Chasing Serenity

by Ashley, Kristen

  “Tiffany has an upcoming event.”

  “Tiffany didn’t try on a single shoe. She only ordered the guy to get you fifteen pairs and you bought three of them.”

  She emitted an irritated grunt which was also affirmation because that happened.

  “Then we had to stop for coffee at that scary coffee place.”

  “Cartel isn’t scary.”

  “We walked in, and it was so silent, just us opening the door, I feared for my life the two dudes closest to it were going to beat us with their laptops.”

  “You get your coffee there if you’re in Old Town,” she informed him haughtily. “And only there.”

  He made no comment to that.

  Instead, he noted, “Then we had to go by Sprouts.”

  “I have to do my grocery shopping on the weekend. If I don’t, it won’t get done, and I won’t have fresh fruit or my weekly meat won’t get salted.”

  “Which brings us to you ripping open all the meat when we got home and salting it.”

  “You clearly don’t know how to cook,” she sniffed.

  “Not as good as you, but even if you’re great at it, after the salting meat thing, you made me take you to The Gladly for one of their chopped salads.”

  “I had a craving.”

  “Which meant we had precious little time left and I made the executive decision to use it to make out.”

  “You surely did not miss that I concurred with this decision.”

  He grinned. “Yeah, I didn’t miss that. But I’m gonna go to the office tomorrow, and Duncan’s gonna ask where we’re at, and it’s really none of his business that you’re really sensitive behind your ears and when you don’t want to lose my mouth, you grab my lip with your teeth, and that’s as far as we got.”

  “Please, don’t share that with Duncan,” she drawled.

  Christ, she was something.

  “Bottom line, are you coming up or am I coming back? And when that happens, what day is it gonna happen? And do not mention Saturday. That’s our official First Date Night. And you’re coming up to Prescott for that.”

  “I can’t come up during the week, Judge, and I work the store on Saturdays.”

  “Since you do, do you have a day off during the week?”

  She shook her head against her toss pillow. “Not really. We do good turnover in sales at the store. But the shop is young. We’re still establishing clientele. I don’t have the resources to invest in a ton of associates. I need to fill in.”

  “Right, then I’ll load up my dog, take some time out of my workday since it’s work we’re doing, and come up. Wednesday?”

  Her eyes lit with excitement.

  But her mouth uttered a chill, “Sure.”

  “Are you more excited about me, or meeting my dog?”

  “You, of course,” she said, making it sound like a lie, when with the way she kissed, and held on when she did, he knew it was not.

  “And that’s a no on Saturday?” he went on.

  “Can you come down?”

  “I can’t get you drunk at the Meadery if you don’t come up.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Mead?”

  “Trust me.”

  “Is this casual?”

  Obviously, she was an adventure girl too.

  “Are you catatonic when you visit Prescott?”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  Then she said, “If it’s casual, I’ll be able to refresh my outfit easily. I can head up around four. Will that do?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He was smiling again when he bent to touch his lips to hers.

  He had to be quick about it when he lifted his head because she followed.

  “And no distractions on Wednesday,” he warned. “Work. Find a couple angles. Some messages. A hook. Something to present to them so we can start storyboarding and scripting.”

  Her hand was making its way from his shoulder blade to his ass as she murmured, “Yes, we can do that.”

  “Fuck it, I’ll just come down and we’ll make out all night,” he muttered, and bent his head to take her mouth again.

  It got heated, his dick was stirring, so he ended it.

  Chloe made a displeased noise.

  Then her pretty eyes moved all over his face before looking into his.

  “I need to stop it and take care of Dad.”

  She probably did.

  And a few days ago?

  He thought it was incredibly sweet, her looking out for her father’s peace of mind.

  But after their convo in the car, he was wondering why the fuck Duncan and Tom made this deal, and then Imogen and Duncan roped Chloe in.

  Yes, Tom Pierce championing the program would raise the roof on awareness, likely get a ton more kids enrolled, and that always went hand in hand with donations. He was a huge score for the program.

  But Judge could have handled it by himself.

  Imogen was matchmaking, maybe Duncan too, and possibly they’d pulled Tom in on it.

  He just wished they’d thought it through.

  “I could ask them if I can do it alone,” he offered.

  Her brows dipped. “I can concentrate, Judge.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  What he meant dawned on her and she nodded.

  But she said, “They trust me to look after Dad.”

  “He’s a grown man. He can look after himself.”

  “What I mean is the entire family, as well as Dad. Look out for the whole. We don’t…The Pierce-Swans don’t do anything without someone at their back.”

  “Do you mean without Chloe at their back?”

  “Sometimes,” she hedged.

  He shook his body on hers, which meant shaking hers.

  “Okay, a lot of the time,” she allowed. “Still, Mom’s out, or she’s not quite, but she still is. So it’s me.”

  “I’ll do the grunt work.”

  She shot him an arch look. “You were going to do that before.”

  He chuckled then gave her a quick kiss before he elaborated. “What I mean is, I’ll shield you as best as I can.”

  At that, her mouth actually dropped open.

  And at that, Judge officially got pissed.

  “You mean to tell me, no one has ever shielded you?”

  She clamped her mouth shut then used it to lie, “Of course they have.”

  “Only Szabo?”

  She had to think about that one.

  To put a fine point on it, she had to think about the lie she’d tell to get him not to be ticked about the fact that some dude who wasn’t even blood, lived in another state and had jetted around the globe for most of his adult life, but was now very dead, was the only one who was at her back.

  “Don’t even try to lie about it,” he growled.

  She defended them. “Everybody has a lot on their plate.”

  “And you don’t?”

  She shut up.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he bit off, knifing up from her and pulling her with him. When they were toe to toe beside the couch, he said, “I’m taking lead. Not,” he said his last sharply, also lifting a finger to touch it to her lips when she opened them to speak, “taking over. We’re in this together. But I’m lead. I’m buffer between Duncan and Tom. I’ll do the grunt work and the comms, which I’ll split between the two of them. They won’t be in a meeting together. It’s my program anyway. You make sure the Pierce-Swans are covered, give your dad moral support when needed, but the heavy lifting will be on me.”

  “You double up on meetings, that’s twice as much work for you.”

  “If I need to talk to your dad, I have to come to Phoenix. Is that an issue for you?”

  She got a smug look on her face. “Bien sûr que non.”

  “And that means no?”

  She nodded.

  “You like me,” he teased.

  “You like me,” she returned.

  “Yeah,” he whispered. “I do.”

  Her face got soft.
/>
  He kissed her again.

  With regret, he ended it and ordered, “Now, go up and get my coat.”

  “Hmm,” was her weird reply. It was followed by a lie. “I took it to the dry cleaners.”

  Judge started laughing. “What is it with you and that coat?”

  She gave a slight shrug. “It smells like you.”

  He stopped laughing.

  And then he leaned so far into her, when he kissed her again, they were back on the couch.

  In the end, he had to text Rix to say he’d be an hour later than he expected.

  Rix said not to bother, Zeke was now his.

  He went over to his buddy’s house to get his dog anyway.

  Incidentally, he left Chloe’s place without his coat.

  Chapter 12

  The Bequeathal

  Chloe

  The next morning, once I’d parked behind my store, I could barely wait to pull my phone out of my bag because a string of texts had come in while I was driving.

  And I knew they were from Judge.

  Like a little girl ripping into her presents Christmas morning, I yanked my phone out and saw Santa gave me what I wanted.

  They were from Judge.

  They included:

  Wednesday, regardless of all that salted meat, don’t plan to cook.

  And then, We’ll order pizza.

  And then, Best weekend this year so far, honey.

  The first made me laugh because of his reference to the meat.

  The second made me crave the prosciutto and date pizza from Federal. It also made me wonder if Judge would like that, because I could have it waiting for him when he got to my house on Wednesday (or whatever pizza he wanted…from Federal).

  The last made me laugh, because we were only two weekends into the year.

  Still, his point was made.

  Because I agreed.

  Last weekend was the best I’d had in a long time.

  These texts all came after last night’s, Home. And performed the miracle of convincing Rix to hand over my dog.

  To which I’d been in such a Judge Haze, I’d not hesitated to reply, Good. Give him pets for me and tell him Auntie Coco looks forward to meeting him.

  This got, Auntie Coco?

  To which, of course, I returned, Shut up.

  And received, At your command. Thanks for a fantastic time, doll. Sleep well.

  And yes, the Haze still influencing me, I’d returned, I agree. And I will. You too.

  Not even getting out of my car, my thumbs went immediately to return something droll and meant to make him laugh that gorgeous laugh of his, or even just smile his warm, sweet smile, but I stopped myself, lifted the phone and tapped it against my forehead.

  “What are you doing, Coco? What are you doing? What are you doing?”

  Judge was not my type at all.

  I went for artists and assholes (almost always one and the same, though assholes, in my experience, came in many varieties).

  Judge was neither.

  This wouldn’t seem, to some, an issue.

  It was an issue to me.

  I could control my emotions with an asshole. I could hold back parts of me.

  I could walk away from them.

  I was okay with it if they walked away from me.

  However, as big of an issue as this was, it wasn’t the main one.

  That top spot was occupied with Judge playing havoc on my peace of mind.

  Because when I was with him, that was what I had.

  Peace of mind.

  When he was around, I was totally at one with the world, because that world centered around Judge, and I was totally at one with being with him.

  Once I’d let my guard down, he was just…easy.

  It was the first time I’d experienced this sense of calm since Mom and Dad sat us down and shared they were having problems, and those problems were serious.

  An event that rocked my world. Matt’s. Sasha’s.

  It was inconceivable.

  And then it got worse.

  It made no sense that Judge making me feel on solid ground again would, at the same time, unbalance me.

  But it did.

  And it did much more than that.

  It terrified me.

  We had spent one night and one day exploring what an us might be.

  And still…

  I needed to cool us off. Pull back. Reinforce my shields.

  No.

  Completely put a stop to it.

  This just didn’t seem to be something I was capable of when he was around.

  Or even when he wasn’t.

  Or when he was just texting.

  Doing this the moment he got home after he left me after we’d spent a day and a half together, and every moment of it was marvelous.

  Then doing it more the next morning.

  No playing games.

  Connecting.

  Making it clear he was looking forward to spending more time with me.

  Making it clear I knew he’d enjoyed the time we had.

  And when he was with me, making no bones about demonstrating he found me interesting, he found me amusing, he liked talking to me, he liked looking at me, he enjoyed touching me, even not intimately. Just affectionately.

  I didn’t know if a man had ever held my hand, but if he had, I hadn’t remembered.

  Maybe it had happened, and I didn’t remember because it didn’t matter.

  And Judge mattered.

  I sensed I would remember always the first time Judge took my hand.

  Even when Judge wasn’t around (like last night after he left, and all morning that morning), I’d fall into thinking about him, remembering things he’d said or looks he’d given me or that kiss in my kitchen.

  Our activities on the couch.

  I was borderline obsessed with him.

  (Okay, maybe not borderline.)

  And that wouldn’t do.

  It relinquished power.

  And doing that made you vulnerable.

  I couldn’t have either.

  Instead of returning Judge’s texts, I opened another text string.

  The one to Matt, who had yet to reply.

  And since I was in a mood, but regardless, it was time, I didn’t pussyfoot around.

  As you seem to be on a mission to alienate yourself from your family, allow me to congratulate you. When it comes to your elder sister, mission accomplished.

  After I sent that, I sent:

  I said some things because I love you and worry about you, and I love our father and worry about him. And you’re intent to make me suffer for that.

  Suffer for love and worry.

  I let that loose, then I lowered the hammer.

  Well, fuck you too, Matt.

  Don’t bother with replying to this either. Even if you finally realize you’re acting like an ass, I don’t want to hear from you, because you’ll need to give me some time to get over being pissed at you.

  I sent that last, shoved my phone in my purse, pulled myself out of the car, and headed into the shop, not feeling like a woman who spent the weekend with a great guy. A great guy who she knew could mean great things to her, because he’d already become that.

  Feeling like a woman who could start screaming, but she didn’t because she wouldn’t stop.

  Or start crying, but she didn’t do that either.

  Because she was terrified she couldn’t stop.

  The good news was, I could be in a bitchy mood all by myself.

  Mi-Young had Mondays off. On Mondays, I opened and took care of the store until one of the part-timers came in in the afternoon. Weekdays were never a rush, especially during the day. One to two staffers were okay even if I had a relatively large store space.

  Fortunately, it had become all hands on deck on the weekends, but I tried to take Sundays off. It gave Mi-Young time with the staff without my presence there. And it gave me a day to relax.

  But I didn’t open for ano
ther thirty minutes.

  I always arrived early enough to make sure the store was stocked, tidied, and as it should be. I could bring my laptop to the checkout desk to go through email and do other admin things after I’d opened.

  I’d secured my purse in my office and was walking with phone in hand into the store when it rang.

  I looked down and saw it was not a call from Judge to tease me about making him wait for a response (and I didn’t know whether to be relieved or in despair about that).

  It was Mom.

  I took the call, saying, “Motherrrrr, calling is so nineties.”

  “I see it was unnecessary,” she curiously said in reply.

  “Sorry?” I asked.

  “You’re being you,” she did not quite answer.

  “Please elucidate,” I demanded, wandering through the store with an eagle eye.

  Though I knew I didn’t need to bother, Mi never left it in anything other than pristine condition.

  “You felt…off during dinner at your dad’s,” Mom said.

  I stopped wandering and focused on the conversation.

  “And then you didn’t call…or text…to tell me off for ambushing you with Judge like that,” she finished.

  Whereas being with Judge brought peace of mind and being obsessed with Judge when he wasn’t around played havoc at the same time reminded me that he gave me that was a tangle of confusing emotions.

  This from Mom was flat-out not good.

  Because I could let her off the hook in regards to her (deserved) guilt by telling her that Judge and I had gotten together that weekend and had a great time. Or to cover my ass in a variety of ways, I could lie that we did it to talk about the program, when we didn’t.

  Or I could avoid it entirely.

  That said, Judge worked directly with Duncan in the same suite of offices. There was definitely mutual respect there, but they didn’t strike me as chummy, so I doubted Judge would wander into Duncan’s office with a coffee and a rundown of our time together this weekend. But, in passing, he could let it slip.

  And if Judge told Duncan, Duncan would tell Mom.

  Which put me in a pickle because my usual go-to was lying, that was what I was leaning toward now, and lying didn’t work when it wasn’t believed, or it could easily be refuted by another source.

  A serious bother.