Page 49

“No, listen.” His voice grows serious. “These past two days, having her here... It reminded me of things I’d forgotten. Important things.”
“Like what?”
“Like how your mother would never have wanted us to let Marcus Davidson destroy everything we built. How you need to live your own life.”
My breath catches. “What all do you know?”
He sits down in the chair across from us. “Not as much as I should. I heard what Lila told you—about Marcus’ investors remarks at that dinner party.”
Before he can continue, Lila returns with coffee.
Leaning back in the swing, I run my hands over my face. “Dad, I was already suspicious of Marcus and hired a private eye to investigate him. Jaxson Gibson and his team. They’ll also be looking at the company’s finances. They should know something soon.”
“Son.” Dad leans forward. “I’ve been a fool. Letting Marcus get his hooks into the company, thinking I could trust him...”
“You were trying to save Mom,” I saysoftly.
“And now you’re trying to save me.” He shakes his head. “No more. I won’t let you sacrifice your happiness for my mistakes.”
“It’s not that simple—“
“Actually,” Lila cuts in, “maybe it is.” We both look at her. “Sorry, but... you’re both so focused on what you might lose, you’re not seeing what you have.”
“Which is?” I ask.
“Evidence.” Her eyes light up the way they do when she’s planning a complicated menu. “Think about it. Those men at the party were talking about arrangements already being made. If we or the investigator can prove that Marcus is deliberately trying to tank the company...”
“Yes, of course,” Dad says, sitting straighter now. “But we’ll need concrete proof. Documents, recordings...”
“What was that PI you mentioned?” Dad asks me. “Gibson?”
“I’m meeting with him tomorrow.” I run a hand through my hair. “But what if we don’t find anything...”
“Then we fight,” Dad says firmly. “United this time. No more letting Marcus manipulate either one of us.”
We spend the next hour discussing strategies and different theories. The only interruption is Marie as she leaves for the night. We all stand, and I notice my father seems more vibrant and less fragile. Like he’s finally got something to live for—fight for.
“It’s time for dinner,” Lila says as the sun starts to set. “I put leftovers in the fridge earlier.”
“You have more of that spaghetti?” Dad asks, and my chest tightens. He hasn’t shown an interest in food in ages.
“Yes.” Lila helps him up from the swing. “And garlic bread.”
Inside, the kitchen feels different—warmer, lived-in. Signs of Lila’s presence are everywhere. A pitcher of iced tea sits ready on the counter. The familiar scent of Italian spices and toasted garlic bread drifts in the air as Lila warms up the leftovers.
“I can’t remember the last time this kitchen felt so... alive,” Dad says softly, settling at the island while Lila moves efficiently around the space.
I watch her spoon spaghetti onto plates, the domestic scene hitting me right in the chest. This is what I want—not Crystal’s cold perfection or Marcus’s corporate schemes—just this: family and warmth and Lila looking completely at home in the family kitchen.
“Here.” Sheslides plates in front of us, then adds thick slices of crusty bread. “It’s better as leftovers anyway.”
“This is...” Dad’s voice catches. “Very good. Sarah really wasn’t a very good cook—I think that’s why Luke is constantly hungry.”
We all share a laugh. Lila squeezes his shoulder as she sits with her own plate. “Tell me more about her. You said she was an amazing gardener.”
For the next two hours, we talk and eat and remember. Dad tells stories I haven’t heard in years—about Mom’s failed attempts at cooking, about the time she accidentally dyed all our laundry pink, and how she used to sing while working among her roses. He even takes a few harmless jabs about my teenage band rehearsals in the garage. Lila listens with an easy smile, her laughter filling the room like a melody.
It’s past ten when Dad finally yawns. “You two should stay,” he says. “It’s late, and you’ve both had long days.”