Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
And fuck, above all, I don’t want to see him hurt her again. But the way Liam’s acting right now chills me to the bone. Looks like Ava won’t be coming up on top this time.
Nathan
After Noah told me about Liam's concerns last night, there’s no way for me to just sit still—or just continue cooking Ava a mountain of food.
I’ve been enjoying cooking a lot more, now that Ava’s around. In the past, I’ve turned to the culinary arts when I needed time to unwind.
I find it helps me relax because there are clear instructions to do relatively easy things (chop this up, turn that on, throw those into a pot of boiling water), and it allows me to turn off my brain, at least for a short while.
Now, though, there’s the reward of putting a smile on Ava’s beautiful face. She’s always so appreciative, even when she’s giving me constructive criticism (like “this is amazing, Nathan, and I think a little nutmeg would make it even better”).
I mean, I’m not going to cry if she says she doesn’t like my food. But hearing her say all those sweet words just does things to me . . . you know? My chest feels all fuzzy and shit.
And it’s not just me, either.
I saw that weird little smile on Liam’s face at dinner, last night, when Ava rubbed his arm and thanked him for working so hard on her case.
“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have known where to turn to,” Ava said. “My parents wouldn’t have helped me. And how would I even get the money to pay for legal counsel anyway? I’m just a high school teacher. Joseph once told me a good attorney could cost, like, $500 an hour. Is that true?”
Liam nodded. He could’ve told her he charged even more, but he didn’t.
Her reaction to kindness is just so pure and joyful it makes me want to do even more things for her.
But the last thing I want is for Ava to feel like she owes us something, forcing her to stay with us out of some misplaced sense of obligation.
That’s why I didn’t tell Ava I’d be at the courthouse today.
As Liam instructed me, I find my way to the office of a certain Becky Swanson, the assistant to the judge who’ll be presiding over the hearing.
I knock on her door and hear a terse “come in.”
“Hi.” I give Becky the most suave smile I can come up with, as I push the door open.
Becky looks exactly the way I thought she would. A tight bun on the back of her head, a pair of glasses perching on her nose, and a cardigan buttoned all the way to the top.
She dresses like a middle-aged woman who grew up in an era when showing knees was scandalous. But, she’s young—probably in her early to mid-twenties.
“Can I help you?” she asks, giving me a cursory glance as she continues typing on her computer. It takes her a split second to take another look at me. Then, staring straight at me this time, she repeats her question, “How can I help you?”
Sometimes, it’s nice to have a pretty face. I don’t care if Ava’s asshole ex calls us “pretty boys.” As far as I’m concerned, it’s a compliment, although I am impressed by the anger that phrase inspired in our sweet, patient Ava.
“I don’t want to bother you if you’re busy, Becky. But I’m not going to lie to you; this could take a while.”
I already know she won’t mind. I wouldn’t be able to do my job if I weren’t good at reading people. And this Becky girl is already starting to get trapped in my web.
“Oh, I’m not busy at all.” She takes off her glasses and smooths out her hair, which doesn’t actually have any stray strands. “Take a seat.”
“I’m wondering if you’ll be able to help me out.” I pull out a chair and sit down.
“Sure,” she says without even asking any details.
“I work at the Ashbourne Gazette,” I begin my fictional story. “I’m vying for this big promotion and I need a good scoop to impress my boss.”
“I don’t see how I can help with that. I’m not supposed to discuss details about any of the cases I work on with the press.”
“No, of course not. You’re a professional.”
Flattery is great for lowering people’s guard. It just has to be believable. And it’s important to know what to compliment someone on.
For someone like Becky? I’m sure her work is everything to her.
“Oh, thank you for saying that,” she says, averting her gaze in embarrassment at the unexpected praise.
“I’m just here to tell you what I know. That’s all. You’re allowed to listen to me talking, right?” I ask her as I lean forward over the desk, looking closely at her.