the Third!” Ally says.
“My bad. Our furry roommate, Harry Styles the Third,” Fisher corrects himself, then rolls his eyes at me when Ally’s not looking.
I smile as I soak in the beautiful view again for a moment before looking around the homey living space. There’s a massive sectional, a colorful rug, a huge TV with a built-in speaker system, and a few pieces of art hanging on the exposed brick walls.
My gaze snags on a pink-hued picture on the wall nearest to me, and my heart trips over in my chest as I step closer, convinced my eyes are playing tricks on me.
“Waking Dreams,” I murmur in shock, my blood running so cold in my veins, my skin chills.
“Yes!” Fisher sounds gleeful as he comes to stand beside me. “One of my favorite pieces I own.”
Together, we stare up at my painting hanging on his wall. The same painting that was recently purchased way over asking by a mystery buyer who had to have it, which led to me booking my upcoming series with the gallery who sold it.
How is this possible?
“You’re…a fan of Santi’s work?” I ask hesitantly, half-wondering if I’m being pranked right now, or if this is just the world’s biggest coincidence. It has to be the latter. He couldn’t possibly know I’m Santi. Could he?
“A fan? I’m obsessed. Ever since I found that one over there in a random gallery out in Monterey months ago.” He points at the far wall, and I find myself looking at Alone by the Sea—the first painting I ever sold.
The reason I can paint full time for a living.
And the reason is Fisher.
I’m not sure how to feel about this. My husband has mentioned a few times that he loves art, but I didn’t understand the extent of that until this very second.
His profile is silhouetted against the golden sunlight streaming through the windows, and the expression on his face as he stares at the painting is soft.
Reverent, almost. Like he’s lost and never wants to be found.
The fact that it’s my art making him look like that has a flurry of complicated emotions swirling through my belly.
Fisher turns to me, his eyes shining. “Do you know her? Santi? She’s a local artist.”
I nod slowly. “I do.”
“Can you introduce me to her sometime? I’d love to tell her how much her paintings mean to me.”
My mind is still reeling from my art being on the wall. At this point, I’m pretty sure Fisher doesn’t know it’s me—but not sure if that makes the whole thing more or less weird. “I can probably…arrange that.”
The door flies open, and Penn barrels through it, causing a welcome distraction from our conversation.
“Do I smell chili?” He crosses straight to the stove and nudges Noah out of the way so he can pull the lid off the pot. “Puck, yeah. Nice one, Downsby. Did you make cornbread, too?”
“In the oven.”
“Yes! I could kiss you right now.”
“For the love of Gretzky, please control yourselves,” Noah says, and Ally collapses into giggles. I join in, grateful to have something to take my mind off my paintings on the wall.
“Lila!” Hazel comes in through the door next, all smiles, and Penn blinks like he’s just noticed me standing here.
“Oh hi, Lila. Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
“Too busy being all horny over Daddy’s cooking.” Fisher smirks.
Noah points an accusing ladle at him. “You’re one to talk!”
I smile. I think I might like living here.
“Wait, what’s with all the bags by the door?” Penn asks.
“Lila’s moving in,” Fisher says.
“Cool.” Penn grabs a bowl. “Can we eat now?”
“You just had a burrito on the drive here,” Hazel tuts. “Seriously, where are you putting all that food?”
As the others grab chili, I turn to Fisher, keen on getting settled and unpacked. “Ready to continue the tour?”
“Of course. Did you want to look at more of my art collection?” He asks, his face all eager and boyish.
I don’t, really. It’s not that I’m not interested in seeing his art collection; I just know talking about art could lead back to talking about Santi again, and I don’t have that conversation in me right now.
I’ll have to tell him at some point, because he’s bound to find out anyway.
But now’s not the time. Not when I’m still processing my husband being my primary buyer.
“Want to show me the bedroom?” I suggest.
Fisher’s innocent expression is quickly replaced with a naughty smirk. “I thought you’d never ask.”