Page 38 of When Love Changes Everything

“Are you sure you want me to talk to Lily on my own?” Mateo had asked this morning. "I want to show a united front. Leaving no room for her to doubt that this is happening or that she has anything to worry about.”

“Thank you for wanting to include me,” I said, “but I think it’s better if you talk to her alone. I want Lily to feel free to express her feelings and concerns without the added pressure of me being there. Her reaction will probably be more open and honest if it’s just the two of you. She’ll be shocked, confused—maybe even angry—and having me there might make it harder for her to vent openly.”

“When you put it that way,” he replied, “it makes me wonder how strongly she might react. And I’ll have to be ready to stand my ground, even if she doesn’t approve.”

“Remember when she told you about Noah?” I said, hoping to reassure him. “She told me she had made it clear she wasn’t asking for your permission, just letting you know she was in love. You’re not asking for hers, either. We want her blessing, but her opposition won’t change anything. Will it?”

“No,” he said, lifting my hand to his lips. “Meeting you,hermosa. Getting to know you and falling in love with you—those are the best, most pure and transformative experiences of my life. You make me…better. Happy.”

His blue gaze told me he was being completely transparent, his feelings laid bare. He loves me.

***

A light knock on the door and the sound of a man's voice jolts me from my thoughts. "Knock-knock," he says, stepping into the room.

A handsome man in his early thirties with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes enters with a confident yet apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. Hi, I’m Philip. Did I startle you?"

"No," I reply, quickly composing myself. "I'm good. Hi, I’m Lisa. We spoke on the phone."

"You actually spoke to my father, Philip Weston, Sr.," he says, shaking my hand firmly. "He’s the executor of my uncle’s estate. This was his house."

"I see," I say, glancing around the room. "Well, I’ve cataloged all its contents. Mr. Weston mentioned there were a few items he wanted to keep. Are you here to collect them?"

"Yes," he replies, his smile warm but tinged with something deeper—nostalgia, perhaps. "Uncle Jack left me the house." He looks around, his gaze lingering on the worn wooden built-ins and the light streaming through the tall windows. "I wish I could keep it. But I’m afraid I’ll have to sell."

"It’s a beautiful home," I say, unable to hide my admiration. The air here carries a faint scent of cedar and aged books, and the sunlight softens every corner of the room. "I’ve been spending a lot of time here, and I just realized how comfortable and welcoming this house feels. Do you have an agent yet? I’d love to put in an offer."

"Are you serious?" he says, clearly caught off guard.

"Yeah," I confirm. "I’m getting married in a few weeks. My condo is perfect for one person, but I’d prefer a bigger home to start our life together."

"Congratulations," he says sincerely, though his glance shifts back to the house, as if weighing its future. "My agent is Meredith Sanders from Linder & Morgan Realty."

"You’re kidding!" I exclaim. "I know the Linders and the Morgans."

"Do you know Meredith?" he asks, his tone curious.

"Yes," I say. "Not well, but yeah. She was my agent. She’s good. Anyway, I’d love to put in an offer. I’ll give her a call."

"You can let her know you spoke to me," he says with a small nod. "As far as I’m concerned, the house is yours."

"Really?!" I exclaim, excitement bubbling up. "I’ll have to bring Mateo by to see it, but I’m sure he’ll love it."

"Mateo is your fiancé?" he asks, his tone conversational.

"Yes," I say with a smile. "I think this house could be perfect for us."

Philip’s gaze sweeps the room one more time. "It’s a special place," he says softly, almost to himself. "I hope it brings you as much joy as it brought Uncle Jack and his family."

He turns to collect the items his father requested. "Is this the box?" he asks, his voice tinged with something hard to place as he looks down at the small, cardboard container. "A four-bedroom house, and these few things are all that's worth keeping?"

I nod, taking in the mix of resignation and practicality in his tone. "It's mostly photos and a few items that look like family heirlooms," I say, feeling the weight of their significance. "Definitely worth keeping."

Philip opens the box slowly, his fingers brushing over the items inside, clearly assessing each piece. The photographs, faded at the edges, tell a story of lives well-lived—smiling faces from another time. His expression softens, a small smile tugging at his lips as his gaze lingers on one particular photo.

"Yeah," he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice quieter now. "I guess you’re right. These meant something to Jack, and Dad knows how important it is to keep them."

I watch him for a moment, sensing the attachment he might feel, the weight of family history that lingers in the air. "Family memories, captured in small moments in time," I say softly. "Something you can't replace."

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