Page 80 of Dial L for Lawyer
CHAPTER 22
Serena
The second Caleb leaves, his apartment feels too big, too quiet, too much like a stage set for a life I don't know how to live.
I love you.
The words keep echoing in my head as I wander through his space, touching things like they might explain how we got here. His coffee table books are all architecture—no surprise there. His record collection contains more jazz than I expected, Miles Davis and Coltrane mixed with the classical I'd assumed. An entire wall displays the first edition law books he'd mentioned collecting the first time we met. Seeing them all leather-bound and pristine hits different than just hearing about them.
Then there's his refrigerator—terrifyingly organized with labeled glass containers. 'Salmon/Quinoa/Tues,' 'Chicken/Sweet Potato/Wed'. Clearly the work of a private chef who meal preps for him. Some fancy-looking beer sits next to unlabeled bottles of what looks like fresh juice to go with all those prepped meals.
It's too early for beer, so I grab a green juice and take off the lid. A quick sniff tells me it's apple and spinach with what I think might be pineapple and a little ginger.
It's really good. Everything in this place is just a little better than what normal people have. I can't decide if that's intimidating or comforting. Taking my green juice, I keep my promise and head for his huge marble bathtub. If I'm going to wallow in my feelings, I might as well do it somewhere with jets.
The bathroom cabinet holds fancy French bath stuff, all gift-boxed and unopened, like he's never once indulged himself. I rifle through and pick a set with gold calligraphy—fig and sandalwood, whatever that means. I turn on the faucet, dump half the bottle in, and crawl in as the tub fills, cranking the jets and letting the warmth drag me under.
For a while, I just lie there, eyes closed, listing to the hum of the jets, my memories of last twenty-four hours on loop. I let myself exist in the strange overlap of belonging and being completely out of place. I drink the juice, and somewhere between the second and third mouthful I drift into the kind of soft, mindless peace that only comes when you're too tired to think critically about your own existence. When the water turns lukewarm and my skin prunes, I stand and wrap myself in one of his obscenely plush towels, wandering back into the bedroom to stare at the skyline while air dries my skin.
Caleb's shirt lies on the floor where I left it. I pull it on over my head, lose myself in the folds. It still smells like him—soap, coffee, that cologne that made me dizzy last night. I shiver remembering how he peeled my clothing off, how his hands felt, how he looked at me like I was everything. My body still aches in the best ways.
There's a text waiting on my phone:
Caleb:
Thinking about you soaking in my tub…
Me:
Too late. I literally just got out.
Caleb:
Photos or it didn’t happen
Me:
Cocky ass
I smile at the screen and curl up on his couch, ready to text Layla and Audrey about everything that's happened—the mind-blowing sex, the shower, the fuckingI love you—when a message pops up.
Maya:
Hey! Can we grab lunch today? I have news!
I stare at the text. Luminous was pretty clear about me not contacting my team, and I already took a risk having coffee with her the other day. But if she's the one contacting me, does it count?
Me:
Can't do lunch. How about coffee? 30 minutes?
Maya:
Perfect! That place on Division near your apartment?
Me:
Sure. See you there.
