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CHAPTER NINETEEN

I t was the best kiss of her life. And Birdy Chou was not easily impressed. Not by men. Not by flowers. Definitely not by kisses.

In fact, she could barely remember the last time someone kissed her and made her feel anything other than mildly obligated or vaguely annoyed.

The faces of the boys she’d once dated were already fading from memory, their names sliding into irrelevance like chapters from a middle grade book she’d long since outgrown.

But Paul? The texture of Paul Winters' upper lip was seared into her skin. She wished she'd managed to capture his lower lip in the brief transaction. Was it just as soft? Just as pliable? Just as giving and receptive as the upper lip?

She would know soon enough. They were going to be married. She'd said yes, which meant she'd kiss him again at least one more time.

He was smiling at her. A big, unapologetic, sunburst grin that lit up his entire face like he’d just won a lifetime supply of joy and decided to spend it all on her. Because she had said yes to his crazy proposal and now he thought he had her.

The truth was, he did have her. If seeing him with another woman and feeling the jealousy try to suffocate her hadn't told her, then that kiss had.

Birdy couldn’t breathe.

No—correction. She could breathe. And it was the first time in forever that she felt like she wasn’t holding her breath, waiting for a man to handle her shine.

Because Paul? He wasn’t shrinking. He wasn’t flinching. He wasn’t trying to dim her. He was amplifying her.

She felt incandescent in his presence. Like he wasn’t standing in her light—he was reflecting it back at her.

Her heart did a bold little lurch in her chest. Her brain, ever the cynic, threw up a warning flag.

Steady, counselor. But there wasn't any other part of her body that was listening.

She was raring to go. She bet he'd let her kiss him again.

Let her taste that lower lip. Maybe even his full mouth. If she'd just ask him.

Birdy cleared her throat and straightened her coat. “Sit down,” she said, gesturing to his chair. “We have things to discuss.”

Paul blinked, still looking like he’d just been gifted a puppy and a hot fudge sundae and a full presidential pardon all at once. He sat as she commanded. It was the second time he'd followed her edict without balking. Interesting.

Birdy took the seat across from him. She placed her hands carefully on the table. Then she looked him dead in the eye.

“I’m not just a lawyer. I’m a business owner. I run my own firm. I have a long-term expansion plan, a nonprofit pipeline, and I’ve already started laying groundwork to mentor undergrad pre-law students.”

Paul nodded, eyes never leaving hers. He didn't interrupt. He waited patiently, like he was happy to let her go on until she finished. So she went on.

“I want kids,” she added softly. “But not until I'm thirty.

And I still plan to work and I want my husband to do at least fifty percent of the rearing because I don't plan to be a super mom.

I'm going to be a great mom and a great career woman.

I can't give one hundred percent to both. That's not how math works.”

Where had that come from? This was going to be a fake marriage.

A marriage of convenience. But Birdy had the suspicion that once Paul Winters gave her his vows, he was not going to take them back.

That's exactly how Jacqui and Jules and Jami had all wound up tied in knots.

Their marriages were all supposed to be temporary, but Birdy had seen the gleam in the eyes of their husbands-to-be.

Not a single one of those men had ever had any intentions of letting their brides go.

Paul had the same gleam. He said nothing. Just listened. Rapt. Engaged. Believing.

“I want love,” she whispered, surprising herself again. “But I’m terrified it’ll ask me to become small. To compromise.”

Paul leaned forward now. Slowly, like he was coming to the edge of something sacred. “I don’t want you to be small, Birdy. I want to stand next to you while you do all of it. The firm. The mentoring. The change-making. The baby-making.”

At that, she blushed. Because she wanted it too. Not just a matching taste to Paul Winter's upper lip.

“I want in. All the way.” Paul reached for her hand. Took it gently in his. “Will you marry me?”

Birdy looked down at their joined hands. Her heart was already screaming yes. But she wasn't the type of woman that was built to leap without checking the terrain. She gently eased her hand back, just enough to clasp them together between them.

“Is this crazy? We barely know each other. We chatted… in an anonymous government chat feature, Paul. This isn’t a love story. It’s a… municipal meet-cute.”

“People meet online all the time,” he said. “Apps. Websites. Forums. It’s normal now.”

Paul inched his hand closer to hers.

Birdy didn't reach for him.

But she didn't pull away either.

“I stopped going to bars and clubs a long time ago,” he said. “They’re loud, chaotic, full of noise. Online dating? I liked it because I could read people's profiles. You learn a lot about someone by what they choose to say about themselves.”

His index and middle finger walked closer to hers on the table.

“I read your profile on your firm’s website. And I’m pretty sure you read mine on the Social Services staff page. We’ve chatted. We’ve texted. We’ve argued. We’ve made up.” His voice dropped slightly. “We’ve kissed. What’s left, Birdy?”

Her name in his voice was a balm. Steady. Certain. Anchored.

“We can do this. For Beverly. For the baby. For the right reasons.”

Paul's index fingers brushed her thumb.

Birdy pulled her hand away—just enough to grab her phone from her coat pocket. She typed quickly. Precisely. Like she was filing a motion.

Across the table, Paul’s phone vibrated. It was still face-down on the wood. He didn’t move.

“Go ahead,” she said, tipping her chin toward it. “Answer it.”

He turned the phone over, read the screen… and grinned.