Page 22

Caleb

“ I missed you,” I answer when I have her in my arms, and her body semi-melts into me.

She’s about to say something else, but before she even does it, I move my hand that was on her hip to her face, my mouth crashing over hers.

My tongue slides into her mouth, and the minute it touches hers, she melts into my arms. Her arms loosen from her chest, and she moves one to wrap around my shoulder while the other grips my hip.

I wasn’t planning to kiss her as soon as I got here.

But one look at her and I just couldn’t help myself.

When she’s near me all common sense goes out the door and everything in my settles when she is near.

Fuck, I didn’t have any plans except to come and see her.

“Caleb,” she pants out my name when she lets go of my lips and I watch her eyes slowly flutter open.

“Yeah, baby?” I say, my thumb rubbing her bottom lip. I can see she’s trying to think of something to say to close this down. “I missed you.”

“Stop saying that,” she whispers and looks from my eyes to my mouth and back up again.

“But I did.” I rub her cheek with my thumb. “I missed you”—she doesn’t say anything as her arm around my shoulder runs down the front of my chest—“and you kind of missed me.”

“No, I didn’t,” she quickly adds, trying to dislodge herself from my arms, but I just pull her closer to me. She gives up after a second and avoids my eyes when she says, “I maybe was wondering where you went.”

“That means you missed me.” I laugh, rubbing her back.

“That means I was curious as to where you were lurking.” She pushes out of my arms, and I let her, but my hand reaches for her, and our fingers intertwine.

I bend and kiss the tips of her fingertips.

“I was wondering if you were going to pop up like an ax murderer.” I throw my head back and laugh.

“You know, those scary movies where the woman is getting ready for bed, and the guy is watching from inside the house, and everyone is screaming to get out.”

“Trust me, if you’re undressing, I’m not going to be hiding and lurking. I’ll be front and center, sitting there watching your every move.” I wink at her.

“That doesn’t sound creepy at all.” She shakes her head and I can’t help but laugh.

“I might even have something to show you.” She groans. “Something you want to see.”

“No.” She snatches her hand away from mine and covers her face with both of them. “I was drunk. So it doesn’t count.”

“You said it, so it meant you wanted to say it. You just needed a little bit of a push.” I touch the tip of her nose with my finger. “They say a drunken woman’s words are a sober woman’s thoughts.”

“Who says this?” She tilts her head to the other side. “Who? Say their names.”

“A lot of people.” I pull her to me, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. She holds both my sides. My T-shirt fisted in her hands. “You look beautiful”—I softly bend to kiss her lips—“and I did miss you.” I kiss her again. “And I’m really, really happy you called me.”

“Does it matter that I would like to forget that phone call?” She looks up at me as she takes a deep breath in.

“You can try,” I start, and her face looks hopeful, “but I’m not going to forget, and chances are I’ll remind you just in case.”

“Caleb.” Her head goes back, and she closes her eyes.

“Love it when you call my name, baby.” I kiss her nose. “Now, are you going to show me what you did to the kitchen?”

Her eyes light up “Yes.” She turns in my arms and grabs my hand, dragging me behind her.

I stop dead in my tracks when I see it all together. I knew what the cabinets looked like and what tile she picked out and even the counter, but when I see it all together, it blows me away.

“This is a nice touch,” I say of the base island brown-colored cabinets that she did.

“Wasn’t sure it would look good with the cream cabinets, but it pops out.

” I move over and my finger traces the white marble top with light-gray veins in it.

“And the barstools”—I motion to the four barstools that she has tucked under the island—“the feet of the stools match the light fixtures.” I point up to the two square brass light fixtures that hang over the island. “They match perfectly.”

She moves to the other side of the island. “Just like you,” she extends her hands on the island, “I’m good at my job.”

“I can see that.” I look over at the stove she had put in. It has four burners with a grill beside them and then another two burners. “You like to cook.” I motion to the chef-like stove with two oven doors under it.

“Not really.” She outstretches her hands by her sides to hold on to the counter. “But this might be my forever home”—she shrugs—“so I might as well get what I need now and not have to change it two years down the line.”

“Your forever home,” I repeat her words. “You’ve been in town for what, two weeks?”

“I sort of knew before I moved here that this was where I wanted to be,” she declares. “You went home this weekend.”

“I went to visit my parents,” I sort of correct her. “Went to show them I was still alive and well.” I stand at my side of the island. “Spent time with my niece and nephew.”

“Did you enjoy yourself?” I can see her finger tapping the top of the island.

“I would have enjoyed myself more if someone was with me”—I look behind me at the two-door, stainless-steel fridge—“in my bed.”

“What’s the matter, Caleb? No high school girlfriends to warm the bed?” She says the words and she tries to make it sound like it doesn’t bother her, but I can see on her face it does.

“Girlfriends is a stretch but the answer is nope.” I stare into her eyes. “I dated one girl in high school and throughout college,” I tell her, “but she wanted to be married and have kids now.” I point at the floor. “I just didn’t see that with her, I guess, so we broke up.”

“We broke up?” She tilts her head to the side. “Or she dumped you because you couldn’t commit to her?” I see the smirk fill her face. “Is that because you are scared of commitment? That’s a red flag.”

I can’t help but laugh. “I’m not scared of commitment, and If you must know, I broke up with her, but we ended on good terms.” I end it on that, the last thing I want to do is discuss my ex and one of the real reasons that I moved here.

“I don’t believe you.” She folds her arms over her chest. “No one ends on good terms with their ex.”

“I am good friends with Lilah.” I can’t help the smirk that fills my face. “I love when I prove you wrong.”

“That’s why I can’t date you.” My heart sinks. “Girl code.” She rolls her eyes at me, and I can see she’s really not that serious, at least I hope fucking not. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Are you asking me to stay?” I watch her walk past me to the fridge.

“Will you leave if I tell you to leave?” she asks me over her shoulder with a twinkle in her eye and I can tell she’s fucking with me.

“I mean, if you want me to.” I turn to watch her, leaning against the counter, folding my arms over my chest. “I did come straight here.”

“You came straight here?” She opens the fridge, the shock written all over her face.

“I mean not straight straight here after I drove over the town lines. I did drop Theo off. I think I told him to tuck and roll before I kicked him out of the truck, and I came right here.” Her mouth opens.

“I would have been here way earlier, but my parents wanted to have family brunch, so I had to give it to them.”

“I don’t have much since I didn’t have time to shop yet”—her voice is softer than it was just a minute ago—“so I only have a couple of bottles of beer and a bottle of red wine.”

“I’ll have a beer,” I tell her, and she nods, grabbing it and twisting the top off for me.

“Do you want a glass?” I shake my head and reach out to grab the beer from her.

“Did you eat?” I ask, and she shakes her head.

“I had coffee this morning,” she admits, “but then I…” She trails off. “Are you hungry?” changing the subject and I let her make that play. For now.

“I could eat,” I tell her, “but I’m not worried about me.” I take a pull of my beer. “I’m worried about you. What do you want to eat, baby?”

“Whatever it is, I want to cook it. I haven’t had a home-cooked meal in over two weeks unless I was at Lilah’s house. Even yesterday with the girls all here we had pizza.”

“We can cook together.”

“You know how to cook?” She points her finger at me.

“I live by myself and like to eat, so I sort of have to, you know. I do watch the cooking network, so I’m basically a chef.

” I put the bottle of beer down beside me on the counter and move toward the fridge.

“I also wash my own clothes and sometimes”—I look over my shoulder at her—“sometimes I make the bed.”

“I knew you weren’t perfect.” She shakes her head, walking over to the counter and grabbing my beer and bringing it to her lips. “Who doesn’t make their bed every day?”

“I’m just getting back into it,” I tell her, looking in the fridge. “How do you feel about lemon chicken with potatoes and some corn?”

“You can make lemon chicken?” Her eyebrows go up. “If you can do that, I promise I won’t say anything about you not making your bed.”

“How is this, if you are going to be in my bed,” I tell her, grabbing the chicken breast from the shelf, “I’ll make the bed, baby.

” I walk over to the counter and place the ingredients on there.

“Now, the question is, when are you going to be in my bed?” I wink at her as she groans, turning to wash my hands before I start opening drawers looking for a mallet. “So tell me about your day.”

“Should I help you cook?” she asks, putting the bottle of beer down. “I’ll do the potatoes.”

“Okay.” I place the mallet down and then get three small bowls. I see that she has set up most of her dishes. Some of the drawers are empty, and she only has a handful of pots and pans.

“Things are all over the place,” she mumbles as she tries to find things herself.

“This is what happens when you unpack while drinking.” I cut the chicken down the middle.

“No one likes anyone who says I told you so, Caleb.” She gets beside me as she cuts the potatoes in half and then in quarters.

“Depends on who you ask,” I joke as I walk over to the sink to wash my hands before going to the pantry. “So did you lie in bed all day and think about me?”

“Yes.” She drags out the s. “I lay in bed the whole day, wondering when you would be coming over. I was counting down the minutes and then the hours.” I can’t help but laugh as I grab the flour and then the breadcrumbs.

“Come to think of it”—I walk out of the pantry with the stuff in my arms, finding her looking over at me with her knife down on the cutting board—“I don’t know how I survived the day without you. ”

“Well, that’s good to know.” I put down the things and then lean over and kiss her neck. “Besides pining for me, what did you do?”

“I got an email.” She turns back to her potatoes, and I look at her, waiting. “That is why I didn’t eat anything all day,” she says, her voice wary. “I found out that I have two cousins.”

“Oh, really?” I look over at her.

“I mean nothing extraordinary like first cousins. But fourth cousins”—her face fills with a smile—“so I started building their family tree,” she states. I stop doing what I’m doing and look over at her.

“How?”

“It’s a long process. I found out that my great-great-great-grandmother was thirteen when she had her son, John, and she got married three years later.

Now, this obviously could be wrong because who was actually keeping track in eighteen thirteen?

” She takes a pull of the beer that we are now sharing.

Her voice is getting animated while she continues her story.

“So I thought, ‘oh, this is easy, right? They only had one kid.’ Wrong, John loved to spread his seed and populate the county because guess what?”

“I have no idea.”

“He had twelve kids.” She looks over at me with her eyes going big.

“Twelve.” Her voice goes even higher. “His son, William, was born in February, and his daughter was born in March. Which is strange because they both have the same mother, so, again, there could be errors on the dates if someone was having a bad day. Or you know when you get to work on a Monday but you forget it’s a Monday and keep writing the date from the Friday before.

I don’t know how accurate this whole ‘let’s write it down in the book’ is, but it’s the only thing I have to go by. ”

I laugh at that last remark, but I’m so intrigued by everything she is finding out. “That’s incredible,” I say, and she shrugs her shoulder.

“I’ll show you the whiteboard after dinner.”

“The whiteboard in your room?” I ask. She rolls her eyes as I dip the chicken in the egg, then the flour, then back in the egg, and then in the breadcrumbs before placing it in the dish to go into the frying pan.

“I’ll stay down here in the kitchen while you go up there and look at it.”

“You are going to leave me alone in your bedroom?” I turn to grab a pan.

“I might snoop.” I step closer to her, seeing her chest rising and falling faster than it did a couple of minutes ago.

Her eyes look down at the potatoes in front of her, trying not to pay any attention to me.

But I can see how affected she is. “I might even try to find something that is purple.”