When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss (Aspen Grove)

Chapter 21

A fter packing up my office, and making countless calls to clients, I was ready to leave for the last time. Coming to the tattoo shop tonight was a good distraction. My first client served in the military, and a few years ago his fellow service member died in the line of duty. He wanted his dog tags tattooed on his arm as a tribute to their friendship. My second client is one year sober, and celebrated by getting a guardian angel tattoo on her shoulder.

It’s now past closing, and Mickey and the rest of the staff left an hour ago.

I’m wiping down the reception desk when my phone rings. I frown when I see Martha’s name on the screen, wishing it was Reese since she didn’t text me back after asking where I was, and I had hoped she would stop by or at least call me so we could still talk tonight.

“Hi Martha,” I answer.

“Hey, honey. How are you?” she asks.

“We haven’t heard from you in a few days and wanted to check in,” Colby chimes in.

I toss the cloth I was using to clean into the trash. “Yeah, I’m sorry, things have been busy at the office.” I start pacing the floor, raking my hand through my hair. “I actually quit today to start a new firm.”

Since I started working at Thompson & Tate, Colby was skeptical. Still, he has consistently offered his encouragement. Even after learning about Maxwell’s embezzlement, he encouraged me every step of the way when I dug the firm out of the hole Maxwell put us in.

So, I shouldn’t be surprised when he says, “It’s about damn time.”

“You don’t think it’s a reckless idea?”

“Was it an impulsive decision?” Colby questions.

I scoff. “No, of course not. I’d been preparing for his confrontation for a while now. I’m taking most of my clients and team with me, and I’ve made sure there’s nothing Maxwell can do to stop me,” I state proudly. “I also spoke to my realtor this afternoon, and we found the perfect office with a view of Central Park.”

“There’s your answer, son. Martha and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

“That’s right. We’re so happy for you, honey,” Martha adds.

A sense of warmth spreads through my chest at hearing their unwavering support. This next chapter in my life will be challenging, but having Martha and Colby in my corner will make it easier.

I can’t help but think of Reese. More than anything, I want her by my side for whatever comes next.

“How’s Reese holding up?” Martha asks when I don’t reply. “She’s going to work with you at the new firm right?” I can almost hear the satisfaction in her voice.

“I hope so,” I say, keeping my reply vague.

There’s a brief silence on the other end of the phone before Martha speaks. “Dawson Cole Tate, what did you do?” She accuses me.

I’d like to refute any wrongdoing but I can’t deny that her motherly instincts are spot on.

I rub the back of my neck as I pace the floor. “I didn’t tell Reese about my plan to quit and start a new firm until after things were finalized with Maxwell,” I admit hesitantly.

“That’s not all is it?” Martha presses, like she can sense there’s more to the story.

“I might have asked her to move in with me during the same conversation. She’s living in the house she inherited from her grandparents, but it’s falling apart around her. I just want her to be safe and more importantly with me.”

“Oh, Dawson,” Martha sighs, her tone tinged with disappointment. “I know you’re used to having things your way, but a healthy relationship means including your partner in the decision-making process.”

“Martha’s right,” Colby interjects. “Communication is key, and the primary reason we’ve stayed together. Her opinion matters more to me than anything else, and I always want to know what she thinks before making a decision, especially when it directly affects her.”

“You’re incredibly driven, but sometimes you jump into situations without considering the impact on those around you. Put yourself in Reese’s shoes. You’ve just started seeing each other, and in a single day, you’ve not only upheaved her job, but are asking her to upend her life by moving in with you.” Martha pauses, giving a moment for her words to settle. “I’m glad that you know what you want, but it’s important to consider Reese’s needs. Otherwise, you risk pushing her away.”

When Martha puts it that way Reese’s reaction at the office earlier makes more sense.

Control has been one of my coping mechanisms for as long as I can remember. Now, I’m beginning to understand that being in a relationship means I have to be willing to compromise if I want to make things work with Reese, even if it’s against my instincts.

I consider what Martha said about seeing things from Reese’s perspective. I wouldn’t have been so polite about having my job upended and being asked a life-changing question without having time to process it.

The last thing I want is to risk losing Reese because of my inability to compromise and give her what she deserves: an equal say in our future.

“You’re right, Martha, I have to… “I trail off when the chime of the bell on the front door rings.

Dammit. I must have forgotten to lock up.

My expression darkens, ready to unleash on whoever it is, but I stop in my tracks when I see Reese standing in the doorway. Her red hair spills down her shoulders, and her emerald eyes are fixed on me. My gaze moves down her body, a soft smile passes my lips when I notice she’s wearing her white sneakers with sunflowers drawn on the sides.

“Dawson, are you still there? Is everything okay? Martha asks over the phone.

“Reese is here. Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course. Just make things right so we can meet her soon,” Martha says, her tone tinged with hope.

“Sweetheart, he’ll be fine,” Colby interjects. “We’ll talk to you later Dawson,” he says before hanging up.

I tuck my phone in my pocket, never taking my eyes off Reese.

“Hi,” she offers with a small wave.

“You’re here,” I say, stunned.

“I am.”

When she didn’t text back earlier, part of me was worried she had decided to end things but didn’t know how to tell me. Now I’m worried that she’s going to do it in person.

I’ve made up my mind that if that’s the case, I’m going to do everything in my power to change her mind. Because seeing her here solidifies that she belongs to me. There’s nothing more important, and I’m prepared to put everything on the line if that’s what it takes to keep her in my life.

“What are you doing here?” I ask cautiously.

She takes a deep breath as she glances around the shop. “I’d like to get a tattoo,” she states confidently. “That is if you’re still open.” She gestures around the empty tattoo parlor.

I stare at her shocked—those were the last words I expected to hear.

It takes me back to the first night she was here. Her bubbly personality and natural charm were a breath of fresh air from my mundane existence. So much has changed since then, but the one thing that remains the same is the unrelenting need to draw her close.

“Really?” I ask.

“Yes.” She strides toward me. “Someone once told me tattoos that have a personal meaning are the best kind. I’ve thought long and hard about it, and I want one right here.” She motions to her wrist.

“What tattoo were you thinking?”

“A compass, similar to this one.” She reaches out to trace mine with the tip of her finger. “But smaller so it fits on my wrist, with sunflowers around it.”

I nod, the design already taking shape in my mind. “Follow me,” I say, guiding her to my station. Once we’re inside, she takes a seat in the tattoo chair and places her wrist face up on the armrest. She silently watches me as I gather my supplies, she winces when I wipe her wrist with a cold antiseptic wipe.

“You sure about this, Red? Getting a tattoo can be painful, especially here,” I lightly touch her wrist. “The skin is thin, and the nerves are more sensitive.”

She nods with a smile. “I’m positive.”

I retrieve a black surgical marker and crouch down on my stool, bending over Reese’s arm to draw. Most tattoo artists use tablets to create their designs, however I prefer drawing freehand on the skin as it gives me more creative freedom.

With slow, consistent strokes, I begin to outline the compass.

“Why this particular design?” I inquire, unable to hide my curiosity.

“Sunflowers were my grandpa’s favorite flower,” Reese says, her tone carrying a hint of longing. “When my mom got sick, she planted a handful of sunflower seeds in the backyard, but they didn’t sprout. One of my first memories was the following year when I woke up on a Saturday morning to find both my grandparents looking out the back window with tears in their eyes. My grandpa held me up so I could see the beautiful cluster of sunflowers that had bloomed, and told me it was a sign that my mom was watching over us.” I pause to glance up to find Reese has tears gleaming in her eyes. “The sunflowers are a way to keep their memory alive,” she adds softly, her voice cracking slightly.

“It’s a beautiful tribute, Red. I’ll do my best to honor their memory.” I lean forward to place a chaste kiss to her temple. “Thank you for trusting me to do this.”

Reese wipes away a stray tear with her free hand. “There’s no one else I’d rather share this moment with. I know you’ll create something special.” She rests her head as I return to outlining the tattoo. “The compass is for me,” she whispers a few seconds later. “A reminder to trust myself to navigate through life’s challenges and stay true to my own path. There’s also someone very important in my life who has a similar one and I like the idea of wearing a symbol that has significance for both of us.”

I briefly glance up from my work again. “He feels the same way,” I murmur, swallowing the lump in my throat, forcing my attention to the design taking shape on Reese’s wrist—the vintage compass has four cardinal points, encircled by a ring of sunflowers, the petals wrapping around the curve of her wrist. Once I finish outlining, I prepare the tattoo gun, and Reese squeezes her eyes shut, tensing up when the needle pierces her skin for the first time.

I hesitate, worry etched on my face. “Should I stop?”

“No. It stings, but I can handle it.” She gives me a confident grin, trying to mask the discomfort with a brave front.

I’ve tattooed hundreds of clients, but watching her suffer the slightest bit of discomfort makes me second-guess every stroke of the needle. What drives me forward is knowing this tattoo is important to her, and the trust she’s placed in me to get it right.

The rhythmic buzz of the tattoo machine creates a steady hum as I stay focused on making sure each line is precise. It’s difficult since I’m hyper-aware of every shift in Reese’ posture, and each soft exhale when I shift the needle’s position. When my gloved hand brushes against her skin, it sends an electric current rippling through me. Even the thin material can’t stop the visceral reaction I have to her. After what feels like hours, I finally finish, and when her emerald eyes shift to mine, the weight of our unspoken feelings hangs in the air.

I gently clean the area with another antiseptic wipe, and apply a layer of ointment to protect her new ink. Reese’s gaze moves to her wrist, a smile brightening her face. “It’s perfect, Dawson,” she says in awe.

“I’m glad you think so.” I carefully wrap the tattoo, her pulse quickening with every touch.

My fingers linger, and I can’t help lifting her hand to my mouth, placing a tender kiss below the area that’s covered by the protective wrap.

“I spent the afternoon with Grams.” Reese speaks up. “She told me I should sell the house.”

“Are you going to?” I ask hesitantly.

“Yes, I think I am.” She says, her fingers twitching in my hold.

A part of me is relieved that Georgia suggested Reese sell. Whether she chooses to move in with me or find her own place, I’m glad she’ll no longer be living in an unsafe environment. Still, I recognize this must be a difficult decision to leave the home she’s lived in her whole life.

I give her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

She chews on her lower lip, her gaze locked on mine. “There is one thing.”

“Which is?” I press when she doesn’t continue.

“I’m going to need a place to stay.”

“Is this your way of telling me you want to move in with me, Red?” I grin, my excitement barely contained.

“If the offer still stands,” she says hesitantly.

I motion for her to stand, guiding her by the hand to sit on my lap. When she’s seated, I wind my hand around her waist, nuzzling my nose into her neck.

“It does,” I assure her. “But if you’re unsure we can wait to take that step.”

My conversation with Martha & Colby made me see that as long as I have Reese in my life, everything else will fall into place in its own time.

Reese shakes her head. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than with you,” she states.

“But I’m paying rent. I don’t want a free ride, even if you’re my boyfriend.”

“ Boyfriend , huh? I like the sound of that.”

There’s no way I’m letting her pay rent, but we can figure out a way for her to contribute if that’ll make her happy.

She runs her fingers through my hair as she snuggles closer. “Something interesting happened at Oak Ridge today—two things actually. Grams had a new cashmere blanket that she kept on her lap the whole time I was there, and on the way out, April, one of the receptionists told me that an anonymous donor paid for all the residents’ fees for a year. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that now, would you?”

I give her a wry smile. “That’s incredibly generous.” I say, sidestepping her question. “I’d wager the person who did it must care a lot about someone who lives there. In fact, I’d go as far to say they must love someone related to that resident… her granddaughter maybe?”

Reese sits up in my lap, blinking in shock. “Dawson?” she utters, hesitating as if afraid to voice her question.

I graze my knuckles across her jawline, my gaze meeting hers. “I love you, Reese Taylor.” I state with conviction. “I love you so damn much, and I can’t imagine a life without you in it.”

She places her hand over mine, keeping it pressed to her cheek. “I love you too, Dawson, and now that we’re together, I’m never letting you go.”

“Never,” I vow.