The Belle and the Beard by Kate Canterbary (carter reed TXT) 📗

vehicle when I was perfectly capable. It was a pleasantry but it was also a doorway to leaning on him, relying on him, expecting things from him.

That was the last thing I needed, especially after—oh god—yesterday.

When Linden rounded the hood of the truck and found me standing there, straightening my hair in the side mirror, he blew out a breath, muttered something to himself, and gave me a slow up-and-down stare. "All right, Jasper. Let's get to it."

Linden was right about being mistaken for my significant other at the front desk, and his repeated insistence that it didn't bother him saved me from apologizing all over the situation while I waited to be called back into a meeting room.

"Why would it bother me?" he asked. "Why would I put any effort into reacting to the presumptions of a stranger?"

I wanted to provide him a thoughtful explanation as to why it was reasonable to feel some sort of way about this but all I could offer was, "I don't know. Sometimes men get weird about being misrepresented."

"Men get weird about being misrepresented?"

I threw my hands up. "Please don't goad me into a 'not all men' moment."

"No, that's not what I'm getting at," he replied, impatience thick in his voice. "What I mean is, if someone can't handle being logically and reasonably mistaken for a significant other in a low-stakes situation, that person is probably forcing a lot of their own insecurities onto you. So no, not all men. Just the ones too fragile to deal with the idea of significance."

I studied him for a moment, his large body wedged into the chair beside me and his gaze steady in a way that made me feel extremely unsteady, like an awkward hatbox on the top of a precarious pile. Like I could come crashing down at any minute and he'd go right on staring, waiting for me to do something better than fall to pieces before him.

"Ms. Cleary? We're ready for you." A woman with a tablet cradled in her arm smiled at me with expectant eyes. "Your partner is welcome to join us too."

He glanced over but kept his gaze on the floor. His voice lowered, he asked, "Will it make you uncomfortable if I go in there with you?"

"Seems a little intimate, considering I've only cried on your shoulder twice and gagged my personal problems all over you."

He bobbed his head as he laughed. "If it would make you feel better, you're welcome to come home with me after this and get naked. I'll also get naked. To balance things out. If you wanted, we could be naked together. That's about as intimate as it gets, Peach."

I smiled in spite of myself. "You don't need to do that."

"Maybe I want to."

"Are we talking about the naked stuff or the divorce stuff? I've lost track."

"Will it make you uncomfortable if I come in?" he repeated. "That's all I care about."

"Ms. Cleary?"

I stood, swung my bag over my shoulder. "I won't be uncomfortable."

Linden pushed to his feet and flattened his hand low on my back. "Then tell me if that changes."

I'd imagined doing this alone. Paging through the legal documents, signing my name a million times, handling it all with only myself to lean on—same as it always was. Never in my mental calculus did I see a flannel-shirted man with thighs like tree trunks doing any of it with me. It was tempting to rewrite my plans to include him but I'd learned that lesson the hardest way. Moments like these didn't add up the way I craved, they didn't lead to the permanence I wanted, and they didn't last.

I smiled up at him all the same.

He was polite enough to distract himself by studying the trees on the other side of the window while the legal assistant identified the documents waiting for me and pointed out the information I had to verify. It would only take a few minutes, she explained, unless I wanted to make changes to the agreement. That would require another round of review by the other party—Preston—and we'd have to reconvene to finalize our dissolution.

It was such an unlikely word. Dissolution. It made me think of ripping open a pouch of Jell-O mix and stirring it into boiling water. It was the wrong thing to think about. Divorce and Jell-O had nothing in common. This piece of me was falling apart and Jell-O only came together. It solidified. It even wiggled.

There was nothing solid in my life. Not even the house I called my home. Any day now, a good gust of wind was going to blow this little piggy's house right down. What would I do then? Where would I go?

Sign the papers, sell the bricks, sweep up the broken home. Keep moving. Don't look back.

I wouldn't need another round. There was nothing to change. Preston and I had nothing to divide up, nothing shared between us but a friendship that'd once functioned as the very best thing in our young lives. We didn't have joint bank accounts or property. I'd moved out of our apartment and into a smaller, more affordable place after he followed his boss to Northern Ireland. I didn't have a married name to erase from my driver's license and credit cards as I'd had no interest in the lengthy process of paperwork and filings to do away with my maiden name.

No, we'd dissolve this today and nothing would be different tomorrow.

The legal assistant left us alone, promising my attorney would be in shortly and offering us every variety of coffee and tea under the sun. There were also pastries and breakfast breads, if we pleased, and several brands of bottled water.

She only referred to Linden as my partner twice.

I only winced over it once.

After a pause, he asked, "You're sure you're not uncomfortable? I'll go. It's fine."

With my knees pinched together tight and a hand clutching the lapels of my blazer, I shook my head. "I'm beginning to think you're