21. Neesha
NEESHA
I finally did it. I stood up to Nate. I lean against the kitchen counter for support, not from fear but from the power of finally saying all the things I’ve wanted to for months.
There’s another knock, and my whole body tenses from the sudden dread that Nate is back—that he won’t let it go.
“Neesha? Are you okay?”
I rush toward the door and throw it open. Lucian stands there, still in his auction clothes but completely undone—hair mussed, tie loosened, chest rising and falling like he sprinted here. The moment our eyes meet, his face crumples with relief, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
“What happened?” he says, completely undone with worry for me.
“I was pulling in when I saw Nate leaving. Did he hurt you?” He catches me in his arms and I fall into his embrace, feeling safe for the first time since I walked through my door.
My whole body melts in Lucian’s arms, like it already knows where it belongs.
“No, he was waiting here when I got back from the auction, but he didn’t hurt me.”
His hands frame my face, tilting my chin up until I meet his intense gaze.
“I’m so sorry, Neesha. I knew I shouldn’t have let you go home alone.
When I saw your text and couldn’t find Nate after the auction, I had this sick feeling in my gut.
” His jaw clenches. “I’ve never driven that fast in my life. ”
A relieved laugh slips out of me. “Remember how I said I didn’t need your number?” I shake my head. “I was very, very wrong.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I’m glad I put it in there anyway.”
“You were worried about me?” I ask.
“Terrified,” he admits. “I may be gentle with you, but if he’d laid one finger on you…
” His voice trails off, but I can see the torment in his eyes, the weight of knowing what could have happened.
That’s when I realize—he’d burn the whole world down before letting someone like Nate get anywhere near me again.
“I finally said all the things I wanted to say. And it felt…” I pause, searching for the right word. “Incredibly freeing.” I step back, letting him see that I’m okay.
Better than okay. I’m with the man who would never weaponize my trust or compromise my safety. This is how you know someone is your safe place—when being with them feels like coming home, when you never have to wonder where you stand or question if they love you. You just know.
He takes my hand and pulls me close again, burying his face in my hair. “Never again,” he murmurs. “I’m never letting you face something like that alone again.”
“At some point, I have to learn how to stand up to people like Nate.”
“Want me to punch him?” Lucian asks, looking only too happy to do it. “Because he deserves to have his nose broken. I think everyone in town would agree.”
I laugh at the mental image of Nate stumbling backward, hand over his face.
“I think Nate was surprised I didn’t take him back…especially after what he told me about you. ”
Lucian studies me. “What did he say?”
“That he set you up to get hurt in the game.” I take in Lucian’s expression. “Is it true?”
He nods slowly. “I didn’t want you to think it was your fault, or remind you of a relationship that already did a lot of damage.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make,” I say.
“You’re right.” He reaches for me, caressing my cheek so carefully, his eyes tracing the movement. “I was trying to protect you, but I should have been honest. I’m sorry.”
The way he accepts his responsibility, without excuses, is entirely the opposite of how Nate would’ve responded.
“And is it true about your family owning Northwest Development & Real Estate?”
“Yes, my father runs the company,” he says. “It’s not that I was trying to hide it from you, more that I’m ashamed of what my father has done.”
“Did you know Nate’s hired him to develop Maple Lake if he closes on the sale?”
He steps back, running both hands through his hair. “No, but I can’t say I’m shocked. Nate’s been fishing for information about him.” He pauses. “I’ve spent years trying to escape my father’s shadow.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Right before I moved here, my father was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. His cardiologist gave him two years, if he’s lucky.
” He shakes his head. “A man who controlled everything—employees, contracts, entire neighborhoods—can’t control the one thing that matters now. ”
“I’m so sorry, Lucian,” I say.
He sinks onto the arm of the couch. “My grandfather used to say you can’t force someone to change—they have to want it themselves. Even facing death, I don’t think my father wants to.”
The pain he’s trying to hide breaks my heart.
“I’ll go see him—not because he deserves it, but because I won’t let anyone die alone, even him.
” He meets my eyes. “I just hope I never lose sight of what really matters the way he did—so obsessed with building something that I forget the people around me are all that actually matter.”
I close the distance between us, moving to stand directly in front of him.
When I cup his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me, we’re finally eye to eye—him sitting on the arm of the couch, me standing in the space between his legs.
“You would never do that because you’re a good man, Lucian Lowe.
” I want him to focus on what I believe about him.
“Only because you make me want to be the man my grandfather raised me to be.” His fingers catch a stray wisp of hair, and he gently brushes it over my ear.
I lean into his touch, my heart aching to take away the pain he’s carrying. “You already are that man,” I say, before pressing my lips softly against his. Once, then twice, lingering there in the quiet.
It’s a promise, a gentle affirmation that he’s worthy of love exactly as he is.
When I pull back, his eyes are full of gratitude before he rests his forehead against mine. “I want you to see all of me, Neesha, not just the parts I think you’ll like. And I hope you’ll feel safe enough to show me all of you.”
He’s asking for the same vulnerability he just gave me—complete honesty, even when it’s hard. Of all the things I’ve shared with him, why does this suddenly feel like the hardest?
“Actually, there’s something I need to tell you too. I got an email about a storefront in Seattle earlier today, from a real estate contact I’d reached out to months ago. A small storefront has just opened up,” I tell him, watching for a reaction.
“And?”
“I haven’t responded yet.”
“That sounds perfect, Neesha. And I’ll be here when you come back to visit.”
I frown. “You’re not trying to talk me out of this? You’re giving me permission to leave? ”
“As much as I want you to stay, if Seattle is what you need, then I want that for you too.”
The sincerity on his face, the way he smiles like my happiness matters to him, all of it makes my heart feel like it’s about to burst. He brushes his knuckles across my cheek, like he’s trying to memorize the way it feels, before he rises and moves toward the door.
“Lucian?”
He turns around.
“You knew I wasn’t staying…and still, you let yourself fall for me?” My voice is barely a whisper. “Why would you do that?”
He moves closer to me, his eyes locked on mine.
“Because I’d rather have one real moment with you than a lifetime of almosts .
I want whatever you’re willing to give me—five minutes or forever—I’m all in.
” His blue eyes are so intense, I can hardly breathe.
“My grandpa told me once, Sometimes you just know who ‘the one’ is. ” He tucks a strand of hair over my ear, his fingers brushing lightly against my skin.
“ And from the first day I met you, Neesha Gilmore, I just knew.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he leaves me wanting. Before he closes the door, he gives me a look, leaving my heart still stuttering.
He just knew. From day one, he saw something in me worth waiting for, worth loving, even if it meant letting me go. That’s not control—that’s the opposite of everything Nate ever gave me.
I’m left with the ache of something I can’t name. I didn’t feel this kind of loss when I broke up with Nate, only an angry sense of injustice that I’d been betrayed. But Lucian walking away? I feel gutted.
My eyes drift to the half-completed grant application on my counter. It’s due tomorrow at eleven a.m. I pick up the wooden cupcake Lucian made me and roll it between my fingers.
This small gift will always remind me of the man who said he just knew, then walked away to let me choose. Until now, I hadn’t realized how much I want to believe that someone could see me clearly and still choose to stay.
Because that’s what grief does—it makes us wildly self-protective, always looking for the exits before someone else can show us the door. It makes us choose moving on over the terrifying possibility of being left behind again.
I pick up the grant application and study it, before setting it next to the wood carving.
I’m not ready to make any decisions tonight. Not when I can still remember what Lucian’s hands feel like wrapped around me.
Maybe Lucian’s grandpa was right.
Sometimes you just know.
Maybe I always did.