Chapter 27

27

Lila

I usually intentionally avoid New York for Thanksgiving, and this year is no different.

Except for the part where instead of picking a retreat location for a few days of quietly pampering myself with books, fireplaces or beaches, and spa treatments to recover from my normal breakneck pace at work the rest of the year, I'm in Copper Valley.

Tripp invited me to spend the holiday with his family.

Every day, I'm falling a little more head-over-heels for the man who's occupying my every waking thought, and most of my dreams as well.

We've argued a lot over the team.

And agreed a lot more.

It's still sinking in that his reaction to the confession that I've been holding to my chest for so long was basically okay . But the more stories he tells me about the weird stuff he saw on the road with Bro Code, and then in Hollywood with Jessie, the more it sinks in that he gets why I wanted to fly under the radar.

The weird part is how proud he seems. You know how many people in the world could have made themselves that kind of successful all by themselves? Like, three.

It started on a foundation of lies , I reminded him.

And how many art programs in how many school districts have you funded since then? he'd shot back, even though I hadn't breathed a word about some of my favorite charities yet.

He just knew . And he'd been smug as hell about calling it. You're a good person, Lila, he keeps saying. Let go of how you got here and embrace being YOU.

I've told him more stories about my time in boarding school and college than I've ever told a soul, including Parker, who's heard a lot of them.

But I've also told him about how I built the Dalton Wellington fortune, from the first time I realized that representing a reclusive male billionaire got me further in business than representing myself, to deciding well over two years ago that he needed to retire, because what was I really going to do with that much money?

I've also told him about the scholarship funds for boarding schools around the country, so no other orphans have to do what I did.

Even Uncle Guido doesn't know about that one.

We've had private dates in his guest bedroom.

So many private dates in his guest bedroom. And a couple at the office. That fantasy about locking his door and seducing him at his desk?

Yeah. We've done that three times, and it's not getting old.

We've had solo lunch dates, and lunch dates with his friends.

He accidentally answered my phone at work and had a thirty-minute conversation with Parker, who texted me later something so obscene—thanks, autocorrect—that she had to call me back and swear she was only doing voice messages from now on.

And we've laughed.

I don't think I've ever laughed as much as I have in the last two weeks.

I know I've never had this many man-made orgasms.

We've also nearly gotten caught at work by everyone from Denise to the janitor to Cooper Rock. And a few times at Tripp's house too, with the interruptions coming courtesy of his kids, who are hilarious and smart and terrifying in addition to being adorable, once you get to know them.

And now I'm going to his house for Thanksgiving.

"When he said family , did he mean everyone from Bro Code, or just Levi and their mom?" Parker demands over the phone that morning.

"Just his mom and brother, I think," I tell her as I sort a stack of mail on my desk at work. I've been burning the candle at both ends, because it's what I do when I'm at the start of a project. Plus, the more I do, the less Tripp has to do, which leaves him open to more time with his kids. And that tickle in my throat can suck it. I don't have time for a cold this year. Thank god those vitamins Tripp takes religiously are helping keep it at bay, because the last thing we need is both of us missing work if he insists on taking care of me. There's too much to do.

"That's a really small Thanksgiving," Parker muses. "None of his friends from the cookout are coming?"

"Nope. The whole Rivers clan is in LA because Cash is shooting a movie, and the Remingtons are apparently invading Davis's house down near the North Carolina border because he's notoriously anti-holiday, and the Ryders left Copper Valley for this adorable little town called Shipwreck up in the mountains."

"Shipwreck? I didn't realize the Blue Ridge Mountains were on the coast."

"They're not. There's this whole legend about a pirate who came inland to bury a treasure there a century or three ago. Tripp says he's going to kidnap me and bury my body somewhere up that way if I plan any more big events or shakeups between now and the end of the season."

"And how soon after he threatened to kill you did he have his tongue down your throat?"

"About four seconds. He has a pretty big guilt complex and doesn't actually like to threaten to kill people."

"That's pretty normal and reassuring. So. How much have you slept with him?"

"I fell asleep on his couch last Saturday while I was waiting for him to talk about all the pitching coaches we've interviewed this week, and I woke up with James taking a mold of my nose with his Play-Doh. Does that count?"

" Lila. "

I grin and stifle a yawn. "Okay, okay. I've slept with him a lot, but not nearly as many times as I want to. It's normal to want to just have sex all day when you're in a new relationship, right?"

"Yes. And during your honeymoon period, and after the honeymoon period, and... You get the point. Have you stayed over yet?"

"Not all night. I mean, not all night in the same bed. Occasionally I just crash in his guest bed while he heads upstairs to be near his kids."

"You need to just come out and ask his mom to take them a night or two a week so you can jump her son's bones more regularly. What are you wearing?"

"When I jump his bones?"

" No . To Thanksgiving."

"Leggings, a sweater with a turkey on it that Emma saw on my computer and went crazy over, and?—"

"Wait. First, why were you shopping on sites that sell turkey sweaters, and second, you're hanging out with his kids too? Lila. You know what this means, right? It means you're being evaluated as a potential stepmom. And Thanksgiving . Oh my god. You need to get out. You need to get out now . Wait, wait. Are you in it for the whole family?"

"The turkey sweaters were an ad. I was on Tripp's wi-fi. I think his cookies hit my computer. Which means he shops for turkey sweaters, which is kind of adorable, don't you think?"

" Lila ." This Lila is way more frustrated than the first one was.

"Any day of the week, if you asked me if I wanted to have a family or a career, I would've said a career." I put my phone on speaker and shift to my computer, where I pull up the current poll standings for the mascot finalists without actually seeing them, because I'm yawning again. "But there's a big difference between not planning on having a family and meeting people that you could see becoming your family. And it's not like I'm in . I'm just…here. And they're kind enough to include me. How about you? How's your Thanksgiving looking?"

"Knox's nana is bringing a date."

"So it'll be interesting?"

" Very much interesting. How're the ducks?"

"Weird. The duck cam Tripp set up caught them having sex again, so we had to remove the live feed from the Fireballs website. It's not family-friendly. They're like party ducks, just hanging out in the dugout—which Tripp says we should call the duck-out—and living off of scraps that the maintenance crew keeps feeding them. But we have a re-homing plan for them if they stay through the winter and lay actual eggs, so for now, we're basically using them for publicity."

"You have the best jobs ever ."

I laugh. "I really do."

"I miss you. Come back to New York soon so we can do lunch again."

"Soon," I promise. "I have some meetings on the books in a few weeks about Bubble Bath Books, so I have to be there."

But I'm not as excited about the publishing company as I once was, and it's becoming pretty obvious I can't do this baseball owner thing and run a publishing company and be a good relationship partner to Tripp. I've been handing more decisions off to Knox and the other employees, and I've done this dance enough that I know what's coming.

I'm just not quite ready for it yet, so I push that worry out of my head and get back to cleaning up a few little projects so Tripp won't have to next week.

Two hours later, I'm ringing his doorbell. I look like a holiday-confused leprechaun carrying a fruit tray. And when Tripp opens the door, his face splits into a massive grin. "Nice shirt."

I could happily drown in that smile. Especially if I get to ogle him barefoot, in jeans, a polo, and that apron too. "Right? I had to beat off like a dozen men who were super turned on by my ugly Thanksgiving sweater."

He snags my hand, pulls me into the house, takes the fruit tray, and presses me against the door, a frown temporarily overtaking his handsome features. "You okay? You look tired."

"Someone's been keeping me up at night," I tease as I fiddle with the edges of his apron.

"Then someone probably needs to give you a break so you can catch up on your sleep."

"That's what four-day weekends are for, right?"

The worry lines in his forehead relax, and he angles closer, his eyes going dark. "Are you going to beat me off if I kiss you while my kids aren't looking?"

"Now you're going to have to define beat off ."

He groans and leans in to capture my mouth. I'm parting my lips and curling my fingers into the rough fabric of his apron when the unmistakable sound of footsteps clamors on the steps. "Daddy! Daddy, da turkey burning!"

Tripp wrenches away, spins, and darts to the kitchen with the fruit tray.

James stops on the stairs and smiles at me. "Da turkey in the pway kitchen," he says.

"James!" Tripp hollers. "Not funny!"

But James is already dashing back up the stairs, giggling.

"Tookey!" Emma squeals as I make my way into the living room. She's wearing a blue princess costume and sitting before the empty fireplace in a turkey roasting pan, surrounded by six unicorns, four puppets, a big firetruck, a chunky puzzle, and a plate of cheese. She points a chubby finger at me and my shirt. "Tookey!"

"Hey, cutie. Where's your turkey shirt?"

She lifts her dress and shows me her pink footie pajamas with turkeys all over them, then puts her arms in the air. "Up-daw?"

Up-tall . She wants me to pick her up and make her tall.

I'm starting to understand her words, and it's the second-best feeling in the world.

The first being anything involving Tripp, naturally.

"Hugs?" I reply.

She grins a cheeky grin and hands me a unicorn. "Hug pony."

As if I could tell her no.

I'm hugging her third unicorn when Tripp appears back in the living room. "You good, Lila? I need to mash some potatoes."

"You're making all of Thanksgiving dinner?"

He flexes an arm. "I'm super-dad."

"Put it 'way!" Emma cries, and she bursts into sobs.

"My arm?" he asks, clearly baffled. "Em, you want me to put my arm away?"

She nods through her howls.

Tripp scrubs a hand over his face while I reach for her.

"I liked it," I offer to him while I stroke her curls and cuddle her.

"I thought I'd get at least five more years before they were embarrassed by me," he mutters.

"I think horrified and scarred for life are better terms."

"Not helping." But he's smiling when he turns to head back to the kitchen. "Code word is bananapants if you can't take the unicorns anymore."

I don't mind being left with his kids.

If anything, I'm honored that he trusts me enough. So far, all they know is that Daddy has a lot of work to do with his boss, because we're going slow with this whole family thing.

But I'm starting to miss them when I haven't seen them in a few days.

This isn't just another challenge. This is belonging .

As soon as Tripp's out of sight, Emma stops crying, climbs out of my lap, and plants herself back in the turkey roaster.

"You're going to be a handful when you get older, aren't you?" I ask her.

She grins, tears still glistening on her cheeks. "Hug fuck."

"Oh, the truck needs a hug? Okay. I'm on it."

I'm on my third round of hugging all of her toys—including the individual puzzle pieces—and I'm getting very cozy and sleepy by the fire when James comes thundering down the stairs again. "Gwamma! Gwamma! I see Gwamma!"

"James, ask Lila to help you with the door," Tripp calls.

I'm still disentangling myself from Emma's toys when a soft breeze flows through the room. "Gwamma, I gots three new twucks, and Emma knocked over the humdidifiyah, and it got water on the carpet and Daddy says da duck could swim in it! Isn't that funny?"

"You're keeping your daddy busy, aren't you?" someone replies.

But that doesn't sound like Donna Wilson.

And the woman James is tugging into the living room doesn't look like Donna Wilson. She's tiny, with a gray pixie cut, a turkey sweater that matches mine, and a date.

"Hello," she says as our eyes meet. She starts to smile. "Are you the new nanny?"

"No, Gwamma, Unka Way-on's our nanny. That's Miss Vowa-tine. Daddy calls her Wi-wa."

"Gamma!" Emma hollers.

Grandma .

Oh, god.

Tripp's dead wife's parents are here.

I trip over a unicorn as I try to step around the couch. Emma zips through the toys and launches herself at the older woman, who picks her up and squeezes the little girl until she grunts. "Ow, Gamma. Come hug fuck."

"Hug the truck," I interpret quickly, then wonder if she's already fluent in Emma.

"But don't hurt my twuck," James says. "Gwampa, you too."

Once again, Grandma eyes me. "Is there room for more people to hug the trucks?"

"I was just finishing." I smile and hope my panic doesn't show. Or that the heat in my face doesn't mean I'm visibly blushing. "I'm Lila Valentine. Tripp's boss. With the Fireballs."

"Homer. Yvette." Tripp stops in the doorway to the dining room, looking almost as bewildered as I feel, except he's wearing sweet potatoes across his apron and gets the joy of doing a double-take as he realizes his mother-in-law and I are wearing the exact same sweater. "I…welcome."

"I told you to call him, Yvette," Homer sighs. He's a big guy, broad-shouldered, with gravity weighing down the skin under his chin, and he's in a dark wool sweater and jeans. Without a turkey on it, thank god.

"I did call," Yvette insists.

Tripp's patting his pockets, and once more, his gaze lands on James, who sucks in his own lips, eyes going wide, and darts for the stairs.

"But I suppose we should've called earlier," Yvette says hesitantly, and gah , now my heart's twisting for these two who don't have any other family either.

Do they?

I don't know.

Tripp reaches out to give her a one-armed hug. "No, no, not at all. Come in. You're welcome anytime."

"We got a hotel," she says quickly.

She glances at me. Then at Tripp, who also looks at me, and back to her. "You've met Lila? She inherited the Fireballs. We're?—"

"Wi-wa wikes ducks," James says as he races back down the steps with Tripp's phone in hand.

"Fucks!" Emma cries.

And every last adult in the room smiles indulgently at her.

Including me.

Even though I'm totally on to her now.

"Ducks, hm?" Yvette asks.

"It depends on the day," I reply. "And the ducks."

"Is that edible turkey I smell?" a male voice says behind the older couple as another breeze wafts through from the foyer. "He finally figured out how to cook one without burning it? I'm shocked. Shocked , I say. Oh. Hey, Yvette. Homer. Happy Thanksgiving."

The kids erupt in squeals all over again, which are magnified when Levi produces Thanksgiving presents. Donna Wilson follows them in, and other than everyone eyeballing my shirt, then Yvette's, no one seems the least bit uncomfortable with either Tripp's in-laws—former in-laws?—nor with me invading Thanksgiving.

"You play poker, Lila?" Levi asks after the other two women bustle into the kitchen to oversee Tripp's dinner preparations.

"Like a boss."

"You cheat?"

"Only when I have to."

His blue eyes light up. "I'll give you ten thousand dollars to cheat while Tripp's watching."

"No deal. I'd do that for free."

"She's on my team," Homer says.

And I have to swallow back a lump in my throat.

For the first time in decades, I think I'm finally home.