12. Serena
Serena
I ’m still vibrating from Caleb’s touch when I collapse into the backseat of his car, breath short, body buzzing like I’ve been set on fire from the inside out.
My skin still burns where he touched me, my lips still tingle from his almost-kiss, and there's a persistent ache low in my belly that has nothing to do with stress. I immediately open the group chat.
Me:
Emergency wine summit. Can you guys meet me at Lockwood in an hour?
The car pulls into traffic, and I stare out the window without seeing anything. All I can think about is the heat of Caleb's body caging me in, the rough edge to his voice, the way his thumb felt against my cheek—like he was studying the texture of my skin.
My phone buzzes immediately.
Layla:
Everything OK?? Is this about the meeting?
Audrey:
I can be there in 45. What happened?
Me:
Caleb happened. I'll explain when I see you. Just... bring your judgment-free ears.
Audrey:
Oh shit. He made a move, didn't he?
Layla:
On my way!
I close my eyes and lean my head back against the leather seat, trying to process. This is just so fucking Caleb—the intensity, the way he watches me like I'm a puzzle he's determined to solve, the promise in his voice when he said ‘when this happens.’
Not if. When.
I lift my hand. It's visibly shaking. My whole body feels like a live wire.
That man.
"Ma'am?" The driver’s voice breaks through my spiral. "Am I taking you home?"
"No. To Lockwood," I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathy. "The wine bar on Rush Street."
"Yes ma'am."
An hour later, I'm seated at our usual table, a half-empty glass of Pinot Grigio in front of me and my two best friends staring at me like I'm about to confess to murder.
"OK," Layla says, settling into her seat with a glass of rosé. "Start from the beginning. How bad was the meeting?"
"Pretty bad." I give them a brief rundown of the evidence against me, then take a gulp of wine. "But that's not why I called you."
Audrey raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"
I take a deep breath. "So, I can’t afford Caleb’s fee. And I’m not about to let him represent me for free. So… He offered me an alternative, um, payment plan."
"What do you mean?" Layla asks, though something in her expression tells me she's already figuring it out.
"He wants dinner dates. Quality time. He basically said I owe him my time and attention until the case is over." I drain half my glass in one gulp. "And before you ask, yes, he's completely serious."
Audrey's mouth falls open. "That's either incredibly romantic or mildly terrifying."
"Right?" I gesture wildly with my wine glass. "I can't tell if it's romantic or if he's just a control freak…or if he’s just decided I’m his, end of discussion."
"Knowing Caleb?" Layla takes a thoughtful sip. "Probably all three."
"That's not helping," I groan.
"But wait," Audrey leans forward, eyes bright. "There's more, isn't there? You have that 'I almost did something stupid' look on your face."
I bury my face in my hands. "He almost kissed me. Like, thirty minutes ago. Outside his driver's car."
"WHAT?" Both women practically shout, earning glances from the couple at the next table.
"Shh!" I hiss, sinking lower in my seat. "It wasn't... I mean, he didn't actually do it. But he said his biggest regret was not kissing me at the gala. And he got so close I could feel his breath on my lips."
Audrey fans herself with a cocktail napkin. "I need a cold shower just hearing about it."
"And then what?" Layla prompts, practically vibrating.
"And... Oh god, I'm going to have to admit something so this makes sense.
" I take another mouthful of wine. "So, at the gala, we got pretty drunk and.
.." I put my face in my hands, not wanting to look at them.
"I basically threw myself at him like a drunk koala.
Full begging. Zero dignity. I may have used the word 'please' multiple times. "
Two pairs of eyes go comically wide.
Layla recovers first, her voice high. "You begged Caleb Kingsley to kiss you and he said no?"
"He said I deserved to be kissed when I'd remember every second, not stumble through it drunk on champagne and bad decisions." The memory still stings. "Then he tucked me into the limo and gave the driver a hefty tip to see me home."
Audrey's jaw drops. "That's the most infuriatingly noble thing I've ever heard."
"I was mortified," I continue. "I spent the whole ride home wishing the ground would swallow me up. But by the time I was crawling into bed, I got a text from him asking if we could try again. He called it 'A do-over, but with you conscious and able to veto at any point.'"
Layla is beaming. "And that's when that massive text-a-thon you two had started?"
"Yeah. He kept coming up with more creative ways to ask me out, and I kept saying no. Until I eventually said yes, and well, you know the rest..."
"Your self-sabotage could single-handedly fund psychology research for decades," Audrey says, finishing her wine. "It's genuinely impressive."
Layla's watching me carefully. "Be honest. Did you want him to kiss you today?"
The answer tumbles out. "Yes. And no. Which is the problem.
It's always both with Caleb." I look at them helplessly.
"He's too much. He looks at me like he's already figured out every secret I have.
But then he'll say something that makes me feel like I matter.
Not just as a conquest or challenge, but as a person. "
Audrey grins. "Sounds terrifying. You must be really into him."
I groan and take another gulp of wine. "That's the problem. I am. I'm so into him it's physically uncomfortable. But every time I get close to giving in, my brain starts screaming about all the ways it could go wrong."
"Like what?" Layla asks gently.
"Like... what if I'm just another challenge to him?
What if he gets bored once he's gotten what he wants?
" The words tumble out faster now, fueled by wine and desperation to make them understand.
"Or what if I disappoint him? What if he sees me—really sees, like all of me—and realizes I'm a big fat faker and not worth all this effort? "
"OK, stop." Audrey holds up a hand. "The man waited six months for you. Six months, Serena. That's not conquest behavior. That's 'I'm completely obsessed' behavior."
"She's right," Layla adds. "Bennett's told me Caleb doesn't wait for anyone. Women throw themselves at him constantly, and he either takes what's offered or doesn't. He doesn't chase."
"Until you," Audrey points out.
"And today," Layla continues, "when he could have kissed you—when you clearly wanted him to—he didn't. Because he wants you to be sure. How is that not romantic?"
I stare into my wine glass. "Because it means he knows I'm a mess. He can see right through me, and instead of running, he's being... patient."
"Or," Audrey says pointedly, "you're someone worth waiting for."
Something breaks loose in my chest, and my eyes burn with sudden tears.
"What happens when he sees me?" I whisper, gesturing to my body, my hidden insecurity and the biggest reason I have for running. The body I spend hours camouflaging with shapewear and structured blazers. The curves I try to control, to hide. He sees this polished version of me, the one I assemble every morning with strategic layers and a swipe of red lipstick. But what happens when the lights are on and the shapewear comes off? What happens when he finds out the confident marketing executive is just…soft and flabby and scared and so much more than he bargained for in every way? The thought of his hands on me, discovering my greatest embarrassment, is terrifying. He’ll see that I’m a fraud, and he’ll leave.
And my mother will be right—no man worth anything could possibly want a woman like me.
Layla’s hand covers mine, her grip firm.
“Oh, honey, no.” Her voice is thick with emotion.
“Don’t you dare think like that. That’s your mother’s voice in your head.
Not yours. I can’t for a single moment believe that Caleb is the kind of man who’ll be scared off over a little extra skin. Or cellulite.”
“Or the fact that I strategically deploy shapewear like a military general mapping out a campaign.” I try to land a joke, but no one’s laughing.
“Serena, listen to me,” Audrey says, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.
“That man looks at you like you’re the only woman who’s ever existed.
He’s grade-A obsessed. He’s seen you at your most polished.
He’s seen you drunk and begging. He’s seen you stressed and panicked.
And guess what? He’s still pursuing you.
Do you really think a few stretch marks and an apron belly are going to be the deal-breaker? ”
“It’s worse than that and you know it.” A sob escapes me, raw and ugly. It’s the truth I’ve been hiding from them, from myself, now laid bare on a table sticky with spilled wine.
“So what?” Layla said. “He wants you. All of you. And if he doesn’t. Well…at least you'll know you tried instead of wondering what if for the rest of your life."
"Plus," Audrey adds with a grin, "worst case scenario, you get amazing dinners and hopefully mind-blowing sex before everything implodes."
"Audrey!"
"What? The man oozes sex appeal. And he's clearly obsessed with you. Do you know how rare that is?"
I think about the way he looked at me outside the car, like he wanted to consume me. The barely leashed control. The way his hands shook slightly when he touched my face.
"Maybe you're right," I admit quietly. “Maybe I can trust this.”
"Of course we're right," Layla says. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
I look at my phone sitting on the table, then back at my friends. Something shifts in my chest—courage, maybe, or just enough wine to make me brave.
"I'm going to stop being a coward," I say, picking up my phone.
"Right now?" Audrey asks, leaning forward.
My fingers hover over the keys, and I can feel both my friends holding their breath. The whole bar seems to pause, waiting. I take a deep breath and start typing before I can lose my nerve.
Me:
Do you want to know what my biggest regret is?
I hit send. My pulse pounds in my ears as I watch the ellipsis bubble appear beneath his name. Then, a few seconds later:
Caleb:
Yes
Just that. No punctuation, no embellishment. My stomach flips.
Layla's peering over her glass, eyes huge. Audrey is gnawing her straw. "Well?" they demand in unison.
"He said yes," I say, slightly dumbstruck.
Audrey giggles. "Of course he did, you dolt. What did you think he'd say, 'No thanks, never text me again'?"
"Shut up. This is uncharted territory." My fingers shake as I type.
Me:
That night you waited for me at Georgio’s. My biggest regret is that I didn't show up. That I never gave us a chance.
Send.
The dots start blinking almost instantly.
Caleb:
Tell me what would have happened if you had.
My whole body flushes hot. I press my thighs together harder, grateful my friends can't see how affected I am by six words on a screen.
"Oh my god," I breathe. "What do I even say?"
"Say what you want to," Layla urges. "Pretend you're writing fanfic about your own life."
I can't look at them while I type.
Me:
I would have been a nervous wreck, but I would have covered it with my usual witty barbs and sarcasm.
I would have tried to impress you by ordering something obscure and probably would have spilled red wine on you—or on me.
You would have laughed, but with your eyebrow raised. You have a killer judgey eyebrow BTW.
We would have debated the merits of pineapple on pizza for half an hour, and then you would have asked me to dance before dessert arrived—even though no one else was dancing.
I would have said yes.
I press send on each fragment, letting them land one by one. The dots appear and disappear. Audrey has gone rigid with anticipation. Layla is grinning into her rosé like this is her favorite TV show.
Caleb:
And then?
My chest squeezes. I picture him at his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, reading my texts with that intense focus he gets.
Me:
I would have kissed you first, before I lost my nerve.
Before you could tell me no because we'd been drinking.
And then I would have freaked out and run away.
Layla is openly cackling now. "That's some Jane Austen shit right there."
"Except with more drinking and less embroidery," Audrey adds.
My phone vibrates again.
Caleb:
Always with the running.
Am I really that scary?
Me:
Well, you are a shark…
Caleb:
I guess I walked into that one.
I picture his smirk, that half-smile that makes my stomach flip.
Me:
You did. But no. You aren't scary. I'm just scared.
He doesn't text back right away, and for a nerve-shredding minute I worry I've said too much. That he's at his desk thinking, coward, flake, not worth it.
Layla must sense my panic because she squeezes my wrist. "Do not combust. You're doing emotional growth."
Audrey nods. "He's probably just figuring out how to respond without scaring you off."
It takes an agonizing two minutes for the next text to appear.
Caleb:
Do you want to try again?
He doesn't clarify. Doesn't push. Just gives me the opening.
My hands shake as I type, thighs pressed tight under the table, heat curling low in my belly at the thought of going through with it this time.
Me:
Yes.
My whole body goes hot.
Caleb:
Tonight then. Seven-thirty. Wear whatever you want, but if you show up in a cat sweatshirt I reserve the right to post photographic evidence on Instagram.
The sound I make is mostly air.
Audrey's face lights up. "You're going, right? Say you're going."
My mouth opens, but all I manage is a nod. For the first time in ages, I don't feel like I need to rehearse what to say next.
I just want to see him.
Me:
Just so you know, the cat sweatshirt comment was an act of war.
Caleb:
Consider yourself warned.
See you at 7:30. You know where.
Heat floods through me as I set the phone down with shaking hands.
Audrey grins. "Look at you being all brave and forward."
"I think I'm going to throw up," I say, but I'm smiling.
"That's just the wine and adrenaline," Layla says, raising her glass. "To finally going after what you want."
"To do-overs," Audrey adds.
I pick up my wine with trembling fingers and toast with them, my phone screen still glowing with Caleb's message.
Oh fuck. What the hell did I just do?