Page 26 of In Love with Lewis Prescott
“Oh, he was. Pretty old-fashioned, but in a good way.”
“Old-fashioned how?”
“Like, he always opened doors for my grandma. If they were out walking, he insisted on taking the side closest to the road. If it rained, he’d hold an umbrella for her. He refused to curse around her too.”
Lewis grins wide. “Damn. He sounds like a class act.”
“In every sense of the word.” I glance around at the veranda and tap my sneakers against the sturdy wooden planks. “I miss him. He’d love how this place is shaping up.”
Just the thought of him sitting here next to me makes my throat go tight for a long second, but I quickly swallow it back.
“I think he’d be damn proud to see what his brilliant architect granddaughter did to his house.”
Lewis’s words send a wave of comfort through me. I smile a thanks.
“Are you close with your grandparents?” I ask.
“I was close to my grandpa before he passed away a handful of years ago. He’s the one who taught me everything I know about home renovation and repair. He was a contractor and handyman in the LA area, and as a kid I’d tag along with him to jobs. I started working for him when I was in high school.”
“That’s so cool.”
I try to picture kid Lewis wielding a hammer on a work site and smile to myself. “Did you wear a little tool belt?”
His right cheek scrunches as he smiles, and that dimple I adore appears. I swallow more vodka.
“Yup. When I was little, my grandpa took one of his old tool belts and fitted it down to my size so I could feel like a proper handyman, just like him.”
“That is adorable.”
I finish the rest of my drink and set the empty glass down by my feet. Lewis reaches up to turn on the tea lights I strung up along the top of the veranda.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” Lewis says.
“What? Drink vodka on a veranda?”
“That too.” He rubs the back of his neck before pivoting to face me. “But it’s also been a while since I’ve sat around and talked about my grandpa. Thanks for giving me the opportunity.”
Something about the way he says that lands deep inside me. I can tell he’s sad and grateful at once.
“You don’t get to talk about him much with your family? Or friends?”
He shakes his head, his expression shifting from wistful to regretful.
I stop myself from asking him why. It feels like I’ve asked enough prying questions for one conversation.
“Well, you can talk to me about him whenever you feel like it. I’m happy to listen.”
And suddenly, right now as I gaze at Lewis, I don’t see a celebrity. I see a regular guy who’s harboring a good bit of pain behind those expressive hazel eyes. I’m not sure what’s causing it, and I know it’s too soon to ask him about it—we’ve only known each other for a few days, after all. But I’m certain in this moment that I want to get to know Lewis even more, more than just a pleasant chat while sharing a few drinks at the end of the day. I want him to someday feel comfortable enough to tell me exactly what’s on his mind—the good, the bad, and everything in between.
I go the slightest bit dizzy, thrown off by this realization. This is our first full day of sharing this house, but already I feel a pull toward him that I’m not sure I’ve felt for anyone before. Maybe it’s the random way we met or this strange-as-hell setup we’re in that’s making the situation feel more intense.
Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe it’s because I’m realizing just how much I genuinely like him.
I stand up too fast and wobble slightly, but Lewis’s muscled arm shoots up, gently grabbing me at the elbow and steadying me.
“You okay?” he asks as he stands up.
I nod. “I think so.”
