Chapter 18

18

TORI

We move Luca’s furniture into the house, but it barely puts a dent in the space available.

“Why didn’t we move any of your furniture?” Jack asks me as he sets another box in Luca’s room. Our room, according to Jack and Troy.

“It doesn’t really match,” I say. “Luca’s particular about that sort of thing.”

I can feel Luca’s eyes on me, but I avoid them. My place is a mishmash of whatever stuff I’ve accumulated over the years, so I can’t really claim to be a stickler about interior design.

We take a quick break for lunch, which is when Jack and Troy find out Luca skipped his graduation ceremony. They insist on hosting our own. Because they’re my family, and they’re weird.

They put two towels over Luca’s shoulders as a makeshift robe and a cooking pot on his head for a cap. The receipt for the food he ordered for us acts as his diploma, which Jack hands to him with a lot of ridiculous fanfare and a bunch of made-up middle names since he doesn’t know Luca’s real one—which he doesn’t have.

I take a picture of Luca and Jack while they shake hands, and Jack sends it to the family text thread, which erupts with congratulations. My family is pretty great, even if they’re weird and a bit much sometimes. I never would’ve expected Luca to fit in, but somehow, he does. Watching him laugh with my brother and brother-in-law makes me feel something completely new inside.

I assume I’ll get used to what Luca’s smile does to me at some point. I’ve got to believe that because otherwise, I’m in so much trouble.

Once we’re done with lunch, I head out to Luca’s car and push aside a couple of the heavier boxes in the trunk. He comes up beside me and picks them up with ease. All three of the men have shed their shirts at this point, and I’m keeping my eyes focused on the boxes. Troy and Jack aren’t exactly Shaggy from Scooby-Doo when it comes to physique, but they almost look it next to Luca.

I stare into the trunk at the purple pregnancy pillow and the pink one behind it. “You have two ?” I glance over my shoulder at Luca, whose back is a canvas of beautiful muscle.

“The pink one is for you,” he says without looking back.

I look at the pillows again, not even trying to fight my smile. He bought me one.

Moving my boxes into the house when we’re already tired from moving everything that actually belongs is just plain annoying. But it has to happen.

The boxes are labeled with hastily Sharpie’d words like toiletries and bedroom . When Jack pulls out an exacto knife to open up the boxes, I hurry over to stop him.

He looks at me strangely.

“Luca loves doing that part.” I cover the tape of the box with my hand, keeping him from slicing it open because I’m pretty sure I stuffed this one full of kitchen gadgets I never use.

When it comes time for Jack and Troy to head back to L.A., I can’t bring myself to tell them I’m coming along. It’s Friday, and I’m already in San Diego. They know Luca’s not busy tonight, so I have no plausible excuse for why I wouldn’t stick around.

So, I stay. I can take the train back to L.A. in the morning.

Luca studies his playbook while I take an online career quiz, then we head out for some boogie boarding. It doesn’t escape my notice that this time, Luca doesn’t try to play bumper boogie boards.

It’s probably for the best, but I hate it so much. Who even likes boogie boarding?

I spend the night in the spare bedroom with my new pink pillow.

It’s not as comfy as Luca’s. It doesn’t smell as good, either.

Jess’s promise of a shakeup at work takes a lot longer to materialize than any day now made it seem. Word on the street is that they’re restructuring. So far, none of it has affected us.

“I bet it means we get bumped up the ladder,” she says from her desk, typing away. “Well, me, not you.”

“Why not me?”

“You’ll be in San Diego. Duh.”

Right. She and my family are operating under the assumption that I’ll be moving to San Diego after Luca’s training winds down.

Remember when I thought this marriage would mean signing a few papers?

That was cute.

Luca and I waded into ankle-deep, lukewarm water and are now swimming in a ten-foot-deep vat of boiling oil.

“If you need to leave early this Friday, I can manage on my own,” Jess says.

I stare at her, and she looks at me like I’ve got the mental processing speed of a snail.

“Oh! No,” I say, catching on to the reasoning behind her comment. “Luca’s super busy this weekend.”

The following week, when she asks about my weekend, I feel like anything but an enthusiastic plan to go to San Diego will trigger massive alarms.

“Would you mind covering for me after lunch tomorrow?” I ask.

“It would be my pleasure,” she says, putting a hand to her chest. “Anything for my precious newlyweds.”

“You’re a marriage saver,” I say, matching her drama. Then I pull out my phone.

Tori

I might have to crash your party tonight. People are getting suspicious why I’m not spending every available second with you in San Diego.

Luca

No crashing needed. This is your place too, and you’re always welcome.

Does he really feel that way? Or does he feel like he has to say it because technically it’s true? Either way, I’m determined not to distract him from his focus. Preseason games are drawing nearer, and the pressure Luca’s feeling to prove himself is palpable whenever we talk about football.

I can test your knowledge of the Flamingo Twist Sneak.

Is that a snow cone flavor?

One of your plays, probably.

Despite his insistence that I can relax and make myself at home when I arrive Friday afternoon, I do help quiz him on plays. My brothers would be so proud if they knew how extensive my knowledge of their favorite sport has become.

When Luca invites me to join him at the gym for a late-night lifting session, I agree. Who knows? Maybe my calling in life is to be a fitfluencer. Or maybe my calling is to watch in slack-jawed awe while Luca gets even more fit.

Happily—or sadly, depending when you catch me—there are no repeats of the hotel room incident. Or the Louie incident.

In fact, I’d forgive anyone who sees us at Costco the next day for thinking we’re siblings. It’s totally platonic. No unnecessary touching. Even necessary touching seems to be at a minimum.

And that’s the way it stays on my visits every other weekend while Luca finishes up OTAs, then starts and finishes mandatory mini camp over the next month.

The other thing that remains—or grows, actually—is my love for San Diego. I find myself searching job websites for options around there. The problem is, I don’t really want to do the same thing I’ve been doing. But, then, what do I look for? The career tests I’ve taken haven’t been very helpful. One told me I should run a pet salon. And maybe it’s right. Maybe I’m being too closed-minded.

Near the end of June, I get an email invitation for a call with Preston on July 1st. It’s been a while since we’ve heard from him, and it’s probably a good idea to check in on things.

At work that day, Bob calls me into his office at the same time Jess’s boss calls her into his. Jess and I meet eyes as we go our separate ways, but her look says it all: this is it .

Bob’s at his desk, clicking away on his mouse, his eyes on his computer screen.

“I’m guessing you’ve heard the rumors about the changes happening here,” he says, clicking a couple more times before sitting back in his chair and looking at me.

“Uh, yeah,” I say with a smile. “I may have heard a thing or two.” Or a hundred. Jess has been speculating on how it’ll all go down for a month now. Her dearest wish is that her boss will move up, and she’ll take his place. She’s already plotted out how she’ll decorate his office.

Bob nods, then pulls his glasses from his face and starts cleaning them with a cloth from his top drawer. “It’s taken a lot longer than anyone thought, but things are finally underway, and I wanted to give you an update.”

I can’t help but hold my breath as I wait for him to go on. Maybe Jess’s hopes aren’t crazy. What if I haven’t wasted all these years at this job because I’m about to step into a position I might actually like?

“As of a week from tomorrow, I’ll no longer occupy the position of Senior Account Director.” There’s a hint of self-satisfaction on his face as he says this. Bob’s been gunning for a place in upper management since I got here, so I can’t blame him.

“Which means,” he says, replacing the glasses on his nose, “someone needs to take my place.”

I force my lungs to fill and deflate. This man needs to put me out of my misery before I pass out. What am I going to do if he offers me this job? It’s not in San Diego, but maybe I’d love it. Is this the end of my administrative assisting? Am I going to actually get to do the things I thought I would do when I was taking all those classes in college?

“We discussed a lot of names,” he says, “but we all agreed there was one that stood out above the rest: Felix Larsen.”

My smile lingers for a second, then melts like butter in a hot pan. Felix Larsen? The guy who started six months after me and has been assistant to one of the admins in the Digital Media Department? Not even the administrative assistant—a personal assistant. He doesn’t do spreadsheets and accounts; he gets coffee and dry cleaning for his boss. And he’s a total jerk.

“Is there something wrong?” Bob asks, suddenly concerned.

I blink quickly and shake my head. “No, no. Nothing wrong. Just took me a second to remember who that was.”

Bob goes over how the transition will work, and I nod, hardly listening. My brain is still stuck on the fact that Felix is going to be my new boss.

When Jess gets out of her meeting, I wait until the doors to Bob’s office and her boss’s office close, then I hurry over to her desk.

“Felix!” I whisper-yell at the same time as she says, “I’m going to corporate!”

“Wait, what?” I say, thrown off my game.

She looks every bit as confused.

“You’re going to corporate?” I repeat.

“Yeah,” she says. “Jim’s moving up, but he’s keeping me on as his assistant. But wait. What about Felix?”

A giant weight drops into the pit of my stomach. Jess is getting a promotion along with her boss. Why isn’t Bob bringing me along with him ? “Felix is taking Bob’s position. He’s going to be my boss.”

Jess’s eyes balloon. “Felix? No! Gosh, that makes me even more glad I’m leaving. I can’t imagine working in the same office as him. Does this mean you’re putting in your two weeks’?”

I don’t respond right away. She talks about it like it’s a given. Inside, I feel a little sick. I can almost see Ryan’s face, staring at me with sympathetic pity because, even after all this time here, I wasn’t good enough for a promotion. “I don’t know,” I say, forcing a lightness I’m far from feeling. “Maybe I should stay on a while, make his life miserable.”

Jess throws her head back and laughs. “This is why I love you. Please do.” She sighs and looks at me, her smile fading. “How will I survive without you?”

“You probably won’t.” I head back to my desk as she crumples up a sticky note and throws it at me.

Thank heaven there’s only an hour left in the day because my focus is officially shot. What am I going to do?

Rush home and jump on the call with Preston. That’s what. I can figure everything else out after.

I hop on the call a few minutes late, but it sounds like Preston just got on. Luca and Zach are both there already.

Preston sounds like he’s in a rush, so he gets straight to the point. Our interview with immigration is officially on the schedule: August 6th.

The interview. It’s been in the back of my mind because Preston mentioned it weeks ago, but at that point, there was already enough going on that I didn’t think much of it. Now I’m thinking very much of it.

Luca must be on the same wavelength because we ask about the interview simultaneously, talking over each other for a second before we both stop.

“Wait,” Preston says, “are you guys not in the same place?”

“Tori’s in L.A.,” Luca says.

“For the day?”

There’s a pause.

“Uh, no. I live here.”

Another pause, and I cringe. I can only imagine Zach is on the verge of having an aneurysm.

“You guys still aren’t living together?” Preston asks.

“Tori’s got her job in L.A.,” Zach explains, “and since Luca’s been busy with training?—”

“Right, right,” Preston says. “It’s just…it doesn’t look great to immigration if you’re living apart, and they’ll definitely dive into that in the interview. It’s a big red flag.”

The last thing we need is more red flags. We’ve got more of those than all of Tinder’s private messages combined.

I think of my meeting with Bob today, of how long I’ve been working this job I don’t even like. Of how I’m about to get saddled with a boss I can’t stand.

I think of Luca. His future in the NFL, which hinges on the strength of our marriage—the perceived strength of it, at least. I think of the sincerity in his eyes when he told me I could come live in San Diego while I figure out my life. I think of the time he asked me what our plan was for when the season starts, a conversation we said we’d have but haven’t gotten around to.

I know he doesn’t want to pressure me, but I’m sure this is all weighing on his mind. This is the difference between his playing in the NFL and being deported as a criminal.

“Oh,” I say in a breezy voice, “well, that’s fine. I’m moving in before then. Just wrapping stuff up at work.” Even as I say it, I feel a burden slip from my shoulders.

I’m going to live in San Diego. On the beach. I won’t be going in to work with a boss I can’t stand and without Jess. I’ll have free time—time to figure out what I want to do with my life.

Excitement starts filtering through me.

Preston lets out an audible breath of relief. “Fantastic. Definitely the right move. Listen, I’ve got to run, but I just wanted to update you with the interview date. I’ll get an email sent over with an explanation so you know what’s coming, okay?”

I wonder if there’s ever a time when he doesn’t have to run somewhere. One day, maybe I’ll be important enough to sign off on calls the way he does. In my current status, though, I’m more often the person on hold waiting for important people.

But not for long…

“I’ve got a dinner with a client to get to,” Zach says once Preston’s off the call, “but real quick, I spoke with the Admirals’ General Manager earlier today, and he says you’re doing awesome, Luca. Showing real promise. Keep it up, okay? Our stretch goal here is to ride this contract all the way through if we can. We’ll talk soon.”

His line drops from the call, and it’s just Luca and me.

“I’m just going to stop you right there,” I say.

“I didn’t say anything,” Luca replies.

“But you were going to.”

“Yeah. I was gonna ask when you want me to come help you move.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds as I process his answer. I’ve been imagining him stressed out beyond belief for the past few minutes, but he sounds calm. “No speech arguing against quitting my job and moving in?”

“You asked me to trust you. And I do. Besides, I think a move to San Diego will be good for you. You love it here.”

“I do,” I say, smiling at the thought of waking up to the sound of the waves.

“So, when do you want to move in?”