Page 10 of From the Ashes

“I’m afraid we’re not allowed to give out that kind of information, sweetie,” Yara says apologetically. “But why don’t we take your mom’s phone number, and then Del can give it to the other nice man for you?”

“Could you really?” Nevaeh asks me. “You can give him some cupcakes as well, but I can bake some for him too if he’d like. I owe him my literallife,Mr. Del! I justhaveto tell him thank you!”

I forgot how dramatic eight-year-olds can be, too. It’s nothing to how sneaky my partner is, though. She knows there’s lingering, unresolved crap between Colt and I, and she thinks I’m never going to get over it unless I confront it.

Or more specifically, him.

Part of me wonders if she’s right. But right now, it doesn’t seem like I have a choice either way.

“I can try and pass your number along,” I promise with a smile that almost reaches my eyes. “And some cupcakes. He might have just been in town for the weekend, but I think I remember where his dad works. I’m sure he’d be very happy to hear from you and to know that you’re all better now.”

Nevaeh throws her arms around my waist. “Oh thank you, thank you,thank you!I’m so glad you were here when we came. It was fate again, bringing us together!”

Fate, yeah. Something like that certainly dropkicked Colton Ross back into my life. I give Yara a steely glare as she offers her cookies to the grateful family, but she just winks at me.

I know if I really didn’t want to put myself through this, I could tell her the name of Colt’s dad’s law firm and she’d go pass the message along, no problem. In fact, if she thought she’d genuinely upset me, I know she’d be mortified. Which suggests it’s possible that she’s better able to see the bigger picture here.

Perhaps it’s time I face my past and close the door on Colt and me for good. If I confront him, maybe I’ll get some of those answers I never had when I was a brokenhearted teenager.

So I nod, and she subtly crinkles her nose at me in victory. I reserve the right to still be a little bit mad at her. However, it’s hard to hold onto that with Nevaeh and her family’s gratitude surrounding us.

It’s a good thing I’ve got a bunch of cupcakes so fill me up, I guess. Because I’m sure not going to my grandma’s for breakfast anymore.

I’m going to head over to Ross & Associates and get this unpleasantness over with as soon as possible.

CHAPTER 5

Colt

This office is a lot…chattier…thanthe firms I worked at back in New York. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but I’m still getting used to the fact that if I find myself in the breakroom, I’m expected to join in with whoever’s having a good gossip session.

Most mornings, I either make breakfast at home or grab it on the way in. But today the surf was too good, and I stayed longer than I know I should have. I only just made it through the door before nine o’clock. It’s not like my father is monitoring me, per se. But I’d feel shitty if I started letting my standards slip only a few weeks into the job.

So that’s how I find myself waiting politely in the kitchenette for the coffee maker to produce another pot while I toast a bagel. A couple of the other senior attorneys are shooting shit, apparently either unaware that I’m waiting or not really caring.

I can’t say there’s been a tremendous amount of socializing since I joined the team. Judging by the way some of these people look at me, they must think I’m just going to waltz in here and step in as managing partner the second my father clicks his fingers, and no doubt some of them resent that. I’m not sure how to casually bring up over the water cooler that none of this was my idea and I don’t even know if I want to be running the place.

It’s certainly not something easily segued into from the discussion my colleagues are currently having about their kids and school.

“Timothy keeps whining that he wants to drop advanced chemistry and pick French back up instead,” Lynda is saying scornfully. “Who speaks French, anyway?”

“At least Spanish would be useful around here,” Winston agrees with a laugh.

Lynda snorts. “Well, yes, if you need to tell your housekeeper she missed a spot.”

Winston gasps in mock outrage and playfully slaps her arm. “Stop, you’re so bad. At least learning another language might help with trade negotiations or understanding foreign markets. Dillon is still insisting he wants to ‘make movies,’ whatever that means. I’m seriously tempted to delete his TikTok account. Maybe that’ll get his head out of the clouds.”

It’s probably because I’ve been thinking about Zahir so much lately. But hearing their discussion only makes me think of my own parents, sneering about how subjects like art were a waste of time, knowing full well that my best friend’s passion was painting. Not to mention the casual racism. I’m so disgusted at my colleague’s attitudes and consumed by thinking how they’re probably crushing their own children’s dreams, I don’t realize I make a tsking noise out loud.

I certainly realize when they both turn to face me, eyebrows raised.

“You don’t have kids yet, do you, Colton?” Lynda asks in a tone clearly meant to convey to me just how much of a moral and social failing that is.

I clear my throat. “Oh, um, no. I didn’t mean to?—”

“But you’re married, aren’t you?” Winston interrupts. He’s smiling. However, I can tell by the way it doesn’t reach his eyes that it’s intended as a dig.

And I hate it. I hate the shame that rises inside me for failing to meet my parents’ expectations by my early thirties as I shake my head and laugh nervously. “Uh, no,” I say, wishing I’d gotten out of the water even five minutes earlier so I could have skipped this excruciating interaction.

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