Page 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

K itty had commandeered the big bay window again. Her canvas was propped on the easel. Her brush flicked in little arcs as she brought two lovebirds to life in a tree.

“They mate for life,” Kitty said dreamily, adding a bit more blush to the birds’ bellies.

“So do penguins.” Birdy scowled. “That doesn’t mean I want to be waddling around the rest of my life stuck with a man I barely know.”

“From what I can tell, you do know him,” Kitty pointed out. “You fell for him before you even saw his face.”

Bunny snorted from the armchair, where she was bouncing the baby on her knee while nibbling on a crust of toast. “Technically, she fell for his punctuation.”

“No, no—she fell for his parentheticals,” Kitty teased, dipping her brush again.

Birdy rolled her eyes and glanced at her phone. There was another text. From him.

Paul:

“Sometimes the best decisions aren’t made in the courtroom. They’re made when you realize you can’t walk away.” — The Justice Paradox, chapter seventeen.

Her thumb hovered over the screen. She didn’t hit reply. She didn’t delete it either.

“It’s not romantic,” she muttered, staring at the floorboards. “It’s absurd. A fake marriage? For guardianship?”

Kitty didn’t look up from her painting. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“You’d be saving two lives,” Bunny added, her voice quieter now. More serious. “Beverly’s and the baby’s.”

Birdy didn’t answer. Because that was the argument that got to her.

The one that pierced past her pride and her cynicism and that leftover ache still lodged in her ribs from the day Paul asked how he could help her in an anonymous chat room.

And then proceeded to help her. And then proceeded to reject her publicly.

Only to turn around with hat in hand to try and win her friendship.

And then to drop a bomb of a proposal in her lap.

The man was maddening. And persistent.

Her phone buzzed again. Another quote. This one wasn’t from the book.

Paul:

If I were making closing arguments, I’d say this isn’t about logic. It’s about faith. And you’re the only person I’ve ever met who made me want to believe in something more.

Birdy swallowed. The room faded a little—the baby’s soft gurgle, Kitty’s brush against canvas, Bunny’s toast crumbs all dimmed behind the pulse in her ears and the glow of the screen.

“What's he saying now?” one of her sisters, she wasn't sure which one, asked.

“I need some air,” Birdy said, already reaching for her coat.

Kitty was now delicately stippling feathers onto her lovebirds, like she was dressing them for a wedding. Bunny raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. The baby gurgled at her.

It was the baby that made Birdy stutterstep. The kid was better off being raised in her family. The only way that could happen would be for Birdy to become a guardian for Beverly. The only way that would happen would be for Birdy to marry Paul.

“Where are you going?” Kitty asked, half-singing the words.

“To clear my head,” Birdy muttered, wrapping her scarf a little tighter than necessary. “And maybe punch a wall.”

“Try not to use your left hand,” Bunny called. “That's the one the ring goes on.”

Birdy didn’t bother with a comeback. The door clicked behind her. The cold air hit her full in the face like a truth she didn’t want to deal with.

She considered her grandmother’s house. N?inai made tea that tasted like courage. It was a dark oolong blend with ginger slices and that honey that only came from some mysterious farmer at the end of the county line.

But it was game night. Birdy could already picture the scene.

Her grandmother’s kitchen would be full of laughter, the click of mahjong tiles, a tray of egg tarts disappearing fast, and N?inai’s sharp-eyed friends asking nosy questions about Birdy’s nonexistent love life.

Only it was no longer nonexistent since Paul Winters had entered her life.

Birdy turned on her heel and headed for the coffee shop. It was mostly empty this time of day. There should only be the hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine. She slowed when she reached the window, boots crunching softly on the salted sidewalk.

Then she saw him. Paul was seated at a table near the back. His broad shoulders were framed by the big bay window and bathed in the evening glow of the setting sun. He was frowning at his phone, thumbs flying.

Her stomach fluttered. It was an involuntary stutter that she tried to ignore. Was he texting her? Her hand dipped into her coat pocket, fingers brushing her phone.

Nothing. No buzz. No message.

Paul looked up—and smiled. But not at her.

A woman was sliding into the chair across from him.

Tall. Curvy. Great hair. Effortlessly pretty in that windblown ‘I woke up like this’ kind of way.

Birdy watched as Paul's date leaned forward and laid a hand on his arm.

The gesture was the same way Birdy had wrapped her fingers around his arm in the hallway of the mayor's house when they'd argued.

Her fingers had felt muscle. Strength. Heat. Now someone else was touching it.

Birdy stood there, frozen, breath fogging the glass.

The woman laughed at something Paul said.

Then he stood—stood!—and pulled her into a hug.

His hand lingered for a moment on the woman’s back.

Birdy felt her blood pressure spike like she’d just downed six shots of espresso and a triple betrayal chaser.

He was cheating on her!

But they weren't even together.

But he'd proposed.

Even if it was insane. Even if she hadn’t answered. Even if it was for the baby that wasn't theirs.

Maybe he was asking another woman to marry him to save Beverly and the baby. But she hadn't even given him her answer yet. She was first in line. Shouldn't he wait for her response?

Paul, the serial proposing cheater, sat back down. He tapped his phone once—then turned it face-down on the table. And gave the woman his full attention.

Birdy’s feet shifted. She could turn around. Walk away. Be dignified. But she had never been the kind of woman who backed away from a courtroom, a boardroom, or a coffee shop showdown. And so she stepped forward.