In the Palm of His Hand novel · Chapter 5 of 24

Chapter 5: Wrists

Dani took one look at the man on our couch and said, "Is that Cal Ransome?"

Then she looked at me, at my hair, and at my mouth.

"Oh my God. Penelope. Go. I'll feed your plant."

That was how I ended up in the back of a black car the next evening, with a gym bag on my lap.

Abel Shaw's grey moustache showed in the rearview mirror.

Abel had not said a word since Rittenhouse Square.

"He's a good man, miss," he said now, to the windshield.

"You work for him."

"I worked for the other fellow for twenty years. I'd rather work for this one."

He pulled up to a glass tower and opened my door.

Cal's penthouse took up the top two floors.

It was all pale stone and black steel, and it was so quiet that I could hear the wind outside the windows.

Cal stood at the end of the long living room with the city behind him.

He had a clean white shirt on, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and the scar on his forearm showed under the lamp.

"Come here."

I went.

He took a small black velvet box out of his pocket and held it in his palm, closed.

"You said not today," he said. "I thought I'd show you what tomorrow looks like."

I didn't touch it.

"Cal."

"It's not a question yet."

"It's a ring."

"It's a ring in a box. You can look or not look."

I looked at his hand instead.

It was so big that the box was lost in it, and it was perfectly steady.

"Not yet," I said.

"Not yet is not no."

"It's not yes either."

"I'll take it."

He put the box in his pocket without a flicker of disappointment, and my shoulders dropped with relief.

Then I stepped up against him and set my palms on his chest.

"Is there a shower in this place big enough for two?"

His eyes flared.

"There are three."

"Show me the biggest."

The bathroom was marble from floor to ceiling.

The rain-head shower was the size of my kitchen, and the glass walls fogged as soon as he turned the water on.

I undressed him myself.

I took his shirt off and eased the waterproof dressing down over his stitches.

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