Page 53

LILA

L ila stared at the woman sitting across from her on the porch, hardly believing what she was hearing. Serena—the woman who calculated risks for breakfast and managed emotions like hostile takeovers—was asking for a second chance.

Lila's heart thumped traitorously against her ribs. Part of her wanted to throw caution to the tropical breeze and dive right back into whatever was growing between them. Another part—the part that still ached from their morning disaster—held back, wary of being hurt again.

"What changed?" she asked, needing to understand. "This morning you couldn't get away from me fast enough."

Serena's gaze dropped to her hands, those elegant fingers that had touched Lila with such surprising tenderness now fidgeting with her napkin.

"I panicked," she admitted, the simple confession clearly costing her. "After last night, after letting you see parts of me nobody sees. I woke up terrified."

"Of what?"

"Of how much I've started to care. Of how quickly you've slipped past defenses that have served me for decades." Serena looked up, her eyes reflecting the candlelight between them. "Of what happens when I leave."

The raw honesty in her voice touched something deep in Lila's chest.

"I can't promise that won't still scare me tomorrow," Serena continued, her words measured but genuine. "I can't promise I won't occasionally retreat when things feel too intense. But I'm trying. And I'm asking for the chance to keep trying. With you. For however long we have."

Lila reached for her water glass, buying time while emotions battled inside her. The water tasted of cucumber and mint, exactly how she prepared it herself each morning. Another small detail Serena had somehow noticed and remembered.

"You hurt me this morning," Lila said quietly. Honesty deserved honesty in return.

"I know." Serena didn't flinch from the truth or offer excuses. "And I'm sorry."

"I've been down this road before, Serena. Opening myself to someone who pulls away when things get real. I promised myself I wouldn't do that again."

"I'm not Sophie."

"No, you're not," Lila agreed, studying the woman across from her. "Sophie never would have shown up on my doorstep with dinner and an apology. She never admitted when she was wrong."

A hint of hope flickered across Serena's face, quickly concealed behind careful neutrality. She was trying so hard to give Lila space, to not push or demand or control. The effort itself revealed how much this mattered to her.

Beyond the porch railing, the night sky sparkled with impossibly bright stars, the same ones that had witnessed their first kiss in the midnight pool. Five days under those stars was all they had—not enough time for promises or plans, barely enough for beginnings.

But maybe, just maybe, enough for something real.

"If we do this," Lila said slowly, "we need to be clear about what we're choosing. Five days of presence, of honesty, of whatever grows between us—knowing it ends when you leave."

"That's what I'm asking for," Serena nodded, relief and anticipation mingling in her voice. "No pretending this is something it can't be, but no artificial limitations on what it might become within the time we have."

Her own words from days earlier, returned to her with perfect recall. Lila felt something warm unfurling in her chest, a cautious hope she hadn't expected to feel again after that morning.

"And when fear comes back?" she asked, needing to know Serena had thought this through.

"Then I'll tell you that's what's happening," Serena promised. "I won't just shut down or run. I'll... talk to you." She smiled ruefully. "Novel concept for a CEO who prefers spreadsheets to feelings."

Despite herself, Lila smiled back. "Very novel."

Their eyes held across the small table, possibility shimmering between them like heat waves. Whatever happened—joy or heartbreak—at least they were approaching it with open eyes. No illusions, no fairy tales, just two women choosing connection despite knowing its end date.

"Okay," Lila said simply.

"Okay?" Serena repeated, unusually uncertain.

"Five days," Lila clarified. "Being present. Being real. And seeing where it leads."

The smile that spread across Serena's face transformed her entirely—not the polished curve of lips she presented in corporate settings but something genuine and a little bit vulnerable. It made her look younger, softer, more like the woman Lila had glimpsed in rare unguarded moments.

"I think our dinner's getting cold," Lila said, nodding toward the untouched food.

"Worth it," Serena replied, her eyes never leaving Lila's face.

And just like that, something broken began to mend.

They ate with a new ease between them, the tension that had filled Lila's cottage gradually giving way to something warmer.

Conversation flowed more naturally as they sampled the local dishes Serena had chosen: fresh-caught fish prepared with island spices and tropical fruits in combinations that surprised and delighted the palate, flavors both complex and comforting.

"This is incredible," Lila said, savoring a bite of mango drizzled with spiced honey. "How did you know I love the local island cuisine?"

Serena looked almost sheepish. "I asked the chef what you ordered most often."

The small revelation—that Serena had specifically sought out things Lila would enjoy—sent a flutter through her chest. It wasn't grand or showy, just thoughtfully attentive in a way Sophie had rarely been.

"Tell me about New York," Lila said, settling back in her chair as they finished their meal. "The real version, not the corporate highlight reel."

Serena sipped her water, considering. "It's... intense. Always moving, always demanding. The city has a pulse. You can feel it beneath your feet on the subway platform, hear it in taxi horns at midnight, taste it in food from every corner of the world."

"You love it," Lila observed, catching the affection beneath Serena's description.

"I do," she admitted. "Though I've probably experienced about ten percent of what the city actually offers. I have my routines: the same coffee shop, the same running path in Central Park, and the same three restaurants I cycle between when I actually leave the office for meals."

"The CEO in her natural habitat," Lila teased gently.

Serena laughed, the sound still rare enough to feel like a gift. "A very predictable one, I'm afraid. Rachel used to say I was the only person who could make Manhattan boring."

The mention of her ex-wife hung briefly between them, but instead of retreating as she might have days ago, Serena simply continued, "She wasn't entirely wrong. I've spent fifteen years in a city known for surprises, and I've done everything possible to eliminate them from my life."

"Until now," Lila said, gesturing around them.

"Until you," Serena corrected softly.

The simple admission sent warmth spreading through Lila's body. She looked out toward the ocean, visible as a darker shadow beyond the trees, searching for the right words.

"I've been thinking about what happens when you leave," she said finally. "Not in a catastrophizing way, just... realistically."

Serena shifted forward, her expression carefully neutral though her eyes revealed more. "And?"

"And I think I'd rather have these five days, knowing they matter, than spend them holding back to protect myself from the goodbye."

Something vulnerable flashed across Serena's face. "I want these days to matter too."

"Then let's make them count."

A comfortable silence settled between them, filled with night sounds and possibility.

Lila found herself studying Serena's face in the gentle porch lighting—her elegant cheekbones, the subtle laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, the silver streaks in her dark hair that caught the light like moonlight on water.

She was beautiful in a way that went beyond conventional standards, a beauty of presence and intensity and that rare unguarded smile.

"What?" Serena asked, catching her gaze.

"Just appreciating the view," Lila answered honestly.

A blush crept up Serena's neck, unexpected and endearing. For someone so confident in boardrooms, she seemed genuinely flustered by simple appreciation.

"Would you like to walk on the beach?" Lila suggested, rising from her chair. "The night is perfect for it."

Serena stood, helping gather their dinner dishes with domestic ease that belied her job status. "I'd like that."

They worked together to clear the table, moving around each other with a newfound awareness. When everything was settled, Lila grabbed a light crocheted wrap for her shoulders and led the way down the path toward the shore.

"I never noticed how quiet it gets here," Serena said as they walked. "In Manhattan, there's always some background noise. Traffic, neighbors, sirens. You tune it out after a while."

"The island has its own soundtrack," Lila replied. "You just have to listen differently."

As if to prove her point, a chorus of insects rose around them, accompanied by the distant call of some night bird and the ever-present rhythm of waves against shore. Serena's head tilted slightly, actively listening perhaps for the first time since her arrival.

"I hear it now," she said with quiet wonder.

They reached the beach, where moonlight silvered the sand and transformed the ocean into a vast, shimmering plain.

Lila slipped off her sandals, letting her toes sink into the cool grains.

After a moment's hesitation, Serena did the same, the small act of barefoot spontaneity another tiny victory against her rigid self-control.

Their hands found each other naturally as they walked along the water's edge, fingers intertwining as if they'd been doing this for years rather than days.

The simple connection grounded Lila, making the moment feel both precious and entirely normal, as if they'd somehow skipped ahead in the relationship choreography to something that felt like belonging.