Page 17 of Beachside Kisses With My Best Friend

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” Jordan tugs at the collar of his purple shirt. It’s strange seeing him dressed up. He’s even ditched his hat and must have gone to see Glinda over at The Golden Highlight for a trim, as his hair is cut and gelled to perfection. I kind of prefer it a bit longer, though, where the ends curl over the edge of his shirt…

“Oh, it was bad.” I stick the cup back in the cup holder and smooth my hands over the green skirt I’m wearing. “Marla came in right afterward and gave me a face that looked just like the gritted teeth emoji.”

Still smiling, Jordan keeps his eyes on the road. “Speaking of Marla, what’s going on there? I meant to ask Tuesday, but then…” His smile disappears.

I’d do anything to get it back. Unfortunately, I don’t think this particular conversation will do that.

I clear my throat and fiddle with the air vent, directing some of the heat my way. “I visited Pete. Just to see if getting a loan would even be an option.”

“And?”

“And he confirmed what I figured. My credit… Well, as much as he likes me as a person and respected my parents, I’m just not a good risk.”

Tell me something I don’t know, Pete.

“That’s harsh.” His glance flashes over at me, then back to the road, where I can see buildings and stoplights ahead. We’re almost there. “So where does that leave you? Are you going to see if Blake and Lucy want to buy your portion of the house from you?”

“I haven’t decided. It’s a big decision, you know?” And I don’t have the best track record with decisions.

“For sure. You should absolutely take your time.” Jordan follows his phone’s GPS a few more blocks to a brick building in a nice part of town. He parks, turns off the ignition, and sits back. Breathes in. Out. Then turns to me. “You ready?”

“I am.” I tilt my head. “It’s gonna be okay, all right, Jay?”

“Yep. Right.” He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. And I don’t blame him one bit. This meeting will tell us a lot about what next steps need to be taken.

About how likely the Comers are to succeed in this petition.

Together, we exit the truck and walk up the steps into a multi-office building, then follow the signs for Samuel Granger’s office on the second floor. I’ve actually only met Sam a few times when I was much younger, but his information was in my dad’s old contact book. When I reached out on Tuesday, he was very kind and accommodating. Doesn’t mean he won’t charge Jordan an arm and a leg, but hopefully his experience with family court will mean this is an open-and-shut case.

Jordan holds open the door for me, then follows me into the small lobby. There are only a handful of chairs in the waiting room and a pleasant-looking woman with glasses and a gray ponytail who smiles at us from behind the receptionist’s desk. The run-of-the-mill carpet is a bit worn on the way from the door to the desk, but everything is very clean, and a small fountain on the edge of the woman’s desk trickles a calming waterfall. “How can I help you today?”

“Afternoon, ma’am,” Jordan says. “We’re here to see Mr. Granger. I’m Jordan Carmichael.”

“Ah, yes. One moment while I let him know you’re here.” She picks up her phone.

Jordan taps his finger on the edge of the desk. Then runs his hand through his hair. Then across his jaw.

I grab his hand and pull it down, keeping it firmly tucked in mine.

His gaze shifts to me, and he blows out a breath, nods.

“Okay, Mr. Granger will see you now,” the receptionist says. “It’s the second door on the left, down that hallway there.”

“Thank you.” Jordan starts walking and, since he’s still got ahold of my hand, I do too.

When we reach the door, we knock and enter after a gruff “Come in” greets us. Mr. Granger sits behind a large desk flanked with oak bookcases, a window on the wall to our right boasting a gorgeous view of downtown. He’s a nice-looking man, fairly fit and in his fifties, and his full head of salt and pepper hair adds to his distinguished air. He glances up from a stack of papers and sits upright in his chair, running one hand down the length of his silk, black tie before indicating the two chairs across the desk from him. “Please, sit.”

Jordan leads me to the chair on the right and pulls it out just a bit for me, then reaches out and shakes Mr. Granger’s hand. “Thank you so much for meeting with us last minute like this, Mr. Granger.”

“Of course, of course. But please, call me Sam.” He turns to me, and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he takes me in. “Marilee, so good to see you again. Goodness, you look just like Holly.”

My eyes burn at the sudden and unexpected praise, because my mother was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, inside and out. “Thank you for the compliment, sir.” I place my hands in my lap and start fidgeting with the bottom of my blouse. A lump lodges in my throat.

Now it’s Jordan’s turn to reach over and grab my hand, to steady me like he always does.

Sam taps the paper stack on his desk. “I’ve been reviewing your file and all of the information you gave me over the phone, then chatted with the Comers’ attorney to gather some details. The good news is they’re only asking for partial custody, same as their daughter had. But I understand you never had a formal agreement drawn up between the two of you?”

“Correct. We didn’t see the need.”

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