Chapter 42
Eleanor’s Porch — Three Weeks Later
The past twenty-one days had passed in a blur of careful boundaries and stolen moments.
By day, they were the District Attorney and the lead Defense for a man accused of murder.
But after five o'clock, they had crafted a silent treaty: no Mercer, no Simms, no Riverbend.
In that vacuum, something else had grown—something loud, bright, and increasingly impossible to ignore.
Eleanor’s front porch had started to feel less like a quiet place to drink coffee and more like neutral ground in an ongoing negotiation she was rapidly losing.
What began as one perfect night by the river had turned into a steady rhythm—late-night calls that stretched past midnight, shared lunches grabbed between meetings, Reid showing up at the Cotton Exchange with coffee under the pretense of “needing to talk through a scheduling issue.” Once or twice, she’d even come home from the office to find him waiting on these very steps, takeout in hand, acting like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Tonight was no different.
The porch lights glowed softly, gold spilling across the steps and the night-blooming jasmine. Reid leaned back against the railing, arms crossed, watching Eleanor with that grin that could win over any jury.
She narrowed her eyes, already fighting a smile.
“What?” she demanded.
He shrugged, looking insufferably pleased with himself.
“I was thinking.”
She arched a brow. “Dangerous for a man in your position.”
He laughed, straightened, and closed the distance between them in two unhurried steps.
“You know, Counselor, I think you should be worried.”
“About what?”
He rested his palm lightly on her hip, the touch warm, familiar, and a little bit cocky.
“About how in the world you’re going to keep yourself from falling head over heels for me.”
Eleanor snorted. “You are impossible.”
He grinned wider, completely undeterred. “I’m irresistible. There’s a difference.”
She folded her arms, chin tilted in challenge.
“Oh, I’d love to hear your closing argument, Mr. District Attorney.”
Reid’s eyes sparkled. He let his voice drop to that lazy, confident drawl that always made her heart skip.
“All right then. Exhibit A: undeniable charm. You laugh at my jokes—even when you’re trying not to.”
She rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched.
“Exhibit B: persistence. I don’t give up—ever. Not on a case, not on an argument, and definitely not on you.”
He stepped a little closer, his voice softening.
“Exhibit C: I see you, Eleanor Elizabeth Harper. The real you. The one who’s brilliant in the courtroom, fierce with her friends, and who pretends she doesn’t melt when I do this—”
He brushed his knuckles gently along her cheek.
She shivered despite herself.
His smile faded into something steadier.
“And finally… Exhibit D. The clincher.”
He took both her hands in his, gaze steady and sure.
“I’m already falling head over heels for you.”
Something in her chest stuttered, her heart kicking against her ribs. Reid leaned in a fraction, enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath, enough that the "DA" persona vanished and left only the man who had spent weeks systematically dismantling her defenses.
“You’re not supposed to say that,” she whispered, her voice betraying her by dropping into a low, smoky register.
“I’m a truth-seeker, Ellie,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to her mouth with a hunger that made her knees turn to water. “And the truth is, I’ve been a goner since the first curve on the road to Bryson City.”
The teasing confidence was still there—but underneath it was something deeper now.
“So go ahead, Counselor,” he said softly. “Argue all you want. But you’re going to fall for me.”
He squeezed her hands gently.
“Because I’m not giving you a single good reason not to.”
The porch fell quiet.
For a moment, Eleanor simply stared at him.
The confident grin was gone now. Reid stood there waiting, watching her like the outcome of the most important case of his life depended on it.
Her heart pounded so hard she could hear it.
She opened her mouth.
Closed it again.
For the first time in her life, Eleanor Harper—who could dismantle witnesses and dismantle juries without blinking—had absolutely nothing to say.
“Counselor?” he murmured.
She let out a low, almost sigh.
“You make a very compelling case, Mr. District Attorney.”
His grin began to return.
“But,” she said softly, “I think the defense deserves at least a moment to consider the evidence.”
He chuckled. “Take all the time you need.”
“The problem is… I don’t have much of a defense.”
He blinked.
Eleanor stepped into his space, the movement so small and so deliberate that the air between them seemed to vibrate. She could feel the steady radiance of his heat, the scent of him, and expensive cologne—filling her senses until there was nothing else.
“So here’s my argument.”
Her fingers tightened in his.
“You’re insufferably cocky.”
His grin widened.
“You flirt with everyone—including judges.”
“Allegedly.”
“You never let me win an argument without making me fight for it.”
“Also true.”
She shook her head, smiling now.
“And somehow… despite all of that… you still make me laugh when I’m trying very hard not to.”
She lifted her eyes to his, and for a heartbeat, the "Defense Attorney" was gone.
“I can’t think of a single good reason not to fall for you,” she whispered.
She watched his pupils blow wide, his gaze dropping to her mouth as if he were memorizing the shape of her honesty.
Reid went very still.
“Which is… a problem.”
His brow furrowed slightly. “A problem?”
She gave a quiet, almost helpless laugh.
“Because I think I’m already in trouble.”
For a heartbeat, he simply stared at her.
He’d expected sparks—fire, even.
He hadn’t expected this—to be in this deep, this fast, with the one woman who could wreck him and make it feel like a gift.
Then the joy broke across his face like sunrise.
With a laugh of pure delight, he swept her off her feet and spun her around.
The porch lights blurred into streaks of gold as she clung to his shoulders, laughing breathlessly.
He set her down, eyes shining.
“You hear that, Sylva?” he called to the quiet street. “She’s crazy over me!”
Just then, footsteps sounded on the walk below.
Deck O’Rourke appeared, climbing toward the porch with his usual brisk stride, eyebrows raised high over his glasses, a to-go cup in one hand.
“Saints preserve us,” Deck muttered, arms folded. “If I’d known there’d be public displays of lunacy, I’d have brought the camera crew.”
Eleanor, cheeks flushed, tried to regain her dignity.
“Deck, what are you doing here?”
“Supposed to be discussing work,” he grumbled, “not watching you two carry on like a pair of teenagers.”
Reid, still holding Eleanor’s hand, grinned shamelessly.
“What can I say, O’Rourke? She’s struggling, but it’s a losing battle. My boyish charm is a matter of public record, and she’s finally stopped fighting the evidence.”
Deck snorted.
“God help her, so she is. And God help the rest of us when you start quotin’ case law about it.”
Reid winked at Eleanor as he headed down the steps, still grinning.
“I’ll leave you to your business, Counselor. Try not to miss me too much.”
She rolled her eyes—but her smile lingered as she watched him go, her heart lighter than it had been in years.
Deck lingered at the foot of the porch a moment, quieter now, watching the taillights of the Jaguar disappear into the mountain mist.
Then he looked back at her.
“So, Romeo declared his love to the whole neighborhood,” he said dryly. “I heard him halfway down the block.”
Eleanor narrowed her eyes and looked directly at Deck.
“Before you say a word—”
Deck crossed the last few steps to her. Up close, his expression was softer than she’d ever seen it.
“Ah, lass,” he said.
He lifted a hand and rested his palm against her cheek, his thumb brushing once, gentle.
“At last I see it—the look in your eye, the spring in your step, and love in your heart.” His voice roughened a fraction. “Makes me very happy.”
Her throat tightened.
“Deck…”
“You’ve had more than your share of storms,” he went on. “You deserve a bit of sunlight.”
He thought about telling her then. About Lila Grant. About the photographs. About the storm gathering just beyond the edges of this perfect, fragile moment.
But Eleanor was smiling in a way he hadn’t seen in years, her eyes still bright from Calloway and hope and the dangerous possibility of happiness.
Deck couldn’t bring himself to be the one to take that away. Not yet.
She leaned into his touch for a heartbeat, blinking against the sudden sting in her eyes.
“Don’t go getting sentimental on me,” she managed.
“Too late,” he said, his voice dry but not unkind. “Both of you are a lost cause. Now, are we going to stand here until the mosquitoes carry us off, or are we going to look at these files?”
Eleanor laughed, the sound unsteady but real, and wiped a stray bit of moisture from her eye. She took one last look down the street, where the taillights of the Jaguar were disappearing into the mountain mist—a fading red glow in the dark.
“Let’s get to work.”
As they moved into the house, the gold light of the porch spilled out behind them, a warm barrier against the shadows of the woods. For the first time in a very long time, the future didn’t feel like something she had to brace against.
It felt like something she might actually get to keep.