by Sarah Monzon
Stepping out into the morning sunshine, she rounded the car and opened the trunk where the box filled with containers of quiche, tarts, pane bianco bread, and blueberry scones waited for her. The corners of the cardboard bit into the underside of her arm as she hefted the box out of the car, shut the trunk, and walked to Southern Charm.
“Knock knock,” she said as she used her shoe to tap the side of the truck. Footsteps sounded inside, and the door squeaked open.
“Olivia? I didn’t expect to see you so early.” Adam stepped down and took the box from her arms. “What’s this?”
“The labors of my overactive mind.”
He set the box inside the truck and turned back to her, scratching at the hair along his jaw, which had been thickening for the last few days into a full beard. “Excuse me?”
Olivia eyed the scruff. She’d always considered Adam attractive, but the added bit of facial hair gave him an edge of ruggedness she didn’t think he’d possessed when he was a slick attorney. She licked her lips and shrugged, hoping the flippant gesture would throw him off if he’d seen any interest in her eyes at her perusal. “I bake when I have a lot on my mind.”
That piqued his interest even more than her presence, if the way he tilted forward on his toes was any indication. “You baked?”
She chuckled at his eagerness. “Help yourself.”
Not needing a second invitation, he lifted the plastic see-through containers and stacked them on top of each other, settling the tower onto the small bar that he’d let down under the order window. He popped the lid on the quiche and sniffed, a satisfying sigh escaping. He bit into one and groaned, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. “This is amazing.”
Pleasure glowed from within at his praise. “Thank you.”
Wiping the crumbs from his fingers, he flicked the bill of his cap higher on his forehead, dipping his face down so he could capture her eyes. He had that look again. The one he always had before he’d take her hand or wrap her in a hug. The look that said he wanted to share her burden, shoulder some of her pain so she could have even a moment of relief.
Olivia looked down, toeing a blade of grass at her feet. She couldn’t give herself permission to get pulled in by those eyes, by the kindness and compassion that worked as an undertow. If she allowed herself into that current, she was afraid she’d never be able to free herself from it.
With slight pressure from a bent finger under her chin, Adam raised her face to once again meet his gaze.
His brows were drawn low in concern. “Want to talk about it?”
This magnetic draw she felt whenever she was around him? No, she couldn’t talk about that. But the other thing? She exhaled. “I don’t know what I should do. About searching for my bio parents.”
He lowered his hand to her shoulder, his thumb slowly moving back and forth over her collarbone. “What’s your gut tell you?”
Her gut? The thing that flipped cartwheels in her stomach, hiked her pulse, and shallowed her breath? She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. She could do this—move beyond her attraction—if she but focused. Tuning out her body’s visceral response to the manly scent of Adam’s soap, the heat emanating from his close proximity, and the tingles that danced their way from her collarbone down to her fingertips and back again, she sought her gut reaction—not to this man but to her predicament. What did her intuition tell her to do?
She opened her eyes. “I need to find her.”
He seemed to struggle for a moment, then said, “Let me help. I’ll talk to some friends at the clerk’s office and see what steps we need to take to get your original birth certificate.”
Olivia nodded, but her mind wasn’t really on the actual process. It had snagged on the root of indecision. She blinked up at him. “I’m scared, Adam. She gave me away before. What if she still doesn’t want anything to do with me?”
His arm moved to her back, and he crushed her to him, holding her tight. She fisted the material of his shirt at his waist and clung, knowing that allowing herself to soak up his strength was not a good idea but helpless to extract herself from the power of his arms. She breathed deep, filling her senses with him, then moved to push away, but he’d already gripped her upper arms and done it himself.
He bent his head, kidnapping her gaze with a forceful intensity. “Listen to me. Anyone who would deprive themselves of your presence is a fool and deserves the emptiness they’ll feel from missing you.”
“But what if—”
His mouth dove for hers, capturing it with the same fervor he’d just been arguing—only now he pled his case with a kiss instead of words. As if his lips could erase all her fears of rejection, they pressed in a firm line, devouring each but what if doubt that had ever crossed her mind. He seemed to know the moment each uncertain thought fled, because his lips softened, the force ebbing into a gentle passion that caressed and stoked, soothed and restored.
His beard scratched the skin around her lips, a delicious burn that begged the heat in her middle to flame higher. Her fingers lifted and trailed his cheek, letting the prickly stubble awaken every nerve in her palm. She pushed up on tiptoes, matching the movement of his mouth—another dance inherently known only to them. Like steps of a passionate tango, the kiss built and left her breathless.
But then she stumbled, her mind catching up when her body had left her behind. This was Adam—the man who consoled with a touch, offered support with a caress. This kiss was nothing more than a symbol of empathy to him.
With palms to his chest, she pushed away, noticing his rib cage rising and falling as rapidly as her own. Heat pricked her skin, but not from the burn that had ignited moments before. This felt of embarrassment and mortification. She peeked up at him for a second before averting her gaze.
“What was that?” she panted.
He’d let her put distance between them but hadn’t released his hold, his hand anchoring at her hip. His thumb stroked through the waistband of her stone-washed denim shorts even as he chuckled. “If you have to ask, then I definitely didn’t do it right.” His fingers pressed into her hip, urging her forward, toward him. “Let me try again.”
She took a step back. If he kissed her again, she wasn’t sure she’d have the fortitude to stop it. She crossed her arms in front of her, a measure of defense against the slant of his lips. Already she felt herself weakening under his inspection. Locking her knees, she glared at him. “Why?”
“Why?” He looked to the side, his cheek twitching. Was he laughing at her? He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops and grinned. “Because I wanted to. Because I needed to.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?” Please don’t say to make me feel better.
“You’d do great at cross-examination.” He laughed.
Her stomach hardened, then congealed, unable to remain solid when he stood not a foot away. She pinched at the seam of her shirt at her sides. “I’m not joking, Adam. Tell me why.”
He took a step forward, and she matched it with a step back. The teasing tilt to his lips fell, a small trace of exasperation taking its place. “What exactly do you want me to say?”
“Why. Did. You. Kiss. Me.” She wanted to run and hide and pretend this whole thing hadn’t happened, but she couldn’t. Southern Charm was her only chance at making her dreams come true, and she wasn’t going to throw that away simply because she’d let her feelings get away from her. So she’d have to face it head on. Make him see that he couldn’t kiss her to make her feel better, no matter how good that plan had worked. Lifting her chin, she pressed for an admission. “Did you kiss me as a means of comfort?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ugh!” She threw her hands up in frustration. “Comfort. You know, consolation, sympathy, solace. Is that why you kissed me?”
His grin returned in full force. “Is that how it felt for you? Because let me tell you, comfort has never felt so invigorating, so wild, so right in my entire life.” He did that deep, sea
rching thing with his eyes again, finding the spot far within her that she hadn’t even known existed.
“No, sweetheart, I didn’t kiss you out of sympathy. I’d never kiss a woman out of such selfless motives.” He moved forward, and this time his highly focused, steady look rooted her feet in place. “I kissed you because I wanted to. Just like I said. Just like I’ve wanted to for days now.” He leaned down and planted a peck on the top of her nose.
“But—”
He placed a finger over her lips. “If you ask why again, then I’m going to have to stop your questioning with a more effective means than an explanation.” The pressure of his finger lessened, and he trailed it along her bottom lip with a wink. “On second thought, ask away.”
Chapter 25
Adam stared down into the dark depths of Olivia’s eyes, more than slightly disappointed he hadn’t had to kiss her silent. That was one challenge he’d have been more than happy to rise to. But her full lips, flushed red from the press of his mouth, remained closed. She looked at him as if she’d never seen him before. Bewilderment and amazement making her too cute not to kiss. Lowering his head, he planted a quick peck on her lips. Nothing that would derail either of their thoughts or transport them to another place, but one that sealed his claim. And maybe even staked one…if she’d let him.
He let his fingers graze along her bare arm toward her hand, interlacing their fingers. “Have plans for the rest of the morning?”
She stared at their locked hands and shook her head.
He brought her hand up to his lips, her eyes trailing their movement until they met his. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, keeping eye contact the whole time, hoping she’d see the truth in what he’d said—no ulterior, altruistic motive lay behind his affection. Just a deep desire to be with her. “Spend it with me?”
She looked away, suddenly shy.
He hadn’t seen this side of her. She’d portrayed herself as a woman of gumption, storming into his business and practically demanding he give her a place to prove herself—and she had—all the while being confident and witty and capable. Why, then, the abrupt change? Could it be…no, it couldn’t…but maybe…
In slow motion his mouth curved into a grin. Did her swift turn of temperament really have to do with him? Did he have that effect on her?
One way to find out.
He pulled her against him, his fingers lacing together at her lower back, his hold loose enough to be nonthreatening but weighted enough to let her know he wanted her right where she was and would be sorely disappointed if she tried to step out of the circle of his arms. “I know I haven’t mentioned it before, but I would be remiss if I remained silent now. You are beautiful, Olivia Arroyo.”
Even beneath her olive complexion, she flushed.
“You are beautiful and strong and kind, and I would like permission to kiss you again.” And whenever I want.
Her eyes questioned, hesitant, unsure. Of them or his motives?
“I promise I want this. I want you.”
A timid smile transformed her face, bowing her mouth and lighting her eyes. His own lips turned up as he covered her mouth with his own. He went slow, kissing her with tenderness, letting her know he was exactly where he wanted to be. With the person he so desperately wanted to be with.
Tilting his chin to his chest, he broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “Spend the morning with me.”
This time when she met his gaze, the bit of sauciness uniquely hers backlit her grin. “Okay.”
He squeezed her hand, gave her a quick peck, and took a step back. “I have an errand I have to run right now, but it shouldn’t take too long. Pick you up at your place?”
“Sure.”
“Great.” He locked the food truck and pocketed his keys, picking her hand back up and winding their fingers together again. He walked her to her car and said good-bye with one last kiss, then headed to his own car and drove to the county clerk’s office at the courthouse. Hopefully, Darlene could pull some strings and help him out.
His stomach clenched as he mounted the marble steps and passed the huge columns supporting the portico. The origination of his greatest regrets. Ones he tried so hard to right. But no matter what he did, how much he added to his side of the scale, the balance never equaled—he always came out owing more. He’d spend the rest of his life trying to offset his actions and the consequences of them.
He kept his head down as he walked through the familiar halls, not wanting to encounter knowing or curious looks from his previous colleagues.
“Adam Carrington, is that you?”
He looked up, Darlene’s friendly smile welcoming him, making his middle churn even more. But he wasn’t here for himself. He’d told Olivia he’d help her out with the legal roads to finding her birth mom, and Darlene was a good first step. She knew everything about everything and could point him in the right direction. Criminal law and adoption law didn’t often meet at a crossroads, so he was unfamiliar with the current state of legislation regarding opening closed records.
He forced a pleasant expression, hoping his face didn’t betray the discomfort being back in the courthouse wreaked on him. “How you doing, gorgeous?”
Darlene swatted an arthritic hand at him, her smile revealing a line of pink lipstick on her dentures. “Ever the flirt, I see.”
He folded his arms and leaned them against the countertop in front of her, adding a wink for good measure. “Only with you, love.”
She shook her head, but her pleated cheeks blushed. “Tell me, what can I do for you?”
“I’ve got a friend who recently found out she was adopted and wants to find her birth parents.”
Her penciled-on brows rose. “A friend, not a client?”
“You know how it is.”
She pursued her lips. “I do, and I don’t like it.”
“So you won’t help me?”
“Of course I’ll help you.” She patted his hand. “Have you got a four-leaf clover or a lucky rabbit’s foot in your pocket?”
“How about prayer?”
“You’re going to need it.”
“I thought they were passing legislation that made it easier for adoptees to obtain their original birth certificates and not just the amended ones created at the time of their adoption.”
Darlene sighed. “Unfortunately for your friend, Florida isn’t one of those states yet, although the senator is pushing for it.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. What’s the big deal?”
“Well, critics say that lawmakers need to take into consideration the privacy of the birth parents. They’re afraid that if adoptees can easily access records, women will opt to terminate their pregnancies instead of giving adoption real consideration.”
Adam sighed. “So my friend would need an order from a judge to be able to access her original birth certificate from the vital records office?”
Darlene nodded sympathetically. “I’m afraid so.” Her eyes brightened. “Unless…” She moved to her computer and began clicking away at the keys. She swiveled her monitor so it faced Adam. “It’s a long shot, but there is a registry, the Florida Adoption Reunion Registry, whose sole purpose is to reunite birth parents and siblings with adoptees. If your friend’s parents or one of her siblings are also trying to find her, they may have registered to the database.”
Worth a shot. They could explore this route while they filed the paperwork to get a judge’s order for Olivia’s birth certificate. Adam leaned over the counter and planted a kiss on the elderly woman’s cheek. “Thanks, Darlene.”
“Anytime. And I hope to see you in these halls on a regular basis soon. I’m praying for it.”
He waved and turned without a response. What could he say? That he wasn’t even sure an act of God could convince him to return to law? It sounded blasphemous, or at least irreverent. Besides, despite Michael’s declaration that Adam was called to this work, there were plenty of scriptural references to
argue that God blessed the path a person chose, not chose the path itself. Adam could just as surely be following God’s plan for his life cooking up comfort food in his truck than arguing cases for guilty individuals.
If only he didn’t feel so hollow inside about the prospects of spending the rest of his life standing in front of a sweltering cooktop. The thing that used to relax him after a hard day in court was fast losing its appeal. He blamed Hudson and Mrs. Haywood. He’d been content, excited even at the ideas Olivia pitched him, but ever since he’d sat down and listened to Curtis Haywood’s story from his wife, it all seemed pointless. The drive that had energized him to plead for people when the rest of the world turned their backs on them had zinged through his limbs.
But that wasn’t his place anymore. It wasn’t who he was anymore.
He sighed as he passed solid oak doors leading to a judge’s chamber. How was it possible to be in a place and part of you wanted to flee while the other part yearned to stay? The doors opened, emitting a tall man in a gray suit, his head down as he typed out a furious message on his phone.
Bill Mabrey. Not the most ethical man, but he won cases. His polished shoes ate up the floor, and Adam watched his retreating back a second before calling out. “Hey, Mabrey. Wait up.”
The attorney stopped, his attention still glued to his phone. When Adam stepped to his side, Bill finally looked up, phone still in hand in front of him. “Long time no see, Carrington.” He smirked as he looked Adam up and down. “Nice duds.”
Adam glanced down at his Keen sandals, cargo shorts, and a T-shirt he’d gotten at a concert last year. His designer suits had been one of the first things he’d sold, and good riddance. “Uh, thanks. Look, I need a favor. There’s a guy I need you to take on being charged with armed robbery. And, um, I need you to do it pro bono.”
That caused Bill’s phone arm to lower, his eyes to widen. “Are you pranking me, Carrington? You want me to take on a case pro bono?”
Adam’s back molars ground together. “Think of the PR it will get you. I heard you were going to make a bid for the district attorney position.”