Page 57

I ran a finger along his love line and smiled. “Why?”

“She’s into astrology,” he said, leaning into me to watch what I was doing. His face was a little close to mine. It made my heart flutter. “She’s always reading me my horoscope,” he said.

“And you don’t ever feel like there’s truth to it?” I asked, studying the creases in his palm.

“Nope. So what’s my palm telling you?”

I smiled a little. “You see this?” I dragged a line at the base of his fingers. “This is your love line. You’ve got a break in your heart line, right here. That means something traumatic happened to you. That’s probably the thing with your dad leaving. But look. Look how long and steady it is after that. The whole rest of your life is one solid, happy line.”

I smiled at his palm. He had featherlike creases at the start of his line. Passionate. And it stopped right before his index finger, which was good. It meant he could have a healthy love life.

I tipped his hand toward him. “You see how your heart line forks at the end? Turns down a little? That means you’re willing to sacrifice everything for love. You’re a romantic.”

When I looked up at him, he wasn’t looking at his hand. He was looking at me.

“And yours?” he asked, holding my eyes. He turned his hand over and flipped mine and held it between us. “What does yours say?”

The way we were leaning into each other, I could feel his breath just tickling my face. It was so close.

“Um…it’s a lot like yours, actually. Only my hand shape is a fire sign. I have a long palm and shorter fingers. It means—”

“Let me guess.” He gave me a small smile. “Energetic. Enthusiastic. Outgoing.”

I was having a hard time breathing normally while he was touching me like this. “Pretty much,” I managed. “Yours is air. It means you’re an intellect and logical. A good communicator.”

He ran a thumb along my palm. “Fire and air.” He looked back up at me. “And what about the rest of it? Will you have a long life?”

My smile fell and I pulled my hand away, pretending I needed to pick up my drink all of a sudden. I sat back into my corner of the sofa, putting the ocean back between us. “Lifelines show well-being,” I said. “Life changes. They don’t actually tell you how long you’re going to live.”

It was the numbness in my fingers that usually did that.

CHAPTER 12

THIS MAN CUT HIS WORK HOURS

IN HALF AND THE RESULTS

ARE STAGGERING!

ADRIAN

Becky and I sat in the conference room working. It was noon on Friday and we were waist deep in backlogged paperwork. The Bueller trial was amping up, and I wasn’t prepared.

I hadn’t looked at the bodycam footage or the toxicology report yet, and Marcus had been giving me side-eye because I missed a filing deadline last week after leaving early to take Grace to the pediatrician with Vanessa.

I hadn’t planned on going to the doctor with her. Vanessa didn’t even invite me. But I’d mentioned the baby’s appointment to Lenny and he said that his kids cried so hard when they got their shots they were inconsolable. Then he said Vanessa should have given Grace Tylenol before she got there, which I wasn’t sure she had. I’d texted her but she didn’t reply.

I’d sat there in a conference call, bouncing my foot and checking my phone, until finally I’d said fuck it and walked out and driven to the doctor’s office.

Vanessa couldn’t bring Grace back from that kind of upset like I could. Vanessa was right when she said Grace was calmer with me. She liked it when I held her when she was fussy—she actually preferred me over Vanessa when she was really worked up. It would be better if I held her while she got her shots—and anyway, I wanted to meet this doctor. Run a background check for malpractice and at the very least check his ratings on WebMD.

The nurses kept calling me “dad.” Vanessa giggled every time they did it.

I was gone only an hour, but the disruption had messed up my whole day. I’d spaced on the filing and was ten minutes late to a consultation. Lenny had taken notes for me for the rest of the conference call, but I’d missed my opportunity to ask questions while everyone was on the phone so I’d had to send emails to get up to speed.

In addition to this midday walkout, I hadn’t pulled more than an eight-hour shift in almost two weeks. The time I usually gave to my cases, I was now giving to Vanessa.

I’d started delegating.