Everett bit the bullet.
The second the words were out of his mouth, Everett turned and walked away. He made it to within a few feet of his truck before he turned back for another look.
Just one more look at Sophia Kent couldn't hurt.
Who was he kidding? It hurt like hell. Which was why he quickly got behind the wheel and put as much distance between them as he could.
A half hour later Everett let the glass door crawl to a loud close behind him, announcing his arrival. His best friend-turned-attorney, Mike Kennedy was sitting behind his desk, per usual, eating God knows what.
Everett scrunched his nose and tried to wave away the briny, ammonia smell lingering in the air, procrastinating as long as he could before he met Mike’s searching gaze. Of course Mike would want an update on their latest recon.
Mike heaved a loud sigh before clearing his throat. "Well?"
Everett glanced over at him now. Sure enough, his raised eyebrows nearly reached the expertly edged hairline of his fade.
"I saw her." Everett shrugged. His tone was low and matter-of-fact, like he'd confessed something shameful.
"Okay, and?" Mike wound his hands in circles, urging Everett to spit it out already, but Everett just sort of stared through him.
"Dude, chill." Everett ran his hand over his close-shaven hair. "I told you. She was there. She accepted the letter."
Professionally they partnered up seven years ago, but their friendship had continued unbroken since elementary school. After high school, Everett started flipping houses alongside his grandmother, Babs while Mike hopped a plane to Berkeley in the Bay Area to study law at Boalt, now known as the UC Berkeley School of Law. By the time Mike passed the bar, Everett had a few dozen flipped properties under his belt, and Babs had handed over the reins to him and his sister Zora. When eventually they needed legal counsel to make sure all their i’s were dotted and t’s were crossed, it only made sense for Mike to be the missing piece to their puzzle, since the trust factor was already built in.
Plus, there was no one Everett would rather have guarding his six when the battle for Patton Place came to a head. Mike hated the Harmans on principle almost as much as Everett did, not even including having Everett's back. Babs might as well have been Mike’s grandmother too, for all the years he spent playing, eating, and spending the night at her house.
He and Mike shared a brotherhood, which required thick skin for days with thin patience. Together they'd seen each other through the company's highest highs and lowest lows, and still their work ethic was closely akin to fuel in an engine. Countless workdays spent finalizing land purchases and orchestrating building projects turned into late nights at bars, hoisting beer mugs to toast the action high points of whichever hoop game was on the big screen.
In between those nights, Mike played the field with a revolving roster of women, who all ended up getting permanently benched. Everett mostly played it safe when it came to matters of the heart. He never figured out exactly how to play the game without getting hurt, so he mostly sat out.
Which was why Everett hesitated now to tell Mike any more about Sophia Kent.
Today was one of those days he hoped Mike wore his thickest skin, because Everett was feeling his own patience thinning, or Mike’s.
Still without saying a word, Everett headed straight for the floor to ceiling window facing the east side of the building.
"Do I even want to know what happened?" Mike asked.
His question was met with silence while Everett stared over the horizon at the peak of Old Mount Hood in the distance. His burgeoning green city of parks and bridges and bike paths—as beautiful in the day as it was under the neon lights of the thriving nights.
On most days, watching the city come to life would calm him, but today Sophia Kent had crawled in under his skin and settled there. He wasn't sure what bothered him about her, but he didn't like it.
He was looking out the window, but she was all he’d been able to see since he left her on the porch. How her hard nipples poked out her shirt. Those full lips. And those hungry eyes.
Just thinking about her, he could feel himself harden, and he adjusted himself before he rolled his head back to crack his neck. Sweat beaded on his forehead and scalp, triggered by more than just the sun streaming through the glass. Suddenly suffocating, he yanked open his top shirt button, shaking his head.
"Is it hot in here, or is it just me?" He asked, turning to face his friend.
Mike's head popped up mid-bite into a forkful of salmon.
Everett grimaced and wrinkled his nose. "Tell me you didn't microwave fish at work, you Neanderthal. It smells like shit in here."
Unfazed, Mike chewed at a glacial pace before he responded. "So glad you're back, what with the winning attitude and all. It went extremely well, I take it?" He set his fork down into the Tupperware container.
The ice broken, Everett sat in the chair and tossed the papers onto his partner's desk. He twisted his neck to crack it again and sucked in a deep, cleansing breath, but they didn't soothe him. He was still antsy and unhinged. Unable to sit still, he got back to his feet and finally answered Mike.
"It's done," he stated.
Mike examined him for moment, as if determining his next words carefully, then shrugged it off. "Don't sound so enthusiastic. We've only been working on this...oh, let’s see...for like the last two years. It's what you said you wanted, and I'm handing it to you." He leaned back in the chair and tilted his head.
"I'm fine," Everett muttered. He flashed a quick smile and hauled out his phone for a welcome distraction.
"Fine, as in, you're functioning on all cylinders? No. Fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional? Yes. You're clearly not fine, Ev. Might as well let me in on it now. I'll end up suffering the brunt of it later anyway."
Everett replaced the phone in his back pocket.
This was why he went to Mike. He never bullshitted or beat around the bush when it came to important things. Today, it was what he needed—the truth, straight up, no chaser. Mike had more than earned the right to be Everett’s trusted counsel in business. Because that's what this was—business. Isn't it?
"I know. It's just..."
"It's just what?" Mike pressed, but there was a hint of annoyance in his tone Everett couldn't dismiss.
Heaviness washed over him, head to toe, and his chest tightened as he weighed the pros and cons of letting his friend in on this one. Why was he so conflicted about it, anyway? She accepted the letter. Nothing happened.
In his mind he played “what-if,” figuring out how many ways things could go wrong. But, overwhelmingly, every step of what happened pointed to the fact that he just needed to just say it, if for no other reason than to get it off his chest.
The pressure of Mike's patience weighed on him. As a friend, he would wait for Everett's answer. As his in-house counsel, he would make a case for the benefit of the company. Either way, the silence was stifling and he needed to just...breathe.
Breathe.
Everett exhaled, coughed, and sucked air back in. He smiled and shook his head. "It wasn't him," he finally muttered in a near-whisper.
Mike jolted up and clasped his hands on the desk. "I don't get it. You knew Austin must have given up the property. Otherwise why would he have sent you a copy of the filed divorce decree? He's basically proving you were right all along. He's removed himself from the equation."
"Everything about this still feels wrong, though." Everett began to pace, unable to put his finger on the most bothersome part.
"No. He was wrong." Mike clarified. "His whole fucking family was wrong," he said, now stabbing his finger on the desk. "It's why we've put in all these hours to get Babs’s house back."
As if it dawned on him, Everett stalked right up to the desk and lowered his weight onto his knuckles. "You're goddamned right. His family. Not Sophia's. She had nothing to do with it. You didn't see her. She’s nothing like him." It all boiled down to her again. Whoever Sophia Kent was, she didn't deserve to pay for the wrongs her ex-husband's family committed a generation ago.
Everett let his chin drop to his chest for a moment, but when he lifted his chin again, he didn't feel any less conflicted. The knots in his stomach tightened.
"Sophia, huh?" His even tone judgmental, Mike leaned back in his chair again and crossed his arms over his chest clicking his pen incessantly. "Enlighten me."
When Everett failed to respond fast enough, Mike filled the silence. "No really. I want you to enlighten me about what kind of woman it takes for a man to give up a piece of real estate that’s been in the family for generations, for a piece of ass. She must have really been something." He capped it off with a scowl.
"It wasn't like that, man. You know me. I don’t have a problem claiming what’s ours, and whether I like to admit it or not, I'm loyal to a fault," he reasoned, standing ramrod straight, his look unwavering, unblinking. "You have to believe me. I wouldn't let it give me pause if I didn't feel in my gut that something’s wrong, you know?"
Mike advanced to rocking in his chair. "And you got all this from the few seconds it took to serve her with the petition? No really, how long has it been since you got laid?"
He should have known Mike would take it there, but he wasn't any less annoyed. Despite his fucked-up logic, Everett still, for some insanely inexplicable reason, felt compelled to explain his viewpoint. "She gave up the last name. She was getting settled in the place. From what I could see through the windows and down to the blue and green welcome mat on the front porch, she isn’t anything like Austin Harman. She doesn’t need to wear the money."
Mike rolled his eyes.
"Please. You know if she was anything even remotely like him there would have been private collection paintings or priceless vases. Some crazy expensive interior decorator would have been running around barking orders about where things should go. This woman isn’t trying to prove she belongs anywhere near Bridlemile and Goose Hollow. I'm guessing she could not care less about what it means to live in the southwest hills of Portland."
To his layman, lopsided logic, Mike gave a noncommittal nod. But for Everett, it meant Mike could at least empathize with his hang-ups about the situation.
"So what are you saying?" Mike conceded.
"I'm saying…she's different. There's more to her than money, which means, when it comes down to it, she isn't a true Harman."
"And it changes things how, exactly?" Mike defaulted to lawyer mode, clearly failing to see how Everett's revelations about Sophia Kent were relevant when it came to legal ramifications.
But Everett was intent on getting his point across—and maybe once he spit it out, he’d be able to figure out what the point actually was.
"Because I went there. I went there personally to see the look on her face, thinking if she was anything like the Harmans, it would feel just as good to win. And yes—" Mike didn't say a word, but he didn't have to—"she’s pretty, and she does have curves for days." His back was turned to Mike, but if Everett knew anything about his friend, he knew his mind tended to hang in the gutter.
"But she’s also young—probably in her mid to late twenties. And though she gave her best impression of someone who’s carefree and happy, I recognize the sadness behind her eyes. She's a fucking pawn."
Everett pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don't know why, or what Harman is up to, but whatever it is, he wants her to go down for it."
Everett backed into the chair behind him and let the tension drain from his limbs into the smooth leather cushion.
Absentmindedly, Mike picked up a paper Everett unknowingly crumpled between his fists and the cluttered surface when he took his fists-on-the-desk looming stand. He placed it on top of a pile at the front corner of the desk. More than anything, Mike’s astute attention still followed Everett's moves, watching, judging.
"Okay, humor me. What do you want to do about it? Withdraw the petition?" Mike asked. "I want you to think carefully, and before you answer the question, answer me this: even if she is this sexy pawn who came out of nowhere, what kind of person do you think it takes to marry an insidious, manipulative vulture like Harman?"
It was a good point. A point Everett had failed to consider.
He rubbed the back of his neck with both hands and clasped them behind his head, willing the tension away. "I don't know yet. All I'm saying is, let's just do a little more digging before the hearing."
Mike nodded and dumped the remains of his progressively smellier lunch into the trashcan beside the desk.
For a minute Everett lingered in the chair facing Mike, thinking about Sophia Kent's intentions.
He wasn't sure if Mike was right about her, or if Austin had stooped to a new all-time low, but before the hearing, Everett planned to find out.
The thursday Julie arrived in Portland it was like the stars aligned. The rain mostly let up so there was only a light drizzle, and, by luck of the draw, on the way to the airport, Sophia's Uber driver, Kara, turned out to be a total foodie godsend. She shared a list of restaurants considered to be the best-kept secrets in town, and she also happened to have a pen and paper to go with her brilliant sense of humor.
Sophia waited in baggage claim by the carousel listed for the Vegas flight. As soon as she caught sight of Julie, she held up the sign she made. It read: Can't wait to kiss my family Jules. Kara's idea, which Sophia thought was hilarious, and just raunchy enough to embarrass her cousin.
But Julie didn't even blink. She let out an ear-piercing squeal and flew into Sophia's arms, wrapping her whole body around her. "I missed you, crazy girl."
Sophia let out a strained laugh, wheezing to catch her breath after Julia knocked the wind out of her. "It's so good to see a familiar face."
"Is it rude if I tell you I kind of hope you don't put down the sticky roots so you can come back home?"
"Yes." She pouted, setting Julie down.
"Okay, I won't say it, then." Julie giggled.
The lights above the baggage carousel flashed and suitcases and duffels began spilling out. "Yes. There’s mine." Julie yanked a large, shiny black suitcase by the handle and onto its wheels.
Sophia was pretty happy Julie's bag was one of the first ones to come out. Since Kara didn’t have any other fares, she opted to wait curbside while Sophia hunted Julie down. Sophia ushered her over to Kara’s blue Prius, practically bouncing off the pavement to introduce Jules to Kara and Kara to Jules. Sophia could hardly wait for the three of them to talk weddings and food. And hopefully find out some more well-kept secrets about her new home city. At the very least, she might have made her first friend in Portland.
No matter how many times she did it, stepping out on faith was still kind of lonely at first.
As Kara navigated through traffic, their conversation was wild and high-pitched—and any talk of the house or lawyers was strictly banned. As soon as the word wedding floated into the confines of the car, Julie talked nonstop about her Italian wedding. Her colors were ivory and blush pink. "Think elegant and romantic meets classically traditional," Julie exclaimed with fingers spread and hands raised so Sophia and Kara could see her vision. She went on to include lots of silk, low, shimmery lights, and flowers galore.
Everything and the kitchen sink in just the first ten minutes of the ride.
By the time they reached Bridlemile, they’d discussed her entire wedding, starting with the bridal getup (tiara, veil, Cinderella ball gown) in exhaustive detail, the Alfa Romeo waiting outside the church, the music playlist (an eclectic range from the Cha Cha Slide to La Tarantella), and Nico's cute cousin, Gianni, who'd apparently seen a picture of Sophia and was already smitten.
All of which left only about ten minutes for Sophia to exchange numbers with Kara, and for Kara to recommend a great Mediterranean restaurant downtown off Vista.
Half an hour later, Sophia whipped up a quick bite for her and Julie to eat. They were supposed to be talking about her appointment later in the afternoon with the attorney before Sophia gave Julia the grand tour of Patton Place. When they were armed with their food and their respective glasses of rosé and cabernet, the two women sat on the plush sofa facing the slate fireplace. Though hours would pass before the sun set over Portland, Sophia turned the fire on. It made the room feel cozy and warm. But even with it crackling in the background, she decided to snuggle up with her favorite throw for the rundown on the lawyer.
"So, he's friends with Liz's boyfriend?" Sophia took a sip of her cabernet.
"Yes. His name is Jacob Bornstein, and they were in the same fraternity in college, so it's no big deal." She forked a ginger turkey ball. "They help each other out all the time."
Julie held up her index finger while she finished chewing, savoring the citrusy, tangy-sweet flavor before she began. "Oh, my fucking god. Soph, what are you even doing?" She closed her eyes and swallowed, then licked her lips. "This food is amazing. My taste buds are shooting off fireworks. The flavor," she moaned.
She moved the plate around under her nose, inhaling deeply. "Hmmm. My nose is in sensory overload. What did you even put in this?" She shoveled in another mouthful. "I can't believe you were in the kitchen for like, fifteen minutes, and you came up with this shit like it was nothing."
"It's just some ground turkey with chopped ginger and lemon zest. I promise you, it's really not a big deal." Sophia blushed, pushing a thinly sliced cucumber roll around her plate.
"To you, maybe. To me, I want to stuff my face with it. I want to sleep with it. Bathe in it. Marry it, it's so good. Why in the hell aren't you packaging this shit and selling it? Better yet, take it on Shark Tank so we can both be bazillionaires."
"I don't know." Sophia looked away and cleared her throat, stabbing a turkey ball with her fork and putting it in her mouth. "It didn't work out before." Her argument sounded weak even to her own ears.
Which Julie confirmed when she rolled her eyes. "Please. You have an actual ginger root in your refrigerator. A root. Normal people don't have roots in their refrigerator. Plus, you and I both know Fuckhead was the one holding you back." She took one more bite and wiped her mouth before continuing. "Restaurants were practically begging you to come cook for them."
Glancing around uneasily, Sophia took a deep breath and exhaled. "They didn't want me. They wanted Austin Harman's wife. They wanted headlines." She took a long swig from her wine glass, leaving it only a quarter full.
"Yeah. Okay, sure. Keep lying to yourself," Julie scoffed. "No restaurateur is going to risk having someone unskilled cook for them just for some publicity.”
The words hung in the air for the slightest moment and Sophia let the idea marinate while she watched the neon flames in the fireplace. More to herself than for her cousin's benefit, she shed some light on the seed she'd been nurturing.
"The other day I was walking around downtown, checking out the sights."
"Uh-huh." Julie nodded encouragement as she dragged her last meatball through the dab of lemon sauce left on her plate.
"I wanted to visit Powell's books and taste the Voodoo Doughnuts. But while I was walking near the southwest end of Broadway I spotted an empty building. It wasn't much to look at, but there was definite potential. Kind of small, and it would need a lot of work, but all I could see was a quaint restaurant with good food and weird decor. My concept is simple: bite-sized meals for people who want extra flavor without feeling stuffed. People can order as much or as little as they want."
"I'd be there. With your food and your impeccable taste, I would be there, no matter what size the portions. Probably the first person in line." Julie reached for Sophia's hand. "So, do it already. What are you waiting for?"
"I don't know." Her heart pounded like crazy. They were only talking about her starting a restaurant and already her nerves were going haywire.
"After your appointment with Jacob you're going to take me to this place. It's time for you to have something of your own. What else do you have to lose?"
Sophia thought about it. She didn't have much to lose when it came to the restaurant, but it wasn't everything to her anymore. "Uh, this house? Can we take a minute and remember why you're here? Some shady guy sent a hot messenger to my front doorstep to tell me my days in this house are numbered. I might not even be here long enough to think about putting down roots, let alone starting a restaurant."
"Okay, first of all, you have a divorce decree and a filed quit claim deed naming you the rightful owner. So, let's just slow your roll there, punchy. Before you go repack your boxes, let's see what Jacob has to say. And also can we talk about how you've totally been holding out. This place is a freaking monstrosity. It's huge. Might as well be a mansion. What the hell are you going to do in this big old place all by yourself, anyway?"
Sophia cut her a serious side-eye.
The size of the house and what it's worth never factored into the decision for her. It was always about the memories she made there and what the house meant to her now. It was physical proof that she could stand on her own two feet. After all she'd been through in the past two years, it meant she wasn't breakable.
"You know what I'm saying. If it works out, great—live your fairy tale in this castle. If it doesn't, so what? That doesn't mean you have to come crawling back home to Vegas, all wounded and feeling sorry for yourself. It's time you dreamed a new dream and made it a reality."
"This place is my new dream, my new start,” Sophia reasoned. “I've been making this house my own, changing things around, painting, buying new decorations. I'm daring to imagine a life without a husband, or Ainsley, or my mother within a five-mile radius. This is it. All my cards are on the table."
Julie threw up her hands. "Well all right then." Sophia looked on as Julie checked her watch. "Takes care of one thing. We've got just enough time before the appointment for you to take me on the dime tour of the house and spill your guts about this messenger you’ve not-so-discreetly mentioned twice."
Sophia climbed the stairs with the sound of Julie’s light footfalls behind her.
"I've already seen the great lawn, the kitchen, the office, the wine cellar, and the flipping French doors. Now, spill.”
"All right. Okay. Fine. Just let me show you my room real quick," she huffed, even though she was dying to talk about him.
"Wait. What's in here?"
Sophia stilled as Julie stopped in front of the door just at the top of the stairs. Her heart stopped and her feet felt like they were stuck in cement. "Do you mind if we skip this one?"
Julie seemed to notice Sophia’s panic and released the brass knob. She knew exactly what was on the other side of the door. Sophia had called her a million and one times and sent a gazillion photos to show her the progress as she was decorating it, making room in her life. Even with the door shut, the pink and yellow colors and the large “A” monogram framed and mounted above the crib painted across Sophia’s mind.
Sophia weaved her fingers between Sophia's and squeezed her hand. "After your room, how about we get ready to go?"
Sophia swallowed. Then she forced a smile. "I'll tell you about the messenger on the way."