“I’ll keep that in mind.” Leo sips his terrible coffee. “How’s the book coming? Making progress?”
Caleb’s expression does something complicated. “Trying to. Deadline’s tight.”
“When’s it due?”
“End of the month. Manuscripts, anyway. Then edits, then production.” He rubs his eyes under his glasses. “It’s a lot.”
Leo notices the exhaustion, the tension in Caleb’s shoulders. “And the baby’s coming any day.”
“Yeah.” Caleb manages a genuine smile. “Emmaline’s been incredible. She’s nesting like crazy. This morning she reorganized the entire?—”
His phone rings. He glances at the screen and his face goes white.
“Sorry, it’s Em.” He answers, “Hello? What? Where are you? Okay. Okay. Don’t panic. I’m coming. Just—walk slowly. I’ll meet you there.”
He hangs up and stands so abruptly his chair scrapes across the floor. “Her water broke. She’s walking to GW Hospital.”
“Do you need?—?”
“The hospital bag.” Caleb is already moving toward the door, then stops, realizing. “It’s at home. I need to get it, but it’s in the opposite direction from the hospital.”
Leo stands. “Give me your keys. I’ll get the bag and bring it to you.”
“I can’t ask you to?—”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering. And my free period is coming up. Where is it?”
“In our bedroom right by the door. It’s a pink duffel bag.” Caleb fumbles his keys out of his pocket and hands them over. “Thank you so much.”
“What’s your address?”
Caleb rattles it off, and Leo commits it to memory.
“Go,” Leo says. “Stop at that café she likes on the way. Get her the scones and tea. She won’t mind waiting ten extra minutes for that. Trust me.”
Caleb runs.
Leo watches him disappear down the hallway, then looks down at the keys in his hand.
He has unfettered access to Caleb’s home. His office. His files. He can search the place.
Then he thinks about Emmaline walking to the hospital alone, in labor. About Caleb running to meet her, terrified and excited. There are limits.
He pockets the keys and heads out.
Caleb and Emmaline’s row house is a few blocks, and a world, away from the dean’s place. The houses on this stretch are more utilitarian, less elegant, and, impossible as it seems, even smaller. He lets himself in and jogs up the narrow staircase. Upstairs, there’s a bathroom and a bedroom. He grabs the pink bag from the dresser just inside the bedroom door and heads back downstairs. An area next to the front door is set up as an office with a small desk and a bookshelf in front of the window.
He could search this entire home in ten minutes, tops. But he doesn’t.
Out on the sidewalk, he pulls a walking map up on his phone to find the most direct route. There’s a row of businesses in the block before the hospital. Most appear to be casual restaurants and takeout joints catering to college students and busy hospital workers. But there’s also a grocery store, a cell phone store, and, sandwiched between the two, a hardware store.
He looks down at the key in his hand. He’ll be walking right past the hardware store.
He pockets his phone and starts walking.
Chapter Twelve
Caleb stands at the counter at The English Rose, waiting for scones that are taking approximately seven thousand years to warm.
