Just a touch away, p.1
Just a Touch Away, page 1
Table of Contents
Other Books by Jae
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Other Books from Ylva Publishing
About Jae
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www.ylva-publishing.com
Other Books by Jae
Happily Ever After
Standalone Romances:
Chemistry Lessons
Wrong Number, Right Woman
The Roommate Arrangement
Paper Love
Just for Show
Falling Hard
Heart Trouble
Under a Falling Star
Something in the Wine
Shaken to the Core
Fair Oaks Series:
Perfect Rhythm
Not the Marrying Kind
The Hollywood Series:
Departure from the Script
Damage Control
Just Physical
The Hollywood Collection (box set)
Portland Police Bureau Series:
Conflict of Interest
Next of Kin
The Vampire Diet Series:
Good Enough to Eat
The Oregon Series:
Backwards to Oregon
Beyond the Trail
Hidden Truths
The Complete Oregon series (box set)
The Shape-Shifter Series:
Second Nature
Natural Family Disasters
Manhattan Moon
True Nature
Acknowledgments
As always, my gratitude and appreciation go to my wonderful team of beta readers: Trish for the overnight beta reading services and the cat pictures; Chris Zett for enthusiastically brainstorming and making sure I got the medical details right; Anne-France for her well-balanced “what I liked / what I noticed / what I hope for” lists; AC for keeping an eye on Portland-related details and for her wonderfully encouraging feedback; Erin for all the helpful comments, especially on the emotional character arcs; Laure for keeping an eye on the little (and sometimes not so little) things; Melanie for being my toughest critic, my biggest fan, and the person who makes sure I eat.
I’d also like to thank Jennifer and Ginger for double-checking the Valentina scenes and Carol for double-checking the hospital scenes (don’t worry, readers, no characters were killed during the making of this novel!).
A big thank-you goes to my editors, Claire and Michelle, who are amazing to work with; to my proofreaders, Maggie and Julie, and to the Ylva Publishing team.
Last but not least, I’m eternally grateful to my readers who keep me motivated to write. I hope you’ll enjoy this book too!
Chapter 1
“This is where the magic happens.” Hannah unlocked the door to her apartment and stepped aside to let Dawn enter.
“Your neighbor is staring,” Dawn whispered as she squeezed past her.
Hannah sighed but didn’t even glance back. You’d think by now the stream of visitors would no longer raise any eyebrows. “It’s probably because most of my clients are men, and you are—”
“A woman.” Dawn nodded. “But your neighbors know what you do for a living, right?”
“Of course. I had to notify them of my business to get a home occupation permit when I first started my professional cuddling service.” Hannah barely resisted the urge to shoot her nosy neighbor a saucy wink. Behave. The last thing she needed was to add fuel to the apartment complex rumor mill. She firmly closed the door behind them.
Dawn walked past the kitchenette and looked around.
Hannah paused behind her and wondered what her studio apartment might reveal about her to someone with Dawn’s background. Probably a modest bank account and a blissful ignorance of interior design principles.
Finally, Dawn pointed from the far corner of the room, where Hannah’s bed peeked out from behind a curtain, to the huge chocolate-colored couch. It stood at an angle because Hannah had misjudged its size and hadn’t realized it wouldn’t quite fit the length of the wall until she’d dragged it to its intended place. “Bed or couch?”
Hannah clutched her chest with both hands and let out a scandalized gasp. “I’ll have you know it’s not that kind of service, Dr. Kinsley.”
“What? No, I—” Dawn burst out laughing. Her gray-green eyes lit up with mirth. “My wife will be glad to hear it. But what I actually meant is: Where do you cuddle with your clients? The couch? The bed? Or do you let your clients choose?”
“No,” Hannah said. “The bed isn’t an option. Most people associate it with sex, and I’m trying to teach them that touch can be completely platonic. Sometimes, I make an exception and use the bed if the client is from out of town and has booked a hotel room for our session, but never for new clients.”
A visible shudder went through Dawn. “I don’t think I could do what you do—snuggle complete strangers.”
Hannah couldn’t imagine doing what Dawn did—counseling sexual abuse and rape survivors.
Before she could say so, Dawn added, “But I’m glad you do. I have several patients who would really benefit from a couple of sessions with you. They need a safe space that allows them to experience physical touch as something positive again.”
“Or not,” Hannah said. “If they decide they’re not ready yet, that’s completely fine too. We can spend the session sitting side by side, talking. I want my clients to know they can say no and speak up whenever something makes them uncomfortable.”
“And that’s exactly why I think it would be helpful. When I attended your workshop, I was very impressed with how much your work focuses on consent and communication. It’s a lot more than just spooning for an hour.”
Hannah beamed at her. Finally someone who seemed to understand what her job was really about.
Dawn smiled back. “So, would you be willing to take on my patients if they’re interested? You cuddle with women too, right?”
“Yes, of course. I cuddle with anyone, regardless of gender or sexual orientation. Everyone needs cuddles.” Cuddling with a woman would be a nice change of pace. Hannah flopped onto the couch, leaned her elbow onto the fuzzy thigh of Eddy the Teddy, and gestured at Dawn to make herself comfortable. “Just have your patients check out my profile on the Snuggle Experts website and—”
The doorbell rang.
Hannah glanced at her watch. She was expecting her first client of the day in half an hour, but he was a regular and knew not to arrive early. “Sorry. Be right back.” She jumped up to get rid of whoever it was.
When she opened the door, a letter carrier stood in front of her, mailbag slung over his shoulder. He held out a thick envelope. “I have a certified letter for Hannah Martin.”
Certified mail? That couldn’t be good. She hoped it wasn’t from her landlord. While he had reluctantly agreed to let Hannah run her cuddling business from her apartment, he still wasn’t a fan of her profession. He either assumed it was a cover for sex work or worried a professional cuddler wouldn’t be able to make enough money to cover the rent. Unfortunately, some months, there was more truth to the second assumption than she cared to admit.
“I’m Hannah.” She reached out to take the envelope, but the mailman held on to it.
“You need to sign for it.” He tore a green return-receipt card from the back of the envelope and handed it over, along with a pen.
Hannah scribbled her signature onto the line he indicated, took the envelope, and closed the door with a “thanks.” As she crossed back to the couch, she scanned the envelope to make out the sender.
Phew. The letter wasn’t from her landlord. The logo on the corner of the envelope said Woodruff & Beck, Attorneys at Law.
Wait! Attorneys? That wasn’t any better. She didn’t have any dealings with a law firm. Hell, she had never even gotten a speeding ticket. Was someone suing her or something? Her fingers went cold.
She slumped onto the couch and forced a smile onto her face as she turned back to Dawn. The letter would have to wait. Making connections with a well-established psychotherapist was more important for now. She tried to remember what she’d been saying before they had gotten interrupted but came up empty.
“Is everything all right?” Dawn studied her with a concerned expression. “If something came up, I can—”
“Oh, no. I’m fine.” Hannah slid the letter under one of the mango-colored throw pillows. Out of sight, out of mind. That’s how it usually worked for her. But not this time. Her gaze kept sliding back to the pillow.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. It’s just not every day that I get a certified letter from a lawyer.” Hannah chuckled. It sounded as convincing as it felt. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Open it and see what i t is,” Dawn said. “I don’t mind.”
Hannah hesitated. Even though they had instantly hit it off, Dawn was still someone she hoped to work with, not a close friend. But in her job as a professional cuddler, she had learned to trust her gut, and now her instincts told her that Dawn really didn’t mind…and that whatever this envelope held was important.
“Or we could cut this short if you’d rather open it by yourself,” Dawn added.
“Nah. Like I said, it’s probably nothing.” Yet as Hannah reached for the envelope and tore it open, her hands shook. She pulled out several sheets of paper and unfolded them. The page on top was a letter printed on expensive stationery.
Hannah scanned it, then read it again more slowly to make sense of the legal jargon.
Dear Ms. Martin,
On behalf of Woodruff & Beck LLP, I wish to express my sincerest condolences on the recent passing of Julian P. Lambert. I am writing to inform you that he set up a living trust before his passing, which became irrevocable upon his death. The trust document names you as one of the beneficiaries of the Julian P. Lambert Trust. As the successor trustee, I am tasked with managing all trust assets and distributing them to the beneficiaries, and I will do so as soon as possible.
Enclosed is a copy of the trust document so you can familiarize yourself with the details.
If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact me at 503-595-7025.
Sincerely,
Craig Woodruff
Hannah stared at the words until they blurred before her eyes. Julian P. Lambert Trust? She didn’t know anyone by that name…did she?
“Bad news?” Dawn asked.
“No.” Well, it was certainly bad news for Julian P. Lambert, whoever he was. “At least I don’t think so.” Hannah shuffled through the rest of the papers—about ten pages of legal gibberish. She scanned them until her own name popped out at her, then backtracked to the beginning of the section.
Upon the death of the grantor, unless otherwise specified, all trust assets listed in Schedule A shall be divided in equal parts between the grantor’s daughters, Brooke Geraldine Lambert and Winter Louise Sullivan.
The right, title, and interest in and to the real estate located at 19460 SW East Side Road, Lake Oswego, Oregon, shall be given to Brooke Geraldine Lambert.
The right, title, and interest in and to the real estate located at 1405 SW Park Avenue in Portland, Oregon, shall be given to Hannah Elizabeth Martin and Winter Louise Sullivan in equal parts, provided that they live there, rent-free, for a period of ninety-two consecutive days.
Hannah pressed one shoulder against the back of the couch to ground herself. Real estate. She rubbed her eyes. Was this for real? When she finally looked up from the letter, she met Dawn’s questioning gaze. “I think someone I don’t even know left me a house. Well, half a house.” She eyed the document again. “Unless this is a more elaborate version of the Nigerian prince scheme.”
Dawn cocked her head. “Nigerian prince scheme?”
“Yeah, you know. One of those emails that say you’re the closest living relative of a Nigerian prince and will inherit thirty million dollars if only you pay a small transfer fee.”
Dawn chuckled. “Maybe try googling the lawyer.”
Why hadn’t she thought of that? Hannah’s head was still spinning. She pulled out her phone and typed the law firm’s name into the browser. A professional-looking website came up, and the about page said they specialized in estate planning, trusts, and probate law. “Looks legit.”
So that was a dead end. But maybe… She typed in Julian P. Lambert, then scrolled past links to LinkedIn and the Portland Business Journal until she got to an obituary.
Julian P. Lambert, age 76, founder of ZLT AgriMarketing, passed away on…
The picture on the left finally loaded, and Hannah stopped reading.
Oh my God! That’s Jules! Even with her poor memory for faces, she recognized him immediately. His thick, silver hair was unmistakable. The first time she’d met him, she had assumed it was a wig and only found out otherwise when she’d given him a head massage. She had paused, startled, and that had been the first time his serious face had creased into a grin.
And now he was dead. A heavy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, and her hand with the phone dropped to the couch. She blinked against the sting in her eyes.
Dawn slid closer and put her own hand on top for a moment. “I’m so sorry. So you knew him after all?”
“Yeah, um…” Hannah dug her teeth into her bottom lip. The code of conduct for professional cuddlers included a confidentiality clause, so she couldn’t tell Dawn how she knew Jules.
“Ah. He was a client. Say no more.” Dawn gave her fingers a soft squeeze, then let go and got up. “I’ll go now so you can process all of this.” With a nod, she indicated the letter and the trust document that had fluttered to the floor.
Hannah picked them up and clamped her fingers around the pages as if that would make it tangible. “Thanks. I admit it threw me for a loop.”
She had known that Jules was sick, of course, since they’d had to schedule their sessions at times that didn’t interfere with his dialysis appointments. He had often looked tired, and every now and then, he had even fallen asleep during a session. But he had always brushed it off, acting as if it were nothing. The spark of determination in his eyes had made her forget he wasn’t perfectly healthy—and she knew that was how he preferred it. Even though he hadn’t scheduled a weekly session in a couple of months, as he usually did, she had assumed he had gotten busy with one of the many projects he was still involved in, despite being retired.
“I had no idea he…” She bit her lip again. “Or that he’d planned to leave me anything. I mean, just like that”—she snapped her fingers—“I own half a house. Does it really work like that? Shouldn’t there be a reading of the will or something?”
Dawn shook her head. “We didn’t have a reading of the will when my dad or my brother died either. That doesn’t happen in real life, only in movies. I guess those dramatic revelations and surprised gasps in mahogany-trimmed lawyers’ offices make for good entertainment.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Hannah’s feet moved as if on autopilot as she accompanied Dawn to the door and gave her a stack of business cards to hand out to her patients. “Thanks so much for coming. Call me once you’ve had a chance to talk to your patients—or if you have any questions.”
Once the door closed behind Dawn, Hannah leaned against it and lifted the documents she still held.
Would Jules’s daughters get similar letters? Had he told them he planned to give his professional cuddler half of the house?
If he hadn’t, surprised gasps might not be just a Hollywood thing after all.
Chapter 2
Winter stormed past the reception desk, brushed past two of her half sister’s employees, and flung open Brooke’s office door without bothering to knock. “Did you know about this?”
Brooke looked up, calmly lifted her manicured fingers from the keyboard, and gave a regal wave. “Close the door.”
Winter slammed it shut. The rattle of the overpriced artwork on the walls gave her a certain satisfaction.
Her sister, however, seemed entirely unrattled, her makeup as flawless as ever and not a hair out of place in her stern bun. That glossy chestnut hair never failed to annoy Winter because there wasn’t a single strand of gray in it, unlike her own silver mop, even though Brooke, at forty-one, was five months older than she.
Brooke leveled her with a cool stare. “Know about what?”
“Oh, don’t play innocent with me. Of course you knew.” With several long strides, Winter crossed the spacious corner office and thrust the document in Brooke’s face. “The old fox placed his entire estate into a trust.”
Brooke didn’t even glance at it. “So? That’ll speed things up for us by avoiding probate and all the never-ending court proceedings.”
“It’ll speed things up for you! You’ll get the house in Lake Oswego and half of everything else, no matter what, while my inheritance comes with strings attached.” Of course it did. She should have known. Nothing was ever unconditional with her father. Everything came with a price—at least for her. Brooke, his legitimate golden child, had always gotten whatever she wanted without even having to ask.
