as my assistant worked from the other side of the country. The shifting mosaic of words and letters would look like gibberish to anyone else, but to me they revealed the early rumblings of my idea.
If I could gently tip her over the edge and into it.
“Family law.” She cocked her head to the side. “I guess?”
“I don’t know any that are registered in this state.”
Or cost less than $750 an hour.
She frowned. I couldn’t imagine what she’d need a family-law attorney for, alone in her coffee shop. Seemingly alone in the world, anyway, if her fascination with my family last night was any indication. Something was amiss here. I hated a mystery I couldn’t solve in under an hour.
“What kind of problem is it?” I asked.
Her eyes clouded for a moment. She studied me as intently as if we’d never spoken before. As if I hadn’t been sitting in this exact spot in her coffee shop for the past several days, sometimes taking over her office, and always drinking her coffee.
“Ah . . . a problem.”
“I have a friend you could speak with for general counsel, but he can’t represent you here.”
“Is it a paid consultation? I’ve called around, and most consultations require a fee.”
“You wouldn’t have to pay, no.”
But I would.
She frowned, glancing outside, her gaze drawn to the east where the river spilled out of a canyon in frothy waves. Walls of granite and trees were visible from here. The mountains, so imposing, surrounded Pineville on all sides except the reservoir. Even that way, bluish peaks were visible in the distance, poking up like the jagged edge of a saw.
Ornery mountains. I liked them.
“Would you like to talk to someone?” I asked when the silence stretched over a minute long.
“No. I have someone I can talk to. Just don’t . . . don’t want to.”
With a heavy sigh, she grabbed her phone, tapped out a number, and disappeared into her office. Trying to turn my thoughts away from her predicament, I returned to my spreadsheet. My thoughts had scattered.
Who could she be talking to?
Why did she need an attorney?
Telling myself it wasn’t my business didn’t help.
When she returned, her lips were pressed in a resolute line. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, but didn’t ask. When her voice broke the quiet again, I looked up. She frowned at the machines along the counter. The strings that held her apron around her back had come loose, and the thing fell limply in front of her. Her black T-shirt declared I found my first love at the Frolicking Moose and showed a picture of a coffee cup beneath it.
She whirled around, icy eyes unreadable.
“I looked,” she said slowly, “and I don’t have an operations manual. But, you know . . . maybe I should.”
With that, she spun on her heel, walked down the hallway, and disappeared up a set of spiral stairs. With intentional effort to suppress a grin, I turned back to my work. Two hours of drywall awaited me at Grandpa’s, but first I needed to make a call that would keep my VA busy creating a logo and some graphic designs for the website.
Things progressed beautifully.
9
Bethany
Utterly infuriating.
Maverick, of course.
His pristine certainty. The unwavering confidence that couldn’t quite be labeled as arrogance, but almost. The fact that he always had a point—and one that worked well—made me want to throw a coffee mug at his head. I stalked upstairs, annoyed with Maverick, although he’d done nothing wrong. Except be right, exist, and make points that poked holes in my fragile denial.
I stuffed that away and turned my thoughts back to the shop. The decision of whether to keep Ellie and Lizbeth couldn’t be put off. I’d certainly done an admirable job of avoiding it the last couple of days, however. No matter how I looked at it, the fates of the girls and the coffee shop were entwined. Dad’s dream had to live or die, and so did the girls’ chances at a better life.
No, this wasn’t just Dad’s dream anymore. It was mine now. I’d inherited it. I couldn’t fix a lot of things, like the fact that he’d never meet his grandchildren, see me work as a real estate agent, or walk me down the aisle of what would be a very chic wedding.
But I could let his dream of the Frolicking Moose Coffee Shop live on.
Lizbeth and Ellie were curled up on the bed. A book filled Lizbeth’s hands,