Small Town Pretender by Brighton Walsh

Asher could tell by the look Cole had shot him in the courtroom that he’d made a mistake.

Then there’d been the stern, no-nonsense, “My office. Now,” that really drove home the point.

Which, true, he probably hadn’t thought things through nearly enough before blurting out something that could potentially change the course of his whole life. But he’d been facing the barrel of a gun, the very real possibility of June and Owen being taken away from Havenbrook weighing on him as heavily as if a herd of rhinos had taken up residence directly on his chest. They were the only family he had left, and he’d be damned if he was going to let that slip through his fingers without doing everything in his power to stop it.

It hadn’t helped that the judge overseeing the case didn’t exactly look favorably upon Asher. In fact, Judge Seville been the one to sentence him and Nash to two hundred hours of community service instead of letting them off with a warning like he had Nat, and the judge most certainly hadn’t ever forgiven Asher for the…transgression. But, shit, at the time, he’d been an idiot seventeen-year-old who lived for trouble. He’d changed a lot in the years he’d been gone. Had grown up…matured. There was no way he’d be caught running naked through the man’s backyard again. Probably.

And then there’d been the Haywards… They’d shown up with the most expensive lawyer money could buy, but that hadn’t surprised him. What had surprised him was how hard they were fighting for custody. Cole hadn’t prepared him enough for that battle—not for facing off against two people as well-off as them, not to mention their attorney, who acted like he ate less affluent people like Asher for breakfast.

“You didn’t think you should mention to me that you’re engaged?” Cole said as soon as they were behind the closed doors of his office.

Well, to be fair, he…wasn’t.

Asher blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “And you didn’t think to mention to me that I had to compete with some ten-point something or other?”

Cole tossed his keys on his desk and expelled a sigh before settling in his chair. “Ten-point analysis.”

“Doesn’t matter what it’s called. Only thing that matters is I’ve got, like, one point, Cole. That leaves nine up for grabs.”

Even with Aubrey’s and Nathan’s wills, plus the video of her asking Asher to take custody of June, the odds were stacked against him. He was a single man without a steady paycheck. He couldn’t provide private schools and nannies and personal chefs for June and Owen, but he could keep them in the only home they’d known and not uproot them any more than they needed to be right now. And truthfully, neither Aubrey nor Nathan had wanted the life for their kids that the Haywards presented. If they had, they would have been living in Connecticut instead of back in Havenbrook, two blocks from her childhood home.

So, when Judge Seville had asked how Asher could possibly compete with everything the Haywards offered, he’d blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Never mind that he wasn’t seriously—or even not so seriously—dating anyone. And never mind that someone could probably get away with doing something like that in Nashville, but here, in a town the size of a peanut—not to mention everybody in everybody else’s business—he didn’t have a hope of fooling anyone, let alone the judge tasked with awarding final custody.

He’d completely and utterly fucked up.

But even knowing that, he couldn’t say he regretted it. Not when the judge had agreed to award temporary custody to Asher for the interim until a final decision could be made. It’d been the best mistake he could’ve made.

“So, you thought you’d even the field a bit by sayin’ you’re engaged?” Cole asked.

Asher cringed internally, knowing that was on him. “Yeah, about that—”

Cole held up a hand. “In my line of work, I know everything that goes on in Havenbrook. I make it my business to.”

Asher nodded. “I imagine you do.”

“As such, my clients tend not to keep things from me. That, and it’s in their best interests not to do so.”

“I can see that, too.”

Cole sat forward and folded his hands on top of his desk. “Look, Asher, I want to help you. I liked your sister, and I’m going to do everything in my power to see that her wishes are upheld and those kids stay with you.”

Asher was getting dizzy from how his emotions kept flip-flopping. Relief that they were staying with him…then worry over what that meant for his future.

“I appreciate that.”

“That’s my job. But in order to perform it to the best of my abilities, I need to be aware of absolutely everything. That includes someone, say, fakin’ an engagement. Hypothetically speakin’, of course.”

Fantastic. He hadn’t even managed to fool this man for thirty minutes, and he needed to put up a charade for a hell of a lot longer than that.

Asher cleared his throat. “Well—hypothetically speakin’, of course—it may not be fake so much as those someones just aren’t exactly engaged. Yet.”

Cole was silent for a moment that stretched long enough to make Asher shift in his seat. “How not exactly are we talkin’?”

Asher tried to school his expression, but a grimace still slipped through.

“I see. Hypothetically speakin’, would this potential fiancée at least be a resident of Havenbrook?”

That was the trouble, wasn’t it? Because Asher wasn’t actually engaged, and because he hadn’t thought this through, he didn’t even have a fiancée in mind. Though there was no denying that only one woman popped into his head when he’d said the words. Only one who he could possibly hope to go along with this farce. Only one who’d have his back, without question. And hopefully without hesitation.

“Not exactly…” Asher admitted. “She’s a former resident.”

Cole nodded once, like he knew exactly whom Asher was talking about. “But she’s here now?”

“Currently.” Asher just had no idea for how long. All he knew was that she was coming up on a week in Havenbrook—which was about triple how long she normally spent here—and she had to be itching to leave. Desperately.

“But not currently anyone’s fiancée?”

“Nope.”

Cole leveled him with a stare for long moments before finally asking, “You plannin’ to do something about that?”

Well, that certainly wasn’t the reprimand Asher had been anticipating. In fact, it was as much permission as he figured he’d get from the man.

Asher pulled out his phone from his pocket, thumbed to the messages and found the name he was looking for. Then he typed a single word before pressing send. “I’m workin’ on it.”

* * *

“How long’s thehearing supposed to take?” Rory asked as she and Nat sat on the back deck, watching June, Ella, and Ava play in the yard.

Nat chewed on her thumbnail, her bare toes tapping against the wood decking. “No idea…”

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She’d spent her fair share of time in the very same courtroom Asher was currently in—after all, standing there to support them when her daddy already made her charges go away was the least she could do—so she knew a thing or two about the amount of time to expect. She also knew a thing or two about the judge who would be presiding over Asher’s case, and it wasn’t good news.

“Hopefully Judge Seville’s memory’s short,” Rory said as she sipped a glass of sweet tea. “Who’d have thought y’all’s teenage nonsense would come back to bite you in the butt?”

“I don’t appreciate your sarcasm, Rory, but I’m too worried to bite back.”

Rory held up a hand. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Sorry, but not wrong. When Asher had told Nat to whom he’d have to plead his case, she nearly fell out of her chair. She thought for sure that man would have been dead by now—or at least retired—since he’d been older than dirt when they’d been teens.

To say the judge didn’t look favorably upon their trio would be an understatement of epic proportions. Though, considering one of their last acts of rebellion in Havenbrook had been breaking in to the judge’s gated yard and skinny-dipping in his pool while he and the missus had been out for dinner, that wasn’t so hard to understand.

So, yeah. Asher definitely had the odds stacked against him. She could only hope the amount of time it was taking meant good things. Namely, that Asher would be placed as temporary guardian until permanent guardianship could be declared, and that the judge hadn’t named the Haywards as guardians simply to spite Asher and the fact that he’d given Mrs. Seville an eyeful of ass.

“Has he sent a text or anything?” Rory asked.

As a matter of fact, he had. But nothing that made any sense—and nothing she’d tell Rory about. Their SOS signals were between the three of them and no one else, though Nash had no doubt filled her in because Nat’d been informed he didn’t keep secrets from his live-in girlfriend. While both Nash and Asher had been on the receiving end of many of hers—truthfully, she’d lost count of how many she’d sent out over the years—she’d been on the receiving end of only one. Well, now two.

Years ago when they’d been young and stupid—or younger and stupider, anyway—they’d gotten stuck out along Havenbrook Creek during a flash summer storm. The creek was usually safe in most areas, unless they had a deluge of rain, in which case, it made portions hazardous. The trio had been walking along it when the skies had opened up. She’d slipped and fallen in, getting caught in the surprisingly strong current. She still remembered being trapped in the creek, feeling as though the heavens themselves had split right down the middle and poured every ounce of water collected for millennia down on their pocket of Mississippi.

Thankfully, those two had been there with her.

They’d pulled her to safety while she’d gasped for air. Then and there, as they’d been soaked to the bone, shaking from the rain or fear or adrenaline—maybe all three—they’d made a promise to be there for one another. No matter what. No questions asked. All any of them had to do was say the single word.

Downpour.

“No,” she replied to Rory even as she eyed the screen where the two syllables stared up at her.

She had no idea why he’d sent it, especially now of all times. He hadn’t used it to get her to Havenbrook—she’d done that all on her own. And he also hadn’t used it when he’d asked her to stay. She doubted he’d somehow found out he needed a kidney between the time he’d left and now.

“Well, hopefully he—”

The slider behind them opened, and out stepped Asher, his eyes landing on hers immediately, as if magnets drew them together.

“There you are!” Rory said with a smile. “We were just wonderin’ when you might be gettin’ back.”

With a shrewd gaze, Nat sized him up—still the gorgeous man who’d left earlier, clad in his slim-fitting black suit, his once-overgrown beard now trimmed tight to his sculpted jaw. She’d teased him that he was going to leave a path of destruction through Havenbrook, everyone who saw him passing flat out if he didn’t dial back the sexiness. Especially since the average age of Havenbrook residents skewed to the over-fifty crowd. Or it had, anyway, before her sister Will had fixed up the Square, and Will’s fiancé, Finn, had opened up Havenbrook’s first bar. That, probably, had managed to draw or keep at least a few of the younger generation.

Asher had only laughed and told her to shut up before strolling out of the house. Now, though, he didn’t look much for laughing.

“Hey.” He pocketed his keys and ran a hand through his hair that he’d beaten into submission before the hearing, mussing it up a bit in the process. God knew what the honorable judge would’ve done if Asher had shown up with the floppy hair his fans went crazy for hanging in his face.

“Hey,” she echoed back, hesitancy heavy in her tone. She narrowed her eyes on him, but for the first time ever, she couldn’t read him. Wasn’t familiar with that tone, and definitely wasn’t sure if it meant good news or bad.

Rory split a glance between them both and then cleared her throat. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I need to run use the powder room.”

Nat waited until her sister was inside, the door closed behind her, before she held up the phone as he sat down in the chair Rory had vacated. “Don’t tell me you used this so I’d make supper tonight. I was already plannin’ on it. I figured we don’t wanna scar the kids any more than necessary by subjectin’ them to your cookin’.”

He breathed out a laugh and shook his head. “Actually, it’s something a little bigger than supper.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

Asher blew out a long, slow breath, rubbing his hands down his thighs as he leaned back in his chair, his legs outstretched in front of him. “Gettin’ custody isn’t as cut-and-dried as I thought it’d be.”

Nat’s brow furrowed, and she rested her elbow on the armrest, leaning closer to him. “What do you mean? Aubrey and Nathan named you in their wills, plus you’ve got the video, right?”

“I thought that’s all we’d need, but apparently there’s something the judge uses to look at the whole picture—at more than just the parents’ wishes.”

“Okay, so what does that mean?”

“Seville has to weigh it all before makin’ a final decision. Aubrey and Nathan’s wishes will factor heavily in that, but it’s not the only thing he’ll consider. And, in a lot of those areas, the Haywards have me beat by a mile.”

Nat’s lip curled at the mere mention of those assholes. “Yeah, well, they also have you beat in being pretentious dicks. Does Seville not take that into consideration?” Nat rolled her eyes and huffed out an irritated sound, answering her own question before Asher could attempt to. “’Course he doesn’t. He’s probably still pissed his wife saw you two naked idiots runnin’ around, showin’ her and the world everything you’ve got to offer, when his pecker’s probably smaller than my pinkie.”

Asher barked out a disbelieving laugh and glanced up, his eyes darting around as if to make sure there weren’t any young ears in the vicinity.

Nat waved him off. “Relax. The girls can’t hear us, and Owen’s takin’ a nap.”

He nodded and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his bent knees. Turning his head toward her, he said, “Well, you might be right on his prejudice of me, but that doesn’t change the facts.”

“Which are?”

“I’m a single twenty-seven-year-old who sings and plays guitar for a livin’.”

Nat scoffed. “You do a hell of a lot more than that. You’ve written three top ten hits, with another in the works, or did you forget about all that? Hang on, lemme pull one up to remind you.”

He plucked her phone from her hands and slipped it into his pocket. “I’ve heard ’em. But you know as well as I do that doesn’t mean shit to someone like Seville. Besides that, I don’t own a home. I don’t have a huge savings account—some, yeah, but not enough to last real long without any income. Hell, right now, I don’t even have a steady job.” He blew out a frustrated sigh. “Which is where you come in.”

“You need me to give you a job?” Nat asked, her brows lifted.

He cleared his throat and met her gaze head on. “Actually, instead of bein’ my boss, I was sorta hopin’ you’d be my wife.”

Nat stared at him for five solid seconds, her face completely slack, her brain unable to process the words that had come out of his mouth. His…what?

She swallowed, her mouth having gone bone dry, and choked out, “That’s takin’ the whole supper-makin’ thing to the extreme, don’t you think?”

Before he could respond, Ava and June ran toward them at the same time Rory opened the slider, Owen on her hip.

“Look who I found, chatterin’ away in his crib.” Rory stepped out, her gaze bouncing between Nat and Asher, no doubt hoping she’d be able to read enough to know what was going on.

Which, obviously, would have been impossible, since Nat herself had no idea.

“We’ll talk later, all right?” Asher said, bumping his knee into hers before standing and gathering Owen to his chest.

Great. So, they’d talk later…when she’d answer her best friend’s marriage proposition. She couldn’t wait.