Page 37 of A Cheesecake Christmas

Her gaze dips to the floor and she smiles. “I was spending the winter down in Arizona with my sister. I signed up to take a literature class at a community college down there, you know, something fun and different for me to do. I always loved my English classes in my undergrad. Well, Ronald was my professor. When the course was over, he asked me out and we fell in love. He’s so professor-like. He wears these awful polos and only has a couple of pairs of shoes, if you can believe it. But he writes me poetry.”

She glances up at me. “Poetry, Theo. He’s the best thing to ever happen to me, and I love him so much. He’s my other half. So, yes, I’ve been dragging my feet on this whole prenup thing. I really hope it isn’t necessary, and I don’t want to jinx anything.”

“I hope you never have to even consider it again once it’s drawn up. Your portfolio is complicated, though. And like you said, you don’t want a repeat of before. Look, you can be generous in your prenuptial agreement. It doesn’t have to be doom and gloom.”

“I feel like I have enough to go around. Enough that we’d both be happy, you know? Except if we split up, I—” her voice catches. “I wouldn’t be happy at all.”

My stomach rolls. I do know. As a child of divorce, I get it. “When you think of it, this is an act of love. If the unthinkable happens, and I’m betting it won’t, you don’t want to be dragging each other through endless court dates and fights. It just makes sense.”

I lean back in my chair, my gaze going swiftly around the room. I wish I’d had time to spruce it up a little before she came. Maybe decorate with some Christmas wreaths or something. If it were up to me, I’d never decorate for Christmas, but in New Hedge, that’s akin to fraud. Or stealing someone’s eggnog.

“How does Ronald feel about the idea?” I ask.

She shrugs. “He’s fine with it. Says he doesn’t care about my money. The funny thing is? I actually believe him.” She looks guilty, like she’s almost ashamed that she believes her fiancé loves her for her and not her wealth.

What kind of a sad world do we live in? I give an internal bitter laugh. I’m cynical when it comes to love, too.

“He sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to meet him.” I pat the files. “We can go over the basics today, and then I’ll spend the next few days going over all of your documents. Then we can meet again next week, if that works for you? You’re welcome to bring him then, or you can wait until another meeting.”

“I know it’s a lot.” She fingers the edge of one of the sheets of paper. “And there’s more that my accountants sent you digitally, as well. Let me know if you need anything else, especially to rework my will.”

The set of her jaw tells me she’s paid a dear price for the money she has.

“I may have inherited a large sum,” she says. “But I’ve grown it for the last thirty years and I’m not naïve about money. I just hope I’m not naïve about love this time around.” She perks up a smile and runs a hand through her red tresses. When she stands from the desk, she tilts her head. “Working as a family attorney probably makes it difficult for you to believe in love, huh?”

I grunt out a laugh of surprise. “No, my father took care of that for me, all on his own. I actually really like family law, though.”

She thanks me and leaves, and I get a thrill looking at the paperwork detailing all the ways in which her wealth has been diversified. This is going to be fun.

And I really do wish her the best. I just can’t get behind the whole love-thing for myself, although if Aria would ever dump that Rob guy, and if the world was a different place entirely, she might be the one to snap me out of that.

My eyes are going cross eyed, but it’s okay. I enjoy the Dahlen paperwork. Yes, some aspects of the law can be incredibly snore-inducing. But there are times when writing contracts gets complex and I love a good puzzle.

It’s dark outside when I hear Aria come home. A door creaks on its hinges, and I realize it’s probably her bedroom door. I had enough of a hard time helping her set up her bed the other day. It was difficult to not think about her sleeping in it, how she might look. And now, every time I hear her in her room, it’s going to be difficult to control my thoughts. She’s a beautiful woman—strong, smart, and interesting.

I hear doors and drawers opening and closing. These walls must be thin. I don’t know how I feel about that. Can I be annoyed, excited, and frustrated all at the same time?

Water’s running through the pipes, and I’m tripped up by the sound of the minutiae of Aria getting ready for bed. It’s nine o’clock. Does Aria go to bed early?

I’m back into the Dahlen work when I hear her blow her nose. Why is nose blowing kind of cute all the sudden? Soon, she blows her nose again, and I wonder if she’s coming down with a cold.

And that’s when I hear a sob. Maybe what I’m hearing is her TV. Then, it comes again, and I know instinctively that it’s her.

Aria’s crying.

Oh man. This is territory that I’m not exactly comfortable with. My first instinct is to ignore it. Mature? No. But I’m not very well-equipped with this sort of thing. I don’t have sisters, unless you count Camilla now. And I don’t date women long enough to get to the crying stage of a relationship. I don’t even have relationships to speak of, so this is out of my comfort zone.

I take a deep breath and assess. Okay. So she’s crying. And I’m sad about that. I wonder what happened.

Maybe her boyfriend kicked the can? Maybe he had a freak accident?

And then I scold myself when I feel a thrill of excitement at that thought.

Geesh, Theo. That’s terrible of you.

I turn my focus back to the contracts for Aleecia Dahlen, but I hear Aria again and she’s definitely crying.

Crap.

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