She’s wearing only her bra and panties, clutching herself. For a moment, I’m frozen at the sight of all her creamy skin and wild, out-of-control curves.
She trembles, pain and longing mixed in the flush across her cheeks.
Without hesitation, I undo her bra, cup her breast, and my mouth finds her nipple. She gasps. I hold her gently, cupping the underside, and relishing her warmth. If I’m quick, I can handle this and make her comfortable before anyone notices.
Her hand comes up, sliding over my cheek, and the taste of her, all warm and sweet, makes my heart thunder. I switch to the other side, knowing I’ve only taken the edge off rather than drained her completely. It’ll have to be enough.
When the other side softens, I close her bra back up, “You’re beautiful,” I whisper.
She gives me a soft, breathy thanks. I tap her ass. “Now, get dressed and let’s pay for these clothes.”
By the time she comes out with everything draped over her arm, her breathing has evened, her shoulders are looser, and she seems calm and relaxed.
While the cashier folds the dress, Joelle runs her fingers along the edge of the counter, then glances up at me with a look I haven’t seen from her yet.
“Caleb,” she says, voice small, “I never asked the other night how you feel about my son’s name.”
My body goes still.
She stares at the counter like she regrets asking. “I know it probably felt strange. I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just… I wanted him named after someone good. Someone who was kind when everything else in my life was so uncertain.”
My throat works around a tight swallow. “It means so much to me, Jo. More than I can say without soundin’ like a fool.” I step closer, handing over the cash. “You named your boy after me because you felt safe. Because I mattered to you when you were young and scared. And I’ve spent every day since that time wishin’ I’d done more. I didn’t trust your momma. I shouldn’t have let her leave with you without a fight.”
Her breath hitches, her eyes going glossy. “There was nothing you could do, Caleb. Not about that. You did enough while you could,” she says.
“I didn’t. I should have checked up on you when you left. I knew your momma was unreliable, and for that, I’ll always be sorry. Maybe if I had, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself into such a damn pickle.”
She slides her hand into mine, fingers curling tight. “I can’t ever regret having my son. But it means a lot that you thought of me over the years.”
“I’ll never stop thinkin’ about you, Joelle,” I admit.
Outside, the air is warm, the sun high in the sky. I carry the bag of clothes as we head back to the truck. I shut her door slowly, my palm lingering against the metal longer than necessary as I breathe through the sudden realization of how deeply I want this woman woven into every corner of my life.
By the time I slide behind the wheel, Joelle’s turned toward the window again, the breeze tousling her hair, her fingers tracing the hem of Wade’s shirt still tied at her waist.
I start the engine and pull out of the lot, the tires crunching over gravel as we roll back toward the long ribbon of road that leads home. For a while, Joelle watches the golden fields, the sky stretching vast and endless above us, but I can feel her tension.
A few miles down, I clear my throat. “Joelle?”
“Yeah?”
“I need you to know somethin’,” I say. “Somethin’ I haven’t said out loud yet.”
She shifts in her seat, her hands coming together in her lap. “Okay.”
I keep my eyes on the road because if I look at her, I’m in danger of stumbling over my words. “When you bring your boy home… things’ll change. Not in a bad way. I know what kids mean. Responsibility. Tired nights. Less freedom than most folks can handle.” I let out a slow breath. “But I’m not scared of that. Neither’s Wade.”
Her brows knit, soft and tight, like she’s bracing herself.
I keep going. “When I imagine you living with us, Jo… Idon’t just think about the work you’d do, or the meals you’d cook, or the way the house already feels different because you’re in it. I imagine your boy running across the porch barefoot. I picture you holding him at the kitchen table while we eat. I think about you not having to do any of it alone ever again and us getting to show him what it means to have a father and be a man.”
The breath she releases is shaky and thin.
“Caleb…” she whispers, swiping at her cheek. “That sounds like a dream.”
I smile. “Don’t you know you’re a dream come true for us?”
She turns toward me fully then, her eyes bright and full of heartbreak and hope woven together so tightly you couldn’t separate them if you tried.
