From: Paul Winters
Subject: I owe you an apology.
Birdy stared at the screen.The world didn’t tilt or freeze or spin—it just paused. Like even time held its breath, eager to know what she was going to do next.
“Who’s that?”
Birdy held the phone away from her sister. She wasn’t ready to open it or open up about her relationship with Paul Winters. Not yet.
“It's just work.”
Birdy sat back down on the corduroy loveseat. Her phone's interface was dark in her palm. The snow picked up again outside Kitty’s studio window. It swirled in delicate eddies past the glass, making a pretty picture. Neither sister noticed.
Birdy's thumb pressed the HOME button to bring the phone back to light. Her index finger hovered over the email from Paul. She didn’t want to read it. She really didn’t want to care what it said.
But she tapped it open anyway.
Birdy,
I want to acknowledge my tone earlier. It was unprofessional, and for that I apologize. I hope we can move forward constructively—for the good of the case. Let’s focus on what matters.
– Paul Winters
That was it?That was all? No joke? No philosophical bent?
She read it again. Slower this time.
His words were the same. No warmth. No sincerity. Not even ayou were right, I was wrong. Just a chilly little nugget of courtesy wrapped in legalese. A classic non-apology, the kind designed to absolve the sender without actually admitting any guilt.
Her stomach twisted—not from heartbreak but from heat. From the sting of irritation creeping up her spine. She'd wanted him to apologize. But she'd wanted it to be real. She'd wanted his words to matter, like they had in the chat. She'd wanted his words to fix what was broken.
He’d treated her like a courtroom opponent instead of a human being. And now he wanted to play nice? No, thank you.
She exhaled sharply through her nose and locked the phone with a snap.
“Was it him?” Kitty asked, peeking over from the easel.
Birdy stood and smoothed her hands down her sweater. “It was.”
Kitty wiped her paintbrush clean, eyes twinkling with curiosity. “And?”
“It was nothing.” Birdy grabbed her coat from the peg. “Just a weak excuse for an apology. All professionalism and no substance.”
“And yet you look like a woman about to make a rash decision.”
Birdy grabbed her purse. “I am. I'm going on a date.”
Kitty blinked. “You’re going on that date?” Then she squealed—an actual full-body squeal—as she dropped her paint rag and bounded over. “Oh my gosh! Okay—okay—you pull up the dating app and I'll find you something to wear!”
“I have clothes in my own closet.”
“Clothes that scream you're a shark. You'll wear something of mine. Something that says confident but soft. Smart but fun. Should we go jewel tones? You look great in jewel tones.”
Birdy let her sister drag her toward the tiny spare closet Kitty used for canvas storage—now apparently a makeshift wardrobe. She wasn’t smiling, not exactly, but she wasn’t frowning anymore either.
Paul Winters could keep his cold, careful apology. Birdy had better things to do than wait around for a man who couldn’t handle her shine. Tonight, she was going to remind herself that she still could turn heads—even if it was just to prove a point.
CHAPTERTWELVE
