Page 85 of Rockstar Next Door Neighbor

After he hangs up, Luke pulls me close. “Now, we need to find a quiet place to lay low for a while. Where reporters would never think to look.”

“I know just the place,” I offer with a small smile. “It’s private and tucked away. We’d have to rough it a little, but it has all the necessities—and a very comfortable bed,” I add innocently.

His answering grin is anything but innocent. “When do we leave?”

“First thing tomorrow? We could pack tonight and leave early in the morning.”

Another camera flash reminds us we’re not alone. But soon we will be.

Luke gives me a quick kiss and slips back to his apartment without turning on the lights. I clean the kitchen before I pack, thinking, let them come. We can handle anything as long as we’re together.

Twenty-Eight

Luke

The morning sun is rising higher in the sky by the time we turn onto the unmarked dirt road. Lila’s old car, Agatha, kicks up dust behind us. We’ve been driving for about two hours, leaving behind the constant buzz of Jacksonville for increasingly remote territory. The last town we passed through was so small that it barely qualified as a town at all.

“Are you sure we’re still in Florida?” I tease, glancing at Lila in the passenger seat. She’s curled up with her feet tucked under her, looking completely at home despite the rough road.

“Born and raised, remember?” Her smile is soft in the fading light. “Take the next left at the old oak with the twisted trunk.”

I follow her directions, amazed at how she can distinguish one tree from another out here. The dense forest presses in on both sides of the narrow road, Spanish moss draping the ancient oaks like silver curtains. It’s beautiful in a wild, untamed way—nothing like the manicured parks and beaches I’m used to.

“I didn’t even know there were private properties in the Ocala National Forest,” I admit, carefully navigating around a fallen branch.

“My great-great-grandfather settled this land in the 1800s,” Lila explains. “When they established the national forest in 1908, our family was allowed to keep the property. A few other old families, too.” She points ahead. “There’s the gate.”

The metal gate is almost hidden by vegetation, but Lila jumps out to unlock the padlock and chain. Once through, the road gets even narrower, winding through towering pines and massive live oaks. Then suddenly, the trees open up to reveal a clearing, and I catch my breath.

The cabin sits in a natural hollow, surrounded by about two acres of maintained land that gives way to the wild forest beyond. It’s rustic but well-maintained, with weathered wood siding and a tin roof that gleams in the rays of sunlight. A wrap-around porch hugs the structure, complete with an oldporch swing that makes me immediately picture holding Lila there under the stars.

“Home sweet home,” Lila says softly. “At least for the next couple of weeks.”

I park next to the cabin and kill the engine. The silence is immediate and complete. No traffic, no helicopters, no screaming fans or clicking cameras—just katydids starting their evening chorus and a whip-poor-will calling from somewhere in the forest.

“This is incredible,” I breathe.

Lila beams. “Wait until you see inside.”

We grab our bags from the back, and Lila leads the way up the porch steps, fishing an old key from beneath the front mat. The wooden boards creak welcomingly under our feet, and I notice little touches that speak of years of family care—fresh paint on the window frames and new screens in the windows.

Inside, the cabin is small but perfectly proportioned. The main room combines a living area and kitchen, with exposed wooden beams overhead and a stone fireplace dominating one wall. The kitchen might be compact, but I notice it has all the essential equipment Lila would need. She’s already eyeing it with that look she gets when she’s planning to cook.

“Bedroom’s through there.” She points to a door off the main room.”Bathroom’s attached. It’s not fancy, but—“

I silence her with a kiss, unable to hold back any longer. She melts against me, her hands sliding up my chest as I cup her face. When we break apart, her cheeks are flushed.

“It’s perfect,” I tell her.

She bites her lip, looking up at me through her lashes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” I brush my thumb across her cheek. “Just like you.”

She rolls her eyes, but I can see her fighting a smile. “Smooth talker. Help me unload the groceries?”

We fall into an easy rhythm, putting away the supplies we picked up on the drive. Lila moves around the kitchen like she’s done this a hundred times before, and I suppose she has. I can picture her here through the years—as a child helping her grandmother cook, as a teenager escaping the world, and as a young woman finding her path.

“You love it here,” I observe, watching her arrange items in the old refrigerator.

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