Mixed Match Page 10

  "Oh, you mean when you just stood there with your mouth hanging open while I asked Austin's wife the hard questions?"

  Everett narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms.

  "Whatever, man. I didn't come here for this shit." Mike shifted his weight onto his hip and hauled out a wad of rolled papers from his back pocket. "Since the motion to dismiss was denied, she's up against the wall. She's either got to prove there was no fraud, which is going to be damn near impossible considering we have the original deed, or she has to prove Babs wasn't in the middle of her battle with dementia."

  Everett tucked his feet beneath the footrest and let his weight teeter. He opened his mouth to speak, then immediately thought better of it. Somewhere in this rant he hoped he’d hear an actual update.

  "Listen, man, all I'm saying is they've got nothing, and we've got three weeks to coast until this hearing. So what do you want to do?"

  Everett's chest tightened as heat crawled up his neck to his cheeks. "Do? What do you mean, what do I want to do?"

  "That's why I'm here. It's not just about the house anymore. The deed was sent to you by Austin Harman, which basically removes him from the equation, but it still leaves Sophia and the Harman Estate," Mike trailed off.

  The way he settled back on the stool, overdoing the casual air, it was hard not to notice the cocky tilt of his head and the smug jut of his chin. It was an intentional pause, a pregnant pause.

  "Okay. I'll bite." Everett shot him a pointed look and held his cup closer. Slowly, he savored the robust aroma of his dark roast, then sipped.

  Mike must have noticed his curiosity, because he was no longer sitting at a bar while Everett drank flat, lukewarm coffee. The attorney in him reared its devilish head as he let the silence drag. He was in a courtroom, zeroing in on the infinitesimal doubt still lingering in the back of Everett's mind when it came to anything related to Sophia.

  At all costs, Everett was determined to avoid his friend's knowing stare. He cursed under his breath. "Try to get to the point sometime today." He released a deep, weighted sigh.

  Mike drilled down his list of counts in his favor. "You were seeing red, you wanted this so bad. I could see it on your face every time you visited Babs at the hospice. You said someone would have to pay for what they did to her. And I'm saying it's not too late."

  A hardening in Everett's stomach paralyzed him while he replayed the days and nights of those last few months of his grandmother's life. Instead of helping her remember their Christmas traditions or her favorite donuts from Ed's bakery, he'd been in and out of doctors' offices, working to get her legally declared. He was the one stuck with pawing through piles of paper and medical records, her things—all the little things that made up her life.

  The Harmans kicked her while she was down.

  He wanted to sag, but didn’t dare with Mike-the-shark watching him. "What about the estate?" He took the bait.

  "Henry Harman is dead, but we could prove his history of targeting elderly homeowners with financial difficulties. He promised to take over the payments and allow Babs to stay in the house. At least five other similar claims were settled out of court. Who knows how many more people there were? How many more didn't come forward?"

  Everett struggled to find the right words. "And Sophia?"

  It seemed lost on Mike, but Everett could hear it in his voice. The small inflection. The unmistakable tinge of hope. Though he didn't owe it to her, deep down Everett needed her not to be involved. He needed to not be wrong about her—for the tiny flip in his heart to not be wrong about her.

  "Honestly, I don't know if she was involved," Mike reluctantly admitted. "What I do know is I started doing some digging into Austin Harman's personal and business finances, both before and after they were married. There were similar claims against him long before she showed up, but one in particular stood out."

  Mike skimmed through the unrolled papers he'd brought with him and took out one from the middle. He took a long swig from his cup, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, and slid the page in front of Everett. "An accusation of embezzlement was reported to a local Las Vegas news station. Guess who the tip came from?" He pointed to a line toward the top of the page.

  It wasn't Sophia's name, but the words "the accused's wife" glared back at Everett.

  Everything in him slumped. "Sophia."

  For some reason he couldn't fathom, a hesitant pang struck through him at the taste of her name on his tongue in such a compromising context. The questions stacked like bricks, rebuilding the walls around his heart.

  He didn't know why, but he couldn't look at Mike at first.

  "A quickie move. No family or friends here. Then there's the mystery surrounding why she's hell bent on living in such a huge house for one person."

  Everett looked at his friend now. His attorney.

  A satisfied smile settled on Mike's face as he covered the seed of doubt with fertilizer and mulch. "Makes you wonder who’s really trying to remove themselves from the equation."

  It took Everett ten minutes after Mike was gone to text Sophia. He needed more time.

  Everett: Hope I caught you in time. Can't make this afternoon, but how about dinner tonight?

  Her reply came quickly. Dinner tonight. Patton Place.

  Chapter Ten

  "Is everything all right, Everett?" Sophia asked.

  Across the table, he gave a tight smile that failed to reach his eyes. His mouth was full, but still she expected more than another half nod. It was the latest of about five or six he'd given her since he arrived. All in all, he'd managed a few "fines," a couple of "goods," and an especially rare "um hmm" between bites of boeuf bourguignon.

  In her spare time this the afternoon she started her search for information about Barbara Monroe, and actually got a few nuggets about her relationship with Henry Harman. Still on a high, she'd cleaned and cooked up a storm in anticipation of Everett's visit to the house.

  In the back of her mind she imagined the night unfolding differently. They'd ended the evening on such a good note the day before, and when he replied immediately to her invitation it was reassuring. Tonight, though, his silence took her off guard. Sophia hoped he wasn't freezing up again.

  What happened between last night and today?

  Unblinking, Sophia stared at Everett pointedly and allowed her silverware to clank loudly as she placed them beside her plate. The second he took his last bite she stood and blew out the two standing candles at the center of the table.

  "I'll take your plate. I don't want to keep you." She seethed, picking up his dish and padding to the kitchen before he could respond.

  No sooner did she turn on the water, Everett appeared on the other side of the center island.

  "I had a nice time." She barely heard his low whisper.

  It took everything in her gut not to lash out at him. A nice time? "Oh. Did you?" she asked. Let's see how you feel about a few goods and fines. "Good."

  "Sophia?"

  Something about the urgency in his tone tugged at Sophia's heart against her will and she looked up at him.

  "What really brought you here? To Portland, I mean?" he asked, his tone on edge as if this was the question he'd being dying to ask.

  Her heart raced and her throat closed. She couldn’t seem to catch enough breath to reply.

  "I served you the papers, so I know how you came upon this house, but what's keeping you here? There are restaurants everywhere, so I don't buy it. You have no family and no friends here. And what about this place? It's huge. Way too big for one person. So I'm asking you again, and I hope you'll be honest with me. What brought you here, Sophia?" Desperation chased his words. "Or at least why are you making this particular place your home?"

  He stood there with his arms folded.

  She'd been asking herself the same question since she turned the key. Her mom and Julie, they'd questioned her, too. And she even had a stock answer: I have to do this on my own.

  To an exten
t it was true, too. She did need to learn to rely on herself, but not because anyone said she couldn't. Because life had proven it to her over and again. It taught Sophia that loving completely only left her hurt in the end, weakened her. And she was still paying for her weakness. But this house, if she could be here and make it on her own, it meant she was strong enough—without Austin, and for Ainsley. She was, simply, enough.

  But the same question coming from Everett, she wanted to answer him. Somewhere deep down inside her, she needed him to really understand the depths she'd crawled out of to make it here.

  "You really want to know?" Sophia's voice broke, shattered by raw emotion. For so long she hadn’t allowed herself to linger on the reason. Inside, she warred with herself. Who was Everett to her, and why did he deserve to be let in? Would he understand?

  This time he didn't nod. He uttered a simple, "Yes."

  In silence, they climbed the winding stairs until they reached the landing. Sophia led Everett to a closed door on the right. With her hand clasped around the knob, she paused briefly and looked at him, willing herself not to turn back now.

  The memory of darkened, honey-brown eyes bored into her, urging her to open the door. She'd brought him this far, but all she could think about was what he would think of her after. It felt strangely like she was on one of those crazy, adrenaline-driven game shows. In the midst of her frenzied nerves, she'd volunteered to share with him the whammy she'd kept hidden behind door number one.

  Sophia opened the door and switched on the light.

  She watched while Everett walked into the pink-walled room with the yellow polka dot accents and stopped next to the untouched, pristine white crib. All the simple, necessary things with a few luxuries sprinkled in. Her mother’s rocking chair. The plush yellow duck with the rosy cheeks. The ruffled-edge quilt with Ainsley’s monogram embroidered in pink satin thread.

  "This is it. This is my reason." Sophia shrugged, biting back the rising lump in her throat.

  Everett exhaled as if he were still taking it all in. He ran his hand over his hair, figuring. "You're pregnant. That's why you're here?"

  "No."

  "I don't get it." Everett pinched the bridge of his nose and squinted at Sophia from under furrowed brows. "Why wouldn't you want to be near your family, your friends, your support system? It can't be easy going through all of this alone."

  She swallowed hard. "Everett, I'm not pregnant...anymore." The last word was a whisper, the last straw.

  Glossy eyes met his.

  "I'm sorry. I'm such an asshole. I didn't know. I just saw all this stuff and figured..." With every inch of his sunken shoulders and crestfallen expression, Everett seemed determined to atone. Recognition and understanding sharpened his focus on Sophia.

  She ran her eyes along the lines of the chevron-patterned rug. "When I got pregnant, Austin and I decided we were going to move here and put down our roots. He'd been working so much, and I could feel we were growing apart. This place was going to be more than a house. It was finally going to be a home...you know what I mean?"

  Everett gave her a reassuring smile.

  Sophia sighed and walked over to the changing table beside the crib, where a few folded blankets were stacked. "I moved here first to get things ready for the baby. Her name was Ainsley," she said, straightening and smoothing the pink chenille blanket on top. "I got to be her mommy for about twenty-nine weeks, but then I got preeclampsia, basically high blood pressure. Runs in my family on my dad's side. With the level of stress I was going through with my now-ex, my body wasn't strong enough, and she was a stillborn."

  She swallowed hard and exhaled, pushing a loose hair behind her ear then turned to face Everett with a forced smile. "Anyway, I didn't mean to get all depressing on you, but it's just, this is the only home she was ever a part of. I never prepared anything in Vegas. I just assumed we would be here."

  "I'm so sorry, Sophia. I didn't mean to pry."

  "It's not your fault. Don't worry about it." She fingered the gold-winged, pink pearl charm on her necklace, holding it up to him. "She's still with me all the time."

  Without a word, Everett closed the distance between them and hugged her. Kissed her hair gently.

  And with his heart beating next to her ear, she felt her wall coming down.

  * * *

  For a brief, sweet moment he held Sophia there, absorbing her warmth and the softness of her skin against his. But as her heartbeat slowed, his seemed to synchronize to the same staccato rhythm. They clung to each other, unmoving, until her sobs subsided.

  Everett no longer doubted for a second that Mike was wrong about her.

  "I'm sorry."

  When they slowly parted, they paused when their faces were only inches apart. He met her gold-flecked gaze first, then trailed down to her full, bee-stung lips with traces of the red gloss she'd worn earlier. Suddenly, the urge to touch them was too great and, without thinking further, he leaned in and pressed his lips gently over hers.

  He wanted to quiet her nerves, make her feel better, but all he'd done was open his own floodgates.

  A toxic combination of anger and desire combusted within him. She was the only woman he wanted, and he was the one man she couldn't trust. His skin prickled with anticipation. He could barely control his breathing in the face of his overwhelming need to protect her from everything she'd already gone though.

  Everything he was now putting her through.

  The urge to back away ticked inside him, but with Sophia so close, he wanted to stay, and let his hands run wild over her body. He wanted her in a way he’d refused to let himself want anyone in a long while. Somehow, in spite of the short time he’d known her, more than anything he wanted her to want him.

  Goddamn, Mike. Why did Everett let him get into his head?

  He kissed her softly now.

  Everett didn't want to be another person who betrayed her. She didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve to be lied to by him. As he peppered her lips with small pecks, tasting her sweetness, it occurred to him the kiss was one-sided, and he hesitated, but the second he began to withdraw, he felt the urgency in Sophia's lips pressing back.

  A fierce heat warmed his insides and spread south.

  No. "No," he managed.

  He gently ended the kiss, and Sophia's eyes snapped open, desire darkening their brown irises. The kiss ended, but he could still feel the warmth of her, shallow breath soft and steady, brushing against his chin.

  Then Everett lifted his chin and stepped back.

  "Thank you again for the dinner. It was delicious." He flexed his fingers, then balled them into fists, cracking his knuckles as he bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm going to get going now. I'll just let myself out."

  As much as he wanted to, he didn't have the nerve to turn around. Not at the nursery door or the front door. Not as he climbed into his truck and drove away.

  An hour and too many whiskey cokes to count later, the broken look in Sophia's eyes finally began to fade from Everett's mind.

  "Jack. Give me another one," he slurred to the bartender.

  "Okay there, big guy. We're going to have to cut you off." Jack was the slender, tattooed woman with a shock of black hair standing a few feet down the long, glazed mahogany bar. From what Everett could still see, her arms were ripped and those skintight little black short things she wore gave more than a glimpse of the junk in her trunk. And her rack? Every time she leaned over the bar to set down her drink orders, he'd gotten the bird's-eye view.

  "You booting me out?"

  She gave him a crooked smile. "You don't have to go home, but you do have to get the hell out of here," she crooned loudly over the din of the neon-lit room. "Want me to call someone for you? A cab? Uber?"

  Everett laid his head on his folded arms on the bar top and closed his eyes. "I've got a big, big, big problem."

  The bartender scooped ice from a freezer below and poured it into a line of three or four glasses he could see from where he was sitt
ing. "And what's that, hon?"

  "I don't think I'm going to make it." His eyes fluttered open and shut again. "I need help."

  She appeared in front of him with her hands on her hips. "Well that's for damn sure."

  "I've got blue...balls," he slurred.

  This time, the woman erupted with laughter. "Well, here’s a new one on me. I guess you're just going to put it all out there in front everyone, huh? You're such a hot mess, Ev," she managed through a fit of giggles. "About all I can do for you is give you a Dixie cup and show you to either the men's room or the exit."

  "I need help," Everett mumbled again.

  His barroom confidante squinted her eyes, as if considering how to counsel him. She took the towel hanging from the side of her waistband and began wiping down a wet spot on the bar. "If it's so bad, there's at least two thirsty women in here whose eyes have been on you since the moment you walked in. I'm sure you wouldn't have to do much to get their support. Hell, the one with the red hair might help you out in the restroom right now."

  Everett didn’t look to see which women she was talking about. In fact, he ignored her comments altogether and continued enlightening her with his current dilemma.

  "This woman. She's gorgeous. I'm talking even without a stitch of makeup. Got the kind of flawless, smooth skin you just want to touch. Soft-spoken. Moves like a goddamn gazelle." He grimaced. "I've got to wear boxer briefs just to keep my friend down there under control."

  "Ah, so there's a woman behind your royal blue balls?"

  "The woman." Everett jolted upright. "Second I'm near her—" he pinched his index finger and thumb together "—I'm all over the place. Can barely put two words together into a proper sentence because I'm thinking about basketball and polar bears, trying not to get a hard-on."

  Jack scanned the room before returning looking back at Everett. "So what's the problem? "She's not into you?"

  "What's the problem?" He clapped his hands together in exasperation. "I'll tell you what's the problem. She's the enemy, that's what's the problem. Montagues and Capulets. Hatfields and McCoys. Same shit. We're not supposed to be together. We want to two different things." He sliced two fingers through the air. "Cut from two different cloths."