Page 6 of Fake Lemons Love and Luxury

SEAN

T he sun sets as I lead Wren and Eric through my front door. I live in the quieter part of L.A. High up, away from all the flashing lights and long lenses. Gated, discreet, cameras hidden in the trees. The kind of place built for men who have reasons to disappear.

My house hasn't felt this alive in years. The boy clutches his dinosaur backpack to his chest, his other hand clutching his mother’s hand, unaware of the chaos of the day. My heart warms at the beauty and simplicity of childhood.

His brown eyes widen as he takes in the unfamiliar surroundings. Eric points to the mounted screen on the wall.

“You have a big TV. Like us.”

“Perfect for dinosaur documentaries.” I set his small suitcase down. “Your mom says you're an expert.”

He beams. “I know all the names. Even the hard ones.”

“I bet you do.” I ruffle his hair without thinking. The gesture comes naturally, surprising me. I haven’t done that in years since Jen got into middle school and decided it was cringe and she was too cool for that.

Eric, on the other hand, smiles harder, running to sit on the large sofa.

Wren stands in the entryway, shoulders tight with tension. She’s still shaken from the incident.

“Let me show you the guest rooms.” I grab their bags. “Eric, you're upstairs next to your mom.”

“Do you have nightlights?” Eric whispers, falling into step beside me.

I smile. “You’re scared of the dark?”

The boy grows sullen as if ashamed. “Sometimes.”

“Should I let you in on a secret?”

He glances up to meet my gaze.

“When I was your age, I always slept in my mother’s bed.”

His face brightens. “What? You don’t look like you’d have been scared.”

“Oh, I was. I didn’t even have the confidence to sleep alone like you. You’re much braver than I was. Even your aunt Jen was also scared of the dark.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She thought the moon was hiding under her bed after following her home. She didn’t like the moon for a long time. She called it ‘The Stalker.’”

Eric bursts into laughter, dimples peeking.

“One day, when she was scared, we decided to both search under her bed for the moon and chase it out of our house. Maybe even call the police to arrest it if it refuses to leave.”

Eric’s eyes widens, enthralled by the story. “So what happened? Did you find it?”

I shake with a dramatic sigh. “We looked everywhere in her room for it but we couldn’t find it. Then, I took your aunt Jen outside and there the moon was, sitting regal in the sky. That was when Jen realized that the moon doesn’t follow her and that her fear was all in her mind.”

Eric laughs for a whole minute. Wren smiles beside him, her face alight as she watches her son laugh. My heart skips.

“Maybe there’s nothing under my bed too,” Eric says. “Just like Aunt Jen thought the moon was under her bed but it wasn’t.”

“I agree, but we’ll get you your night lights.” I make a mental note. “Home Depot is still open.”

Wren shakes her head. “You don't have to. I’ll get it for him tomorrow.”

“It's no problem. Security first, right? Comfort, second. Both matter.”

The guest room is sparse with a bed, wardrobe and a vanity table. I realize too late how impersonal it must seem.

“It's perfect.” Wren sets her purse down. “Thank you for this.”

“It's temporary.” I clear my throat. “Until my team deals with the threat.”

She nods but doesn't meet my eyes. I show them Eric's room next door with its adjoining bathroom.

“Can I put my dinosaurs here?” Eric asks, already laying out a collection of plastic figures on the dresser.

“Anywhere you want, buddy.” I check the window locks. “This place is your fortress now.”

Wren watches us from the doorway, her expression unreadable. I wonder if she's regretting agreeing to come here. It was less an invitation and more an order after what happened at Eric's school.

“I should call Talia and update her.” She turns away, phone already in hand.

“I ordered dinner.” I follow her into the hallway. “Nothing fancy, just Italian from Salvatore's.”

“Eric loves Italian.”

“I know.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

Her eyebrow raises. “You do?”

“Jen mentioned it.” I shrug, covering the awkward moment. “She's stopping by with wine, by the way. Thought you could use a friend tonight.”

Relief softens her features. “That sounds perfect.”

I head downstairs to check the security monitors I've set up. The cameras show nothing unusual outside. Nothing but the quiet suburban street where I've lived alone for the past five years.

The doorbell rings at 6:30. Delivery, right on time. I give the driver a generous tip and carry the food to the kitchen.

“Dinner's here.” I call upstairs, unpacking containers of pasta, salad, and breadsticks.

Eric appears first, racing down with the energy only six-year-olds possess. “Is it spaghetti? I love spaghetti!”

I grab plates from the cabinet.

“I guess you’re in luck then.”

Wren follows several minutes later, her business clothes exchanged for leggings and an oversized sweater. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, and without her usual makeup, she looks softer. More vulnerable.

“Hmm… that smells amazing. Right, Eric?”

He nods. “Thank God you're here, mom. Now, we can eat.”

Wren and I laugh at the same time. Our gaze hold over the boy’s head.

“Mr. Langston! The pasta, please?”

I can’t help my smile as I ruffle the boy’s hair. “Alright. Pasta coming.”

Wren smiles too. It’s the first time I’ve seen her shoulders drop since this whole thing started.

She helps Eric into a chair. “Looks like Eric and I are both starving. I didn't realize how hungry I was.”

“Stress does that.” I divide the pasta onto plates. “You only realize you’ve forgotten to eat many hours later.”

She smiles, accepting the plate I hand her. “You sound like you know from experience.”

“Occupational hazard.” I pour water and a cup of chilled orange juice for everyone. “It’s kinda hard to remember meals when you're scanning for threats.”

Eric looks up, tomato sauce already smeared on his chin. “Are you a superhero?”

The question catches me off guard. “No, buddy. Just a regular guy who notices things.”

“Like a detective?” His eyes widen.

“Something like that.” I smile despite myself.

The doorbell rings again.

I stand, checking the security feed on my phone. “That should be Aunt Jen.”

I open the door to a whirlwind of energy and perfume. Jen carries the kind of energy that feels like a sugar rush in human form.

“Hi dad! Hi everyone! I brought reinforcements!” Jen holds up two bottles of wine and a shopping bag. “And something for my favorite godson.”

She sweeps past me, setting everything down to scoop Eric into a hug.

“Aunt Jen!” Eric squeezes her neck. “I'm staying at Mr. Langston’s house. It's like a fortress!”

“Is it now?” She raises an eyebrow at me over his head.

I shrug, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. Jen knows me too well. She knows I never bring clients home. Ever.

But this is her friend, right? This is different.

“Wine?” I grab a corkscrew, needing something to do with my hands.

“God, yes.” Wren accepts the glass I pour. “Today has been…”

“A complete disaster?” Jen supplies, sitting beside her. “This is why we’re grateful that wine brings calm. Or at least it delays the breakdown until morning.”

Wren giggles. Jen settles into the seat next to pull, serving herself a plate.

“What happened at the investors’ meeting?”

Wren sighs. “Richard pulled out. The others are waiting to see if I can handle the adversity .”

“Cowards.” Jen scoffs. “Hey, guess what I brought you?"

She pulls a small night light shaped like a dinosaur from her bag. Eric's eyes light up.

“It's a T-Rex! And it glows!”

“For your room here.” Jen winks at him. “A fortress needs proper lighting.”

My Jen, always a lifesaver.

I catch her eye with a slight nod. She smiles.

Eric is soon seated in front of the TV, singing along to the theme song of some cartoon.

“I wanted to come down to the school but I was out of town. How did it go? Did you find who sent it, Dad?”

“Not yet. I've increased security, moved them here, and my team is investigating who breached the school's visitor protocols.” I keep my voice measured. “The package and note have been secured for evidence.”

As the evening progresses, Wren relaxes. The wine helps, but I know Jen's presence helps even more. Her easy chatter about celebrity gossip and fashion disasters provides a bubble of normalcy in the chaos.

I observe from the periphery, taking mental notes. The protective glances she casts toward Eric every few minutes. The slight tremble in her hand when her phone chimes with a notification.

“You're staring.” Jen murmurs, appearing beside me at the kitchen counter where I'm loading the dishwasher.

“I'm assessing,” I correct her.

“Right.” She smirks. “That's why you haven't taken your eyes off her all night.”

“She's my client.”

“Alright, dad.” Jen pats my arm. “I'm going to take Eric upstairs to set up his awesome new nightlight.”

After Eric has been put to bed, we gather in the living room enjoying the rest of the wine.

“Is it weird I kind of like it here?” Wren takes another sip of wine. “Feels like I can breathe.”

“Because there’s no press camped on the sidewalk,” Jen mutters. “Or paparazzi screaming questions like ‘did you steal a lemon from a blogger in 2019?’”

Wren snorts.

Jen gets a text and rolls her eyes.

“Alright, gotta bounce. My shoot tomorrow is at seven. Which is a sin, by the way.”

She hugs Wren.

“You’re safe here. Don’t fight it.”

Then she’s gone, leaving the two of us in a silence that hums.

“More wine?” I offer, already reaching for the bottle.

“I shouldn't.” She sighs, holding out her glass anyway. “But it's been that kind of day.”

“You handled it well.”

She let out a mirthless laugh. “Did I? I broke down when the school called. I was terrified.”

“That's not weakness, Wren. That's being a parent.”

Our fingers brush as I hand her the glass. The brief contact sends an unexpected current through me. I pull back too fast, wine sloshing over the rim. I curse myself in my mind.

“Sorry.” I grab a towel. “I'm not usually this clumsy.”

“It's been that kind of day for you too, hasn't it?” Her voice softens.

I look up, meeting her gaze. The kitchen light catches the gold flecks in her brown eyes. For a moment, we stare at each other, not saying a word.

“I don't bring clients to where I live.” The confession tumbles out. “Ever.”

She tilts her head. “Why us, then?”

Before I can answer, a crash from upstairs breaks the moment. We both freeze, instincts on high alert.

“Oops!” Eric's voice calls down. “The dinosaur fell! But he's okay!”

The tension dissolves into unexpected laughter. Wren's shoulders shake as she presses a hand to her mouth.

“Goodness, I thought he was sleeping. I should go check on the catastrophe upstairs.” She stands, her fingers squeezing my forearm for a brief moment. “Thank you, Sean. For everything today.”

I watch her climb the stairs, feeling unsettled. This arrangement is temporary. Necessary. Professional.

So why does it already feel like they belong here?

And why, for the first time in years, does my empty house feel like a home?