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It's Tom, finally breaking his silence with a venomous outburst. His lawyer quickly leans in, whispering frantically for him to shut up. Tom sits back down, his eyes seething with anger and humiliation.
I turn to Lauren; she's trembling. The courtroom had felt like a sanctuary for a brief moment, but Tom's outburst is a cruel reminder that the world outside still holds threats.
"Would you like to celebrate? There's a café nearby," I find myself saying. It's a boundary I shouldn't cross, but one that, after today, feels almost trivial.
"Sure," she replies, still slightly shaky, but a smile breaks through.
As we drive to the café, the atmosphere in the car is a mix of relief, tension, and something else—something neither of us is ready to name.
At a stoplight, I reach for my cup of coffee in the cupholder, and my hand brushes against hers. It is a simple touch, but it sends a spark through me as if an electric current has just passed between us.
Our eyes meet, and in that brief, awkward exchange, an unspoken understanding settles, but neither says a word.
We pull into the parking lot, and as I turn off the ignition, a realization blooms within me: I've fallen for Lauren. It's as terrifying as it is exhilarating, as unethical as it is true.
She's not my client anymore. That doesn't make it right, but it makes it something. Something I can't, and don't want to, ignore any longer.
As we step out of the car, I make a decision. I will act on this and soon. Because boundaries can be redrawn, and lines can be crossed, but the chance at something real?
That's too precious to let slip away.
Chapter 7 - Lauren
As we step into the cozy café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and pasta fills the air. Dennis holds the door open for me, and when our eyes meet, the emotional electricity is almost palpable.
"Let's get a table by the window," he suggests, leading the way.
Once seated, Dennis waves over the waitress and orders a bottle of champagne.
"We have something special to celebrate," he explains, shooting me a look that makes my heart skip a beat.
The waitress smiles, clearly sensing the almost tangible joy between us.
The champagne arrives, the cork popping and sending a fizz of bubbles up the bottle's narrow neck. Dennis pours us each a glass, and then we clink them together.
"To new beginnings," he says, his gaze fixed on mine.
"And justice," I add, feeling the smile on my face broaden as we both take a sip.
From that moment on, the conversation flows as smoothly as the champagne. We talk about the case at first—the stress, the relief, the finality of it all. And then, almost seamlessly, our discussion shifts from the professional to the personal.
"So, what's next for you, Lauren?" Dennis asks, staring at me with tender eyes.
I hesitate but then decide to be honest.
"You know, I've been thinking a lot about that lately, and I don't have a clear answer. But one thing I do know is that life is too short. Remember when I told you I always wanted to be a teacher? So, maybe it’s time for me to go for it. I’m thinking of taking a history course online."
He chuckles, and it's genuine—a sound that makes me realize it's been too long since I've heard laughter like that.
"That sounds like a fantastic idea," he says, "and hopefully, history won't repeat itself twice."
The laughter erupts from me spontaneously, and I'm suddenly aware of how light I feel. It's as if the weight I've been carrying for so long has lifted, if only for a little while.
As the meal comes to an end, I look at Dennis, suddenly struck by the question that's been nagging at the back of my mind.
"So, will I see you again?"
He hesitates for a fraction of a second, long enough for me to catch it, and then leans in, his voice a low murmur.
