Page 431 of Small Town Firsts
Kensington Square was wild and messy, comforting and stable, city and town all at once. The perfect community. Now there was a new kid on the block, and I was heading his way.
The wind whipped my hair around. My boots clicked on the sidewalk, and a whiff of burning leaves mixed with the crisp cold air. A few people bustled around me, huddled into sweaters and hoodies as they hurried into shops. The sunny day had justenough bite to remind everyone of the brutal winter ahead. I preferred to embrace autumn’s changeable whims.
I hugged my future against my chest, along with a little something for my resident sweet tooth.
Ahead, a small black and red sign stuck out from the freshly whitewashed brick building. We’d fought over the spray gun last weekend while painting the building he’d bought.
Bought,for goddess’s sake.
Normal people rented space in Kensington Square, but not my guy. Nope. He’d bought the building and jumped headlong into renovating it. I hadn’t even known he knew how to use a hammer.
Then again, was there really anything PMS couldn’t do?
He got me to date him, didn’t he?
Date.Ha.
There was no dating that man. I’d been assimilated. I should hate it. In fact, I should be running the other way. Instead, here I was, in front of that little red sign that read:Preston M. Shaw, Esq. Family Law. est. 2021.
He’d actually done it.
He had told me he was leaving his family’s law firm, but I hadn’t really believed he would actually take the leap. Even more, he’d gone after what made him happy. He’d mademebelieve in stepping out of my own box. One I hadn’t even known I was trapped in.
A witch who believed in fate and the universe as the cornerstones of my practice never actually put those things to the test.
I’d used it as a cloak. A sparkly one disguised as giving myself to my clients and my community through podcasting and social media. Dishing out advice and words of wisdom about doing the work to heal when in reality, I’d usedthemas a buffer.
I could dish it out, but I really sucked at doing my own work. I focused on external gratification instead of looking within to figure out exactly what I needed.
I’d never truly believed in anything until Preston.
I turned toward the wide window framed in glossy black paint. PMS was pacing the length of his office while speaking on the phone. He’d lost his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves over his delicious forearms, leaving him in one of his vests that drove me crazy.
However, there was one distinct difference. He may have appeared a little harried, but excitement crackled around him. I didn’t have to hear the conversation to know he was drilling point after point into some poor person’s ear.
Fighting the good fight for a client he truly cared about.
He ripped at his tie, loosening the red silk as he hung up the phone but kept speaking as he flipped through papers on his desk. Speaker phone. Whomever was on the other end of that call was in serious trouble.
I was aware I drew a perverted pleasure from seeing PMS riled up. I was good with it.
Grinning, I ran up the three steps. I tapped on the tiny key and bells I’d hidden in the wreath on his steel-enforced red door for a little added protection and to dispel any negative energy hanging around. I’d also painted sigils into the doorways as well. Most people wouldn’t notice them since I painted black on black, but family law came with a lot of high emotion and I liked to give him as much of a leg up as possible.
It also let other witches know this was a safe space. A few friends from Luna Falls had already sent people his way who were in need of a sharp lawyer.
I slipped inside to see Preston with his knuckles planted on his desk as he loomed over his phone. “I don’t care if the judge is on the back nine talking to the President of the United freakingStates. I want that child out of protective services and with his mother by tonight.”
The voice on the other side of the line sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
A little shiver skated down my spine at the power in his voice. I unzipped my jacket, but had to adjust it to cover my chest so he didn’t see the headlight action I had going on. Or the fact that I may have stolen one of his shirts again.
I couldn’t help myself. I was getting addicted to the finery, and filching clothes from his closet was becoming a habit. I also didn’t mind that he liked to steal them back—off my person.
He looked up from the desk, and his eyes had that far-off look like when he was in full-on lawyer mode. His brain was in overdrive as he tried to puzzle out whatever problem he was facing. But then his quick smile dispelled all that crackling energy.
Too bad.
“Miss Moon, did you come bearing gifts?” He came around his desk, those long legs eating up the hardwood floors so he could reach for my box of donuts.
