Claire's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. She leaned forward, palms flat on the mosaic tile, and her voice dropped to a whisper that was louder than most people's normal speaking voice.
"Emily Catherine Callahan."
"You already used my full name."
"It bears repeating." Claire sat back. Pressed her fingers to her temples. Looked at the sky. Looked back at Emily. "A two-for-one. From the patient man. From the man who takes his time."
"From the man who takes his time."
Claire picked up her water glass, drained the entire thing, set it down, and flagged the waiter with an urgency that suggested the building was on fire. "We're going to need mimosas. Immediately. The big ones."
Emily laughed. Loud and uncontrolled, the sound she'd been making more often since Jake Walsh had walked into her life and given her reasons to make it.
"And then?" Claire said, composing herself with visible effort. "After the... after."
"After. We were together and his forehead was against mine and the first thing he said was 'hi.'"
Claire's face changed in a way Emily had never seen. Every defense, every joke, every deflection Claire used to navigate the world dropped away, and what was left was a woman looking at her best friend with an emotion so pure and uncomplicated that Emily felt her own eyes sting.
"Hi," Claire repeated.
"Like we were meeting for the first time. Like everything before that was the introduction." Emily realized, this was the calmest she'd been in years. "And then I told him I loved him. And he told me he loved me. And I fell asleep in his arms and I didn't dream because I didn't need to."
Claire reached across the table. Took both of Emily's hands. Held them.
"I have waited," Claire said, "for years. Years, Emily. To watch you let someone in. And you didn't just let him in. You drove across a bridge and walked into a bar full of assassins and told them he was yours."
"They're not assassins."
"They're a little bit assassins." Claire squeezed her hands. "I am so proud of you. I am so unbelievably proud of you."
The mimosas arrived. They were, as requested, the big ones. The mimosas rose together and they clinked glasses over a mosaic table on a Saturday morning in South Tampa while the sun turned everything golden.
"To the first thing you ever chose just because you wanted it," Claire said.
Emily drank. The champagne was cold and sharp and tasted like celebration and she let herself feel it, the feeling of being happy without conditions or caveats or exit strategies.
"So what happens now?" Claire asked. "With the case. With Vance."
Emily reached for the name. Found it took an extra beat to locate, the way you reach for a file you've put in the wrong drawer. A week ago, Vance would have been the first thing she thought about when she opened her eyes. This morning, it had been the warmth of Jake's skin against hers.
"We've got this," she said. It came out simply. Not dismissive. Not cavalier. The confidence of a woman who had spent two weeks watching a partnership become greater than its parts. "We'll find Costa. He'll cooperate. Marchand is a problem but he's a manageable one." She took another sip of her mimosa. "And I've got the best investigator in the federal system, who also happens to be in love with me. So yes. We've got this."
Claire studied her. The lawyer in Claire, the part that assessed risk and exposure, was running calculations. Emily could see it. But whatever the calculations produced, Claire let them go.
"Monday is going to be interesting," Claire said.
"Monday is going to be fine. Ray already knows. Has since the beginning."
"And Marchand?"
"Marchand is going to be a problem for a long time." Emily said it without heat. Without anxiety. Like a weather forecast she'd already prepared for. "He's not going away. He's going to make things difficult. He's going to use his position to create friction because that's what men like Marchand do when they've been embarrassed."
"And you're okay with that?"
"I'm not worried about Jasper Marchand." Emily set down her glass. "I've faced worse. Jake's faced worse. Marchand has politics. We have each other."
The food arrived. Avocado toast for Claire. Eggs benedict for Emily. They ate the way they always ate, sharing bites, stealing forkfuls, talking between mouthfuls about nothing andeverything. Claire told her about a deposition that had gone sideways on Thursday. Emily told her about Anna at the deli, about the old woman who'd squeezed her shoulder and told her she saw someone who was as scared as Jake was.
