Maybe what matters is how life feels. And right now, with Jack beside me, it feels like more than enough.
Jack
I’m halfwaythrough pretending to admire a display of hand-carved reindeer when a familiar voice calls out behind me.
“Lourd! Got a second?”
Dr. Eli Bennett strides over, tall and steady, munching roasted almonds from a paper sack. “I’ve been looking for you. Wasn’t sure where to find you with the bakery closed today.” His wry smile pulls one from me in return.
“Enjoying the day off.” I look pointedly at the green scrubs under his parka. “I take it you’re not?”
He scoffs. “Yeah, no. But don’t worry, I’m not here about Skippy’s overdue shots.” He pulls a packet of papers from his coat. “Could use a lawyer’s eye. And with Hideaway’s view on lawyers…”
We both laugh, knowing full well how Hidies feel about my line of work.
Taking the papers Eli hands me, I pause, thinking how different my reception has been lately. Less wary. More welcoming. “What have we got here?”
Eli taps the top of the stapled documents. “I’ve been renting my clinic space for ten years. Landlord finally offered to sell me the building, but the terms…” He shakes his head. “Let’s just say I don’t trust them.”
I skim the first page, and the noise of the market fades. Inflated purchase price. Maintenance clauses that put all the liability on Eli. A line about ‘restricted renovations’ that might as well chain him to the status quo.
“You’re right,” I tell him, pointing at the clause. “This is stacked against you. You’d be paying like an owner but living like a tenant.”
Eli exhales, half relieved, half frustrated. “That’s what I thought. So what would you do?”
I hesitate, the desire to help fighting against the state’s restrictions on my legal reach. “I can tell you what’s wrong. I can even outline what a fairer deal would look like. But I can’t actually fix it. I’m not licensed in Maine.”
“So you know how to help, but you’re not allowed to?” Eli frowns. “That’s gotta be frustrating.”
I nod, recognizing the same weight in him. A fellow high-responsibility guy.“Exactly.”
“That’s a shame.” The vet studies me, his expression thoughtful. “Because a guy like you could do a lot of good here. Even as an outsider—and a dreaded lawyer—people here already trust you.”
The words catch me off guard, landing heavier than they should.
When I glance across the square, I spot Audrey at a booth with Portia, laughing over a stocking the length of her leg, her cheeks pink from the cold, her dark hair curling around the shoulders of her red coat. She looks like she’s exactly where she belongs.
And suddenly, I can picture it.
Not me on a red-eye back to LA. Not me tied to A-list clients and residuals and box office percentages.
Me here. Next to her. Practicing law that actually helps people. Solving problems that matter.
And damn if I don’t want it.
COOLING RACK
Audrey
“Merry Christmas!”
The last customer leaves with a wave, and I flip Making Whoopie’s lock and turn the sign toClosedbefore humming my way back to the counter. It’s three o’clock, which in Hideaway Harbor means scrubbing cocoa powder off marble and sweeping up sprinkles, the day’s chaos distilled into sugar confetti.
“That’s not going to work for my client.” Across the room, Jack is camped out at his corner table, dress shirt fastened with cufflinks, hair perfectly coiffed. “As per the contract, it states we have first right to…”
While my ovens cool, his world is just heating up—noon in Los Angeles is prime time for lunch meetings. He’s on Zoom, earbuds in, nodding at a wall of Hollywood faces on his computer screen while I hum “Deck the Halls” and feel adelicious burn between my legs that has nothing to do with today’s baking.
Jack might call sex his new cardio, but this morning’s session had me flying through orders like I’d mainlined espresso.
