Page 51 of When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss

He hands me a warm sausage, egg, and cheese croissant and a cup of coffee. “It’s a pumpkin spice latte. Your favorite.”

The thought of this man remembering one of my favorite things makes my heart skip a beat.

“Thank you.” I take a long sip, savoring the taste of cinnamon, nutmeg, and the creamy pumpkin that blends perfectly with the rich coffee. “It’s so good.”

He chuckles. “I’m glad you like it, but I still don’t understand the hype. Pumpkin belongs in a pie, not a drink.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on.” I say, taking another drink. “If it wasn’t seasonal I’d drink them all year-round.”

A brief flicker crosses his face before he takes the seat next to me and unwraps his breakfast sandwich. “Now that we’re both well rested, can we talk about why you’re living in a house that’s practically falling apart and feels like you’re in the Arctic tundra?” he asks, his voice edged with worry.

I groan, wiping my hand across my face. As much as I’d rather sidestep this topic, Dawson’s concern tells me he’s not going to brush it off. Even though I might sound ungrateful, I do appreciate that he cares enough to ask.

“My grandpa bought the house as a wedding gift for my grandma. It started as a fixer-upper,

but with their teachers’ salaries, money was tight and they couldn’t afford to fully remodel it.” I pause briefly, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “When life threw them curveballs, they decided to put their energy into keeping the place well-maintained. They lived there until my grandpa passed away a few years ago, and Grams moved into Oak Ridge shortly after.”

Dawson glances down, adjusting the lid of his coffee cup. “Do you mind me asking what happened to your parents? You haven’t mentioned them.”

Nothing gets past him. I rarely talk about my unconventional upbringing because people usually react awkwardly when they hear the details.

Dawson is the exception. Our backgrounds may be different—he grew up in foster care while my grandparents raised me—but we both know what it’s like to grow up without our parents and the void that leaves behind.

“My mom got pregnant with me during college and never told us who my father was.” I avert my gaze, not wanting to see Dawson’s reaction to the next part. “She was diagnosed with stage four Hodgkin’s lymphoma when I was a toddler and passed away not long after.”

I’m forced to look up when Dawson puts his hand over mine, giving it a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, angel.”

I let out a deep breath, glancing down at my hands. “It was a long time ago, and I was so young that my memories of her are fuzzy. There will always be a part of me that’s missing, not having gotten the opportunity to grow up with my mom, but I was lucky to have my grandparents.” I take a sip of my coffee, savoring the comforting taste of pumpkin spice. “They gave me the best childhood anyone could have asked for. That’s why I want to pursue a career in law—to advocate for kids who don’t have the same safety net or resources that I was fortunate to have.”

“You have a beautiful soul, Reese Taylor.” Dawson presses a kiss to the back of my hand, making my cheeks flush. “It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I had someone willing to advocate for me, and not every kid gets that opportunity.”

“It seems like we both dealt with less-than-ideal circumstances, but we made it out okay,” I say, with a faint smile.

“Yeah, we sure did,” he says, his eyes crinkling with warmth.

Dawson’s childhood was undoubtedly harder than mine. I can’t imagine the lack of stability from being moved around constantly without family to lean on.

The mood lightens as we both dig into our breakfast. I could so easily get used to lazy weekend mornings with Dawson, who makes me feel at ease and provides a sense of calm when the outside world is so chaotic.

When I grab a napkin from the counter to wipe my face, I notice him staring off into the distance, lost in thought.

“What’s on your mind?”

He looks at me with a glint in his eye. “Spend the rest of the weekend with me,” he says, like it’s the simplest request in the world.

A flush creeps up my neck as I stare at him slacked jawed.

“You want me to stay with you for the weekend?” I ask, unsure if I heard him correctly.

He nods. “Yes, I do.”

“I’m supposed to visit my grandma this afternoon,” I say.

No matter how much I like spending time with him, I can’t forget about my other responsibilities.

“I want to take you to the tattoo shop. There are some people I’d like you to meet. We’ll be done in plenty of time for you to visit your grandma, then we can go out to dinner.”

I’m intrigued by the prospect of visiting Steel & Ink again. I haven’t been back since the night we met, and I’d love to see him in his element while he’s tattooing. That side of his life is kept under lock and key, and he’s showing me a great deal of trust by letting me in.

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