Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

MAY, EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER

KATE

" H mmm, I think I've decided what to go for. The lobster thermidor looks great. What about you, sweetheart?" Tom slides his hand across the table and places it on top of mine. I look down at the tender connection, but I feel no affection.

What I do feel is terrible.

Tom is one of the kindest men I've ever met, and he deserves far more than I can offer him. He wants a wife and family, and he definitely wants to move things along with us after nine months of on-and-off dating.

I keep putting the brakes on because I know that's not what I want. Never any of those things.

I look down at the menu again, none of the words on the page making any sense. "I can't decide," I reply quietly, shifting my hand from underneath his to turn the menu card over. I could've done it with my other, but this seemed like a good excuse to back away from him once again.

He clears his throat at the loss. I know he can feel it—that I'm not into this, that I'm pulling away.

Our relationship has run its course.

I'd tell him that he shouldn't take it personally if that wouldn't come off as insanely insensitive, but it's true—that's what I've always done. I'm not a serial dater, but typically, if I meet someone I like, I'll go on a few dates, enjoy some sex, and then be on my way before he catches feelings.

With Tom, I've gone further than I have with anyone in years. He's every bit my type, tall and handsome and an incredibly talented lawyer. We reconnected at a friend's wedding last year, having known each other since college, and to be honest, when he asked me out, I thought, why not? What harm can a bit of fun be?

But here I am, about to break his heart. And I feel shitty about it.

"Why don't you get the lamb, and then we can share? It was between that and the lobster for me," Tom interrupts my thoughts.

His handsome face is lit softly by the romantic setting and candlelight. This is a really lovely restaurant in downtown Seattle. He's brought me here a few times, and he never holds back from treating me, making me feel even worse.

"Yeah, sure," I say, passing the menu back to the waiter as he approaches our table and Tom confirms our order.

Once back alone, Tom pulls our wine from the ice bucket and refills my glass.

"You look stressed out." He raises an inquisitive brow at me. "Are Mark and David riding you hard?"

Mark and David Preston are brothers and joint owners of my law firm. They're hardheaded lawyers, but they never "ride me hard," given that I'm one of the top-performing litigation lawyers in Washington state. I should be, too. I'm a workaholic, and it's all I've ever known.

Our waiter returns with bread and olives and sets them on the table. I reach across and pop one in my mouth. They really are the superior snack—something my best friend, Felicity, and I bonded over.

I shrug. "It's intense but no different from normal."

Tom's brows pinch together. "So what's eating at you?"

Ugh, I really didn't want to do this now, right as we're about to eat, but honestly, when is the right time to break it off with someone?

I take a deep breath and look him in the eyes for what feels like the first time since he picked me up tonight. And after this, I'll likely be calling myself an Uber back home.

"I, I just?—"

"It's me, isn't it? Well, I mean us." Tom sits back in his chair and tips his head to the ceiling. Closing his eyes, he shakes his head slowly.

"I'm so sorry, Tom. I just can't do this anymore. It's not…"

"Please don't tell me you were going to say ‘it's not you; it's me' because that makes it even worse."

I flatten my lips and press them together. "I wasn't going to say that. I was going to tell you it's not what I want and that we both want different things. You want the two-point-four children and the picket fence, and I want…"

What do I want exactly?

"You want to be who you've always been," he finishes for me, twisting his water glass around in his hands as he leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. "You want to get to the top of your profession without any distractions."

My stomach knots at the way he says it. There's no bitterness to his tone, but he hits close to home with his words—that's exactly what I've always said I've wanted, and it's absolutely what I've gone after.

"Kate must conquer the world."

"Kate, you can't have the brains you do and let them go to waste."

"Kate, you were at the top of your class in Yale Law. Do not let this slide."

"You have our legacy to upkeep."

Lecture after lecture from my parents has drilled into me the only route I know in life.

I look up at Tom and nod, taking a sip of wine. "I'm really sorry."

He sits back again and folds his arms across his chest just as our dinner arrives. "Might as well eat this, and then I'll drop you back at your place."

The rest of my "date" with Tom could be best described as awkward.

As always, he was polite and even offered to foot the bill, which ran into hundreds of dollars. But I couldn't allow him to do that, so I paid my share before he dropped me back at my apartment.

And that's where I am now, having changed into a pair of sweats and an old hoodie. I then watered all of my house plants and made myself a hot chocolate with whipped cream.

Folding my feet underneath me, I sit on my couch and reach for my sketch pad and calligraphy pen set. Pinks and purples today.

I started calligraphy last year when I took a random course with my super-gifted niece, Ava. In my day job as a lawyer, it's hard to get creative, and there's always that itch in my brain that wants to express itself.

Maybe it's a way to switch off since my mind is constantly on the go, searching for the next thing.

But no sooner have I started than I'm interrupted by my cell phone vibrating on the coffee table. I reach over and grab it. "Violet" lights up the screen. I can't remember the last time I referred to her as "Mom."

"Hi."

"Kate, how are you?"

You'd never think she was calling her daughter, more her assistant or colleague.

I set my sketch pad to the side and pick up my mug, holding the warmth in my hands while I prop the phone between my ear and shoulder.

Might as well get comfortable.

"Pleased it's the weekend. How are you both?"

"Why? Has work been intense?" she asks, entirely glossing over my question.

"No. Just ready to relax. I broke it off with Tom tonight, and that was intense."

"What do you mean?"

My brows knit together in confusion. "About Tom? Well, I?—"

"No, no. I mean about work. It should always be intense."

I set my mug down and take hold of my phone. I'd happily throw it across the room if I didn't think it would break.

"It is intense, but I'm used to this kind of pressure. It doesn't mean I don't need downtime."

"Your father and I never had downtime; that leaves a chance for everyone else to catch up," she guffaws.

"Not everything is a competition, Violet," I say quietly, shifting on the couch and mindlessly playing with the tassels on the soft blue blanket draped over my knees.

"Huh, well, it is in the firm we run."

"Did you call for a reason?" I abruptly change course.

"Yes. Your brother is returning home for the weekend next week. It's an impromptu visit, and since he's been in Dubai for six months, we thought you'd want to see him. Only him, though; Ava is staying with her mom."

I'm surprised Easton hasn't told me he's coming since we're pretty close. Between us, we've shared the burden of pressure to succeed, handed down by our parents. My older brother has definitely succeeded, though, owning a multi-national private equity firm.

"I'll be there," I say, taking another sip of hot chocolate.

"Good. We're having a get-together with a few friends, so be sure to bring something nice with you."

I roll my eyes. "A get-together," in my parent's book, is basically a black-tie cocktail party.

"Okay."

"And nothing too short, Kate."

"Nothing too short," I repeat, already considering the tiniest dresses I have in my closet.