Chapter 8

I couldn’t contain my grin.

“This is…West…I….it’s just….perfect.” The last word was said with a kind of reverence I rarely heard, and my heart just swelled. Lincoln walked over to the cake, and his hand shook as he gently touched one of the callas. He yanked back his hand as though he was afraid to damage it, then whirled around and pinned me with a wide-eyed stare. “But the calla lilies—”

I held up a hand, cutting him off, then shot a finger-gun at Monroe. “Blame your brother for that.” Not only did I not want to get in trouble for going against my client’s order—though it was clear I wouldn’t be—I wanted to give credit where it was due. This was all Monroe, and Lincoln needed to know that.

Lincoln didn’t say anything, but he did punch his brother on the shoulder, in one of those good-natured soft slugs brothers could exchange. Monroe played it up, rolling with the motion, then chuckled a deep, joyful laugh and hugged Lincoln