I won my case. I refused the celebratory champagne the interns offered me back at my office.
“You seem chipper today,” an intern commented. I couldn’t wait to get my coat and skip the hell out of there.
When she opened her front door and smiled at me, all the bullshit of the day seemed to fade away. I wanted to imagine myself coming home to this smile at the end of every day. But I was a fool for indulging the idea, life no longer worked that way. Claire had her own long shifts and her work was important, too. Maybe I’d open the door for her with a smile, a bottle of wine resting in my hand. We’d tell each other about our days as I simmered white wine and clams.
“Hi, Claire,” I said.
“Hey, Miller, welcome back,” she replied. She opened the door wider for me and I stepped into her apartment.
I wondered if coming home to Claire would mean I didn't have to worry about trouble over at the club or the frustration of trying to put away scum and having evidence not work the way I was hoping to in the courtroom. All that would matter was staring into her eyes and feeling validated, feeling like life was really worth something. Yet in the back of my mind, a nagging voice was calling me an idiot, a voice that was familiar and followed me around my whole life telling I didn’t deserve the good that I wanted. I would gladly ignore all the noise to be around this woman even for one second.
She glanced down at the two large bags of food I was holding and smiled. She stepped outside of her door and looked up and down the hallway.
"What are you doing," I asked, alarmed at her behavior.
"Nothing really," she smiled, "I was just checking if you brought your boys here."
"My boys?"
"Your other biker friends," she said.
"My brothers. We call each other brothers."
"Ok, your brothers then."
She stepped aside, and I walked in. "Why would I bring them to your place without asking?"
She pointed to the bags in my hands.
"Oh that. Well because you made a mountain of food for breakfast. I just assumed you were a big eater." As soon as I said it, I regretted it fully. Claire wasn't a tiny woman. She was fucking gorgeous, curvy and thick, so as soon as I said those words, I wanted to kick my own ass. I loved the way she looked. I must have sounded like an insensitive asshole. "I mean, you cooked a lot. You made a lot of food. Jesus, I’m an asshole, sorry."
Claire started laughing, the sound reminded me of wind chimes.
"You already know how talented I am at putting my foot in my mouth. Relax, dude. I know I'm not a petite girl." She began to rummage through the bag and pulled out the packages placing them on the kitchen counter. "You're right. I like to eat. Love it, in fact."
That was the moment. The moment I knew my instincts weren't wrong. That Claire Baxter was exceptional. Every new thing I learned about her was another cherry on top.
"Where is Skylar?"
"In the tub. I ran a bath for her and let her relax a bit. I took the day off today to spend it with her. We went to the doctors and got everything checked out. They ran a lot of tests, we’re still waiting for results. She’s anemic and underweight, but that was already obvious."
"Isla okay with you taking the time off?"
Claire shrugged. "She was maybe a little annoyed, but Sky seems to be doing much better here and I didn’t want to take any steps backward. I'm not sure if the shelter is the best place for her, at least not right away."
I liked that Claire was taking care of Sky, but I didn't want Isla to be down a worker because of me. "Does Isla need more help at the shelter? I can send someone."
"I'm sure she does. We always need help at the shelter. We just don't have the money for the staff positions we need."
"I'll take care of it."
"I'm not sure your brothers hanging around would make the kids feel at ease."
"I’ll hire someone else on, another social worker to split up the work."
She tilted her head to the side, her hand at her hip, and eyed me curiously. I noticed the curve of her hip and thought about touching her there, feeling her softness. "How does a prosecutor have all this extra money? A whole social worker’s salary is pocket change to you?"
"I made some good investments. This would be a charitable write-off and I need those for my portfolio."
"Must be nice."
"It's come in handy. I've managed to make things more comfortable for kids. That’s my whole goal," I said. "Where are your plates?'