4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

December 8th

Nellie

“ W hat about the one on the slide?”

I swallowed my bite of scone and snatched the photo out of Leighton’s outstretched hand. Damn, we were cute. Still are. Judging by the butterfly clips and floral-print romper, she must have been eight or nine at the time, which would have made me four or five. That explained the stuffed Barney toy beside me in the sand.

“I’m crying.”

“So?” she asked without sparing a glance.

“So, I don’t want to recreate a photo where I’m crying.”

“You were always crying about something,” she mumbled under her breath. Not quietly enough. “On second thought, I don’t think I have anything to wear for that one, and you probably don’t have a purple dinosaur toy lying around, right?”

“Right.”

She tossed the photo into the pile of rejects. “Onto the next.”

“Sorry, am I paying you to work or look at family photos?”

We both turned toward the freckle-faced ginger poised beside the display case full of homemade cakes and cookies.

If Austin was a snack and a half, Bowie was a fun-size treat—made in Britain.

Since taking over his grandmother’s tea shop, Bowie had turned Althea’s into a staple amongst tea lovers across Los Angeles. Until recently, when her designs had started taking off, Leighton had worked here full-time. The soft-spoken, short king would always have a special place in my heart because along with a job, he had offered my sister something else: friendship. A family, really. It was a small relief to know that long before I’d moved to L.A., Leighton had already had some family nearby.

“Actually, you’re not paying me at all,” Leighton said, smiling sweetly. “I volunteered.”

When Bowie had mentioned that he was short-staffed for the holidays, Leighton had offered to fill in as needed. Unfortunately, one of the shifts had coincided with our arranged time to look through the box of family photos, and because we were both swamped with work, she’d insisted I just tag along. That was fine by me—there were worse things than spending the afternoon chowing down on Bowie’s teacakes and crumpets.

“When you’re finished pouring over”—Bowie paused, eyes widening when his they landed on a photo of a bare-assed baby Leighton waving around a wooden spoon—“baby bums and Barney, could you please clear the dishes from table three. We’ve got a book club coming in at two.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” I interrupted. “If you and Mom make me read another historical Highlander romance for book club—”

“But those are my favorites.”

“I can’t understand what they’re saying. Not even when I read it.”

Bowie chuckled. “Don’t worry. My mums live sixty kilometers from Edinburgh and none of us can make out what they’re saying either.”

She held another photo out to me, which I covertly slipped to the side. We had been pouring over our memory boxes for going on two hours now, separating pictures into three piles—yes, no, and maybe. Thankfully, Leighton had yet to realize I had a super-secret fourth pile of my own, the “burn immediately so they never see the light of day again” pile.

“What about this one?” Leighton asked, turning a photo, first toward me and then Bowie. It was a picture of the two of us, along with our family dog, Murphy, on the porch swing at our parents’ house. “Could we borrow your porch swing for a few hours, Bo?”

“And your dog?” I added.

He heaved a sigh. “This feels like a trick question. Like when Nora tells me she doesn’t want anything from In-N-Out, but really she’s expecting Animal Style fries.”

Leighton gently smacked his chest. “Always get the fries, Bo. Always.”

His lips tipped up on one side. “Fine.” His blue-tipped finger jutted out, reminding me that I was desperately in need of a manicure. The Bubble Yum pink had chipped off three of my fingers. “I like the one with the two of you by the Ferris wheel.”

“Me too!” I exclaimed. Some of my fondest childhood memories had come from spending spring break at our Aunt Holly’s house in Ocean City, New Jersey. My first kiss had happened on that Ferris wheel.

“We can take it at the Santa Monica Pier.”

“Works for me.” A lightbulb went off while I polished off the last of the teacakes. “Mm, what about high tea?”

“As in cannabis and chamomile? Count me in.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Although, I was willing to revisit that idea at a later date. Leighton had indulged in what our grandmother referred to as the “devil’s lettuce” for years, mostly to ease her PCOS, and she had finally convinced me to try it out when I’d moved to L.A. The first and only time we’d smoked together had ended with me passing out in a lawn chair in hers and Killian’s backyard.

“I meant for my office holiday shindig. There’s a hotel in Pasadena that does a Victorian-themed high tea event for the holidays featuring a string quartet and an appearance from Queen Victoria herself.”

Or whatever actress they hired off Central Casting to play her.

“Sure,” she said, drawing out the word. “That could be fun.”

Uh-oh. I knew that tone. It had haunted me ever since the summer when I’d trimmed my own bangs. She might as well have said, “I told you so.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. That’s not your ‘nothing’ face.”

She shrugged. “It’s just a little . . .”

“Elegant?” I supplied when she trailed off. “Classy, luxurious?”

“Stiff.”

“It is not stiff.” She arched a brow. Fuck , I hate it when she’s right. More like I hated when I was wrong. “Okay, so maybe it is, but what else would you expect for a group of corporate attorneys?”

“Lawyers still like to let loose.” Her lips pinched together. “Look, whatever you decide will be fine. It doesn’t have to be some expensive, stuffy affair. They probably get enough of that in their everyday lives, don’t you think?”

“I guess.”

She wasn’t wrong. Contracts and litigation accounted for a small part of being a lawyer these days, especially in a city like L.A. Schmoozing made up for the rest. As a firm that catered to high-profile celebrity clients, we were constantly expected to represent the firm at film screenings, exhibit openings, and concerts. Just last month, I had met Hozier backstage at the Hollywood Bowl, and yes, he really was amazing—and gorgeous—in person.

Maybe I was overthinking the holiday party. Then again, it might be just the thing to set me apart from the rest of the junior associates, especially the sniveling suck-ups who were there on their daddy’s dime. After the last few weeks, I needed a win.

“Okay, the Ferris wheel picture makes twelve,” Leighton declared. She lifted her teacup toward the twinkle lights strung above us. “Sis, I believe we have a calendar.”

“To us,” I said, mirroring her action with my own cup.

“Cheers.”

We slurped our tea like motherfucking ladies. Queen Victoria—the real one—would have been horrified.

Austin

This is it. This is how I die.

I was hiking the Hollywood Hills with my assistant and her latest boy toy. I had always pictured something a little more mundane and a lot less . . . true-crime podcast.

But no, this was what I got for saying yes to a surprise outing.

“Almost there,” Laric shouted from at least ten yards ahead of us. “Come on, you two.”

Sloane smiled. “Right behind you, babe.”

The moment he rounded the curve of the path, her smile soured. She bent forward, collapsing to the ground on all fours. “Fucking hell,” she whisper-shouted, careful not to alarm her new beau. “Why the fuck would anybody do this for fun?”

I dropped down beside her, leaning back against the rocky shelf as I tried to catch my breath. “Exercise gives you endorphins.” Breathe. “Endorphins make you happy.” Wheeze. “Happy people—”

“Don’t you dare quote Legally Blonde to me at a time like this.”

The jewel dotting her belly button glistened in the sunlight when she stripped down to her sports bra and used the discarded shirt to wipe her face. I envied Sloane’s confidence. Both of us were big bitches, but she wore her stretch marks like badges of honor.

“I’m never going to forgive you for this one,” I told her after I finally caught my breath. Whoever had come up with hiking deserved to die a slow and painful death, preferably while being chucked off the top of a mountain.

“That makes two of us.” She waved when another hiker leapt over our outstretched legs before jogging up the trail. “C’mon, that’s just showing off.”

“The sex better be worth it.”

Her pause told me everything I needed to know.

“It is,” she eventually answered.

“Sloane—”

“It will be. We just . . . haven’t found our rhythm yet.”

I could tell there was more, but I didn’t want to press her. To say that Sloane had a nasty habit of picking the wrong men would be an understatement. Her relationship history read like a bad soap opera. There’d been the dog walker who enjoyed having food eaten off his dick, the therapist who had stolen some of his clients’ trauma to use in his book of poetry, and worst of all, the stand-up comedian. There was a special place in Dante’s seventh circle of Hell for amateur comics.

Sloane didn’t have a type, other than emotionally unavailable men.

Funnily enough, Laric seemed like an okay guy, minus the intense, outdoorsy stuff, but clearly, the chemistry between them was lacking.

“He’s the first good guy I’ve dated in like . . . forever. I should be grateful for that. I should want to strip him down and ride his face at all hours of the day.”

“But you don’t.” It wasn’t a question.

She circled her arms around her knees, drawing them back toward her chest. “Maybe there’s something wrong with me.”

My heart sank. In this moment, she didn’t look like my badass rock star of a friend, but rather a lost, little girl searching for her place in the world. Tattoos and piercings, and in my case, a Santa Claus costume, couldn’t protect you from those kinds of thoughts.

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. “Nothing is wrong with you. No more than the rest of us, at least.”

She shoved me away with a half laugh, half groan.

“Okay, enough of this personal feelings shit. Tell me more about the calendar project for your girlfriend.”

“You know perfectly well she’s not my girlfriend.”

“ Yet. ”

“We’re supposed to meet up later tonight to discuss details—locations, times, dates.”

“Ah! You said dates.” I rolled my eyes. “Love is in the air.”

“How can you tell from this high up?”

It really was one hell of a view, even from the gravel path. There were a lot of stereotypes about Los Angeles—many of which were, unfortunately, true—but most people didn’t realize just how beautiful the city was, especially from above. From here, the L.A. skyline looked like a series of building blocks, surrounded on either side by a blanket of homes and palm trees.

“Have you asked her out yet?”

“No.” I shot her a cheeky grin. “Maybe there’s something wrong with me, too.”

“Well, at least you admit it.”

“Shut up,” I told her before devolving into laughter again. Every introvert had at least one emotional support extrovert in their lives, and Sloane was mine. We had a lot more in common than I thought either of us wanted to admit, too.

“Everything okay over there?”

Our heads pivoted toward the shirtless man waiting at the top of the path. Damn, Laric could get it. If it didn’t work out between him and Sloane, I wouldn’t mind giving him a go. On second thought, I would rather be alone for the rest of my life than date a hiker. Lumberjack, fine—I looked great in flannel—but someone who climbed hills for fun? Absolutely not.

“Uh, yeah,” Sloane said around a smile. “We were just taking in the spectacular view from down here.”

“It’s a little bit better at the top of the hill.” When neither of us moved, he shuffled over to Sloane’s side. “On second thought,” he said, planting himself on the ground beside her. “I’ve never seen it from down here, so what do I know?”

Hmm, maybe there was hope for Laric after all.

“Wow, you were right.” He cuddled closer to Sloane, peppering the top of her sweaty head with kisses. “That is an incredible view.”

He wasn’t talking about the skyline.

It took me twice as long as usual to walk from the Lyft to my front door. The stiffness had already begun to settle into my thighs. So much for getting some work done tonight. I had a blind date in the bathtub with Dr. Teal.

The petite blonde balancing on a ladder outside my fenced-off patio took me by surprise. “What the hell are you doing?”

Nellie barely spared a look over her shoulder. “Decorating your house.”

“I told you—”

“That you decorate for you and that you don’t see your outdoor lights, I know.”

My eyes homed in on the bare strip of skin above her leggings when she stretched an inch or two higher, reaching for the edge of my roof. The sun had set almost an hour ago, and yet here she was, stringing up blue, green, and purple bulbs across the eave.

“But you know what? I do.” She carefully descended the ladder, the hard plastic of her cast clunking against every metal rung on her way down. When she finally reached the sidewalk, she whirled on me. “I want to look outside with my mug of hot cocoa and see pretty lights. And since you won’t let me pay you for the photos—”

“It’s only fair since I broke your—”

“And you insist on making up for breaking my foot, even though that wasn’t your fault.” She stalked closer, stopping only when we were toe to toe. “This is the least I can do.”

A smile crept across my face. “Thank you. It looks perfect.”

“ Almost perfect,” she said. “But it’s still missing something.”

She scurried over to a plastic tub brimming with decorations and bent over to reach inside. I blew out a breath and turned away to conceal my hard-on. What a fucking creep. Here she was, putting up holiday lights on my house like Santa’s favorite elf, and I could barely contain my erection.

“This should do it.”

By the time I turned back around, she was already halfway up the ladder. “Wait, you’ve already done enough,” I told her. “Please, let me do that.”

Ladders made me nervous on principle; beautiful women on ladders downright terrified me.

“I’m plenty capable, thank you. Besides, it needs to be just right.”

“But your foot—”

“Is fine. You seriously need to stop treating me like I’m breakable. Besides, it’s going to look great, I promise. Almost—”

I was racing across the patio before it even happened, sore muscles long forgotten. One second, she was tacking a nylon Santa to the roof shingles, and the next, she was falling backwards, hand searching for something to catch her.

And she found it.

The breath whooshed out of both of us when she landed in my arms. For a moment, we both stayed there just like that, clinging to each other and trying to catch our breath. Her nervous gaze bounced between the ladder and the hands woven tightly around my neck, just beneath my beanie. I knew she could feel my ragged pulse and that it matched her own. There was also no use hiding the erection prodding her side, not when her lush curves were pressed so close to me.

“Are you okay?” I wheezed.

She nodded.

“Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head.

“I’m going to need your words, Janelle.”

She swallowed and loosened her grip. “I’m okay,” she answered softly. “You can put me down now.”

“Not yet.”

I wasn’t ready to let her go just yet, and she wasn’t complaining. Eventually, I walked us over to her side of the courtyard and dropped her down into the wicker chair on her patio—her favorite reading spot. I had seen her tear through more than a few thriller novels while cozied up in that chair.

“That was . . . exciting,” she said.

“That’s one way to put it.”

I crouched beside her, gauging her face for any sign of distress but finding none. Surprise, maybe, coupled with a hint of embarrassment, but otherwise, she seemed okay.

That makes one of us.

My heart had plummeted out of my asshole when I’d seen her teeter on that ladder. That was twice now I had watched her fall, and both times had left me breathless.

Because I couldn’t imagine going to sleep tonight without touching her, without knowing that she was okay, I lightly dragged a finger across her cheek, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Nellie’s doe eyes blinked up at me, silently pleading with me to say something, do something. To take the lead. Interesting. Something told me that Nellie wasn’t used to letting go of control, and yet maybe that was exactly what she needed.

Maybe that was what I could give to her.

“Why are you all sweaty?”

“Huh?”

Her finger traced a path across my chest. “You look like you mud wrestled a mountain lion.”

“I, uh, went for a hike.”

Her nose scrunched up. “I hate hiking.”

I reeled back with surprise. Nellie was the textbook image of athleticism. “Miss jogs five miles a day?”

“Only on flat ground.”

Her eyes shot up when I captured her hand in mind, trapping it against my chest.

“I think that’s enough decorating for the night,” I told her.

Her eyes narrowed, lips flattening into a thin line. “But the Santa.” I looked over my shoulder when she pointed at St. Nick dangling from my roof. “He’s crooked.”

Ironically, the decoration had been designed to look like he was hanging off the edge, but Nellie had only nailed one of his hands to the roof before her tumble. It wasn’t perfect, and yet it was better.

“I don’t know,” I told her. “I kind of like him like that. Seems more playful and . . . messy.”

“Messy?”

“Not in a bad way. I find that usually, when somebody knows they’re being photographed, they get stiff. Like they’re putting on a show.” She squinted up at Santa while mulling over my words. “The best photos are usually candid. Fun, a little bit messy, but a beautiful mess. They tend to capture a piece of us that we often keep hidden.”

“A beautiful mess,” she repeated.

“But I can straighten him out, if you want me to.”

“No,” she said with a smile on her face. “I think I like him exactly how he is.”

I had a funny feeling that she wasn’t talking about Santa Claus anymore.