The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (good book club books .txt) 📕

I was one leg into a pair of slim black trousers. I hop-stumbled toward the front of the house as I wiggled into the other leg. As much as I adored my dresses and the disequilibrating power of knife-sharp femininity, there was something about a pantsuit that said, I am in fucking charge here. Try me at your own peril.

Even though this attorney was on my side, I felt the need to walk in with some ass-kicking armor in place. A bit breathless from struggling into those trousers, I pressed a hand to my forehead as I opened the door.

I'd expected to find a delivery person with another fruit bouquet from my mother (and Martin) on the other side. Maybe one of the salvage and reclamation companies I'd contacted about hauling away the assortment of bricks piled up in the backyard. Those puppies sold for as much as a buck a brick, which could add up to enough to replace the water heater and electrical panel.

I did not expect to find Linden. "Ready to go, Peach?"

"But—what are you doing here? What about your schedule? You said—"

"Everything can be moved," he cut in, twirling his key ring on his index finger. "I'll be in the truck when you're all set."

Without any further explanation or—or anything, he turned, hulked down the steps, and disappeared around the driveway. Still frozen in the threshold, I heard a door open, then shut, and the roar of an engine followed.

The damp morning air wafted over my bare feet and I shook myself back into action. I had to locate shoes, run a brush through my hair, and dust on enough makeup to disguise the shadows under my eyes from sitting up all night, wondering what to do with my life now. Busy with those tasks, I didn't allow myself to form assumptions or acknowledge the warmth coursing through me at Linden's appearance. He was driving me because he expected I'd get lost. That was it.

There was nothing special or significant about this gesture. Nothing.

After checking my hair one last time, I joined Linden in his truck. He was tapping out a message on his phone while I settled in beside him. "You really don't need to do this—"

He held up a hand. "I got it, Jasper. I know."

"Oh. Well. Thank you."

He draped his arm over the back of my seat to glance out the rear window. "No worries."

"I didn't say I was worried. I said thank you."

He cut a piercing grin in my direction as he drove up the street. "It's all good."

"But you know how I feel about people doing things for me. I'll have to fire up the crockpot."

I was aiming for some self-deprecating humor but it was clear I'd missed the mark when Linden said, "I know you won't let anyone help you. I know you see it as a liability, a weakness."

Still hoping for humor, I continued, "I'll have to whip up another batch of biscuits. Maybe a banana bread."

"Oh god, please don't. The bananas deserve a better fate than your baking."

We shared a laugh at that and fell into comfortable silence by the time we reached the interstate. Though I wasn't about to announce it to him, handing off the task of navigation was a treat. One less thing to worry about today.

I wasn't worried, not in any true sense of worried. It was more like the feeling of standing on the end of a diving board, toes curled around the edge, heart racing in your chest as if anything could happen when you jumped, anything at all. It could be fun and perfect but it could also hurt. It could be an embarrassing, uncoordinated splash of limbs. Even if you wanted to dive, even if you'd climbed up there because you wanted to go through with it, getting to the edge was something else altogether.

I fished my phone out of my bag and checked the notifications. Nothing new—and that came as a thin, mild relief coupled with unspeakable confusion. I needed to figure out my next steps sooner than later.

Linden reached over, covered my hand with his. "You're nervous," he said as he stilled my fingers. I wasn't sure when I'd started tapping my nails against the screen.

I nodded. "A little, yeah."

He shifted his hand to lace his fingers with mine. "About the lawyer or something else?"

"I don't know. I have a lot to figure out. The lawyer and…everything else."

"Not today you don't. One thing at a time." He turned into an office park and stopped in front of the last building. It was low and gray, and completely ordinary. "Here we are."

I stared at the shingled building and the sign announcing the practice partners, and it struck me that I'd never told Linden the specific location. He must've looked it up in advance. I didn't know how to react to that. I wanted to take it as proof he cared about me—he cared much more than he was annoyed by me—but that seemed foolish. When I boiled it all down, it didn't matter that much and it probably mattered nothing at all to him.

"Would you like me to come in with you?"

This was nothing. I meant nothing to him. He was just very neighborly. "Um…"

"Let me put it to you this way: Would it make you uncomfortable if I walked you inside?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Would you get stressed out if a receptionist made an offhand comment referring to me as your significant other?"

"I don't want you to deal with—"

"I asked if it would stress you out. Would it?"

Again, I shook my head. "No."

"Then that's what we'll do." He squeezed my hand. "Stay here. I'll come around."

I watched him kill the engine and disengage his seat belt, and I wanted to honor his request. I wanted to stay in my seat, I wanted it more than anything, but my entire body rebelled against the notion of sitting here and waiting. I couldn't let him help me out of a