“I don’t know,” I admit. “Maybe we could go to the beach. I’ve been wanting to go since I returned but never got around to it.”
“The beach it is,” he says, glancing down at his suit. “Are we going to stop and get changed, or are we just going to wing it?”
“Wing it,” I say, grinning. “Let’s be spontaneous.” I pause, and then add, “Or at least my version of spontaneous. Maybe we can stop and grab a few beers, or something.”
“You drink beer?” he asks, sounding surprised. “I thought you’d be more of a wine kind of girl.”
“I like wine too,” I explain to him. “But I think the beach calls for some ice-cold beer.”
“Beer it is,” he says, and just like that, he gives me what I want.
I’ve never had that before.
I put the window down, letting the breeze hit my face, and smile.
I can’t save Irish, but I can enjoy the second chance I’ve been given. A fresh start. A new beginning. Now I just need to decide what it is I want, what will make me happy, and then go after it.
My journey is only just beginning.
“EVERYONE IS STARING AT us,” I notice, even though it doesn’t really bug me. I’m just pointing out a fact.
“Probably because we’re extremely overdressed for the beach,” he muses in a dry tone. He’s taken off his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves, while I couldn’t do much except unpin my hair and remove my shoes. So we’re sitting on the beach, with me in a navy-blue knee-length dress, beers in our hands, enjoying the sunlight and the sound of the waves.
“We are, aren’t we,” I say with a smile on my face. I bring the bottle to my lips and take a sip. “I just realized I never said thank you.”
“For what?” he asks, turning his head to look at me.
“What do you mean ‘for what’? For getting the charges dropped, for going above and beyond your duties,” I start, reaching my hand out to touch his. “For showing me that there’s good in the world. For being a person I can trust. For the flowers. For everything.”
I’m probably not explaining it well, but I just want him to know that he didn’t have to be so amazing. He could have done the bare minimum in defending me, or not believed me at all, but he didn’t. I had so much going against me, I wouldn’t have believed my story. He didn’t have to go out of his way to do what he did, and it shows what a great human being he is.
Not only is he handsome, but he’s also kind. Smart. I’m only now letting myself admit this attraction I have toward him. I know I’m not meant to think of him like this, but that doesn’t stop my mind from going there.
“You don’t need to thank me, Scarlett,” he says, squeezing my hand. “You’re due to have some good in your life, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I do,” I reply boldly. “You didn’t have to give it to me, but you did, and I don’t think I can thank you enough.”
He tucks my hair back behind my ear. “You’re welcome.”
I want him to kiss me, but at the same time, is it too soon? We literally just left the courtroom. Who am I kidding? It’s definitely too soon, and I shouldn’t even be thinking about it.
Think of something else, Scarlett.
How about the fact that my life can finally be normal?
I smile at the thought, my eyes closing, but when they open he’s right there in front of me, and I’m clouded once more.
I don’t know what the rules are, or if he even wants to kiss me, but I know it’s not the best idea. He doesn’t kiss me though. Instead, he takes his hand away from me, and looks back to the sparkling blue water. I always said after this I’d leave straightaway, but with Jaxon next to me, I don’t want to.
Maybe there is something here for me after all.
Neither of us have addressed this . . . this thing between us though, and we’re acting like we’re friends. That’s fine for me. Besides, I don’t know if I’m ready to dive into something serious yet. Two years seems like a long time to heal, but I don’t know if I’m completely healed yet. I’ve never really had the option to explore my freedom, both with men and with my daily life. So getting into something right now might not be the best option for me. For now, I’m just happy being with him, feeling safe and knowing I have someone I can rely on. That isn’t something I’ve ever really had, and it’s a beautiful feeling.
“Will you let me cook for you tonight, or are you going to be stubborn?” I ask, being a little forward in assuming he’d want to spend more time with me after this. I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m not a woman who is usually forward, ever.
His deep chuckle makes me feel warm inside. “If you want to cook for me so badly, I’m not going to say no. I could take you out for dinner though.”
“No, I’d like to cook for you,” I say, taking in his features. I’ve never seen eyes as gray as his, surrounded in thick dark lashes I could only dream of. His nose is straight, his lips perfectly full and firm.
Kissable.
The stubble on his cheeks is getting darker every day, and I wonder if he’s growing it out. I think he’d look good either way. I don’t know why I’m checking him out so much now, maybe it’s because before I’d only look at him when I had to. I didn’t want him to catch me staring, but now something is changing. I’m free, and there are possibilities all of a sudden. The cloud of uncertainty that followed me around has vanished, my future is now something I can actually contemplate.
I can do anything I want, be whoever I want, without restriction.
Freedom.
What an underrated word.
And Jaxon . . .
I can look at him; I can admire him. I don’t have to hide it anymore, or be afraid of my future.
I don’t have to be afraid of anything.
Except his response to me.
“Home cooking it is,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to my mouth. “I think you should stop looking at me like that, Scarlett.”
I swallow hard. Our faces are close, but not touching. It would only take me leaning toward him a little to have our lips touch.
“You smell good,” I blurt out.
He grins, flashing his straight white teeth. “So do you.”
“I don’t think I want to stop looking at you,” I admit, laying my head on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget today.”
He wraps his jacket around me as the wind picks up. We finish our beers, then take a long walk on the beach, the sound of the loud crashing waves relaxing me.
He doesn’t take my hand, but we walk with our arms casually brushing every now and again, and that tiny bit of contact sets me on fire.
chapter 13
Jaxon
I LICK MY LIPS, WHICH are suddenly dry, and shift in my seat. It’s hot in here, so I open my window a little, letting some fresh air in. The car is filled with tension, the air so thick that the open window isn’t even helping. She’s quiet, and I wonder what she’s thinking. I want to look over at her but force myself to concentrate on the road as I try and sort my thoughts out.
It’s too soon.
Scarlett and I shouldn’t be anything other than friends. I shouldn’t be thinking about her the way I am—she needs more time; we need more time before we become anything more.
I want to touch her, but I can’t.
I won’t.
I don’t know how everything changed the second we won the case, but it’s like a switch flipped. The excuse I’d been using in my mind is now gone, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other issues at hand here. Scarlett has just been given her freedom after being in an abusive relationship, and then accused of murder—I don’t think one comes out of that unscathed. I don’t know what she wants, or if she even knows what she wants, and I don’t want to get attached to her if she’s just going to leave. It’s too early to even have that conversat
ion though, so I don’t know what I’m meant to do. I also don’t want her to look at me like I’m her hero and that be the reason she wants me. In a way I feel like I’m almost preying on her. She’s so vulnerable and I don’t want to take advantage of her or her situation. But I like her. I don’t know what it is, but I like being around her, and I want to get to know her better, away from all of this mess.
I want to kiss her, taste those juicy, pouty lips but I’m not going to, at least not tonight. Too much has happened today, and I never want her to feel obligated to me or regret anything that’s happened between us.
I’m a patient man; I can wait until she’s ready, or until she knows what she wants.
I just want to get to know her and let her get to know me. For now, that’s all I can offer, and I think it’s all she’s ready for.
“Should we stop at the store for groceries?” I ask her.
“I think I have everything,” she says, looking like she’s mentally ticking things off a list in her head. “We should be good. Unless you want a particular wine or something?”
“I’m good,” I tell her, absently bringing my hand to her thigh.
I remove it the second I realize what I’ve done, and I hear the intake of her breath. Not in a bad way, more like a soft gasp of pleasure.
Why did I do that? Friends don’t do that. They don’t do casual thigh touches. It was so natural though, and I don’t know where it came from. What is she doing to me? She’s making me fucking crazy.
I clear my throat, and say, “Maybe another night this week you’ll let me cook for you.”
“Let me guess, the menu will be something ‘manly’?” she asks, flashing me a side look, and then laughing to herself.
I love the sound of it, I could listen to her laughing all day.
“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” I grumble, turning onto the road to her house. “I’ll whip something up, just don’t judge my cooking against yours.”
“So no cook-offs then?” she teases, and I can feel her staring at my profile. “Don’t worry, I’ll take it easy on you.”
“If we’re having a cook-off, I’m going to need some notice so I can practice first.”
So I can actually learn a recipe, for starters. Maybe I’ll call Mom up and see if she can tell me how to make one of her many delicious dishes. I can just see how that conversation will go, and the million questions I’ll be asked.
“Shape of You,” by Ed Sheeran is playing on the radio, and I notice her mouthing the words to the chorus.
If only she knew how I felt about her body.
And the things I want to do to it.
“CAN I HELP YOU do anything?” I ask from behind her as she fixes our dinner. “Chop the vegetables or something?”
“No,” she answers, turning to face me. “I’ve got it under control. Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m good,” I say, closing the space between us and placing my hand on her hip. Her breath hitches at the bold contact, and she looks down at my hand before raising those hazel eyes to mine. “Are you sure I can’t help in any way?”
“You’re already helping,” she answers, and I know we’re no longer talking about the food. “I can’t believe how today went . . . and now you’re here.”
“Why didn’t you trust that I’d keep you out of prison?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. “You know I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.”
“I know,” she replies, licking her lips. “Which is why I kept thanking you today.”
“I told you that you don’t need to thank me. I did my job. I just happen to do it very well,” I say, tucking her hair back behind her ear. She always has one errant lock that falls on her cheek, and I love using it as an excuse to touch her. Her hair is so soft and silky, I want to bury my face in it to smell it, and tangle my hands in it. I want to explore every inch of her, but I know that I need to go slow. Rushing into things won’t keep her around—I know that. I don’t know what I’m doing, if I’m being honest, but I want to try to make all the right moves here. There’s no fucking map for this though, so I just need to go with my gut.
“If that’s the story you’re going to stick to,” she cheekily replies, arching her brow at me. “I hope you like chicken.”
“I love chicken.”
I think I’d love anything she cooks. I’m not a fussy eater, so there’s not much I wouldn’t like. Who am I kidding? I’m just happy to be around her.
“Good,” she says, turning back to the stove, my hand dropping from her waist. “Now go sit down and let me do my thing.”
I feel my lip twitch as I move back against the counter. I like when she shows her attitude, the one I know she taught herself to hide. The more it comes out, the more I know she’s being her true self and not trying to be someone Darren wanted her to be. The first time I met her I thought she came off a little cold and impersonal.
Olivia came off that way too, but I knew her, that her heart was pure gold and that she wasn’t cold at all. Never once did I think that she was being abused.
Never.
And even though the asshole who did that to my sister is now behind bars for domestic abuse, I will never forgive myself for not noticing the signs. For not being there for her, or making an effort to see her more. I was always too preoccupied with work. If I had been around, perhaps then I would’ve seen something and I could have saved her.
Why didn’t she come to me?
I’ll never get the answer to that.
And it kills me.
The what-ifs kill me every damn day.
“What are you thinking about?” Scarlett asks me. I didn’t even notice her move closer.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, which is my default answer to anyone who asks me that question.
She nods, studying me. “Are you always so closed off?”
“Are you?” I fire back at her.
“I’m learning not to be,” she answers with pure honesty. “But it’s hard, you know? It’s a little scary to put yourself out there and trust people.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “And it’s even scarier to be vulnerable, or give someone the power to hurt you.”
“I know what you mean,” I tell her. “I hope the next man you trust deserves it.”
“That’s a nice thing to say,” she murmurs, stepping forward. This time when her lock of hair escapes she tucks it back herself. “I hope you’re hungry, because I’m making a lot of food.”
“I’m starving.”
And for more than just food.
I’m hungry for her.
chapter 14
Scarlett
“I MADE A CREAMY CHICKEN pasta, beef ribs, garlic bread, and a salad. I figure it covered anything he could be craving, and I hope he likes it. I’ve never cooked for any other man besides Darren. Before I started dating him I’d only had one boyfriend, and I didn’t know how to cook then, nor would I have wanted to at that age. I place everything on the table while Jaxon washes the dishes that have accumulated. I told him not to, but he didn’t listen. It’s kind of hot, watching him, still in his white shirt and dress pants, washing up.
Really hot, actually.
Not only am I not used to being around such a good-looking, put-together man, but I’m not used to a man helping around the house either. Today has been the craziest day, from the courtroom to the beach to my house. It’s hard to even process it.
And now my lawyer is in my house, scrubbing a pan, with his sleeves rolled up, looking sexy and making me wish that he’ll use those hands on me next.
Goes to show you never know what will happen in life.
I set the table with plates, silverware, wine, and water—not sure which one I feel like having with this meal. I know Jaxon has to drive home, so he probably won’t consume any more alcohol. Once I’m happy with
the layout, I wait for him to finish up then sit down.
“Everything looks amazing,” he murmurs, eyes going wide. “You weren’t joking about a lot of food.”
“We can eat some tomorrow,” I say, then realize that sounds like I expect to see him tomorrow. I quickly try to backtrack. “I mean you can take some home tonight and take it to work for your lunch tomorrow. If you want to, that is.”
And this, among a million other things, is probably why I’m single.
His lip twitches, letting me know of his amusement. We eat the food, chat, and make each other laugh. It’s natural, and I notice how much I like being around him. He helps me clean up, and I pack him some food to take home.
But when he leaves, I only get a kiss on the forehead, which is sweet, but I find myself wanting a taste of his lips.
Maybe next time.
“WHEN ARE YOU COMING back?” My aunt Leona asks me when she calls me the next day.
“I’m not sure, I have a few things I need to sort out here before I can leave,” I say, referring to the properties, Darren’s money, and, most of all, Jaxon. I’m not ready to leave him yet. I know it’s stupid, and I know I should just go and not look back, but something is telling me that I should wait and see what happens with him. Maybe the hopeless romantic in me is returning a little, and I don’t know whether to embrace it or tell it to shut the hell up. Maybe it means old me is returning to some degree I don’t know, but I’m listening and trusting that gut feeling I get when it comes to him.
“Okay, honey,” she says, coughing a little. She beat lung cancer once, but there’s a high chance of its coming back. I pray every single day it doesn’t. “I’m just glad the whole court thing is over. I don’t know what I would’ve done if they’d put you in prison. Your mother would roll in her grave.”
“You don’t have to worry about any of that,” I tell her, rolling my eyes at her comment about my mother, who passed away when I was fifteen. “I’m fine, I’m safe, and I’ll let you know when I’m coming back.”
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