Chapter 40
The Walk Back
April headed back toward the courthouse first. “I have actual work to do,” she announced.
“Shocking,” Reid said.
Liz and Lawrence paused at the corner with Deck, admiring the mountains. Eleanor and Reid drifted a few steps ahead toward the courthouse, their footsteps falling into the same rhythm without either of them trying.
A breeze brushed down Main Street, lifting a strand of Eleanor’s hair across her cheek. Before she could tuck it away, Reid reached over and gently did it for her, fingers barely grazing her skin.
“Your parents seem pretty taken with me,” he said, entirely too pleased with himself.
Eleanor’s mouth curved. “That could be dangerous.”
“Oh?” he said, sounding far too interested in that possibility.
“Yes.”
“Why’s that?”
She tipped her head up to look at him. “Because if my mother likes you, she’s already planning our wedding.”
One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Well,” he murmured, “that escalated quickly. But I do appreciate a woman who moves fast.”
They walked a few more steps, shoulders close enough that the back of his hand brushed hers now and then. Each time, a little spark jumped in her chest. Reid lowered his voice, like he was shifting them onto a more private frequency.
“You know,” he said, “we were right in the middle of negotiations the other night when your parents arrived.”
Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “Negotiations.”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Very important negotiations.”
“And you plan to resume these negotiations?”
“Oh, I do.”
Eleanor slowed her steps, letting the others drift a bit farther behind. She turned just enough that they were almost toe-to-toe on the sidewalk. “Oh, you do… do you?”
Reid’s answering grin was lazy and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to chase her answer—and no intention of giving up. “Absolutely.”
She studied him for a moment, her gaze lingering on his mouth before she forced it back up to his eyes. “Well,” she said lightly—though her pulse had decided this was not light at all—“Deck would say my Irish eyes should be smiling about that.”
Reid laughed. “That sounds much more charming when he says it.”
“Everything sounds charming when Deck says it,” she admitted.
He watched her another beat, something threading through the humor. “So,” he said, tilting his head, “when do these negotiations resume?”
Eleanor pretended to think, eyes drifting toward the mountains as if the answer might be hidden there.
“Well… a proper negotiation requires neutral territory. And an activity. And dinner.”
Reid nodded, gaze never leaving her face. “I’m beginning to understand the complexity of this process.”
She smiled, slow and a little secret. “There’s a music festival Saturday night over in Bryson City,” she said. “They set up down by the river. Food trucks, live bands, the whole thing.”
Reid’s eyebrows lifted. “That actually sounds perfect.”
“It is.”
He studied her for a moment, like he was memorizing the way she looked in the afternoon light. “Saturday then?”
“Saturday.”
He held her gaze. “Good,” he said quietly. Then he added, softer, the edges of his voice rougher than before, “Because I’m not very good at waiting.”
The words slid over her like a touch. Eleanor felt a flutter in her chest, then lower, a slow awareness that had nothing to do with the sun overhead. “Neither am I,” she admitted.
They had reached the courthouse steps without her quite realizing it. Reid moved ahead and pulled the door open for her, his hand braced above her shoulder.
Behind them on the sidewalk, Deck and Lawrence had slowed near the corner. Deck glanced around once, making sure no one was close enough to hear.
“Larry,” Deck said quietly.
Lawrence looked over. Deck’s expression had shifted. Serious now.
“What is it?” Lawrence asked.
“I found out who she really is,” Deck said. “You know that podcast woman? Lila Grant. She used to be Lila Allen.”
Lawrence’s face went still, a mask of boardroom neutrality sliding into place to hide a flash of genuine alarm.
“Allen,” he repeated, the name sounding like a curse.
He remembered the headlines. The girl’s mother screaming at Eleanor from the gallery.
“She’s not just reporting, Deck. She’s hunting.”
Deck nodded. “She’s the cousin of the girl murdered in Charleston. The case Eleanor defended.”
Lawrence’s shoulders drew back a fraction. “So this is personal.”
“Very,” Deck said.
Lawrence glanced toward the courthouse. Through the glass doors, he could see Eleanor with Reid at the base of the steps, heads close together, some private joke still hanging between them. Laughing. Happy. Relaxed for the first time in years.
“She looks happy,” Lawrence whispered.
Deck followed his gaze. He watched the way Eleanor’s head tipped back when she laughed, the way Calloway’s hand lingered at the small of her back, steady and protective.
He felt the weight of the folder in his jacket pocket, a cold, heavy stone against his ribs.
He’d come back from Charleston ready to burn the world down, ready to arm her for the fight of her life.
But seeing her now, bathed in that easy mountain gold, looking lighter than she had since the day she’d left Charleston… his hand stayed right where it was.
“Keep an extra watchful eye on our girl,” Lawrence said.
Deck gave a small nod. “You know I will. I’ll be watchin’ Lila Allen Grant too. You can count on it.”
Across the street, Eleanor laughed again at something Reid said as they disappeared into the courthouse.
Neither of them noticed the storm already moving toward them.