Chapter Forty-Seven
WHEN LAUREN HAD arrived in Manhattan at eighteen, she was young and the crowds and the noise were invigorating.
It was a far cry from her quiet, suburban, Midwestern life, and she loved it.
And after her first year in the city, she had grown so used to the hustle and bustle, to the screech of brakes and the revving of engines, that all of it had disappeared into the background.
It was just life. Busy, chaotic, wonderful life that left her feeling like she could conquer the world.
Now it was just loud. Glaringly, gratingly loud.
Even at one in the morning, as she made her way back to her apartment after her first shift back in the kitchen at Clarke’s since returning from the islands not even twenty-four hours earlier.
She had stumbled through the day in a fog, her mind constantly replaying the voicemail Grey had left her when she slept through her phone ringing.
Two weeks of minimal sleep, combined with a long plane ride and the emotional toll of leaving had left her exhausted, and she had not awoken until well after noon.
Grey had not sounded upset at her not answering, more concerned than anything else, but when Lauren called her back it went straight to voicemail.
She figured it was because Grey was busy sailing from one location to another, and she had left her a message promising to call again once she finished her shift.
The door to her building closing behind her muted the noises of the city, and Lauren sighed as she crossed the lobby to the elevator that rattled and clacked all the way up to the fifth floor.
Her apartment was dimly lit by the city lights that burned outside the floor-to-ceiling windows that ran the length of her apartment, leaving a crisscross grid of murky yellow light across the hardwood floors that were close enough in color to those on the Veritas to make her heart ache.
She did not bother to turn on any lights as she toed off her shoes and left them on the mat beneath her hanging coats, content to let the cool gray dim of her apartment wrap around her like a blanket as she padded down the hall to her bedroom.
The shadows creeping from the corners, bleeding up over the ceiling and seeping in uneven pools across the floor reminded her of the way the salon of the Veritas would look bathed in moonlight, and if she tried hard enough, she was almost able to pretend that she was not in New York.
She stripped off her work clothes as she stood in front of her closet, the bedroom lit by the same muddy yellow light as the rest of the apartment.
The chill in the air had her reaching for her most comfortable pair of sleep pants, and her fingers automatically sought and found her favorite gray Henley.
The one that still smelled like the detergent Grey favored.
The familiar scent was both a balm to her battered soul and a knife to her heart, and she blinked back the tears that threatened as she climbed into bed, so that she could lie down as she talked to Grey and pretend that Grey was beside her, and not thousands of miles away.
Her call was answered on the first ring, and she smiled at the sound of Grey’s sleepy voice. “Hey, you.”
“Hey,” Grey murmured. “You home now?”
“Safe and sound,” Lauren assured her. “How was your day?”
“Long. Had to jump from Charlotte Amalie to Tortola to pick up the charter, and then over to Peter Island for the night.”
“That’s different,” Lauren said, closing her eyes as she leaned back against her pillows.
“Yeah.” Grey was quiet for a moment. “How about you? How was your day?”
“Long,” Lauren said, smiling at the way Grey chuckled softly. “I forgot how tiring New York is.”
“It’s definitely not the islands,” Grey agreed softly. “Work good?”
“Yeah. It was just work. Nothing exciting.”
“All fingers and thumbs still attached?”
Lauren blew a raspberry into the phone. “Yes. All digits are uninjured and accounted for.”
“Good.” Grey sighed, and Lauren pictured her running a hand through her hair. “I have plans for those fingers when I get up there in February.”
“Do you, now?” Lauren chuckled. She looked up at the feeling of Jenks landing lightly on her legs, and she patted the bed beside her, calling him closer.
She smiled at the way he purred softly and nuzzled her face, his bright blue eyes filled with the kitty equivalent of concern.
“Hey, buddy,” she whispered as she scratched behind his ear.
“Jenks?”
“Mmm, he’s giving me snuggles.”
“Lucky bastard,” Grey muttered.
Lauren smiled. “If it makes you feel any better, yours are better.”
“Damn right they are.” Grey blew out a soft breath. “I miss you.”
Sheets rustled as Grey tried to make herself comfortable, and Lauren smiled sadly as she imagined how beautiful Grey must look in that moment. She rolled onto her side, facing the half of the bed that Grey had always taken, and closed her eyes. “I miss you too.”
It was too late for idle small-talk but neither seemed particularly eager to lose the tenuous connection they shared, so they fell into an easy silence, listening to the other breathe as they each pretended that they were together.
Lauren was not sure when she fell asleep, but she woke up some time later to find her phone on the mattress beneath her chin.
The screen was dark, and she blinked sleepily as she swiped it open.
Instead of the open call screen she saw a text notification, and she smiled as she read Grey’s message.
Sleep well, beautiful. Skype date later?
Will be moored in Jost by 1500…
Three o’clock gave Lauren a few hours before she was to report back to Clarke’s, and she grinned at the idea of actually seeing Grey—not just talking to her.
It’s a date. I’ll be waiting, call when you can.
Be safe.
XO
She fell back asleep with her smile still firmly in place, her right hand curled loosely in the middle of the bed as if she were waiting for Grey to reach out and take it.