“Any log-in information you need will be in here.” He taps the cover. “And I’ll set you up with your own, then add the information to it.”
“Okay.”
He leans in closer, one hand braced on the desk, the other resting on the back of the chair near my shoulder. The proximity makes my heart skip a beat, his scent overwhelming.
I clear my throat and inhale through my mouth. “Could you walk me through some of the things you’d need me to do?”
My knowledge of family law begins and ends with taking custody of my brothers. I suppose that may be more than most, but I’d say it’s no more than basic.
“Sure.” He reaches around me and wiggles the mouse. A heartbeat later, the computer screen glows. He quickly types in his password and then logs into his email. He scours through them and eventually clicks on one. “This is something like I’d have you reply to.”
It’s a short message, a client requesting a face-to-face.
“All you’d need to do is check my schedule and respond with times I’m available.”
“Easy enough,” I reply.
Almost too easy. I’m back to worrying that he’s offered me this position out of pity.
But Ineedthis job, so I don’t dare speak up.
He shows me how to access his appointment book next. Then his email address book and mailing address catalog. After an hour of navigating and clicking and taking notes on where to find which kindsof files, my brain is spinning, but it seems doable.
And my worries about charity are assuaged, mostly, when he says, “Once you get a feel for that stuff, I’ll give you more responsibilities, but for now, stick with this. I’m not great at explaining what I need done, so this will be a learning opportunity for both of us. Okay?”
“Okay,” I echo, fighting a smile. He and I have that in common.
He leans away, and for the first time in an hour, it feels like I can breathe.
“When do you want me to start?” I ask as I follow him down the stairs.
Rather than lead me to the door, he heads for the kitchen and the fancy-looking coffee setup that’s nearly as intimidating as the espresso machine at the coffee shop.
He scratches the back of his head. “I’m not technically working tomorrow, but why don’t you come over whenever you want? You can respond to emails. That way I’ll be around if you have any questions. I’ll pay you for your time, of course, but how about you officially start Monday?”
“That’s fine.” With the elastic I always keep on my wrist, I pull my hair back and twist it into a low bun. Instantly, a little tension ebbs from my shoulders. I wanted to do it while I sat at the computer, but I worried I’d end up elbowing Caleb in the face or something.
“I’m making quesadillas for dinner,” he says.
I frown at the comment. Why is he telling me this?
“You and your brothers,” he says before Ican ask, “are welcome to come over. It’s just Seda and me, and I always make too much food.”
The part of me that steadfastly hates any kind of handouts or help instantly bristles. But I tamp that emotion down. His suggestion feels genuine, and I swear he’s surrounded by an aura of sadness. I’ve noticed it each time I’ve seen him. Like he’s lonely.
It’s that reason alone that makes me agree. “I’m sure my brothers would love that.”
Caleb’s whole face lights up with his smile, easing the underlying concern that he’s doing this for my benefit alone. “Great. Want to head over at about five thirty? Feel free to let yourselves in.”
“All right. Sounds good.” Head ducked, I pad to the entryway.
Caleb skirts around me, beating me to it—his hand hovering at my waist; not quite touching, but close enough for me to feel his warmth—and opens the front door and follows me out onto the porch.
“Thanks for helping me out with this. I really appreciate it.”
“It’s not a problem.” Even though I’m still not totally convinced it isn’t a pity job.
He remains on the porch as I cross our yards and ease my way up the rickety front steps. With one hand on the doorknob, I wave. He lifts a hand in return, but rather than retreating, he continues to watch until I’ve stepped inside.
