Sierra bought a pair of waterproof boots with a minus-forty-degree cold rating and a down-filled hooded coat so that she could continue to walk every morning, no matter the weather. She continued to explore the neighborhood in various directions, and if she avoided Sherwood Park Drive—where she now knew Deacon Parrish lived—that was simply because she wanted to discover new paths.
Unfortunately, not seeing him didn’t stop her from thinking about him—and then she ended up annoyed with herself for thinking about him.
Damn hormones.
At least at work her mind was too busy to wander in his direction. And by the end of her third week on the job, Sierra felt more and more confident that the move to Haven—albeit temporary—had been the right move for her. Even if her brother and sister-in-law remained unconvinced.
Of course, they didn’t know all the reasons that she’d chosen to leave Bane & Associates, and she had no intention of telling them. As a result, Nick worried that she was being impulsive, and while Whitney tried to be supportive, her sister-in-law wasn’t happy that Sierra had decided to move so far away, especially now.
She understood why they wanted to keep her close, but she’d needed some distance from the mistakes she’d made. And while she knew she’d miss her family—and she did—Haven wasn’t so far from Vegas that she couldn’t go back to visit during the six months of her contract. She was also hopeful that Nick and Whitney would come to see her, when their schedules allowed, as her townhouse had plenty of room for guests.
For now though, she refocused her attention on proofreading the pretrial memo she’d drafted for her boss, then clicked the print icon on the screen and leaned back in her chair.
Her lips curved a little as she glanced around at the four walls that comprised her office. It was a small thing, the fact that she had an office—and it was a small office—but it was a big step up from the cubicle that she’d spent sixty hours a week in for the past three years. Not only four walls but also a door that closed, to afford her privacy for confidential phone calls or meetings with colleagues, and even a trio of windows with a view of the courthouse across the street.
A sharp rap of knuckles on the open door drew her attention back to the present as her boss stepped into the room carrying a file box.
She retrieved the pages she’d printed and stapled them together as Brett dropped the box on her desk. “What’s that?”
“The Dornan file.”
Sierra had taken careful notes when he’d briefed his staff on upcoming cases, so she immediately recognized the name. “The fraud case?”
He nodded.
“You want me to write up a sentencing memo?” she guessed, recalling that he’d mentioned he was working on a plea deal with Rhonda Dornan’s defense attorney.
Now he shook his head. “She turned down the deal her counsel negotiated and got a new lawyer. She wants to go to trial.”
“So what is it that you want me to do?” Sierra wondered aloud.
“Prep for the trial.”
She felt a frisson of excitement shimmer through her. She’d been one of the most junior associates at Bane, hired right out of law school, so she wasn’t surprised that she had to start out researching case law and drafting arguments for other lawyers to present in court. But almost three years later, she’d been inside a courtroom only a handful of times, and most often only to deliver documents to one of the partners.
“You want me to assist?” she asked cautiously, unwilling to get her hopes up.
“No,” Brett said. “I want you to take the lead on this one.”
She swallowed. “The lead?”
“Trial starts on Monday,” he told her. “And I’m on vacation next week.”
She remembered him mentioning that, too, but she hadn’t expected the vacation to actually happen. At Bane, she’d known several colleagues who’d booked holidays only to cancel them when something came up at the office that required their attention. Because the work always came first, and any associate who wanted to move up the ranks had to demonstrate that nothing was more important than the job.
Sierra had never had to cancel a trip, because she hadn’t been foolish enough to make plans to go away. But she’d bailed on outings with her friends more times than she liked to admit and had even stood up the occasional date when one of the partners dropped something on her desk at the eleventh hour.
“Disneyland,” Brett said now, returning to the topic of his vacation with a shake of his head. “What was I thinking?”
Sierra smiled. “You were probably thinking that your kids will love it.”
He had three sons, ages ten, seven and five, with his wife of almost fifteen years. A photo taken at their wedding was prominently displayed on his desk alongside another of Jenny and the boys, and he wore a chunky band on the third finger of his left hand. Brett Ryckell was a man devoted to his family and proud to let everyone know it.
“Have you been to Disneyland?” he asked her now.
“Once,” she said. “A long time ago.”
Before her parents had died and her life had been turned completely upside down.
“Any words of advice?” he asked.
“Take lots of pictures.”
“I can do that,” he said, as he started for the door.
She lifted the lid of the box, eager to dig into the files.
He turned and gave her a gently admonishing look. “It’s almost six o’clock, Sierra.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, not sure what point her boss was trying to make in mentioning the time.
“Go home,” he said.
“But...it’s not even six o’clock.”
“The contents of the box aren’t going to change overnight,” he pointed out. “You’ll have plenty of time to familiarize yourself with the case before Monday.”
“Yes, sir,” she said again, reluctantly replacing the lid.
“Don’t misunderstand me,” Brett said. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I don’t want you to burn yourself out before you’ve been on the job a month.”
“I don’t think there’s any danger of that.”
“Still, you should take some time for yourself, go out with friends.”
“I haven’t been here long enough to make friends,” she said, even as she thought fleetingly of the woman she’d met in the grocery store the previous weekend. But despite Sky’s suggestion that they should get together for coffee sometime, Sierra had yet to hear from her.
“Then you should go out and make some.”
She managed a smile. “I’ll work on it.”
Truthfully, though, she didn’t see the point in making friends when she was only going to be in town for six months. That was the length of the contract she’d been offered, temporarily filling in for ADA Jade Scott who was on maternity leave for the same period of time. And even if Jade decided that she wasn’t ready to come back at the end of six months, Sierra wasn’t in any position to stay in Haven beyond that.
She left the office with the file box and made her way to Jo’s Pizza.
She’d heard nothing but good things about the place since her arrival in town, and she figured it was time to try the infamous pie for herself.
Jo’s had a front entrance with a sign over the door that said Restaurant and a side entrance designated as Takeout. Sierra opened the Takeout door and stepped inside, her stomach growling hungrily as she breathed in the scents of garlic, oregano and tomato sauce. If the pizza tasted half as good as the restaurant smelled, then Jo’s would undoubtedly live up to its lofty reputation.
She turned toward the takeout counter and stopped mid-stride, because wasn’t it just her luck that Deacon Parrish was there, flirting with a pretty blonde working on the other side of the counter?
Deacon needed to get a life.
Instead, it was six thirty on a Friday night and he was picking up pizza.
A single medium pizza that he would take home to eat by himself.
Even Lucy, daughter of the infamous Jo, had teased him about his lack of plans as she’d taken his order.
And she was right—he was an old man at twenty-eight.
Well, almost twenty-eight, but that clarification didn’t make him feel much better about the fact that it was a Friday night and he had no plans.
Worse, he didn’t want any plans.
He sincerely wanted nothing more than to go home, put his feet up on the coffee table—because it was his house and his coffee table, and there was no one to tell him to get his feet off the table—and eat his dinner while watching the hockey game on TV.
Well, there was maybe one thing that he wanted more—and wasn’t it a happy coincidence that she’d walked through the door just as his pizza came out from the kitchen?
“Who’s that?” Lucy asked curiously, having followed the direction of his gaze.
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
She shook her head. “I can’t say that I’ve ever seen her before.”
“But you’re about to get her name and number,” he mused. “And if you happened to leave her order slip right here on the counter for your ninth-grade lab partner to take a peek at—”
“No,” Lucy said bluntly. “You want someone to help you get a date? Join match-dot-com.”
“Come on, Luce.”
“No,” she said again.
The phone rang just as his not-quite-neighbor approached the counter.
“I’ll be right with you,” Lucy told her, before snatching up the receiver.
“Hello, again,” Deacon said, grinning.
“Hi,” she replied, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
“Long day for you?” he asked.
She shrugged. “No longer than usual.”
“I thought winter was generally slow season in the real estate market,” he said, determined to engage her in conversation and at least learn her name.
“Sorry,” she said, sounding more dismissive than regretful. “I don’t know anything about the real estate market.”
“You don’t work at Ruby Realty?”
She seemed taken aback by the question. “What made you think that I did?”
He gestured to her attire. “The red jacket is part of their signature outfit.”
“My jacket isn’t red, it’s cranberry.”
Which was exactly what he’d thought the first time he saw her wearing it. “Isn’t cranberry just a more specific shade of red?”
“I have a question for you,” she said, declining to answer his. “If I was wearing a green jacket, would you assume I’d won it at the Masters?”
“Probably not, as women don’t currently compete at the Masters.”
“Touché.”
“So you don’t work in real estate, but you are new in town,” he mused.
“Is that a statement or a question?”
“A statement.”
“Because you know everyone in town?” she guessed.
“Maybe not by name,” he acknowledged. “But I’m sure if I’d ever met you and known yours, I would have remembered.”
She narrowed her gaze on him. “Are you capable of having a conversation with a woman without flirting with her?”
“I am,” he assured her with a wink. “But flirting is so much more fun than regular conversation.”
“Can I give you a word of advice?”
“I’m all ears.”
“Save your flirtatious charm for someone who might be interested, because I’m not.”
“Ouch,” he said.
“You don’t look particularly wounded,” she noted.
“Because I know you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying,” she said.
“You don’t want to be interested,” he said. “But the flush of color in your cheeks suggests that you are.”
“Which can also be a physiological response to irritation.”
“Can be,” he agreed. “But in this case, I’d bet that it’s indicative of attraction.”
She rolled her eyes. “Apparently you’re someone who likes throwing his money away.”
“Okay, let’s forget any kind of wager and instead grab a table so that we can share our pizzas and conversation,” he suggested as an alternative.
“No, thanks.”
“You’ve got that down to a fine art, don’t you?”
“What?” she asked, with obvious reluctance.
“The affected disinterest and casual brush-off.”
“I’m not trying to hurt your feelings,” she said. “But I’m really not looking for any kind of romantic entanglement.”
“What kind of entanglement are you looking for?”
“None,” she told him.
But there had been a slight hesitation before her response—as if she regretted turning down the offer.
Interesting.
Lucy finally finished on the phone and returned to the counter. “Sorry about that,” she said to his neighbor. “Are you here to order or pick up?”
Deacon effected a casual pose against the counter, as if he wasn’t listening for her to give her name.
“Pick up,” she said. “Medium pizza for—”
“Deacon Parrish!”
The excited squeal drowned out the rest of what she said, and he barely had a chance to turn his head to identify the source before a woman threw herself at him—so hard she nearly cracked his ribs. Soft breasts pressed against his chest and teased blond hair tickled his nose, but it was the cloud of Viva La Juicy perfume that took him back to tenth grade, which was, coincidentally, when he’d lost his virginity with Liberty Mosley.
“Oh. My. God.” Liberty drew back a little to smile at him. “I can’t believe it’s you.” She pressed her red-painted lips to his. “I haven’t seen you in...forever.”
“It’s been a few years,” he acknowledged, sliding a cautious glance at his neighbor.
“Last time I saw you, you were just heading off to law school,” Liberty recalled, oblivious to the fact—or maybe not caring—that she might have interrupted something. “And now you’re a big-shot lawyer.”
“Well, the lawyer part is right, anyway,” he acknowledged.
“Where was it you went? Somewhere in New York, right? Harvard?”
“Harvard’s in Massachusetts,” he told her.
Her brows drew together. “I was sure your brother said you’d gone to New York City.”
“I did,” he confirmed. “Columbia.”
“Wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity to slip that into the conversation,” he heard his neighbor mutter under her breath.
Before Deacon could respond, Liberty linked her arm through his and tipped her head against his shoulder. “Obviously we’ve got a lot to catch up on—why don’t we order a pizza and take it up to Lookout Point?”
“For starters, because it’s about ten degrees outside.”
“I’m sure we can figure out a way to stay warm.” The statement was accompanied by a smile that promised a lot more than conversation.
“Also, because your husband would likely object to that plan.”
“I’m not married yet,” she pointed out. “And anyway, Travis is out of town this weekend with his buddies—his last weekend of freedom, he called it, so I figure it should be my last weekend of freedom, too.”
“And finally, because I’ve already got a pizza—” Deacon continued, gesturing to the box on the counter “—and other plans for tonight.”
And while Deacon had some very fond memories of Liberty, he wasn’t interested in revisiting their history—and even less interested in hooking up with a woman who would be exchanging vows with another man in the near future.
She pouted prettily, but Deacon’s attention was on the sexy brunette who was staring at the screen of her phone, pretending not to eavesdrop on his conversation.
Or maybe she really wasn’t.
“How about tomorrow, then?” Liberty suggested hopefully, toying with the zipper of his jacket.
Out of the corner of his eye, Deacon saw Lucy return from the back with another pizza box. She set it on the counter and rang up the order. His neighbor paid for her food, picked up the box and headed for the door.
“No.” His tone was firm and final. “It was nice to see you, Liberty. And congrats on your upcoming wedding, but I have to run.”
“Deacon—wait!”
It was Lucy who called to him this time, and he turned with his hand on the door.
She gestured to the box on the counter. “Don’t you want your pizza?”
Of course he wanted his pizza.
And by the time he raced back to the counter to grab the box and rush out the door again, his neighbor was already gone.