When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss (Aspen Grove)

Chapter 13

R eese left my office two hours ago, and I haven’t managed to get a single thing done apart from pace the room. It doesn’t sit right with me that we left things unresolved. I’m usually the guy with a solution for any situation, and it’s frustrating that this time, I’m at a loss about what to do next.

It took every ounce of willpower to pull away from our kiss. Reese’s mouth tasted like sweet temptation, and when she brought her lips to mine, it reassured me that she wants me as much as I want her. Yet, as soon as her body molded to mine, the worry crept in that I could cause her more harm than good.

I’m her boss, for crying out loud. If anyone should be listening to common sense, it’s me.

With Reese, that’s easier said than done.

My mind is a chaotic mess, so I call the person who’s helped me navigate my most difficult challenges.

“Hi honey.” Martha’s voice sounds groggy when she answers the phone.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” I ask.

“Colby left a few hours ago to go to the local booking facility to meet a client. I tried waiting up for him but fell asleep on the couch watching Only Murders in the Building . It’s a good thing you called. Any longer and I would have had a stiff neck for days.”

I chuckle. “Happy I could help save you from a chiropractic disaster.”

“Would you like to tell me what’s bothering you?”

I take a seat on the edge of my desk, drumming my fingers against the polished wood. “What makes you think something’s wrong? Can’t I just call to check in?”

“Of course you can, but you’re my son.” Her voice softens. “It’s my job to know when you’re not okay, whether you tell me or not.”

When Colby and Martha adopted me, I didn’t feel comfortable calling them mom and dad. Those terms are tainted by the memory of a birth mother who abandoned me and a nameless man who never bothered to be involved in my life. Colby and Martha mean so much more to me than that. They provided me with the stability and the love of a family I never thought I’d have.

Although I avoid parental terms, I’ve never objected to being called their son. It’s a reflection of the strong bond we’ve built. The sense of belonging and support they’ve given me.

“Dawson, I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s on your mind,” Martha says, the sound of the TV humming in the background

“It’s nothing.”

That’s a lie.

“Why don’t you tell me anyway?” Martha encourages.

One thing’s for sure—she’s never been one to shy away from helping me, even if I’m not the most receptive. I’ve come to appreciate her unwavering determination and am grateful to have someone who cares enough to stand by me even when I’m being stubborn.

I rub the back of my neck, considering what to share about Reese. “A few months ago, a woman came into the tattoo shop to hide from an awkward first date.” A small smile crosses my face as I remember seeing Reese for the first time. Her pouty lips parted as she breathed heavily, her red hair cascading around her face in wild, untamed waves. When she looked at me with those emerald green eyes, I was mesmerized by their warmth. “She was beautiful, and her nervous rambling only added to her charm.”

“Poor thing. She escaped a terrible date, only to be stuck with your cranky behind.”

“You do know you’re supposed to be nice to me, right?” I tease.

The distant sound of running water and the clink of glasses comes through the phone. Martha is likely multitasking and washing the dishes while we talk. She doesn’t like to stay still while she’s on the phone.

“I don’t sugarcoat the truth, honey. You can be a handful, even on your best days.” She laughs, seemingly entertained by her own words.

“Glad I amuse you,” I deadpan.

“Does this mystery woman have a name?” Martha asks, ignoring my sarcastic tone.

I consider not telling her, but I can already predict how that would go.

“Reese,” I say hesitantly. “She left the tattoo shop without giving me any other information, and three months later, I found out she’d recently started working at Thompson your voice says it all.”

When I first went to live with the Tates, I was skeptical of their motives. It was summer, and I stayed holed up in my room, waiting for them to send me back. Every afternoon, Martha brought me a ham and cheese sandwich because the social worker told her they were my favorite. After seeing the sketchpad overflowing with designs I took everywhere, she got me a new one and a collection of pens. She was in tune with my emotions, anticipating what I needed before I did, and that’s never changed.

“Why don’t you tell me more about Reese?” she prompts.

I sit in my office chair, propping my feet up on the desk. “She’s studying for the LSAT and plans to go to law school. Unlike me, she has no interest in corporate law. She wants to have a career advocating for kids.”

“Like Colby,” Martha says fondly. “She sounds like a wonderful person.”

A soft smile plays on my lips. “She is,” I agree.

Far better than I deserve.

“Have you told her about your past?” Martha broaches the subject carefully.

“She knows the basics.”

Martha sighs her relief. “That makes me very happy to hear. I know how difficult it is for you to open up and share parts of yourself with others.”

Usually, it’s a challenge. I even struggle with sharing certain things with Colby and her, especially about my past, even though they’ve known me since I was fifteen. But with Reese, it feels different. I want her to know more about me—the real me.

“Did you catch the part where I said I’m her boss?”

Martha huffs in irritation. “Dawson Cole Tate, you’re a high-powered attorney in New York. I’m well aware of the intimidation tactics you use to get your way. So, I don’t buy it for a second that you couldn’t find a way around a non-fraternization policy if you wanted to.”

“Reese is only twenty-three,” I add.

“Are you trying to talk me or yourself out of liking this woman?” Martha retorts. “Sometimes the heart defies all logic. You might not want to listen or fully grasp what it’s trying to tell you, but from experience, it’s best to trust in the process.” Her voice softens. “You deserve to be happy, Dawson. If there’s a possibility you’ve found someone who brings out the best in you, don’t let her slip between your fingers. There’s no telling if you’ll ever get a chance like it again—”Martha’s voice fades, followed by the sound of a door opening and Colby’s voice announcing that he’s home.

“I’m putting you on speakerphone,” Martha tells me.

“Okay.”

“Hey, son. Everything okay?” Colby asks me. “It’s not like you to call so late.”

“That’s what I said,” Martha chimes in. “He needed some advice. He met a woman named Reese and really likes her,” she whispers.

“You do know I can hear you, right?”

“I was just looping Colby in, that’s all.” Martha feigns innocence.

“All I can say, son, is that when it comes to matters of the heart, Martha knows best.”

“Aww, thanks, love,” Martha croons, followed by the distinct sound of a kiss.

I wrinkle my nose. I’ll never get over their displays of affection. “Well then, I’ll let you lovebirds go. Talk to you later.”

“We love you,” they say in unison.

“Love you too.”

When I hang up, I walk over to the window. It’s dark out, and the skyline is dotted with lights from the neighboring buildings and billboards in the distance.

I think about Colby and Martha’s relationship, which is defined by enduring love and centered around prioritizing each other’s happiness.

Tonight is the perfect example: after a long day, Colby came home to Martha and greeted her with a welcome home kiss and a listening ear. On days when Martha deals with a challenging client, Colby brings her flowers and arranges a spa day to help her unwind. They’re mindful of how to brighten each other’s day and provide constant comfort and support. Even after twenty years of marriage, they’re more in love than ever, their affection growing with each passing year.

I’ve had the privilege of seeing firsthand what a healthy, long-term romantic relationship looks like. I’ve never entertained the thought of what it could be like to experience something similar, until recently.

Reese has changed everything.

If there’s a possibility you’ve found someone who brings out the best in you, don’t let her slip between your fingers.

Martha’s words keep running through my head.

The only thing I know for sure is that my day improves exponentially when Reese is there. Even the smallest interactions have me in better spirits. When she’s having a bad day or struggling with something, I want to be the one who makes things better. And the prospect of waiting until Monday to see her again is disconcerting.

After a quick search through the employee files, I find her address and then head down to the parking garage to get my bike.

An hour later, I’m sitting across from Reese’s house in Brentsville, a neighborhood in Brooklyn. From my understanding, she lives alone, and it’s unsettling to think she calls this part of town home.

The outside of her place is rundown, with cracked bricks, crumbling front steps and a rusted gate that is barely hanging on. Nevertheless, the yard is freshly mowed, and the leaves from the maple tree in the corner have been raked into a neat pile. Even though it’s well past midnight, the light in the living room is on.

As I stride up the driveway, the crisp autumn air cuts through my leather jacket, a reminder that fall is in full swing.

I rap on the door. “Reese, it’s Dawson,” I call out.

I hear shuffling footsteps and the faint click of a deadbolt being turned before the door cracks open and Reese peeks outside.

Her hair is piled loosely into a bun and she’s not wearing a stitch of makeup, giving me an unobstructed view of the freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose.

Damn, she’s beautiful.

Her eyebrows knit together when she sees me. “Dawson, what are you doing here?”

“Are you going to invite me in?”

Reese chews on the inside of her cheek and glances over her shoulder before turning her attention back to me. “Did I forget to take care of something before I left the office?” she asks, disregarding my question altogether.

I try to get a better glimpse inside, but she keeps the door slightly open, leaving only a narrow gap of light.

“After you left, it was impossible to focus on anything else. I didn’t want to wait until Monday to see you again, not with how we left things.”

Her expression softens and she gives me a small smile.

The distant sound of a honking horn has me glancing around, a reminder that she still hasn’t invited me inside.

“Can I come in so we can talk?” I ask.

“Why don’t we go somewhere?” Reese suggests. “I’ll be right out.”

Alarm bells go off in my head as she tries to close the door. I wedge my shoe in the gap to keep it open, making it clear we’re not going anywhere until I find out the reason she doesn’t want me to come inside.

“Red, please let me in,” I urge her.

She eyes me warily, sighing in defeat. “Fine,” she mutters. “But keep an open mind, okay?”

Reese’s words don’t reassure me, and when she finally opens the door, I step past her into the entryway, not willing to risk her changing her mind.

As soon as I cross the threshold, I’m met with a cold draft. The air is so frosty that I swear I can see my breath. That’s when I see Reese bundled up in a hoodie, layered with a jacket, wearing fuzzy socks and fingerless gloves.

What the hell?

Before I can ask her about it, my eyes wander to the living room on the left, which appears to be in the middle of a remodel. One wall has a fresh coat of gray paint, complemented by a refurbished bookshelf in the corner and a well-worn loveseat. The other half of the room is covered in peeling wallpaper and cluttered with piles of construction materials and tools. The place is a hazardous construction zone, not a suitable living environment.

My lips tighten into a thin line. “In the middle of a renovation?” I ask, glancing over at Reese.

She’s standing in front of the closed door, her face a blank slate, intently watching my response to seeing her place. “Sorry, it’s such a mess. I was going to wait to do this room until I could afford to paint the entire thing, but I found a gallon of gray paint on clearance at the hardware store last month and couldn’t pass it up.” There’s a tick in my jaw when she rubs her hands together like she’s trying to stay warm. “The sofa isn’t anything special, but it belonged to my grandparents, and I picked up the bookshelf at a nearby yard sale…” She trails off when she notices my incredulous stare.

“Why is it so cold in here?” I decide to start with the most straightforward question.

Reese’s cheeks flush and she tugs her jacket tighter, trying to shield herself from the biting cold.

“The furnace is out,” she explains.

“Since when?”

She averts her gaze, as if wishing I would disappear.

“A while,” she answers vaguely.

Goddammit. Guilt washes over me as I think about how she’s been coming here every night while I’ve been enjoying the comfort of my brownstone in Brooklyn Heights, with heated floors and a fireplace for particularly cold nights.

She hugs herself tightly. “This is my childhood home.” It makes me want to hold her in my arms, but I wait for her to finish her story. “My grandpa kept it in good shape, but after he passed away and Grams moved to an assisted living facility, I couldn’t keep up with maintaining it. The furnace is just the latest repair, adding to the mounting list of issues I’ve been trying to manage.”

I rake my fingers through my hair, forcing myself to remain calm. “What other issues?”

She lets out a humorless laugh. “You might want to grab a pen and paper. A pipe recently burst in the bathroom and I had to pay a fortune for an emergency plumber to fix it. The windows are drafty, which makes the already chilly conditions worse; the floorboards in the corner of my grandparents’ old bedroom are rotting; and the spare room has a mold problem.” My stomach drops at the mention of mold while she ticks the problems off on her fingers. “Oh, and I’m pretty sure there’s a mouse living in the kitchen wall because there are small holes and signs of gnawing around the kitchen cabinets.” It makes sense now why she’s been working two jobs. We pay well at Thompson & Tate, but it sounds like it’s not enough to cover all her expenses, including unexpected costs like plumbing repairs.

It’s partly my fault for not pressing her harder for answers. I let my attraction to her take precedence, making me blind to her struggles. Now, I have to find a way to set things right while being careful not to scare her off in the process.

If I were in her position, Martha and Colby would be here, taking care of the repairs and restoring the place to livable conditions without even being asked.

Reese doesn’t have anyone other than her Grams.

At least not that she’s mentioned. I know her grandpa is gone, her mom passed when was little, and she never knew her dad.

“Does Noah know about your living conditions?” I ask.

She stiffens, her posture rigid. “No, I haven’t told him,” she admits. “We usually study at his house or meet up at the library. I’ve never invited him over.”

It feels like the wind has been knocked out of me when the realization that she really has been dealing with this all on her own sets in. She’s putting on a brave face, pretending it doesn’t bother her that the home she grew up in is in shambles, but I can see the strain behind her forced smile and the pains she’s trying to conceal.

I can’t stand the distance any longer. I step forward with my arms open. I’m relieved when she doesn’t hesitate, stepping into my embrace like it’s where she belongs.

“I’ll pay to replace the furnace.” It’s a practical solution. I can afford it, and she shouldn’t have to worry about something so basic when she has so much else going on.

Reese lifts her head, narrowing her eyes. “I’m not letting you do that.” Determination hardens her expression. “I don’t want your charity. I’ve managed perfectly well on my own. Truly, I appreciate the offer, but I can’t accept it.”

I hold her tighter, afraid she’ll slip through my fingers if I let go. I’m used to steamrolling over obstacles in my way, but I’m learning with Reese that patience is key. That doesn’t mean I won’t take advantage of any loopholes if they present themselves.

“I’m willing to compromise,” I concede, but her sidelong glance tells me she’s not convinced. “You’ve got two choices: either come to my place, or I’ll get you a hotel room.” I shake my head when she tries to object. “Staying here tonight isn’t an option. This place is an icebox, and you don’t have any way to keep warm. And no, a jacket and some fuzzy socks don’t cut it.”

She grunts in irritation but doesn’t pull away. “I’ve managed without a furnace for almost two months,” she says, though her shivering makes her argument less believable.

I brush a loose lock of hair away from her face and lean in to press my forehead against hers. “Please do this for my peace of mind.” My tone is almost pleading as I gaze into her emerald eyes. “You’re not in this alone, Red. Not anymore.”

She releases a shuddered breath, her eyes softening as she leans into my touch. “I’ll stay at your place, but only for one night. Tomorrow I’ll figure something else out.”

I relax my shoulders and take a deep breath, grateful she chose the first option. I’m not ready to say goodbye to her tonight.

There’s no chance I’m letting her come back here in this condition, but that’s a discussion for another time. This place holds sentimental value for Reese, and she’d never forgive me if I tried to have it condemned or renovated without her consent. For now, I need to make sure she’s safe and comfortable, and that means getting her out of here.

I press a kiss to her forehead. “Do you have a backpack?”

She nods. “Yeah, why?”

“Go pack it, and we’ll head out.”

She gives me a wary glance as she steps away.

Ten minutes later, she comes out of her bedroom with a black backpack slung over her shoulder, her hair down, framing her face. She’s in jeans, a hoodie, and hot pink sneakers with hand-drawn orchids on the sides. with a black backpack slung over her shoulder.

“Ready to go?” I ask.

The sooner we get out of this hazard zone, the better.

“Yeah,” Reese says, a small shiver running through her.

I usher her out of the house as quickly as possible. She locks up and follows me into the street, pausing when she sees my bike.

Her mouth drops open. “ You ride a motorcycle?”

A playful grin tugs at my lips. “Yeah, I do.”

“Guess that explains why you asked me to bring the backpack,” she says, motioning to her shoulder.

I take the helmet from the lock box and put it on Reese’s head, gently tugging the straps to make sure it’s secure.

“Where’s your helmet?” she asks.

“I only have one, and your safety is the most important.” I trail my fingers across her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin against mine. She leans into my touch, and for a heartbeat, the world fades away as she gazes up at me with eyes that reflect the longing in mine. Reluctantly, I pull back, struggling to mask the urge to keep her close and never let go.

I clear my throat. “It’s late. We better get going,” I say as I swing my leg over my bike. “Hop on.”

My night just took an unexpected turn, and I can’t shake the feeling that tonight might change everything between Reese and me.