by Robin Huber
I look into his vulnerable eyes and say with certainty, “You’ve got yourself a deal, champ.”
He smiles and pulls me into a hug. “I couldn’t do this without you.”
I close my eyes and relish the feeling of unity between us, knowing that no matter what the uncertain future holds, we’ll face it together.
“Think you could tell Miles for me?” he asks.
I sit up and give him a sympathetic grin. “You’re on your own there.”
“Maybe he can go work for Carey Valentine,” he says, reaching for his coffee.
I grab my plate of pancakes and give him a dubious look.
“Miles always says, if it makes money, it makes sense.”
I smirk. “Did he get that from a movie?”
“Probably.”
“What about Tristan?”
“I figure he’ll start working with some of the up-and-comers. But what I’d really like to do is open a gym with him in the Park. Maybe find some kids who need a chance.”
“Like Joe did with you?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
I pull my eyebrows together and chew the corner of my mouth. “Won’t that be kind of dangerous?”
He gives me a small smirk. “I survived eighteen years there. I think I can handle it.”
“You didn’t have money back then. Have you forgotten what happened with Molly?”
He shakes his head. “Do you remember that story Joe used to tell us about what the Park used to be like a long time ago? Back when his dad lived there?”
Images of Leave It to Beaver pop into my head. “Yeah.”
“Well, what if we could make it like that again?”
I give him a reluctant smile, because I think I know where he’s going with this. “Sam, I don’t know if that’s possible.”
“Not all at once. I mean, it might take years, decades even. But what if we started with a community center? A safe place for families to go, where I can teach kids how to box and you can teach them how to paint. We could hire good people from the community and give them a safe place to work.”
I smile and nod. “I think that would be pretty incredible.”
“I want to give our daughter the world,” he says, putting his hand on my stomach. “But I also want her know where we came from.”
I put my hand over his. “Me too.”
* * *
I hold Sam’s hand as we walk across the shiny marble floor in the lobby, catching a glimpse of my reflection in a mirrored wall. Sam convinced me to show off the bump, something I’ve yet to do, so I put on a white tank top and my stretchiest pair of black skinny jeans, which are riding low on my hips, under my tummy. I tied a flannel shirt around my hips for reinforcement, pulled my hair up into a ponytail, and threw on my comfiest pair of Chuck Taylors, because the realtor called with a few more houses she wants to show us.
Sam looks effortlessly stylish in a pair of worn in gray jeans, a black V-neck T-shirt, and a black Atlanta Falcons hat.
“Well, look at you,” Terrance says, eyeing my stomach. “Baby’s getting bigger, huh?”
“Hey, Terrance.” I smile and nod. “She’s definitely growing.”
“Won’t be long before she’s keeping you up all night, like mine.” He gives an exhausted smile.
Sam laughs and shakes his hand. “How are you doing today, Terrance?”
“Not as good as you.” He smiles and puts his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I see you got a little extra pep in your step I haven’t seen in a while. What are you up to?” he asks, eyeing us suspiciously.
Sam laughs and tells him, “We’re looking to buy a house.”
Terrance drops his head and grabs his chest. “Don’t tell me that, Sam. Don’t tell me the champ’s leaving the building.”
“Not for a while probably. We just want to get a head start before the baby gets here.”
“Well, I sure will be sorry to see you go.”
“Thanks, Terrance.”
“You need me to get the car for you?”
“No, we’re going to take a walk and get some lunch first.”
“Okay. Well, let me get the door.” He pulls the heavy glass door open and we walk outside.
“See you later, Terrance,” I say as we step out of the shade of the building into the sunshine.
I throw on my Ray-Bans and Sam does the same. He takes my hand and I lean in and whisper, “We totally look like a celebrity couple.”
“Lucy, we are a celebrity couple.”
I laugh quietly and say, “You are a celebrity. I’m not. Let’s get that straight.”
“Well, technically, I’m not either. I’m an athlete. It’s not quite the same thing.”
“Close enough,” I say, letting him lead me down the sidewalk.
I look up at the bright sun that’s shining in the blue sky, warming my exposed shoulders, and reflecting off the mirrored buildings that line the street.
Sam tugs my hand and pulls me close, and I see a homeless man approaching us. His shirt is tattered and dirty, and his pants, which are hanging off his hips, are torn at the knees. He mumbles something and scratches his long wiry beard.
Sam stops and stands in front of me. “How ya doing?” he asks the man, reaching for his wallet. He pulls a few bills out of it and hands them to him. “Make sure you get a good dinner tonight, okay?”
“God bless you,” the man mumbles, taking the money in his blackened hand. “God bless you.”
Sam pulls me beside him again and we continue down the sidewalk.
“Sam, that was really sweet. How much money did you give him?”
“I don’t know, eighty bucks.”
I scrunch up my face. “Eighty bucks?”
“Now he can eat for the rest of the week.”
I wrap my hand around his arm and look up at him. “You’re a good man, Sam Cole.”
“Hey!” Someone calls from behind us. “Champ! Hey, champ!”
Sam turns around and a man reaches for his hand with a big smile on his face. “What’s up?” Sam says, shaking his hand.
“I was at the fight at the Garden last year. I saw you knock out Mario Sanchez.”
I have to remind myself that I wasn’t the only one there that night.
“I had shit seats, but that was one of best fights I’ve ever been to. You’re a fucking beast.”
Sam takes my hand again. “Thanks, man.”
We turn around and start walking again, but the guy reaches for Sam’s shoulder.
“Hey,” Sam says, shrugging him off. He lets go of my hand and stands in front of me. “You don’t need to put your hands on me, man.”
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” He holds his hands up and looks at me. “That’s your girl?”
Sam’s shoulders tense and my lungs begin to work a little harder. “Yeah, that’s my girl.”
“That’s your kid in there?” he asks, looking at my stomach, and I move closer to Sam.
“Yeah, that’s my kid, so how about you back up a little, all right?”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. I didn’t mean any disrespect. I was just wondering if I could get a picture with you, that’s all. I’m a huge fan.”
Sam’s shoulders relax and so do mine. “Yeah, all right.” Sam nods and watches him pull his phone out of his pocket.
“I’ll take it,” I offer, but Sam gives me a firm look. “It’s fine,” I say, taking the phone from him. Sam stands next to him and holds his fist up and the guy does the same. “Smile,” I say, but neither of them do. I take the picture. “Okay.” I hand the phone back to him.
“How about one more of the two of you?” he says, holding his phone up to take a picture.
“Nah, man.” Sam pushes his phone down. “You got your picture.”
“Damn. Take it easy,” he says, looking at his phone.
“Your phone’s fine, I just don’t want you taking pictures of my girl.”
I reach for Sam’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.” I pull him away and we st
art to walk down the sidewalk again.
“It’s not like I asked her to take her top off,” the guy says under his breath, and I close my eyes.
I squeeze Sam’s hand, but it does little to stop him. He turns around and closes the space between them. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“Sam, stop it,” I say, pulling on his shirt. “Let’s just go.”
He ignores me and asks again, “What did you say?”
The man stares at Sam, seemingly regretting his words. “Nothing, man. I didn’t say anything.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and delete that picture.”
“Oh, come on, champ. Don’t be like that.”
“You want me to do it for you?”
“No,” I say, reaching for Sam’s arm. “He doesn’t.” I give Sam a pleading look. “Let him keep his picture. I’m sure he’s very sorry. Right?” I give the guy a sharp look.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, I’m sorry.”
“Come on.” I pull Sam away and take his hand again. “Let’s go, I’m hungry.”
I glance over my shoulder as we walk away, and I see the man tapping away on his phone. I’d love to know what he’s writing, but I’m sure I’ll hear about it soon enough. I’m just glad Sam is retiring soon. Hopefully then, the attention from the media and rude fans will die down.
* * *
“So, what do you think?” our realtor, Kaitlyn, asks in her bubbly southern accent as we exit the second mansion she’s shown us this afternoon.
“Honestly, I think it’s too big,” I say to Sam. “I don’t know if I could be comfortable in that much space. How would we even keep it clean?”
“You would hire a maid, of course,” Kaitlyn says, looking at her phone. “One sec.” She holds up a pink acrylic fingernail and answers a call.
“Sam, could we maybe try to find something a little smaller? And a little less, I don’t know…shiny?” I glance up at the fancy glass doors and bronze fixtures.
“Lucy, this house is beautiful. It’s got everything we need. Room for a gym, a studio for you. And look at this view.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and we look out over the rolling green lawn that’s speckled with tall, leafy green trees that cast shadows on the driveway that winds through them all the way to the front gate. “I know it’s big, but isn’t that what we want? Something we can grow into?”
I turn around and hold my head back. “How many kids do you think we’re going to have?”
The corners of his mouth turn up and he crinkles his eyes. “At least five.”
“Ha!” I laugh and shake my head. “You must have me confused with someone else. Two is my quota. Maybe three, if you’re lucky.”
“Y’all are never going to believe this,” Kaitlyn says, hurrying back over to us on her skinny high heels. “A house just went on the market a few blocks from here. It’s much smaller than this, at around nine thousand square feet, but still has everything you’re looking for…a gym, a music studio that can be converted to your art room, a pool, a four-car garage, and a nursery built right off the master suite,” she says, touching my arm. “What do you say? Do you want to head over and take a peek?”
I look at Sam and shrug. “Okay.”
We follow behind her silver Range Rover as she leads us down a tree-lined street to the other house. The dappled sunlight shining through the branches throws shadows on the windshield and reminds me how much I miss suburban life. I’ve been in the city so long, I forgot how comforting it is. “I miss this,” I say, looking out of the window at the manicured lawns and houses we pass.
“What?”
“Trees. Grass.” I look over at him. “I like this neighborhood.”
“Me too.”
“I still think this house is going to be too big, but maybe it could work.”
Kaitlyn turns down a driveway and stops in front of a closed wrought iron gate that’s flanked by jasmine-covered white brick walls. She lowers her window and enters a code on the keypad, and the gate slowly opens. Sam winds the steering wheel and his engine purrs as he turns into the driveway and follows behind her.
We drive up the paver driveway and park in front of a cozy two-story white brick home that’s adorned with modern black carriage lights and dark wooden garage doors. Green jasmine is climbing up a few of the walls. A set of arched, walnut-colored double front doors are situated in the middle of a wide front porch that’s covered in varying shades and shapes of gray slate tile. Two oversized, cushioned white wooden swings are hanging in front of the windows behind the tall white columns, adding to its charm.
“I like this house,” I say, getting out of the car.
Sam smiles at me over the roof of the car and shuts his door.
“Okay, y’all, what do you think?” Kaitlyn asks, walking up the steps to the front door.
“I think it has tons of character,” I say, walking up the steps behind her. I squat down and touch the half-inch grout between the stone tiles. “This is beautiful. Sam, look at this craftsmanship.” I stand up and look at the glass inserts in the front doors, appreciating the straight, clean lines.
“These doors were custom made,” she says, unlocking them. “Aren’t they gorgeous?” She smiles and waves us inside behind her. “Well, come on, y’all.”
I walk in before Sam and I’m enveloped in clean white walls, textured wooden floors, and vaulted ceilings that are adorned with weathered wooden beams and large glowing light fixtures that warm the entire space.
“The seller is calling this farmhouse chic,” Kaitlyn says, walking through the house. “Everything you see was designed by one of Atlanta’s top interior designers.”
“What kind of farmhouse looks like this?” Sam asks, shaking his head.
“Come on, let’s go check out the kitchen.”
We follow her into the open kitchen, which is nestled in the back of the house and surrounded by windows that overlook a sparkling blue pool and large green lawn that’s bordered by thick trees.
“Look,” I say to Sam, pointing to the far corner of the yard. “A playground.” I turn around and see him smiling, leaning against the white marble counter that cascades down the side of the island, and I know…we’re home.
“I like it,” he says to me.
“Me too.”
“You’ve got white uppers,” Kaitlyn says, looking at the tall cabinets that encase the kitchen. “But these dark lower cabinets will be great for hiding little fingerprints.”
“I love the contrast.” I look around the open space and touch the shiny white backsplash. “Especially these tiles.”
“So, you don’t think it’s too big?” she asks, raising her eyebrows over a small smile.
“No.” I shake my head and look at Sam. “It actually feels really cozy. I like it.” I bite my smiling lip. “A lot.”
He turns his hat around backward and looks at Kaitlyn. “We’ll take it.”
“Sam!” I laugh.
“Don’t you want to see the rest of the house first?” She looks at him like he’s crazy. “At least let me show you the gym. And the nursery!”
“Yes,” I answer for him, wrapping my arm around his waist. “We’d like to see the rest of it.”
Chapter 16
Lucy, One Month Later
I love this town,” Sebastian says, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in my and Sam’s suite looking down at the Las Vegas strip that’s glittering below.
“Too bad Paul is missing it,” he says, shaking his head. “But duty calls.”
“Well, I’m just glad he’ll be your plus-one for the Aurelia Snow exhibit later this month. It’s been a while since we all hung out…Ahh”—I shake my hands out in front of me—“every time I mention it, I get butterflies now. It’s like the closer it gets, the more nervous I get.”
“That’s because it’s everything you’ve been working for since I met you. New York is your endgame.”
I put my hands on my growing stomach and shake my head.
“I’ve got a new endgame now.”
“Just don’t forget that as soon as she’s out, you’ve got five other exhibits to start preparing for.”
“I know,” I say confidently, even though I have no clue how I’m going to balance the baby with my growing career.
Sebastian notices my uncertainty. “Hey, do you know how many working moms are out there kicking ass right now? You’ve got this. And, lucky for you, you can bring your baby to work.”
“To where? I still have to find us a new studio, remember?”
“Yes, I’m aware. But let’s just worry about getting you and Sam moved into your new house first, okay? Still the end of the month, right?”
“Yeah, right after we get back from New York. And after we get settled in the new house, I’m not doing anything until the after the baby’s born,” I declare, though it’s not likely. I’ve still got to get everything in my studio moved out and into storage.
“Don’t forget that you need to actually give the deed you signed back to Drew to Drew,” he reminds me.
“I know. It’s been in my bag for weeks. I’m just, not ready to see him…like this,” I say, looking down at my tummy.
“Lucy, it’s been months. I’m sure he’s moved on. And it’s not like you have a cold that’s going to go away anytime soon. You need to get it over with.”
“I know. I’m going to do it when we get back.” I look up at the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the two-story living room and say, “I love this room.”
“This”—he glances around the open space, which is encased in glass, clean lines and rich colors—“is not a room, it’s an apartment. For like, famous people.”
I laugh. “Like Sam?”
“Yeah, and I hear he has this really cool, really fun, really pretty fiancée who’s staying here too.” He taps his finger against his chin. “Lucy something.”
“Want some help with your tie?” I ask, ignoring him.
“What’s wrong with my tie?”
I reach up and start tugging it into place. “It’s crooked.”
