Alex comes into the kitchen in his worn jeans and a white pullover sweater that shows off his muscular chest and arms. He kisses my cheek, grabs a mug from the cabinet, and pours himself a cup of coffee.
"We now drink so much coffee we have to have two coffee pots going at once?" he asks and looks back and forth between Jake and I—the coffee whores of the house—for an explanation. He sips his coffee and spits it into the sink. "What is this crap?"
Jake points at me.
"It's the coffee you sent me while I was living in town." I chuckle and shake my head in disbelief. He makes a romantic gesture that touches my heart, and can't remember it? Makes me wonder what other things he's forgotten. I jump down off the bar stool, refill my travel mug, and kiss him on the cheek. "I'm off to meet with Jack to go over the plans for the new law office."
Alex follows me into the garage and opens the driver’s side door to the Porsche for me. "Thanks, babe, I was wondering how I was going to pull that off with all this stuff in my hands."
I lean inside and place the coffee mug in the cup holder, toss my briefcase into the passenger seat, and stand.
He grabs my elbow before I can slide behind the wheel and turns me to face him. "That was not a proper goodbye kiss," he growls, his hand sliding into my hair as his mouth consumes mine. He tilts his head, his tongue coaxes my mouth open, and he dives in. Electric sparks shoot through me.
"Oh, please do that again when I return," I murmur, my eyes still closed.
"That's just a taste of what I plan on giving you when you come home."
I turn away, and try once again to get in my car, or risk having sex on the hood.
"Hey, when did I send you all that coffee?" he asks.
I shake my head. "Well, first, it wasn't the amount in there," I say pointing back to the kitchen. "The bags and bags of it in the pantry were delivered after I moved back in…did you forget that, too?"
"I must have, but I wasn't exactly on my game at that time, either. I just don't know why I would have bought that brand, especially if I'd tasted it first."
"Maybe your taste buds were not on their game, either. Besides, it's not so bad, once you get used to it. I drink it all the time." I peer at him, his eyebrows pulling tightly together, and a frown on his face. "Hey, is something the matter?"
His gaze darts to mine, and it seems to take a moment for him to comprehend what I've said. "Uh, no. No, just racking my brain to remember, and it's frustrating me. I'm sure it will come to me, and I'll feel like an idiot." He kisses me again and smacks me on the ass. "Now, go meet with Jack, and get back here. There are some very naughty things I want to do to you, Miss Tate."
"Why, Mr. Stone, you must stop making my panties so damp this morning."
He chuckles. "Hurry home." Then he closes the door.
Even though I've haven’t been away from the office long, it feels strange being back here. Probably because I have no clients, and my case, while still in deliberations, is pretty much over. My meeting with Jack is very productive, and he's given me a lot of great ideas, and carte blanche to renovate the space as I think best. I jot down some notes about where I might want to put up walls, but I love having the space open. I'll call the architect who restored my row house in town after John tried to burn it to the ground and see if he can come up with some plans.
My phone rings, and Reyes's name pops onto the screen, which causes my stomach to flip. I haven't spoken with him since the night he dropped me off at home, and he and Alex had a pissing match over me. It's awkward—even more so than when he kissed me, which I still haven't told Alex about—now that Alex knows Reyes has feelings for me.
"Hey, Reyes, what's going on?" I ask, and try to sound as natural as possible, not that it ever works.
"Hi, Kylie. Where are you?" he asks, his voice low, and toneless.
"At the office, why?"
"Matt asked me to call. The jury's back."
My stomach does a few flips. I get the particulars from Reyes, hang up, and call Alex. "You need to grab a suit for me and meet me at my office. The jury's reached a verdict, and we need to be in court in an hour. You should probably let your family know, in case they want to be there, too."
"Okay, any suit in particular that you want?" Alex asks, and I can hear hangers scrape along the metal bar in our closet.
"No, you pick it, just get here as soon as you can."
Fifty minutes later, and with ten minutes to spare, I sit at the prosecution table next to Matt. "Any insider information on which way they landed?"
Matt shakes his head. "No, but I hate when juries are out this long."
"I usually love it—but then I'm usually sitting at the other table. Keep in mind, we had Thanksgiving during this time, so there's four days they didn't have deliberations."
"True," Matt agrees. "I guess we're about to find out."
Judge Franklin takes his seat on the bench and calls the courtroom to order, then brings in the jury.
The foreperson, a woman in her fifties with big round glasses that take up a good portion of her face, stands and hands the verdict form to the bailiff. Franklin unfolds it, reads the decision, and then closes it again. "Will the defendant please rise."
Hamilton and Wells stand, and I notice James is a bit unsteady on his feet, and his hands grip the edge of the table for support.
"Madam Foreperson, will you please read the verdict?"
"Yes, Your Honor." The foreperson takes a deep breath, the verdict form shaking in her hand, and sweat covers her face. "We find the defendant, James Wells, guilty of first degree murder."
I turn to Alex and throw my arms around his neck. "We did it," I whisper.
"You did it." He clings to me, burrows his head into my neck, and isn't letting go, even when Judge Franklin bangs his gavel and calls for order.
I step back before the judge finds me in contempt and throws my ass in jail for the night. I glance at Alex's family, all with tears in their eyes, and smiles on their faces. Leigha grabs my hand and squeezes it. They're not just Alex's family—they’re my family. And nothing feels better than standing here, watching the sheriff place handcuffs and leg irons on James Wells, never to step foot outside a prison again, knowing I did this.
For my family.
For Alex.