Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
“You want to run down to Franklin’s Butcher with me?” Marcel elbows Carter. “We’ll get some steaks to celebrate.”
“Sure.” Carter screws his face into a frown. “I don’t have to ride on the back of your bike, do I?”
Marcel rolls his eyes. “That’s Charlotte’s spot.” He winks at me. “Forever.”
Butterflies wake up and swoon inside me. Every damn time. “You know it.”
After they leave, I head upstairs to change and tie my hair into a high ponytail. I run over my list of open cases, mentally adding and subtracting things from my ever-expanding to-do list. It would be such a relief to have someone else help me keep track of so many of these details.
Don’t get ahead of yourself.
My hand strays to my stomach. Generous parental leave. That’s crossed my mind multiple times. I have a plan for all of my clients in case I get pregnant—
You’re getting ahead of yourself again.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I finish tugging on a pair of yoga pants, grab my sneakers, and head downstairs.
In the kitchen, I pull a container of blueberries out of the fridge and go outside.
Chickens cluck, squawk, and waddle toward me as I step into the side yard. “Come on,” I encourage, tossing a few berries at them. “Backyard. You’re backyard chickens,” I remind them. “No more free-ranging if you’re determined to explore the highway.”
They cluck in disagreement but follow me to their backyard enclosure, where I toss the rest of the blueberries and lock the gate behind them. “Behave.”
A loud buzz from the front of the house pulls me away from the chickens. I turn and cock my head, listening as the sound grows closer. Murphy’s bike.
Smiling, I hurry out front to meet him.
“Where’s Heidi?” I call out after he turns his bike off.
“A few minutes behind me.” He lifts his chin. “Your chucklehead fiancé texted to say we’re celebrating your courtroom domination.”
Laughing, I duck my head. “He’s exaggerating.”
“He promised steaks. He better not have been exaggerating about that.”
“No.” I tip my head back and stare at the darkening sky. “We probably won’t be grilling outside much longer. Better enjoy it while we can.”
“Pshh.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Marcel will be out here grilling until the snow’s up to his balls.”
I smother my laughter with a hand over my mouth. “You’re probably right.”
The low rumble of Marcel’s truck turns our heads toward the driveway. Behind his truck, I spot Heidi’s Hellcat. “Gang’s all here.”
“You don’t mind us coming over last minute?” Murphy asks.
“Never,” I answer immediately. “Feels wrong to celebrate without you guys.”
He hooks his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. “Now that your trial’s over, are you ready to work your magic at the adoption?”
I reach up and squeeze his shoulder. “No magic necessary. It’s going to be fine.” I pause. Never give an absolute yes to a client. It’s not a done deal yet. “As soon as I can get a date set with the judge.”
He nods but still seems troubled.
“It’s not because of you. It can take a while to get on the judge’s calendar. Totally normal.”
“Okay.”
Marcel’s truck swings into his usual spot.
My brother jumps down from the truck first. “Hope you’re hungry, Char. He bought like half a cow.”
Marcel grabs two full brown paper bags from the back seat. “He’s exaggerating.” He leans down to kiss my cheek. “Miss me?”
“Always.”
“Barf,” Carter murmurs on his way past us.
“Bring these in and set them on the counter,” Marcel says, shoving the bags in Carter’s arms.
“Yeah, yeah, bossy.”
Heidi’s car shuts off and Murphy goes to help her out.
“I brought chicken!” Heidi shouts.
“Thicken!” Alexa repeats from her car seat.
“What’d you do that for?” Marcel asks.
“We’re always eating your food,” Heidi explains. “I thought I’d be polite and bring some for once.”
“You didn’t have to.” I give her a quick hug. “But thanks.”
She holds up a small brown paper bag. “I brought hot sauce too.”
Murphy groans.
“Fuck.” Marcel clutches his stomach. “You remember that time you made us ‘barbeque chicken’ with—”
“Straight ghost pepper sauce.” Heidi hangs her head in shame. “I felt so bad.”
“I thought I was going to die,” Marcel says.
“I thought my stomach was going to exit my ass,” Murphy adds.
Heidi’s cheeks redden. “I was trying to do something nice. You guys were working all day. And I was really proud of myself for learning how to cook. I knew you liked chicken wings…”
“She bathed about ten pounds of wings in this death-by-Satan’s-tongue pepper sauce,” Murphy explains. “We didn’t want to hurt her feelings, and we were so hungry that we ate it. Even though we were on fire.” He holds out a fist like he’s grasping a cup and mimes gulping it down. “We poured milk, water, soda, anything we could get down our throats. Nothing helped.”
“Oh my God.” Laughter spills out of me until tears leak from the corners of my eyes. “Poor Heidi.”