“As I said, keep your dick in your pants. Don’t cohabitate. Swing into the office later this week with a retainer fee so I can process everything for you. Well, unless you want to do all of it yourself.”
“Hell no. You can have my entire damn savings, just make it all go away.”
Grady chuckled, leaning forward in his seat. “Only enough to make it binding; I’m not profiting on your stupidity.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I’ll have you fill out some paperwork, then we’ll see about scheduling a court appearance and you can explain your drunken night to the judge.”
Groaning inwardly, he imagined having to retell this again. In a staid courtroom. In front of strangers. “All that damn work to end this charade, when all I had to do before was scrawl an illegible signature?”
“You messed up, you have to pay the consequences.”
What a fucking mess. He hopped up and headed for the door. “Thanks,” he said, genuinely meaning it this time.
Grady followed him to the door, then swung back to the bookshelf. He studied the diversity of spines, then grabbed out a book with a ripped guy in dog tags and little else, and handed it over.
Zane scowled, his eyes drawing up from the smutty cover to Grady’s beachy blues. “What the fuck is this?”
A smug-ass grin, Grady shrugged, “Don’t judge a book by its cover. It’s about a cranky Navy SEAL that finds happiness with a snarky schoolteacher.”
Looking at his new attorney like he was fucking nuts, Zane tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.
Grady shrugged, “Maybe you can explain what the fuss is over Navy SEALs. Asher thinks it’s the abs.”
“Nah. More the untamable rogue they think they can domesticate.”
“Damn, your ex really did a number on you.”
“There’s a reason I don't date much.”
“Well, when you find one about a small-town lawyer that bunks with a man-child and has a psycho overbearing mother and is a moron when it comes to falling for the right woman, let me know.”
“Make this annulment happen, and I'll commission one if I have to.” Managing to find a lightness in the weird-ass day, Zane ducked out the front door and hopped in his truck, tossing the book onto the passenger seat.
Freya dumped her backpack on the front porch and dropped onto the rocker next to Sophie. Leaning back and closing her eyes, she brought a full breath in, and slowly let it out. “I like the new chairs.”
“You picked them out,” Sophie’s voice was light and kind and everything Freya needed.
“And they are going to look stunning with the Turkish blue paint, snow white trim, and walnut accents.” Easing with the rhythm of the rocker, the rustling of the forest branches in the afternoon breeze, Freya smiled softly, “I changed my mind on the color for the door and shutters. Celery.”
“Celery? Are you sure?”
Nodding, Freya painted the image in her mind. “Or grass. Whichever speaks to you more.”
“Huh. Celery or grass. I like it.” Sophie’s voice brightened further, “Oh, I was going to call you, but I didn’t want to interrupt your weekend. Your stuff came.”
Eyes popping open, Freya felt the thrill wash over her. “What a relief. I love charcoal, but I miss color and the messiness and the rebellion of paint.”
“I suspect you'll keep stealing my dresses even though yours have arrived?”
“Hell yes. I look great in them. Help yourself to mine anytime.”
They rocked again in silence. For all the weirdness of the day, Freya relaxed. Like the pace since, shit, since even before Pippa’s wedding, since the broken engagement with Giovanni, since she had decided to come home… months of frantic chaos had eased to a pleasant rhythm. No tours on the schedule for at least a few months, a roof over her head, no car meant she had an excuse to not go anywhere… first time in years she wasn't beholden to anyone.
“How was your weekend?”
Well that didn’t help. “Weird.”
