Page 24 of In Love with Lewis Prescott
Part of me is curious too, though. I know Lewis is intensely private, so it makes sense that he didn’t publicize his donation, but if he had, that would have gone a long way to restoring his Hollywood image. It probably wouldn’t fix everything that’s gone wrong for him, but the public goes wild when a celebrity does something kind and giving. A lot of people would think highly of him if they knew he gave such a large sum of money to a relatively unknown charity that’s doing incredibly important work.
Diana smiles and says she’s going to call Frank, the other founder of the charity, to tell him the good news so they can start planning what to do with the money.
When I head back to finish my meeting, I’m smiling to myself. Turns out that badass “I don’t give a fuck” Lewis has a heart of gold, after all.
When I walk into the house, I don’t see Lewis in the kitchen or the living room. He must be resting in his room.
I open one of the cabinets to grab a glass for wine and still my hand. The door easily swings back and forth. It’s not wobbly, and it doesn’t creak. I open and close all the cabinets, smiling when I hear silence. As I head to the refrigerator for the white wine, the French doors whoosh open.
“So? What do you think?” Lewis grins as he stands in the doorway and juts his chin at the cupboards.
“Amazing. You’re a freaking magician, Lewis. Thank you so much for fixing these cabinets.”
I open the fridge and am stunned at the sight of what appears to be three dozen bottles of organic pressed juices taking up the entire middle shelf.
“Wow. So you’re really into juice, then?” I twist around to look at him.
He aims a flustered smile at the floor as he leans against the door frame. “Kind of. Gotta stay healthy even while I’m away from LA.”
“Ah. Makes sense.” I should have known. Even though he’s hiding out, he’s still a celebrity, and downing celery and wheatgrass juice on the daily seems like a very celebrity thing to do.
“Sorry to take up so much fridge space.”
“Not at all. You live here now too. Stock it with whatever you want, but you don’t have to worry too much about me stealing one of your surely delicious concoctions.”
He nods at the glass of wine in my hand. “Rough day?”
“Not at all. Amazing day, actually.”
“Wanna toast to it on the veranda with me? Hope you don’t mind, but I cracked open a beer after I finished the cabinets and wanted to enjoy it with a view.”
“That sounds perfect.”
I follow him out to the veranda, glass of wine in hand. He shuts the doors, then gestures to the two lounge chairs at the far end. When we sit down, he raises his glass, but I stop him.
“This toast is to you. Thank you for the donation you made to Glad You’re Here.” I try to say more, but all I can do is stammer, I’m still so blown away.
Lewis’s eyes fall to his lap, the shiest smile tugging at his lips. “It was nothing.”
“Nothing? Lewis, it was everything. I’ve volunteered at Glad You’re Here off and on ever since college, and I know just how much every single dollar they get means to them. They’re going to be able to help so many more people because of you. You should have seen Diana’s face when your donation came through. She was crying tears of joy.”
“Who’s Diana?”
“One of the cofounders. She was inspired to start the organization after seeing all the struggles her dad went through after he immigrated to the US. Stuff like learning English, applying for jobs and apartments, buying a car and a house, enrolling kids in schools. Her and her cofounder’s mission is to offer as much support as possible to every person who requests their services. That’s why I started volunteering there. My grandparents were immigrants too, and I know they struggled a lot when they first moved to this country.”
I stop myself when I realize I’m rambling.
“Sorry, I got way off track there. We’re supposed to be toasting to you.”
“No way. I can see how passionate you are about this. It’s incredible.”
I go quiet when I notice the warmth shining through Lewis’s hazel eyes as he gazes at me.
“Back to your toast.” I raise my glass. “To you, Lewis. You are making a difference.”
I clink my glass against his, which makes him laugh. We sip our drinks, then gaze ahead at the rocky hillside that juts up against the sky, which is bathed in a periwinkle hue. For a few quiet moments, we stare at the scenery and sip our drinks. Because the house is situated at the end of a quiet road, the sound of the waves crashing along the coastline just a handful of miles away overrides the faint echo of traffic in the distance.
I close my eyes and savor it. It’s never this quiet in Nob Hill—or any part of San Francisco. As much as I love that city, and spending my twenties and the first few years of my thirties there, I adore being somewhere new, somewhere quiet, surrounded by the ocean. It’s the perfect way to recharge after living so many years as a workaholic in the city.
