Page 10 of Tiny's Law

I smile sweetly at my friend and cross the room to hug him, smooshing Meatball between our bodies. “Come here, you big goof.”

I keep hugging Reggie and squeeze him to me. This isn’t how Reggie and I normally are. We aren't the emotional types. We mostly talk shit and pick on each other, but it’s all out of love, and I know without a single doubt that no one cares about me more than him. The fact that he is so emotional over all of this has me choking up.

“Thank you for everything, Reg. You know I love you.”

Two months ago, I came to Desert Rose for a weekend to get away from the nightmare I found myself in back in Phoenix. I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do next. I wasn’t sure if I was ever going to be able to practice law ever again.

Owen and Reggie opened their home to me for the weekend and really helped me see that I wasn’t even happy doing corporate law. I had always had dreams of being a defense attorney like my dad. I don’t know why I ever left it in the first place. Oh yeah, that’s right. Ben convinced me to. And at the time, I really thought Ben and I were something.

When I was a kid, I watched my dad fight tooth and nail to prove one of his client’s innocence, and from then on, I knew that was what I wanted to do with my life. I never wanted to watch someone be prosecuted for something they weren’t guilty of.

Reggie and Owen reminded me of that in a measly three days. I don’t know how I even got so lost working for the firm that I forgot about why I wanted to practice law in the first place.

After leaving Reggie and Owen’s that weekend, I went and visited my parents in Florida and spent a few weeks there. I didn’t tell my dad the real reason why I quit the firm. Instead, I took the coward's way out and just told him that I wasn’t happy there and that I really wanted to go back to criminal law like him. Dad was thrilled, and we spent the majority of my visit discussing my change in career paths. The crisis was averted, and I was able to enjoy the time with my parents.

That visit really did my soul some good. Prior to me quitting my job, I had been missing them terribly, so I guess I could call the whole thing a silver lining. I got to spend entirely too much money while shopping with my mom, which my dad says is our specialty. He really has no room to complain, though, since it’s his fault we are this way anyway. The man loves to spoil us and has been doing it for my entire life.

In his retirement, he has taken spoiling my mother to an entirely new level. Vacations in the Maldives and Europe, custom (and very expensive) handbags from all around the world, and everything in between. Charlotte Walker wants it; Oliver Walker buys it or makes it happen.

The man worships the ground that we walk on and has beat it into my brain that whatever man I end up with should also treat me as such. I think that’s why I’m pushing 31 and still single. No man has ever made the effort that I’ve seen my dad put in for my entire life.

That’s not to say that I’m shallow or need a rich man to be happy. I have money, and I can buy my own flowers or whatever Miley Cyrus said. But I definitely will not settle for a man who doesn’t put in the time and effort that my dad does.

Sitting on the beach on my last day in Florida, Reggie called me with the idea of extending his firm to offer a criminal division. At first, I was skeptical because Reggie is a family lawyer who handles mainly divorce and child support. Who is going to want to go to a family lawyer while there could be a felon sitting in the office across the hall?

The Tuesday after I left, a man contacted Reggie to see if he was hiring or willing to open up his practice to more lawyers. The man, Nash, specializes in contracts and stuff like that. He really just wanted an actual office to work out of. With that, Reggie had the idea of expanding his brand-new business into a firm that offered all different types of law.

The answer was simple. I had fallen in love with the small town of Desert Rose while I was visiting and, honestly, couldn’t wait to get back to Arizona to start looking for a place to live.

Reggie tried talking me into moving into their newly renovated guest room, but Owen is severely allergic to cats, and I hated the thought of locking Meatball in a room 24/7.

Luck was in my favor, and I found the cutest house with the most breathtaking view of the red mountains from my back porch. The best part? My drive to the office is seven minutes. Seven minutes! The drive from my condo in Phoenix to the office was damn near an hour with traffic.

“How about we take you to dinner? Take a break from this for a bit,” Owen suggests, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Thank God I didn’t decide to move in the middle of summer. October in Arizona was still warm on some days, but thankfully, today was one of the cooler ones. I packed a lot of shit, so all three of us are sporting some sweat stains on our shirts from unpacking the moving truck.

“I’d love that! Let me just go change.”

I take off for the master bedroom, which is tucked back behind the large kitchen by a long hallway. I stop at the open suitcase taking over my bed and pull out a pair of bike shorts and a loose, graphic T-shirt. I packed the suitcase with just enough clothes for a few days until I can get all of my things unpacked and put away, which, knowing me, is going to take a while. I make a mental note to make the master my priority.

Climbing into the backseat of Owen’s lifted Rubicon, I buckle my seatbelt and take a deep breath.

I think this is going to be just the fresh start I needed.

“What can I get you folks?” the older waitress, whose name tag says Claire, asks.

I give her my order first, and while Reggie and Owen give her theirs, my eyes wander around the diner.

Owen grew up here, and I can see just why he begged Reggie to move back. This town has such a nice atmosphere. The diner is full of people from all walks of life. An elderly couple sits at a small booth for two in the corner while a group of college kids have all of their textbooks spread out at a long table near the front window. My eyes briefly pause on a larger-than-life man wearing a black T-shirt and a backward ballcap ordering food at the bar.

I’m a woman who appreciates a good-looking man, and the parts I see of him most definitely fall under that category and have my curious eyes roaming. His arm muscles test the hems of his sleeves, and I follow one particularly bulging vein from the back of his arm all the way down to his wrist.

He must feel my eyes on him as he turns to assess his surroundings. I bring my gaze back to the table immediately when he looks my way, not wanting to seem like some creepy freak for checking out his arm veins. That’s a weird thing to stare at.

When I chance a glance back up, he's no longer facing this way, but I’m able to catch his side profile.

Oh no.

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