10. Ten
Ten
Luke
‘That was the best welcome-back gift ever. The gravy is incredible.’
Without giving Lila a chance to reply, I quickly tap out another text. ‘Did you really ‘test’ this recipe, or did you remember me saying this was my mom’s version of comfort food?
I finally received a reply, ‘ Busted,’ with an embarrassed emoji.
I throw back my head and let out a bark of laughter. My mind’s eye already seeing the blush covering her face.
I quickly tap out the message I’ve been waiting to send. ‘I missed you, Lila. Not just your cooking. ’
This is dangerous territory, and I shouldn’t have gone there. I should maintain the boundaries she set. But she cooked for me, doesn’t that mean something?
‘How was New York?’
‘Would have been better if you were there.’
I close my eyes, remembering the way she kissed me back. The way it felt like falling and flying at the same time, but also what she said as she walked away.
‘Luke… don’t do this. It isn’t fair.’
‘I know. I don’t have the right. But that doesn’t change how I feel.’
I stare at the screen, but she doesn’t respond. Damn. How does she feel? For that matter, how do I feel?
‘The chocolate tart was amazing, by the way,’ I finally text, giving her an easy out from the emotional quicksand we’re sinking into. But then I ruin it by typing ‘Almost as sweet as you.’
‘Don’t,’ Lila immediately texts back. Then, ‘No dessert-based pickup lines allowed!’
‘Spoilsport. At least come sit on the deck with me while I finish this feast you ‘tested’.’
Will she say no? She probably wants to maintain her distance and not get caught up in the complicated situation I’m in.
‘Just for a few minutes. I have to work tomorrow,’ she taps back. ‘but I’ll need detailed feedback on that sauce.’
I can practically see her smile through the text. Grinning, I reply. ‘Of course. Very professional.’
This is a terrible idea. But as I head for the sliding glass door, I can’t bring myself to care. Sometimes, terrible ideas feel an awful lot like good ones.
I hear her soft footsteps on the deck before I see her. She’s changed into yoga pants and an oversized sweater that slips off one shoulder, and the sight of her makes my chest tight.
“Hey,” she says softly, hovering by the door.
“Hey.” I gesture to the chair next to mine. “Sit. Have some wine?”
She hesitates, then nods. “Just one glass.”
I pour her some Pinot Noir that I know she likes, watching as she curls into the chair, tucking her feet under her. The ocean provides a gentle soundtrack to our silence.
“This really was incredible,” I say, indicating the nearly empty plate. “Similar to how my mom used to make it.”
“Only similar?” she asks with a slightly disappointed grimace.
“Yeah, my mom’s gravy wasn’t nearly as smooth. It always had lumps.”
She gives an amused laugh. “I’m glad it was similar.” Her gaze soft in the dim light. “Sometimes... sometimes food is the best way to say things we can’t put into words.”
The way she says it makes me wonder what, exactly, she was trying to say with this meal. I take another sip of wine instead of asking.
“The moonlight looks beautiful tonight,” she murmurs, looking out over the water.
But I’m looking at her—the way the fading light catches her profile, how her fingers absently trace the rim of her wine glass. “Yeah, beautiful.”
She catches me staring and blushes, that lovely pink I can’t get enough of spreading across her cheeks. “ Luke...”
“I know,” I say quickly. “I’m sorry. I just...” I run a hand through my hair in frustration. “Being around you makes me forget all the reasons why I shouldn’t...”
“Shouldn’t what?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
Silently, in my head I answer, ‘I want to pull you into my lap. I want to kiss you until we both forget everything else. And I want to find out if your skin tastes as sweet as it looks’.
“Nothing,” I say out loud instead, gripping my wine glass tighter. “Tell me about your day.”
She gives me a knowing look but plays along, telling me about the bakery, Jenny’s latest dating disaster, and the exciting call from Hunter Henson’s office. I listen, soaking in her voice and the way she talks with her hands when she’s excited.
The moon rises higher over the water as we talk, casting everything in silver light. She’s luminous in it, and when she laughs at something I’ve said, the sound travels straight to my heart—and groin.
“I should go,” she says finally, setting down her empty glass. “Another early morning tomorrow. ”
“Right.” I stand when she does, and suddenly, we’re too close in the narrow space between chairs. Her breath catches as she looks up at me, and my hands itch to reach for her.
“Thanks again for dinner,” I manage.
“Thank you for the company.” She takes a step back, but her eyes never leave mine. “‘Night, Luke.”
I nod my goodnight, not able to find my voice.
I watch her walk away, every step feeling like she’s taking a piece of me with her. At her door, she turns back, our eyes meeting across the distance. For a moment, I think she might come back, or I might go to her. The air between us feels electric with possibility.
Then she gives me a small, sad smile and disappears inside.
I stay on the deck long after she’s gone, nursing my wine and wondering how something can feel so right and so impossible at the same time. Eventually, I head inside to bed, though I know sleep won’t come easily.
Not when I can still smell her perfume on the night air, still taste the wine we shared, still feel the weight of everything left unsaid between us .
The next day I don’t catch even a glimpse of Lila. She’s already working when I get up, and by the time her shift is over at the bakery, I’m in the studio until late. When I finally get home, she’s already sleeping, or at least it appears she is sleeping as the lights in her apartment are off. Instead of sitting on the deck, which is my norm, I head on to bed. It surprises me how unsettled I feel not having seen or heard from her. She’s so close, right next door, yet it feels like we’re still miles away.
The next morning, I’m still thinking about Lila. I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice her until we literally collide on the front porch. She’s apparently just finished a morning run, face flushed and breathing hard, while I’m heading out for mine.
“Oh!” she gasps as my hands automatically grip her waist to steady her. Her palms land flat against my chest, and for a moment, we’re frozen like that, hearts racing for reasons that have nothing to do with exercise.
“Sorry,” I manage, but I don’t let go. I can’t let go. She’s wearing one of those sports bras and tight running shorts that should be illegal, and her skin is warm and slightly damp under my fingers.
“My fault,” she breathes, looking up at me through those impossibly long lashes. “I wasn’t paying attention. ”
‘Neither was I’, I want to say. ‘I haven’t been paying attention to anything but you for weeks now.’
Instead, I force myself to drop my hands and step back. “Isn’t this normally your day off?”
“Yeah.” She takes a deep breath, composing herself. “But Jenny and I swapped. I’m working her mid-morning shift.” She then glances down at my outfit.
“Right.” I adjust my baseball cap, pulling it lower. “I should probably...” I gesture vaguely toward the beach.
“Of course.” She moves past me, and I catch the scent of her shampoo mixed with salt air. “Have a good run.”
I watch her turn, not able to take my eyes off her lush heart-shaped backside in those shorts. My body is still humming from our brief contact. When she glances back over her shoulder, catching me staring, I quickly look away and jog down to the beach.
The sand is firm near the water’s edge, perfect for running. I push myself harder than usual, trying to outrun the memory of how she felt in my arms. The steady thud of my feet against the sand matches the rhythm of my thoughts: can’t have her, want her, can’t have her, want her.
A few early morning beachgoers are out, but no one recognizes me in my running gear and dark glasses. It’s one of the reasons I love these morning runs—just another guy trying to stay in shape, not Luke Sterling, rockstar with a girlfriend I don’t want and a complicated life.
I push myself even harder, running until my lungs burn and my legs shake. But it doesn’t help. Nothing helps. Lila’s under my skin, in my blood, taking up residence in parts of me I thought were locked down tight.
Five miles turns into seven, then ten. By the time I circle back to my house, I’m drenched in sweat and no closer to figuring out what to do about any of this.
The sound of a car door slamming makes me look up. Crystal’s cherry red convertible is parked in my driveway, and she’s leaning against it in an outfit that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent.
“There you are, Luke,” she calls out. “Daddy wants to see us for brunch.”
And just like that, reality comes crashing back. This is my life—obligations and deals and keeping up appearances. Not early morning runs and homemade dinners, and the way Lila’s eyes sparkle when she really smiles .
“Let me shower first,” I say, climbing my steps.
“Of course.” Crystal checks her perfect manicure. “But hurry. You know how Daddy hates to be kept waiting.”
I glance toward Lila’s apartment one last time before heading inside. Through her front window, I can see her moving around, getting ready to leave for work. She looks up, just for a second, and the sadness in her expression hits me like a physical blow.
This has to end. One way or another, something has to give. Because I’m starting to realize that no business deal, no obligation, no anything is worth the cost of walking away from someone who makes me feel like I’m more than just a name on a contract or a face on a billboard.
I just hope I figure out how to fix this before it’s too late.
The Ocean Club’s Sunday brunch is exactly as pretentious as I remember. The Davidsons insist on the terrace table overlooking the water so Marcus Davidson can hold court like the king he thinks he is.
“Luke, my boy.” Marcus rises as we approach, his smile sharper than the crease in his tailored suit. “I trust your performance went well?”
“Very well, sir.” I take my seat, noting how he’s positioned himself to face the rest of the terrace. Everything is calculated with Marcus, down to sight lines and power positions.
A server appears with mimosas, and Marcus raises his in a toast. “To success, in all its forms.”
There’s something in the way he says it that makes the hair on my neck stand up. I’ve seen that look before—it’s the look he gets right before acquiring another company.
“Speaking of success,” he continues, setting down his glass, “how is your father?”
My jaw tightens. “He’s focused on his business. Still rebuilding after the fire last year.”
“Ah yes, the fire.” Marcus’s sympathetic expression doesn’t reach his eyes. “Terrible timing, with that balloon payment coming due.”
Crystal shifts beside me, suddenly very interested in her menu. She knows. Of course, she knows.
“I’m sure he’ll work something out. Maybe with the banks, he has a couple of bankers on the board,” I say carefully .
Marcus cuts into his Eggs Benedict, the yolk bleeding across his plate like a warning. “Banks can be so... inflexible. Especially with companies that have suffered recent setbacks.”
And there it is.
“I’m sure my father appreciates your concern,” I manage.
“More than concern, Luke.” He dabs his mouth with a napkin. “I’m not the only person concerned about your father’s… current state of mind.” He glances over at me casually. “I’m willing to possibly renegotiate our contract. Give your father some time to come up with the payment. Allow him to keep Sterling Motors in business where it belongs.”
My stomach churns as his words don’t ring true, probably because I can read the ruthless greed in his eyes.
“Of course,” he continues, “family looking after family would be the ideal situation. Crystal tells me you two have been getting serious.”
Crystal beams perfectly on cue. I force myself not to pull away when she leans into me.
“We’re taking things slow,” I say.
“Time is a luxury some can’t afford.” Marcus’s smile doesn’t waver, but his eyes are cold. “Your father’s payment is due in what, a couple of months? It would be such a shame if Sterling Motors had to be broken up and sold off piece by piece. All those employees—all that history...”
The threat hangs in the air. I think of my father, who used to work sixteen-hour days, who is now trying to save the company, and how he’d object if he knew I was letting myself be manipulated like this.
My hands clench into fists. “My father is still in charge—“
“Yes, for now.” Marcus cuts in smoothly. “Of course, it would only require a majority vote by the board to change that.”
His meaning is clear. Damn him. But my father insists that the board is loyal to him—
“More mimosa?” Crystal chirps, oblivious to—or deliberately ignoring—the tension.
“No.” I stand abruptly. “I should go. I need to get to the sound studio.”
“But Luke—“ Crystal starts, and I cut her off.
“Stay Crystal. I’ll find my own way home.” I turn to leave, ready for this brunch to be over .
“Luke.” Marcus’s voice stops me. “Carefully consider what’s at stake here. Some opportunities only come around once.”
I meet his gaze, seeing for the first time what I’ve been trying to ignore—the predator behind the polished facade.
“I’ll tell my father you send your regards,” I say stiffly.