For You Maybe (Peace Falls #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Everly

My date waited until after the salad arrived to fly his first red flag.

I should never have agreed to dinner. Dinner was third-date territory because it took a couple hours minimum.

As a general rule, I first met guys for coffee or a drink since I could pay ahead of time and dip whenever I wanted.

If they passed the vibe check, I’d suggest lunch.

Not only had this guy gotten me to skip ahead, he’d somehow convinced me to join him at a three-course, prix-fixe restaurant.

His texts were witty. The banter promising.

The food reviews excellent. I should have known better than to break my own rules.

“So, I’m getting a divorce,” he said, spearing an artichoke heart.

My stomach dropped. I had nothing against divorcees.

Things happened. He’d just neglected to mention it on his profile or in any of the texts or calls between us.

A lie by omission was still a lie, which meant I should question everything he’d ever told me.

For all I knew, he could still be “happily” married, and his wife had no idea he was out with another woman.

He eyed the artichoke suspiciously and swiped it back on his plate. “We officially separated January 1st. I figured it would be easier to end things with the calendar year.”

I swallowed a mouthful of arugula because, of course, he’d waited to drop the divorce bomb when I had my mouth full.

He hadn’t even gone a full month since separating and couldn’t file for divorce for another five months, assuming he and his ex didn’t have kids, eleven if they did.

And here I was, pot committed for two more courses.

I took a sip of wine to collect myself before I spoke.

The dating pool in and around Peace Falls was beyond shallow.

Even if I had no intention of seeing him again, I had to let him down easy so he wouldn’t vent about me to guys I might want to date.

“I’m surprised you waited until now to mention it, Ben. ”

“Yeah, that’s the other thing. My first name is Trent, last name Horkins.”

I could understand why he wouldn’t advertise a name like Horkins.

It’d be easy to find everything about him online.

It was also one of the least sexy names I could imagine besides Epstein or Hitler.

Trent was uncommon enough that he might have felt the need to change it too.

Still, an undisclosed name change before meeting in person was red flag number two. Or was it three?

“Is there a reason you didn’t tell me your real name before we met?” I asked.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You told me you were a lawyer. I was afraid if my ex was working with you, you wouldn’t meet me.”

I narrowed my eyes and sat straighter in the plush chair. The restaurant really was nice. Too bad the company sucked. “You didn’t tell me because you thought it was OK to risk my professional ethics? If your ex is my client, meeting you like this would be entirely inappropriate.”

I’d slipped into my lawyer voice like a well-worn high heel.

It was sharper than my normal pitch and slower.

During my first year of law school, I realized my voice was a disadvantage.

Too soft, too bubbly. Too feminine. I hated my lawyer voice, yet it commanded respect in a way I found both amusing and irritating.

Ben/Trent’s eyes widened, and he shifted in his seat. For the first time all evening, he looked unsure of himself. “Her name is Shanna Horkins,” he said in a rush. “Maiden name Watson.”

No question, she’d be changing her name back. At least she wasn’t my client. However, she could very well be one of my colleagues’, which I’d have checked before agreeing to the date—had I known.

“So, is she your client?” he asked.

“That’s not something I’m at liberty to share.” Technically, I could since she wasn’t, though I doubt Trent knew that.

“But if she isn’t your client, I could be yours,” he said. A hint of irritation bled into his tone and put the final nail in this date.

I didn’t like men with tempers or men who wanted to use me.

“We’d need to schedule a consultation.” I pulled out my phone as if looking at my calendar and shot a quick text to Maddie.

SYS

We’d come up with the “Save Your Sister” acronym after a date recited the entire periodic table of elements, in order.

I’d been so stunned I listened all the way to iodine before attempting to move the conversation elsewhere.

When he said he wasn’t finished and kept reciting, I’d gathered my purse and left.

The fallout cost me a connection with a 30 Under 30 financier who was friends with a cousin of Mr. Chemistry.

Unless Maddie was elbows deep in someone’s abdominal wound, she’d call within five minutes, and I could pretend I needed to leave.

“It looks like I have Tuesday morning at ten available,” I said as my message switched to read.

“Just fill out the consultation request on the firm’s website.

I’ll use the information to check for any conflicts of interest. Want me to text you the link? ”

“Oh, can’t we just do that here?”

“Afraid not,” I said, placing my phone face up on the table so I’d be ready to answer the moment Maddie called.

Standard procedure required enough pause between the text and the call that it wasn’t too obvious.

“The firm uses the online form to make billing easier. I think it feeds into the system or something.”

It didn’t. Consultations weren’t billable, and we had a whole other form and process for onboarding clients. However, I wanted to test my suspicion that Ben/Trent was angling for free advice.

“It doesn’t need to be that official,” he said, clanking together the knife and spoon by his plate.

He’d abandoned his salad after the artichoke and clearly needed to fidget with something.

I kept eating since the salad was the only decent thing about this date.

The longer I remained silent, the more agitated he got.

The metal-on-metal sound grated my nerves as much as the confirmation that he wanted to use me to get out of his marriage without legal fees.

My phone vibrated as Maddie’s name flashed across the screen. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.” I answered before the second ring. “Hey, Sis.”

“Say ‘oh no’ for an excuse to leave or ‘oh my word’ for an in-person assist with extrication.”

“Oh no,” I said as dramatically as possible. “Are you OK?”

“I will be after you stop for fries on the way home. I’ll get started on the milkshakes.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Kudos to my high school drama teacher for helping me pull off the panic in my voice.

I put down the phone and opened my mouth to give Ben/Trent a plausible excuse for leaving when the server approached to take our salad plates.

I felt a stab of annoyance that I’d be eating fries for dinner instead of Beef Wellington like the couple at the table beside ours.

Screw it. I wasn’t letting Ben/Trent ruin my meal.

“I have to go,” I said to the server. “Would you please box up my entrée and dessert?”

Ben/Trent scowled at me as soon as she left. “Let me guess. You’re ditching me with the bill.”

“Absolutely not,” I said, doing my best to sound horrified.

“I’m so sorry, Brent. My sister locked herself out of our apartment, and our super isn’t answering his phone.

I need to let her in so she can walk and feed the dog.

Snuggles must be beside himself wondering where she is.

Please let me pay for dinner to make up for cutting our date short. ”

As expected, he deflated immediately when offered a free meal. “That’s really nice of you.”

Nice, no. Strategic, yes. The fact he hadn’t corrected me when I called him a combo of his two names meant he probably wouldn’t be looking to reschedule.

“It’s the least I can do. Especially if you become my client.

Should I add you to my calendar for Tuesday?

” I picked up my phone, looked at him, and waited.

“Oh, um, I need to think about it,” he said, avoiding eye contact. “My cousin’s husband is a lawyer. He might be offended if I didn’t use him.”

“I completely understand,” I said. Now he just needed an out to save face. “I’ll be honest. I specialize in criminal defense, not family law.”

“Yeah,” he said, his shoulders relaxing as he shifted his gaze back to mine. “I guess that wouldn’t be ideal.”

“Probably not,” I said. Before I could think of a topic to fill the time until my food arrived, the server sidled up to the table with two large bags.

No way either of those was my order. At least ten minutes elapsed between the salad and the entrée course at the other tables. I felt a bit guilty that someone would have to wait longer because the server had packed up their entrée for me.

She placed both bags on my side of the table and slid the bill in front of Ben/Trent. “I boxed up yours as well, sir, in a separate bag. I can take your payment now,” she said, pulling a portable credit card machine from her apron.

The large bags blocked me from reaching across the table to take the check. She looked expectantly at my date while I pulled my wallet from my purse.

“Thank you,” I said, handing her my card.

“Do you want everything on this, or do you want me to split it?” she asked, glancing again at Ben/Trent.

“Everything on mine, please,” I said. Typically, I split the bill with dates who made it to the meal stage, but this was one situation I was happy to pay my way out of. Ben/Trent looked slightly embarrassed, which was worth every penny of his meal.

After I’d paid and added a generous tip, since the server was clearly trying to help a girl out, I stood and grabbed one bag. By the weight of it, there’d be enough for dinner for Maddie and me without stopping for fries. “Again, I’m so sorry, Brent. Enjoy your meal.”

And your life.