Chapter 1 #2
Oh. His thumb stroked a path along my hand, and I let myself focus on it, willing my body to breathe again.
The nausea in my belly was replaced by a warm flush of embarrassment that clawed its way up my neck and into my cheeks.
After a very long moment of tense silence, I extracted my hands from his and pressed my palms tight against my eyes.
“I’m sorry. I’m not in the best of places right now.”
“Don’t sweat it, CC. I’ve been through a few divorces myself.”
“A few, huh?” I lowered my hands to look at him, relieved to find his joking smile waiting for me. He slid his thermos toward me, and I took it with a nod of thanks, drinking down the bulk of the contents until my belly jostled.
I wasn’t okay. Nowhere near it. Not only had I made a fool of myself, but I’d massively overshared. Plus, Ethan had said the d-word. Despite Jeff’s infidelity, I hadn’t reached that conclusion. I was at a complete and total loss as to what to do next. I wasn’t thinking divorce. At least not yet.
I was headed to a bad place. And a hotter-than-hot local celebrity lawyer had a front row ticket to my downfall. Awesome.
Wait. What did he mean he was my attorney?
To hell with it. I opened my desk and dug into the candy bag.
“So, why are you here?” I shoveled the perfect chocolate morsels into my mouth and chewed. “Not that it isn’t nice to see you, but, you know, it’s been thirty years without so much as a social media ping.”
“That it has.” Ethan’s gaze lingered for a moment, then he hefted his briefcase onto his lap.
Most of high school was a distant memory.
The therapist part of me had long ago surmised it was my coping mechanism.
I’d shut down all thoughts of the quaint hometown where I grew up rather than deal with the trauma of losing my mother and having my heart shattered senior year.
The one-two punch had been enough to send me packing, never to return or think about Treater’s Way again.
It was only thirty miles from my home in New Orleans. Might as well have been three-hundred.
What I knew for sure was that Ethan and I never dated. We’d never been anything more than casual friends with a mutual interest in working out that led to a few mornings a week in the gym or a race around the track.
Still, if it weren’t for the fact that I hadn’t showered in who-knows-how-long and probably looked borderline homeless, I might have thought there was longing in the way he admired me. And that, above everything else, had me wondering why he was here. And just how bad I looked.
I excused myself and rushed to the bathroom. I rummaged through the cabinet until I found a travel pack of toothpaste and a toothbrush. I scrubbed sleep out of my eyes and ran damp fingers through my mess of knots.
A few months ago, I’d cut my long brown curls into a sort of wavy blunt bob.
It hit just above my shoulders and framed my face.
Even I could admit I looked younger than my actual age of forty-eight.
I wasn’t exactly getting carded these days, but I wasn’t in the “old people are unattractive camp” and never had been.
To my mind, age was not a factor when evaluating beauty.
Sure, I focused a bit too much on those tiny lines around my eyes. And my eyelids drooped heavier than they had in my twenties. Nothing a little makeup couldn’t fix … if I chose to wear it. But all in all, I was doing okay in the looks department.
Besides, I didn’t mind looking middle-aged.
I wasn’t a fan of feeling it though.
Once I was sure I looked moderately passable, I returned to my office.
“What’s this?” A file folder sat on the desk between my chair and Ethan’s. I picked it up and opened it as I took my seat.
“That's why I’m here.” Ethan clicked a pen and pointed at the paper with it. “Do you remember Agatha Dupree? She owned the Magnolia Therapy Center?”
“Of course. There’s no way I could forget Agatha.” Despite what I’d said, I hadn’t thought of Agatha in years. But the mention of her name sent a flood of memories through me. Suddenly, I could picture her as if she were standing next to us.
“Salt-and-pepper hair that tangled its way down to her waist. Leathery skin from too many carefree days in the sun. And a smile that made you feel so doggone safe.” I closed my eyes, breathing in the sensation of her warm hugs and the welcoming scent of the banana bread she loved to bake.
“My mom always said she couldn’t have asked for a better boss. And she was like a grandmother to me.”
A cool breeze stroked my hair and ran down my arm.
For just a moment, I could believe she was actually here, soothing me now the way she had when my mother died.
Guilt clamped my heart like a vice. When I’d left town, I’d left Agatha behind.
I opened my eyes to find Ethan’s brimmed with tears, grief a dark shroud surrounding him. Everyone in town loved Agatha.
“She’s gone, isn’t she?” The air in the room crackled, as if a vital source of energy was shut off, and a pain I hadn’t felt since I was eighteen landed in my stomach like a poisoned lead brick.
I looked down at the papers Ethan’s now-trembling fingers pointed toward.
Last Will and Testament of Agatha Cecelia Dupree.
“I’m afraid so. Agatha passed peacefully in her sleep last Friday.
” Ethan’s voice quivered. He cleared his throat, shifting in his chair.
For a moment, the brush of skin against leather was the only sound in the room.
Then Ethan tapped his pen back to the paper. “You’ve inherited the Magnolia House.”
I jolted in my desk, certain I’d heard him wrong. “Why would she do that?”
“I can’t say,” he shrugged his shoulder a little too casually. “Whatever her motivations were, the will is very clear.”
I scanned the papers, barely reading the words. He wasn’t kidding. The room was quiet again. Too quiet. No wood creaked. No car revved an engine outside. I was in a bubble of disbelief, and only his words cut through the deafening silence.
“It’s not just the house, Simone. She left you everything.”