Page 19 of Muddy Messy Love

He tilts his head. “Or fate could be making a point. Teaching you a lesson.” The corner of his mouth twitches with a smile. Another one he seems to restrain in favour of indifference, but his eyes betray him.

He seems…nice.

“You believe in fate?” He doesn’t appear the type—too refined and grounded for such whimsical bullshit. Unlike me.

“At times. But I take issue with the idea everything is preset. That choice is an illusion.” His gaze flickers to the inside of his briefcase, then back to me, and his jaw tenses. “Especially when you consider the horrors some inflict.”

“Maybe it’s a mix of both.” I shrug. “Choice that leads to various paths and destinies.”

He considers my words, his face softening. “Like a Choose Your Own Adventure novel?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Only with infinite choice.” The memory prompts me to grin. “Those books were the highlight of grade three.”

“Mine too,” he says, and this time he doesn’t fight his smile. Straight teeth gleam white, and a lone dimple puckers one cheek. Tingles shoot through me, exploding like popping candy—thehotkind. His smile is breathtaking but disappears too fast. Rubbing the stubble of his chin, he schools his expression. “So have you learnt your lesson?”

There’s levity in his tone, but my grin slips away. “Have I ever.”

He searches my face through a beat of silence, and I look down at the table, blinking away my tears before they start.

“Good. Magistrates like genuine remorse, and we need to give her every reason to help you.” He sits forward, adjusting the chair, and scans the papers. “Do you have a job?”

I shake my head. “I did. Sort of. Before I moved in with Beth.” I was the resident babysitter. The go-to girl for the myriad single mums. “I haven’t thought it wise to find another under the circumstances.” How does one explain to a prospective employer the impending possibility of jail?

“The circumstances being…?” He looks up, raising a brow, and I frown.

Isn’t it obvious?

“The fact I might go to jail.” The words leave my mouth, reeking of melodrama, and Cole’s eyes sparkle with amusement. With burning cheeks, I size up the space underneath the table, wondering if I’d fit and if so, how well it would hide me. It’s not my fault I catastrophise everything. I’m wired this way.

Forcing solemnity, Cole lowers his chin. “Assuming your freedom, do you intend to find work?”

“Yes,” I say, but the answer terrifies me. I hadn’t thought past today. It would have only tempted fate to punish me further.Will I have the energy for a real job? I suppose that’s irrelevant. Life doesn’t care if it’s too hard to move.

A faint charge pulses high in my stomach, spurring a memory to life, and my old plan pokes its head out of the studio box, checking it’s safe to return. With Beth’s generosity, everything changed. My hands move. The muse shows up, and I have a home until I find my feet.For as long as I need.Why didn’t I think of this until now?

Meeting Cole’s eyes, I straighten my spine. “I’m meant to start uni next year. I deferred this year.”

He scrolls his pen across the page in looping cursive. “Melbourne?”

I nod.

“What will you be studying?”

“Fine arts.”

He glances up with a raised brow. “Sculpture?”

“How did you know?”

He nods to the papers. “School reports. Your art teacher was…enamoured.”

He read my school reports?

My chest tightens, and I pick at a frayed leather seam on my bag. Mrs. Donovan wasn’t just a teacher; she was my friend. A friend who’d be so disappointed if she could see me now. Brushing away the thought, I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “I can find a job in the interim,” I say, watching him read.

“How long have you known Slade Pearson?” He speaks without looking up, and the question jolts me. He says Slade’s name aloud as though it doesn’t stab my heart.

“Five months,” I say.

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