When We Kiss (6 page)

“I'm glad. You deserve someone who will treat you well.”

She uncrossed her arms. “I do. Thanks.” She turned, and he could've sworn he heard her whisper, “I'm sorry it couldn't have been you.”

He was, too.

A
UBREY BLINKED AT
her computer screen. Her eyes were tired. But she'd worked straight through lunch on this brief and was nearing the end—time for an afternoon snack break, at least.

She opened her desk drawer and rummaged around for a protein bar, then remembered she'd also brought an apple. And coffee. Yes, coffee would be required in order to power through to the end. She'd come in at seven this morning, but then that's usually how she started her workweek. She loved her job and for the most part was eager to jump back in after recharging over the weekend.

Before the coffee, however, she'd take a quick look at her e-mail, which she'd been ignoring while working on the brief. She launched the program as she took a bite of the golden delicious. Immediately a name jumped out at her.

The brief from Frank Sutherlin, the opposing attorney on the Archer land-use matter, had landed in her inbox two hours ago. Her clock for the response had officially started ticking.

She'd known it was coming, of course, but she'd half expected Sutherlin to ask for an extension. He'd certainly done enough to drag things out while they were agreeing to the record for the appeal. He'd ensured what should've taken a few weeks had taken months, which had delayed the Archers' opening of their project. The event space and the restaurant were ready, just sitting empty as they waited for the zoning variance to be resolved, and the hotel would be ready in six to eight weeks. She only hoped this would all be over by then—and that it would result in a win. If it didn't . . . She couldn't think about that. Not only would all of their hard work be for nothing, Alex's dream of his family owning and operating a five-star destination spot would go up in flames.

No pressure.

She skimmed the brief, the apple ignored in her hand. Unease mounted as she neared the end. Sutherlin knew how to argue, but then that's why he was one of the best in the state and commanded his five-hundred-dollar-an-hour fee.

Aubrey sat back in her chair and nibbled at the apple. She'd started her brief weeks ago but had waited to finish until she saw what Sutherlin put together. Now she had three weeks to file her response, and presumably the oral argument would happen a couple of weeks after that.

Her stomach in turmoil, she tossed what was left of the golden delicious into the trash. She needed a little pep talk.

Standing, she left her office. The building was small, a converted Victorian house with just four attorneys, including Aubrey and her uncle, who was the Tallinger in Tallinger and Associates. Uncle Dave, her father's younger brother, had given her a job the second she'd started law school. She'd interned here in the summers and started as a full-time associate immediately after graduating. His faith in and commitment to her were the constants in her life. She had no siblings, and her cousins—all on her mother's side—lived in California. Her parents also lived in California, in Carmel, where Aubrey had grown up. Right now her family consisted of Uncle Dave and Aunt Cyndi, and she wouldn't want it any other way.

She stopped in the kitchen at the back of the building and grabbed a cup of coffee before heading upstairs to Uncle Dave's office. He had the largest space, taking up the bay windows that looked out onto the street below. Just a block off Ribbon Ridge's main thoroughfare, they were close enough to walk to all the shops and businesses the town had to offer, including the Archers' flagship pub, The Arch and Vine. It was also only six blocks from Aubrey's house, resulting in a super easy commute on foot.

Uncle Dave's door was ajar, which meant he was working but interruptible. Aubrey tapped her knuckles against the wood before gently pushing it open. “Uncle Dave?”

He looked up from his computer screens—he had three—and turned his head to smile at her. “Come in.” He took his glasses off and set them on the desk as he pivoted his chair to face her. “What's up?”

She sat in one of the chairs situated in front of the desk. Behind him, the wide windows framed a gorgeous spring day. The blossoms were nearly gone from the trees, whose green leaves were in various states of unfurling as they welcomed the warmer weather.

“Sutherlin's brief came in. I just forwarded it to you.”

He glanced at his computer. “Yeah? What's in it?”

“Everything we expected, given his objections to the record.”

Dave pursed his lips, then sighed as he sat back in his chair. “We've discussed how to argue it. Are you unsure?”

“Not about what to do.” She struggled to find the right words. She was fighting the urge to hide her insecurity, something her parents had enforced.
Be sharp, be confident, be ruthless
was her father's motto. A successful entrepreneur, he peddled medical equipment. Rather, he had until he'd sold the company two years ago. He'd made a mint, and now he and Mom were professional amateur golfers and wine tasters. They came to the Ribbon Ridge area every July for the International Pinot Noir Celebration in nearby McMinnville. They golfed, they drank wine, they occasionally spent time with Aubrey. Last year she'd “accidentally” scheduled a trip out of town at the exact same time. Maybe she'd do the same this year, too.

But she wasn't talking to her critical parents, she was talking to Uncle Dave. She forced the tension from her shoulders. “I'm just having a moment of self-doubt. Sutherlin is a land-use rock star.”

Dave sat forward and speared her with a compassionate, fatherly stare. “You are, too. Don't look at me like that. You know what I mean.” He chuckled. “I know you worry that you're young, but you graduated third in your class for a reason. You could've taken a lot of different offers or clerked for a judge, but you chose to settle here at my rinky-dink firm in Ribbon Ridge. That doesn't make you a lesser lawyer. It makes you happy. Don't ever lose sight of what's truly important. I know that's hard, what with my brother's philosophy.” He sighed. “Sometimes I wonder how we sprang from the same loins. But then, your grandparents wondered that, too.”

Aubrey felt a pang of sadness—she still missed her grandparents, who'd died within a few months of each other two years ago. But that emotion was replaced with love and appreciation. Uncle Dave knew exactly how to cut right to the heart of what was bothering her. In this case, he reminded her that her father's expectations and demands didn't breed happiness. Following your heart did.

Her parents had been bitterly disappointed when she'd decided to move to Ribbon Ridge to practice law at Uncle Dave's firm. Dad had gone so far as to say he shouldn't have been surprised, since she didn't seem to want a serious career. Otherwise, she would've gone to Stanford Law instead of Lewis and Clark. Nitpicks like that had been the cornerstone of her life, along with harsh and often unfair punishments, like refusing to pick her up after every drama club meeting when she'd secretly joined that instead of the debate team during her freshman year in high school. They'd tried to control every aspect of her life. When she'd moved to Stanford for her undergrad, she'd finally pursued her own path. Despite that, it was sometimes hard to shake the self-doubt their habitual criticism had fostered.

Uncle Dave's unflinching support and encouragement had done a lot to minimize the effects of her parents' manipulation, and she loved him for it. But now wasn't the time to get sappy, so she focused on the humor in what he'd said. “Your firm is
not
rinky-dink.”

He laughed more heartily. “It
is
, and that's just the way I like it. You're happy here, right?”

“Absolutely.” She loved Ribbon Ridge. Carmel had the same sort of small-town feel, so she'd felt instantly at home. She missed the ocean a bit, but it wasn't all that far from Ribbon Ridge. She was saving up to buy a condo on the coast and planned to spend at least one weekend a month enjoying the peace of being near the sea. “There's nowhere else I'd rather be.”

“Good, because when I retire in ten or so years, all of this will be yours.”

It sounded daunting, but she knew a lot changed in a decade. By then she'd be thirty-eight, probably married, and hopefully with children. That was the one thing she saw in her future—motherhood. She longed to be the kind of mother she'd so desperately wanted: kind, loving, nurturing, someone who read to her and let her play softball instead of making her take piano lessons. She told herself she could be happy without children—her aunt and uncle were. They'd married eight years ago and had deemed themselves too old to start a family. But they also had each other. Right now, Aubrey didn't have anyone.

“Do you want any help with the response?” Uncle Dave asked, bringing the conversation back to why she'd come to his office in the first place.

“Not yet, but maybe.” She sipped her coffee. “Thanks. I appreciate your pep talks.”

“Really? I always worry they're corny or completely off base, since I have zero parental experience.”

“That's not true. You've been more of a father to me the last decade than Dad.”

He winced. “I know, and I'm sorry. He's an ass,” he muttered.

Aubrey grinned. “I couldn't agree more. Are you going to copy what I did last year and plan a trip for when they're in town?”

Uncle Dave's amber eyes twinkled. “Cyndi's been thinking the same thing. How about we do something together? Maybe a trip to southern Oregon. We could take a rafting trip and hit the Shakespeare Festival in Ashland.”

Aubrey loved the Shakespeare Festival, and she hadn't been rafting in years. “Sounds great. Tell Aunt Cyndi I'm in.”

“We should probably schedule it so that we can at least have dinner with your folks,” he said, turning back toward his computer and reaching for his glasses.

Aubrey rolled her eyes and stood. “Fine, be the voice of responsibility.” She flashed him a smile. “Thanks, Uncle Dave.”

She left his office, closing the door to its previously ajar position. Her mind went to Liam and his extreme sports and the fact that she'd told his mother she'd try to talk to him about them.

She could ask him for southern Oregon rafting recommendations as a way to start the conversation. They could do that, right? Have a conversation as friends?

As friends.

Ha. Had they ever really been friends? Sure, they'd laughed and had a good time together, but they hadn't been friends. Not like she'd been with Alex. He was the reason she knew why Liam jumped out of airplanes and rafted class V rapids, not because Liam had shared it with her.

She ought to tell Emily what she knew, but she couldn't. Alex had confided in her, and even though he was gone, she couldn't break his trust. Furthermore, she didn't want to involve herself in the situation that deeply. Liam had . . . issues, and he'd been clear about not wanting to open up about them to her. She was happy to help Emily and hopefully put her mind at ease, but she wasn't sure the latter would be possible.

On the other hand, maybe Liam was changing. His staying in Ribbon Ridge for a while and consulting with her on the zoning variance was a complete one-eighty from what he'd been saying since Alex's death. He hadn't wanted anything to do with the project, nor would he consider coming home. What had happened to change his mind?

Aubrey shouldn't care. If she was smart, she'd keep their interactions entirely professional—and she would. Along with asking him about his extreme sports.

Damn, what had she gotten herself into?

She went back to her desk and opened her protein bar. Before jumping back into her brief, she glanced at her phone and saw a text from Stuart:
Dinner tonight?

Her mind flashed to Liam, and she gritted her teeth. He wasn't going to ruin a perfectly nice guy for her. Stuart was funny and smart and a pretty good candidate for that ten-year plan she'd been thinking about earlier.

She texted him back:
Sure. Just tell me when and where.

As he texted the details, she blew out a breath and told herself she deserved a guy like Stuart, not a thrill-seeking playboy who maybe had a death wish. Her chest tightened. Did he?

That wasn't her problem.
Liam
wasn't her problem. The sooner she exorcised him from her system, the better.

Z
OOMING THROUGH THE
sky, head down, arms plastered to his sides, adrenaline pumping through him, Liam was on top of the world. Well, almost. He'd jumped out of the plane at thirteen thousand feet and was currently free-falling toward the earth. Did it get any better than this?

He hadn't jumped since last fall. He'd been busy with winter sports and then he'd broken his wrist and dislocated his shoulder in February. The shoulder still hurt now and again, but the hairline fracture in his wrist had healed very well.

Jumping after a long hiatus was almost like the first time. The surge of adrenaline as he stood at the edge of the plane, the whoosh of air as he launched himself into the sky, the noise rushing in his ears as he fell at 140 miles per hour, and the absolute blissful serenity that came over him just before he pulled the chute.

In fact, he was nearing the point where he'd need to do just that. As a certified skydiver, he could free-fall longer and faster than most, and he always pushed the limit. He checked his altitude, and when he hit 750 feet, he reached behind to the bottom of his pack and pulled out the drogue. He looked up and saw the pilot chute inflate. Slowly, the canopy released, and his speed gradually declined, taking him from super fast to gently drifting. He grabbed the toggles to steer toward his landing. He was home free.

Today, he could see all the way to Ribbon Ridge—a good twenty miles away—and the sight of his hometown made him feel . . . good. He'd skydived over McMinnville dozens of times, but this was the first time since Alex had died. Of all the places Liam had jumped, this had been Alex's favorite location. Which was why Liam had avoided it.