Free Not Your Match by Lindzee Armstrong Page B

down. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “Merry late Christmas,” he said.
    “Merry late Christmas.”
    “Good, you’re here,” Andi’s mom said. She handed him a stack of plates. “Go help Andi set the table while I check on the food.”
    Andi followed her dad into the dining room with the salad plates and silverware. Dad looked around as though to make sure her mom was out of hearing ranging, then asked, “How was the office while I was gone?”
    “Fine,” Andi said. “Uneventful.”
    “And how are your cases going?”
    Andi sighed, turning to face her dad. “I’ve helped couples destroy each other’s lives and worked on more romance-killing prenuptial agreements.”
    “So work’s going good then.” He nodded, leaning back against the wall. “I’m proud of you, Andi. You’re the best junior associate we have.”
    “If that’s true, I should get to pick my own cases.”
    He laughed. “You know you’ve got to earn that right. Give it a few years.”
    Andi set a dinner plate down with more force than necessary. “I want to be put on more adoptions and custody disputes and less divorces.”
    “Holly didn’t get to pick her cases until she’d been there three years. Are you asking me to show you favoritism?”
    Andi clenched her teeth, a desperate sort of helplessness coursing through her. “Of course not.”
    He picked up the silverware and helped her continue setting the table. “You’ll get there eventually. Be patient.”
    A few minutes later, they had their plates filled and sat around the dining room table eating.
    “How was your Christmas?” her mom asked. “I still feel awful about leaving you high and dry.”
    Andi took a bite of her ham. “I’m twenty-six, not sixteen. I was fine.”
    “I still worried about you all yesterday. I barely enjoyed Beauty and the Beast. Your dad surprised me with tickets to a matinee performance.”
    “Seriously, Mom. I had a nice time yesterday. Ben and I spent the day together.” Would her parents even remember who Ben was?
    Her mom pursed her lips, her brows drawn together in concentration. “The name sounds familiar. Is that the boy you used to dance with in high school?”
    Her dad’s head snapped up. “Rachel’s brother?”
    “That’s Ben,” Andi said. She tried to keep her tone light and offhand, as though it meant nothing. It doesn’t mean anything, she reminded herself, and shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes in her mouth.
    “Hmmm,” her dad said. Andi knew what that meant—he disapproved of something. “And why did you spend Christmas with this boy?”
    “He’s an adult, Dad. Not a boy. He just moved back from Arizona and wanted to look at a condo that’s for rent in my building. We ended up going to a movie and hanging out.”
    “And what is Ben up to these days?” her mom asked. “Daniel, pass the butter, please.”
    “Just working,” Andi said.
    “Doing what?” Dad said, handing over the butter.
    “He’s a high school science teacher.” Andi let out an exasperated harrumph. “Are you done with the third degree yet?”
    Her mom pressed her lips together, buttering a roll with more force than necessary. “You tell me. Are the two of you dating?”
    Andi’s cheeks heated, and she took a bite of ham to give herself time to cool down. “Of course not. We’re just neighbors that have hung out a time or two.”
    “Hung out?” Her mom let out a scoff. “Hanging out is for children, not respected lawyers who should be looking for a husband.”
    Andi rolled her eyes. “I don’t need a husband. That’s such an antiquated notion.”
    “You and Mark were great together.”
    “Mark left me, remember?”
    “Mark had ambition,” her father cut in. “It’s unfortunate that it took him away from California. But that’s exactly the kind of guy you need, Andi. Someone who won’t feel emasculated when you make partner at thirty-five.” He pointed a fork in her direction. “Don’t worry, you’ll find