Page 52 of Cosy & Chill
Inklings of Doubt
Commuters packed the train into London. Leo huddled in his corner, clutching the oversized cup of coffee Audrey had forced on him on the way past her stall, and tried not to think about what he was doing.
If he’d had the ability to stop time, he’d have invoked it last night, right at the point when he and Finn had drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms. Not that this morning hadn’t been enjoyable, but it had come on the heels of Roisin waltzing back into their lives and their house.
Leo was tempted to hire a security firm and have a top-of-the-line alarm system installed. He had no idea how the woman had defeated his heavy-duty bolts. A lock could be picked, but how did one open a door bolted from the inside?
He wished she’d stayed gone, because now Finn was stuck at home at her beck and call, unable to finish the next items on his long list of orders.
Leo sipped his coffee and tried to stay angry, make this easier for himself. The familiar butterflies stirred in his gut, and if he didn’t tell them—very firmly—to go to hell, fear would invade his peace. Not that there was a lot of peace to be had between Roisin and Mr Griffin’s call.
He wrenched his thoughts around, thought about ice cream flavours, packaging, and merchandise until his mind took the hint and offered him items to add to his to-do list.
He debated flavour-specific vs. generic Cosy & Chill packaging for his ice creams when the train pulled into the station, and he followed the stream of commuters off the platform and into the centre of London. Too antsy to be still, he didn’t bother with the Tube and instead walked to the offices of Griffin & Heilbronn, where Mr Griffin, senior partner of the firm and his grandma’s dearest friend, waited for him.
“Come sit,” the solicitor invited, guiding Leo to the sofa and armchairs in one corner of his office. “I appreciate you coming out to see me so promptly.”
Leo stayed silent. Pointing out that he hadn’t wanted to come at all wasn’t polite. It wasn’t true, either. Mr Griffin had been nothing but supportive. He’d helped Leo find his bedsit, had written letters of recommendation and references, and had advanced him money against his grandma’s will, so he could pay his rent, eat, and set up his business. Under any other circumstances Leo wouldn’t have minded visiting, but Mr Griffin rarely called with good news these days.
“Your father isn’t changing his mind. He’s still planning to contest your grandmother’s will.” Mr Griffin didn’t believe in beating around the bush. “I’ve advised him against it more than once, but—”
“He isn’t listening.”
“I learned last night that he has now retained legal counsel of his own and has decided to press ahead with the matter.”
“I’ve not changed my mind either,” Leo said harshly. “He can have it. All of it. I don’t want to fight with him. I don’t want anything to do with him. I don’t want to see him. None of them.”
“I understand. But, Leo, I urge you to consider this carefully. It was your grandmother’s wish for you to inherit all she owned. She wanted to ensure your future. I understand why you don’t want to deal with the challenge—”
“I thought, as my solicitor, you’re supposed to take my instructions and act in my interest.”
“Exactly. Giving up your inheritance isn’t in your best interest.”
Leo wanted to scream. Wanted to shout and rage, leave the office, and slam the door. He was neither so rude nor so childish. Mr Griffin had been too polite to say so, but he was following his grandma’s instructions as the executor of her will.
Leo knew exactly what her sentiments had been. That he was afraid to comply with her wishes didn’t mean that her friend and solicitor would not.
“I really don’t want her money,” Leo iterated, and then stopped.
Remembered Finn, asleep in a lavender velvet armchair, a half-finished jumper in his lap. He could buy furniture for the rest of the store if he took the money, a café-sized espresso machine, and merchandise. He could kit out their bedrooms—or maybe just one of them—without them having to scrimp and save. They could remodel the downstairs kitchen and—
“I’d still much rather not have it,” he affirmed, knowing that accepting the bequest would be the start of a long, nasty fight with his father.
“No?” Mr Griffin, who’d started to look resigned, seemed to have noticed Leo’s tiny pause. “When a will is contested,” he explained in his lawyer’s voice, “it is customary for the parties involved to meet for a discussion and to see if the matter can be resolved without involving the courts. Court battles can be lengthy and expensive and affect the value of the bequest. Your father’s legal counsel has advised him to agree to this discussion, and now I advise you to do the same. You do not have to do anything but be present. It is your father’s responsibility to prove his claim, not ours to refute it.” His face went grim at the words, the grey eyes icy cold.
Leo knew how Mr Griffin planned to change his father’s mind. He’d found the photographs his grandma had collected without him knowing, and seeing the fear in his eyes had made him sick. That wasn’t who he was. Not anymore. “I don’t want to use them.”
“They would end this matter once and for all.”
And wouldn’t that be nice. Too many times Leo had wished that it would all go away. The memories, the helpless rage, the nightmares…
It occurred to him that he hadn’t had a single nightmare since he’d met Finn.
Finn was an optimist with a mile-wide stubborn streak. Despite his father, he’d built himself a successful business and it had needed only a tiny nudge from Leo to make him let go of his past and reach for his dream. Finn believed that things turned out right if he worked at them. Maybe… Maybe Leo needed to cut himself a slice of that optimism and try it for himself.
“I have no idea what you’re thinking about, but I want you to keep thinking it.” Mr Griffin interrupted his ruminations. “Because that, right there, is the determination your grandmother would have loved to see.”
Finn had gone upstairs for a bathroom break and a fresh bottle of water. When he returned—after barely five minutes—Roisin had vanished. Unsure what to do or think, he settled upstairs, finished the scarf he had on his needles, and then started a pair of gloves for Leo. He’d hoped that Leo might call, but even without news and Roisin around to run him ragged, he had plenty to think about.
