Page 26 of Dial L for Lawyer
The dining room is all dark wood and crystal, but I barely register the opulence. I'm too aware of Caleb beside me, his confession still humming between us like a live wire.
Leonard holds court, telling stories about pharmaceutical disasters while we eat lobster that melts on my tongue. Caleb's thigh presses against mine under the table—deliberate, unmistakable, claiming. Every shift sends heat shooting through me.
"Serena works in marketing," April tells Leonard during a lull. "Cosmetics."
"Tough industry," Leonard says, attacking his lobster. "All that competition."
"It has its challenges," I say carefully.
"She's being modest," Caleb interjects, his voice carrying that professional smoothness again, but underneath I hear something else. Pride. "She's brilliant at what she does. I've seen her campaigns—they're art."
"You think they’re art?" I turn to him, surprised.
He doesn't hesitate. "The kind that hooks people and doesn’t let them go. The ambition, the detail, the way you build a story out of nothing and pull everyone inside it. That’s exactly what an artist does. The only difference is you make millions of people believe in something at once, instead of just a handful."
I can't find words. Leonard makes an approving noise.
"Well then," he raises his glass, "to brilliant women who tolerate lawyers."
"To friends who finally show up with dates," April counters, winking. "I was beginning to think Caleb was allergic to company."
"Selective," Caleb corrects. "Not allergic."
"Semantics," Leonard laughs. "Point is, you picked well. Don't screw it up, Counselor."
The weight of assumption—that we're together, that this is real—makes my chest tight. Caleb doesn't correct him. Neither do I.
After dinner, Leonard pulls Caleb aside for one final discussion. April and I move to the front deck with brandy that smells as rich as everything else we’ve consumed tonight.
"You two were having quite the moment earlier," she says without preamble.
"You were watching?"
"I've been married to Leonard for fifteen years. I've developed a sixth sense for moments that matter." She swirls her brandy. "He's different with you."
"Everyone says that."
"Because it's true. I've watched Caleb at dozens of these dinners. Usually he's all sharp edges and calculated charm. Tonight he's actually present."
"Maybe he's just?—"
"In deep," April finishes. "The question is, are you?"
I think about what he said earlier, about wanting to be the guy who doesn’t give up. Then I think about my instinct to run, and his refusal to chase.I’m not your warden.
"I don't know how to be," I admit. “I tend to move too fast to feel anything. Which is probably why I keep messing up.”
April smirks, like I’ve passed a secret test. "Men like Caleb—brilliant, driven, terrible at emotions—they don't let people in easily. But when they do?" She meets my eyes. "They don't do it halfway."
"That's terrifying."
"The things worth having usually are."
The men return, Leonard laughing at something Caleb said.
"All sorted?" April asks.
"Perfectly." Leonard kisses her cheek. "Though this one drives a harder bargain than a Tibetan rug merchant."
