"Dinner. That Italian place on the waterfront you mentioned wanting to try."
"Miles, you don't have to?—"
"I want to." I crossed to where she sat and extended my hand. "Please? Let me take you somewhere nice. Somewhere that isn't my kitchen, at least until I hire professional cleaners."
She laughed, really laughed this time, and took my hand.
The restaurant was small, candlelit, and overlooking the river. We got a table by the window, the water glinting in the last of the sunset. Charlotte was wearing a deep blue dress I'd never seen before, and she looked so beautiful it actually hurt to look at her.
"You're staring," she said, not looking up from her menu.
"You're worth staring at."
"Smooth."
"I've been practicing."
She smiled, and I felt warmer inside just seeing her face. This was what I wanted, not only to comfort her, but to make her happy. To give her joy, not just relief from pain.
The waiter came, and we ordered wine, pasta, and too much bread. The conversation wandered, from childhood memories to terrible first dates to the most absurd patients she'd ever treated.
"He swallowed a what?" I choked on my wine.
"A harmonica. A full harmonica. And every time he breathed, it made a little wheeze."
"That's not possible."
"I have the X-ray somewhere. It was kind of musical, actually. Very avant-garde."
I was laughing so hard I had to set down my glass. Charlotte was grinning, her eyes bright with mischief, and I realized this was the first time all day she'd looked truly light.
"Your turn," she said. "Worst case you ever worked on."
"I'm a family lawyer. All my cases are terrible. That's the point."
"Worst one."
I considered. "There was a custody dispute over a pet iguana."
"An iguana."
"Named Gerald. Both parties were absolutely convinced Gerald preferred them. We had to bring in an animal behaviorist to testify."
"What was the verdict?"
"Gerald bit the judge, and the case was dismissed."
Charlotte's laugh rang out across the restaurant, drawing a few amused glances from nearby tables. I didn't care. I would happily embarrass myself in every restaurant in the state if it meant hearing that sound.
Somewhere between the main course and dessert, her hand found mine across the table. Not for comfort this time, but justbecause. Her thumb traced lazy circles across my knuckles, and I felt the warmth of it spread through my entire body.
"Thank you," she said softly. "For today. For all of it."
"You don't have to keep thanking me."
"I want to." Her eyes met mine, serious now beneath the candlelight. "I want you to know that I see it. What this costs you. What you push through to do things like this." She squeezed my hand. "I see you, Miles. All of it."
I felt it, in my heart, that she really meant what she said; she was the only person I really, truly believed when she spoke.
