Author's Preface
[James]
The rain starts just as I reach my desk, tapping steadily against the office window.
I drop my portfolio onto the desk and shrug out of my robe, leaving it over the back of my chair.
After the noise of the High Court, the silence feels almost unnatural.
My phone hums against the wood—a quick notification from the firm's internal chat confirming that the certified order for SilverOak will be filed by morning.
I glance down at the screen, but my thumb pauses over the glass.
Near the corner of the desk sits an old brass paperweight I've had since my internship days.
Tucked beneath it is a half-folded, yellowed index card, its corners soft and worn.
On it, in hasty, jagged handwriting that always slanted too far to the right, is a single line:
Section 42—check the 2017 amendment before you submit.
I don't pick it up.
A knock at the door frame cuts through the quiet.
"Merren?" Mr. Kapoor steps halfway into the office, holding his coat over his arm. "Outstanding work on the zoning argument today. That was sharp."
"Thank you, sir," I say, shifting slightly to cover the corner of the card with my hand. "The precedent cases held up."
"They did," Mr. Kapoor nods, checking his watch. "Sterlings was pleased with how smoothly everything went. That executive of his had the entire preliminary brief organized down to the last detail."
"She's meticulous," I say evenly, keeping my voice stripped of any weight.
"Good people to have on our side," Mr. Kapoor says with a brief nod before turning toward the corridor. "Get some rest. We've got the city council filings first thing tomorrow."
"Goodnight, sir."
His footsteps fade down the carpeted hallway, leaving only the sound of the rain against the glass.
I look back down at the desk, pull the index card out from under the brass weight, hold it for a second, and drop it into the bottom drawer before sliding it shut.
[ *** ]
By 8pm, the rain had settled into a quiet drizzle, reflecting the warm amber lights of the restaurant's glass patio.
I reach across the small, candlelit table and refill Lily's glass with sparkling water, carefully avoiding the rim.
"You're very quiet tonight," Lily says, leaning her chin on her hand.
She offers me a warm, easy smile, her loose curls falling around her face. "I thought you'd be celebrating after winning that injunction today."
"I am," I say, setting the glass bottle back into the ice bucket. "Just a long day in court."
She reaches into her handbag, pulling out a sleek metallic pen and a small notepad to write down the name of a wine producer she'd mentioned earlier.
As she writes, she holds the pen loosely between her thumb and middle finger, her movements fluid and relaxed.
My eyes linger on her grip.
Annie used to hold her pen like a weapon.
By the end of the day, she'd usually have blue ink somewhere on her fingers.
"James?"
I blink, bringing my focus back to the candle flickering between us. "Sorry. What were you saying?"
"I asked if you wanted to try the dessert menu." Lily sets the pen down neatly beside her napkin. "You've checked your watch three times since the main course arrived."
"No, I'm good," I say, shifting in the leather booth.
She reaches across the table and rests her hand over mine.
But all I can think about is Annie standing in front of me that morning.
I'd brought up the cold courtroom, trying to get past the distance she'd put between us.
Then I'd carelessly said it before I could stop myself: I missed you.
She hadn't even blinked.
She just looked at me with a blank expression before Sterlings stepped between us.
Then he'd put a hand at her back and taken her away.
She used to flinch at uninvited touch.
"James?" Lily asks again, her voice softer this time, withdrawing her hand when I don't respond.
"I'm sorry, Lily," I say, forcing a faint, polite smile as I reach for the bottle to top off her wine. "I had a long day. I'm just tired."
She nods slowly, folding her napkin in half and placing it beside her plate.
When the waiter brings the check, I hand over my card without looking at the total.
I pull out Lily's chair, hold the heavy glass door open for her, and walk her out to my car, guiding her inside.
[ *** ]
By 9:40, the rain has picked up again outside my apartment windows.
I step out of the bathroom, pulling a dark cotton t-shirt over my head and tossing my damp towel over the back of a chair.
The hot water did nothing to wash away the tightness in my shoulders or the lingering chill from the High Court corridor.
In the bedroom, Lily has already changed into a dark silk robe, her damp curls pinned up loosely as she sets two glasses of water on the nightstands.
We've been seeing each other for seven months now—long enough for her to know where the extra glasses are kept, long enough for a quiet rhythm to have settled between us.
She turns toward me when I walk in and smiles.
She steps into my space, bringing with her the clean scent of jasmine.
"Feeling any better?" she asks softly, reaching up to rest her palms against my chest.
She tilts her head up, her lips meeting mine in a slow, deep kiss.
I wrap my arms around her waist, kissing her back as she draws me toward the edge of the mattress.
She leans against the pillows, pulling me down with her.
Her hands slide up to the back of my neck, her fingers threading through my hair.
My hands stay at her waist, but somewhere along the way, I stop responding.
Lily pulls back slightly, looking up at me.
My gaze drifts past her shoulder to the rain against the window.
For some reason, I can't bring myself to look back at her.
My hands loosen at her sides and fall flat against the sheets.
Her brows draw together. "James?"
She waits for a second, watching for a response, but I don't reach back out to kiss her.
I gently move her hands away and sit up on the edge of the mattress, resting my elbows on my knees as I rub the back of my neck.
"I'm sorry, Lily," I say, keeping my eyes fixed on the dark floorboards between my feet. "I've got a headache."
She stays where she is for a long moment, neither arguing nor asking any further questions.
She simply sits up, pulls her robe back together, and ties the sash tightly around her waist.
"It's fine," she says softly, her voice cool and distant as she turns off the bedside lamp, slides under the duvet on her side of the bed, and turns her back to me.
The room goes dark.
I stay sitting on the edge of the bed before finally lying down.
Every time I close my eyes, I'm back in that corridor, looking at Annie.
Eventually, I give up on sleep and turn toward the window, watching the rain blur the streetlights outside.