Home > Ready or Not (Ready #4)(8)

Ready or Not (Ready #4)(8)
Author: J.L. Berg

“No.”

“Then, take some time to settle,” she suggested, finally picking a place on the old love seat my grandmother had owned for decades. Once again, her fingers quietly traced the floral pattern, over and over like a prayer.

“I just thought it would be better for Noah if everything had a place right away,” I admitted, not really sure why I was telling this woman anything. She’d just accosted me with plants.

“What Noah needs is you, plain and simple. If you are stressed, he will be stressed. Take a moment, and enjoy this new life of yours.”

“I thought you came over here to yell at me?” I quipped,

“Occupational hazard,” she admitted with a shrug, before adding, “Has he ever been to Richmond?”

“Only when he was younger and then briefly this year for my grandmother’s funeral. This was her house.”

“You’re Mrs. Reid’s grandson?” she asked, her eyes round with surprise.

“Yeah. Why? Did you know her?”

She smiled sweetly, looking downward as if seeking out a fond memory from the recesses of her mind. “Yeah, Mrs. Reid and I were very attached to each other. I’ve lived in this neighborhood for several years, and…well, let’s just say she became like a grandmother to me.”

Her eyes lifted once again, and I watched her wipe away a lone tear.

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I haven’t been around much and I don’t remember much of the funeral. It’s all a blur.”

“I wasn’t there,” she answered. “My practice, as well as most of my clients, was still fairly new. I hated the idea of having to cancel on them. I felt terrible about missing the funeral.”

“I’m sure she would have understood,” I offered, finally moving across the room to take a seat across from her. Leaning forward, I folded my hands and took a deep breath. “Sorry about the flowers,” I said. “I’ll replace them.”

She waved her hands in front of her, shaking her head. “No, it’s all right. I’ll take care of it.”

I nodded and watched her fiddle with the bracelets around her wrist. They caught the light from the lamp, sending shimmery streaks across her face and skin.

“I guess this puts a kink in our former relationship, doesn’t it?” I finally asked.

She looked up at me, and I was once again startled by her natural beauty. Her rich dark brown eyes were the color of cocoa, and her hair fell across her shoulders like ebony waves of silk. The desire to reach out and touch her was nearly beyond my control, yet I somehow managed to stay put.

She might be the girl next door, but she was definitely not my girl next door. I needed normal and Liv with the vibrant tattoo and crazy flower beds seemed to be anything but.

“Unfortunately, yes. I’m sorry. I think it would be wise for you to seek other counseling options for Noah, if he is still in need of them. Having me next door will only confuse him of my role in his life. If I had the choice, I’d rather be his neighbor and friend than his counselor.”

I chuckled briefly. “You just really don’t like to be paid, do you?”

She laughed. “It’s not about money to me, Mr. Reid. I’ve had money, and it does nothing for the soul.”

“Call me Jackson, Miss Prescott.”

“Only if you call me Liv.”

“Deal.”

“And what do you do, Jackson, to feed your soul?” she asked, her sculpted dark eyebrow rising in challenge.

“I’m a lawyer,” I answered.

She grinned as she rose from the love seat. I followed her to the door and watched as she stopped and turned toward me.

“That feeds your wallet, not your soul, Jackson. Figure out the difference.”

As I clicked the lock in place, her parting words swam around in my head, reminding me of a time when I’d sworn to make the world a better place. Through my law degree, I was going to change the world one client at a time.

Unfortunately, single fathers didn’t have time for such lofty dreams.

~Liv~

I loved Saturdays.

There was nowhere to go and nothing to do. When the weather warmed up like it did during the summer months, there was nothing better than waking up to a window full of sunshine and a day full of opportunity.

Before I’d started my own practice, my life had been less structured. My schedule had been up in the air and never the same. I enjoyed the regular schedule that having my own practice provided. I did, however, miss running errands at eleven thirty on a Tuesday morning when no one else was out but tired stay-at-home moms and other random people like me. Now, I instead had to do my shopping late at night, or risk going on the weekends when the lines were out the door, and patience was nearly nonexistent.

But not today.

Today, I had nothing planned but some serious time with my latest paperback and a little sunshine.

After grabbing my purple robe off the back of my door, I loosely wrapped it around my body. I walked downstairs and ran my hand along the polished wooden banister, loving the way the old grain felt against the pads of my fingers.

This part of town was historic, dating back over one hundred years when Confederate soldiers roamed the city. My own home still had the original hardwood flooring and much of the tin ceiling the first owners had put in when it was built. I’d added my own touches here and there, bridging the modern and old together with bright colors and funky artwork, but it still had its old-world charm.

Stepping into the kitchen, I pulled out a tin of one of my favorite blends of loose tea. It was strong and black with a hint of fruit for the morning, and it was the perfect way to wake up. I set it aside and fired up the kettle, and then I pulled out some Greek yogurt and fresh fruit for breakfast.

With my freshly brewed tea and yogurt, I sat down in my favorite spot—a cozy little armchair I’d rescued from a secondhand store—and I grabbed the book I was eager to finish. Snuggling down in the red velour chair, I sighed contentedly.

This was heaven.

I got about five seconds of heaven before it was all jacked up.

Boisterous loud laughter and shouting echoed from outside my window, causing my Zen-like calm to transform instantly into annoyance.

Pushing the curtains back, I found the root of my problem. Several men clothed in ratty jeans and T-shirts that all displayed the same faded logo were moving around with what looked like pitchforks, digging up dirt and mulch.

“My flower beds!” I screamed, suddenly realizing what they were up to.

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