“You deserve good things, Cassidy. Your kids see that.Isee that.” His ice-blue eyes meet mine, unreadable in their intensity. “I understand your reservations, but what I said last night…it was all true.”
I look him over, that doubt still there, hanging over me, yet somewhere in there is a flash of hope. A little spark of it that I can feel is growing brighter and brighter the longer we stay here.
“Do you think you’re a good thing for me?” I ask him quietly, each beat of my heart thundering painfully in my chest. I can’t make myself catch my breath as the intensity of his eyes grows.
Caleb leans into me, our hands brushing. The smell of his cologne tickles my nose when I breathe in, but I’m locked on his eyes, on the emotion they hold. “Not really,” he murmurs, stopping a breath from my lips. “I don’t think I’m good for anyone. And I know you realise that. Which is why I want to show you otherwise. I’m not the bastard my sister makes me out to be. I’m not the asshole I’ve presented myself as.”
I feel some of my hesitance towards him waver. “I don’t think you’re an asshole or a bastard,” I murmur, reaching out to cup his chin.
Caleb leans into my touch, eyes softening. “But?”
“But I think you might have rose-coloured glasses on.” My throat tightens with emotion. “I think you might unintentionally hurt us. And I…that’s not something I can risk again. Not when I can see them trusting you.”
Something breaks in his expression as his eyes shutter. “Cassidy?—”
I lean in and quietly brush my lips against his. “You have the power to break all our hearts, and that’s not the kind of thing one man can hold.”
“Let me show you I can be that man,” he murmurs. “Let me be strong. Foryou.”
These were the promises I knew could be so easily broken. Even unintentionally. Because I hate how easy it is to fall. But can I trust him to catch us when we do?
NINE
CALEB
My heart sinks when I get the text from Winnie.
WIN:
road’s cleared enough for Cassidy and the kids to leave. I found them somewhere to stay for a couple of nights. Mom couldn’t get her an interview with Fletcher and Mariott. Don’t tell her that. Still working on it.
WIN:
be nice when you kick them to the curb.
I press my lips together, lowering my cell to my chest. The rest of the cabin is quiet, Cassidy and the children still sleeping. All I want to do is ignore these texts and pretend like we can keep this peace forever. All I want is to hold them close.
Maybe what I’m doing is selfish. As badly as I want to show her I can be more for her—for all of them—I also don’t want to push them away. And even though I’m sure I made progress with the kids yesterday, that means nothing to Cassidy in the long run.
Because one morning of bonding compared to what could be a lifetime of everything she assumes I hate?
She won’t make a decision like that.
Slowly, I get off the sofa and shoot Winnie a text acknowledging what she said, telling her to send through the details and that I’ll take them into town. The roads might be cleared, but Cassidy’s car won’t handle the actual drive down the mountain again, and I won’t risk it. And anyway, I’d rather make sure they get where they need to go safely, with my own eyes.
I pull on boots and a heavy coat as I leave the cabin. My back porch, which overlooks the forest, still carries a thick layer of snow. I’ll admit, it’s been nice these last couple of days not being on top of it all. Getting to stay in and just enjoy the days rather than filling the silence with work and other tasks thatneed to get donesurprised me.
Normally, I’d find something to fill my time. It’s second nature at this point. There’s always something for me to do: a list I need to complete, a task I can check off to make my life easier.
I expect to feel some sort of…resentment over not having this one thing done, but I don’t. No tightening in my chest, no twist in my stomach as I consider how long it’ll take me to complete now. Nothing except a sense of ease, knowing it’ll get done, regardless.
With a sigh, I pull up the realtor's website, find the number for one of the managers, and hit call. I know him well enough to know he’ll answer.
It takes three rings to pick up. “This is Bryce Fletcher of Fletcher and Mariott Realtors. Are you looking for?—”
“It’s Caleb Wilton,” I interject, keeping my voice low as I put him on speaker. “Look, I know my mother has been trying to get a hold of you about a position.”
There’s a beat of silence on the other end, one that gets filled with a sigh. “Okay. Yeah. Your mom has been insistent on us interviewing someone. But we can’t?—”
