I’m more than a little familiar with the courtroom setting. That’s actually how Everett and I met. My old landlords, a couple of mean old sisters, were suing me because their business wasn’t doing well. Anyway, Everett was subbing in small claims court for his buddy, and he wisely sided with me.
But the best part of that day was what happened before we officially met in the courtroom. We had already unofficially met outside on our way to the coffee shop next door to the courthouse. Let’s just say our worlds collided and things have never been the same for either one of us. After we bumped into one another in a rather dramatic fashion, and Everett’s briefcase and all of its contents went flying, I introduced myself, but Everett stubbornly wouldn’t give me his name.
I thought for sure when the barista wrote his name on his cup at the coffee shop I’d be in the know, but she scribbled out Mr. Sexy instead, as she should have. It wasn’t until later that we bumped into one another again that I learned not only his name, but that he was Noah’s once upon a stepbrother. And the rest, as they say, is history.
And how I wish this stint of mine at the courthouse was history, too.
The bailiff here seems to be running the juror show as he calls in batches of us at a time to head into the courtroom. And those of us not chosen remain clustered in this small room that smells of stale coffee and despair, while staring at our phones like a bunch of zombies.
The afternoon wears on, and Noah and I text one another like a couple of teenagers. I asked if he was busy and I know for a fact he’s a big liar because he said he has all the time in the world for me. Noon turns to two, then two to almost four, and that window on lunch has securely closed.
Instead of noshing on a pizza at Mangias with Noah like I had fantasized, I eat a couple of fried pickles paired with just about every bag of potato chips the vending machines have to offer. It’s not my fault I wasn’t able to have a nutritious meal. The fact the cafeteria smelled liked sauerkraut practically forced me to resort to inhaling carbs at a dangerous rate. I’d hate for my nausea to rear its ugly head so soon in the day. I’m hoping to save all of the projectile vomiting to entertain the legal eagles with.
Finally, my group is called and my adrenaline begins to ratchet up. I plan on limping my way into that courtroom and arching my back to make my stomach look twice as big. I wore one of the biggest tent dresses I could find that pronounced my maternal condition, and like I mentioned, I’m not afraid to go along with whatever my nausea decides to give me. It still hits me hard about once or twice a day, and if I have to puke my way out of this judicial mess, then so be it.
We enter the courtroom, and the majesty of the room alone sets my nerves aflutter. More creamy marble floors, an entire forest of dark-stained wood lines the walls, and a multitude of thick wooden chairs are set out for those who wish to observe the proceedings.
“Psst.” The blonde next to me pats my arm. “Check out that side of beef sitting up on that throne. My goodness, I think he’s staring right at me. Oh honey, I may not get selected to serve on this jury, but I think I just got an invite to his private chambers.”
I make a face before looking up to catch a glimpse of the perverse judge we’re dealing with and my eyes spring wide.
It’s Everett!
“Oh, thank God.” I give a sigh of relief.
“Right?” Ms. Hot to Trot next to me giggles. “Who knew this is where they keep all the melt in your mouth, delicious men? And I cannot wait to take a bite out of this one.” She pinches her skirt up a notch until it’s about mid-thigh and her formfitting pink sweater is already doing a great job of displaying the girls. She’s about my age, long blonde hair that’s teased every which way, and has far too much glossy red lipstick on, half of which is on her teeth. I would have warned her about it, but since she’s got her sights set on my hubby, there’s no way I’m going to tell her she looks like a vampire who just drew blood.
“He might be married.” I give her a cheeky shrug, and she gurgles out a laugh.
“Oh honey, with a face like that, his wife is practically required to share him.” She shakes back her hair. “They don’t call me Annie Position for nothing. I’ll throw out the invite. I bet I’ll have his personal number by the time this day is through. Watch a pro at work and learn, kid.”
I scoff as she struts on ahead with her chin tipped up, chest out, and hips in full swing.
How dare she.
I give Everett a slight wave as I follow the rest of the jurors, including Annie Position to Steal Your Man, and we find our seats.
Everett’s lips curve a touch as our eyes lock for a moment.
My heart thumps hard over my chest seeing him up there like a god in that dark robe, his eyes sirening out like a couple of blue flames.
Everett looks heart-stoppingly dangerous in that power position, with that face blessed by the Almighty Himself. It’s suddenly becoming very apparent that Everett most likely has a fistful of women doing their best to seduce him each and every day.
My heart sinks at the thought.
Everett is mine, and I don’t ever plan on sharing him with another woman—at least not those who aren’t related to him.
“Welcome to my courtroom.” Everett nods my way in particular, but Annie here, who just so happens to be seated next to me, thinks he just gave her the all-clear judging by the way she’s giggling right at him. “My name is Judge Baxter, and today you’ll be briefly questioned by both the prosecution and the defense. Mr. Wolfe here is the acting attorney for the prosecution.” He nods to a man seated at a desk before him in his late thirties, scruffy facial hair, navy suit, and a mischievous look in his eyes.
Annie leans my way. “Oh wow, he’s hot, too.”
I nod. And thank God for it, too. At least that takes some of the heat off Everett. Probably not much. Everett exudes his own peculiar brand of testosterone. I’ve seen women do daring things to get noticed by him in both churches and grocery stores alike. The man is basically an estrogen magnet.
Everett points his gavel to the table to his right. “And Ms. Dagmeyer will be representing the defendant. Without further ado, let’s get to questioning.”
A tiny gasp escapes me. Fiona is here.
Everett used to date Fiona Dagmeyer way back when. And, of course, she and I know one another. In fact, she might know that I’m married to Everett. Once she sees I’m in the prospective pool of jurors, she’ll be the first to give me the boot.
It looks as if I won’t have to start in with any of the shenanigans I had planned. It was going to take a lot of nerve to say some of those things I thought up—things like I’m really good at judging people and the defendant looks guilty to me. Meg told me to say that one. Although that wouldn’t work because there’s no one seated next to Fiona to fill those guilty shoes.
Or the one where I start howling like a loon and clawing at my neck—Carlotta’s suggestion. It sounded like solid advice yesterday, but in the light of the courtroom, and how put together and, dare I say, gorgeous Fiona looks today—not to mention Annie Get Your Fun—I don’t want to be the loon in this scenario.
Fiona Dagmeyer is a smart, pretty brunette with her hair slicked back into a French knot, a pair of dark-rimmed glasses resting on her nose, and a turquoise power suit on, giving off that sexy librarian vibe. I’m not all that thrilled she knows my husband in the carnal sense.