Caleb looks at me. Then he glances over his shoulder at the storm that’s still showing no signs of slowing before turning back to me again. A mix of emotions play across his face—worry, irritation, sympathy, and finally, resignation. “You can stay at my place,” he says.
“What?” I blink at him. “At yourhouse?”
“Not my house,” he corrects. “On my property. There’s a little cabin that was meant to be a guest house. I never use it, but I’ve kept it up. It has some furniture and a working fireplace. Once we get the fire going, it should be plenty warm in there.”
“You want me tostaythere?”
“I’m offering. There’s a deadbolt on the inside, so you don’t have to worry about me… Well. I wouldn’t. Do anything. But you don’t know me. So it might make you feel better.”
It’s a solution far better than anything I’ve come up with. But to stay in his guest house after only meeting a few hours ago… Before tonight, the very thought of it would have sounded crazy. But that was before I met Caleb. Before my car was destroyed. Before he trekked through a snowstorm to find me.
Though it could be a tremendously foolish mistake, I want to say yes.
“You’re not a serial killer, right?” I ask. A beat later, heat flushes my cheeks. “Crap. Um.”
Caleb stares at me. Then he laughs. “I’m not. I swear.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. Then he leans into the backseat and opens it so I can look. On one side is his license, which tells me his full name is Caleb James Davidson, he’s forty-two years-old, and six-foot-one with blue eyes. On the other side of the wallet is a veteran ID card that states he used to serve in the Marines. “I don’t know if this helps.”
I stare at the little photo of him on the license. He looks sad in it. Almost lost.
Then my gaze moves to meet his. Behind his guarded expression, there’s something that says I can trust him.
“I’ve never built a fire,” I admit. “I’m not sure I can.”
A tiny smile tugs at Caleb’s lips. “I can show you. It’s easy.”
As I debate with myself, he adds, “If you don’t want to, I can drive you to the station. Maybe they can help. Or I can pay for you to stay at the Bliss B and B for the night.”
“No,” I reply quickly. Paying for me to stay at the bed and breakfast feels too much like charity.
“No, you don’t want to stay at my cabin? Or go to the station? Or the B and B?”
For a moment, I’m torn.
Do I insist on staying here, reason be damned? Do I go to the station and hope they let me sleep there? Or do I accept Caleb’s offer of a place to stay?
“I won’t hurt you,” he says; his gaze dark and intense as it holds mine. “Ever. That’s a promise.”
Maybe it’s foolish. But I believe him. Which is why I say, “I’ll go to your cabin. If you’re sure it’s okay.”
He looks at me for a long moment before lifting his chin. “I’m sure.”
CHAPTER 4
CALEB
Maybe she’s not coming back.
Isn’t that what you want?my inner hermit asks.To be alone? Without anyone around to complicate things? Especially beautiful women with sad eyes and a vulnerability that makes it nearly impossible not to want to protect her?
Yes and no.
Alone is what I’m used to. For the last three years, I’ve cultivated a life that requires as little social interaction as possible. I visit my parents in Florida, of course, but the twice-yearly trips are more out of obligation than for enjoyment. Which I feel bad about, because I really do love my parents. But their worry gets suffocating. And by the end of the week-long visits, I’m inevitably exhausted from trying to convince them that I’m really okay.
Aside from dinner at Enzo’s last night, I can’t remember the last time I hung out with a friendjustbecause. Not since I moved to Vermont, and not for months after all the shit went down in Somalia.
It shouldn’t have mattered, having Vienna here. It was only overnight, after all. And she wasn’t even in my house, but the cabin a quarter-mile from it. Once I got her settled into the cabin—shaking out the dusty blankets and showing her how to start a fire and making sure the pipes hadn’t frozen—I didn’t hear from her for the rest of the night.
I saw the smoke curling from the chimney, so I knew she had heat. I saw the glow of the lamp in the window wink out just after one. But she didn’t text, though I gave her my number in case she had a problem. She didn’t call, asking for help with the fireplace.
