Caleb stares at me for a second. Then he pushes up from his chair. “Okay. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I watch as he heads to the counter to order, noticing at least four other women doing the same. I can’t blame them—Caleb’s averygood-looking man. He’s not conventionally handsome in the movie star sense; his features are too rough and his nose has a slight crook to it. But there’s just something about his tousled hair and striking blue eyes and commanding demeanor that draws your eye to him.
Not wanting to be caught out staring, I shift my attention to my phone so I can check my email again. I’m waiting to hear back from the insurance company about my claim and if they’ll pay for a rental. Technically, the tractor-trailer driver’s insurance company should cover everything, but apparently it’s quicker to start the claim with my company and wait for the other company to reimburse later.
Honestly, I don’t care which insurance company pays. I just need a car. And quickly.
“Here we go.” Caleb arrives back at our table carrying a tray with our drinks and food. He places my coffee and sandwich in front of me, then sets a bag printed with pink hearts to the side of it.
“What’s this?” I ask as I start to open the bag. “All I asked for was the coffee and sandwich.”
Caleb takes his seat again. “Something for you to bring back for later.”
I peer inside the bag to find a stack of frosted heart-shaped cookies. “Caleb. You didn’t have?—”
“My mom says she always needs sweets on hand,”he explains. “Especially when she’s feeling stressed. And I figured, with everything going on with your car…” His cheeks turn the slightest bit pink. “I know cookies won’t solve it. But they might help a little.”
Oh.
That lump in my throat is back again.
Swallowing against it, I reply, “Thank you. They look really good. I’ll definitely enjoy them.”
A small smile tugs at his lips. “Good.” Then he looks around the room again. His shoulders tense briefly before relaxing.
“Is everything okay?” I ask. “If you’d rather leave…”
“Everything’s fine.” He gives me another quick smile, but this time it’s rueful. “Just habit. Keeping an eye on my surroundings, that is. Back when I served, it was necessary.”
“In the Marines, right?”
“Yeah.” Caleb takes a sip of his coffee, which does indeed have a little foam heart on top of it. “I was a Raider. So we got sent into some pretty intense situations. Being aware of your surroundings at all times could mean the difference between—” He stops. “Anyway. I’m not expecting danger here or anything. It’s not that at all.”
“I get it.” Not in terms of danger, but always being aware. “Some of my foster homes weren’t the best. My foster siblings weren’t always happy I was there. Especially if they were bio kids, and I… wasn’t. I tried to watch for potential conflicts before they happened.”
Caleb sets his coffee down. His expression is somber. “Was it bad? Foster care?”
I almost give him my pat answer—it was fine, everyone was nice, no problems to speak of—but something has me telling him the truth instead. “Not bad, exactly. But not good, either. Going into foster care as a teenager is tough. You figure out pretty quickly that you’re not going to get adopted. Some of the families just want the money from the state. Some of the boys… they thought they could try things because I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“What?”His voice takes on the same dangerous tone it did when I told him about my ex-coworker slash roommate’s boyfriend, Garth. “Did any of them?—”
“No. I was old enough to stand up for myself. I taught myself self-defense. Wedged a desk chair under the bedroom doorknob?—”
Caleb’s furious expression has me backtracking. “Anyway. Nothing happened. It wasn’t pleasant, but it could have been a lot worse. Then I graduated high school and headed to Albany to look for a job. I found a position waiting tables, and that’s what I’ve been doing ever since.”
At least, until I broke my leg and couldn’t anymore.
Caleb releases a long breath. “Do you want to get back to waiting tables? Or do you want to do something else?”
I take a sip of my latte. It’s incredible, and I sigh with pleasure.
Something dark and deep flares in his eyes. But I tell myself it means nothing.
“Short term, I’d like to get back to waiting tables again,” I reply. “It’s a lot more money than dishwashing.But I don’t think I’ll be able to work doubles anymore. It’s just too much for my leg. I’m hoping once I put in some time at The Laughing Goat, they’ll let me take some lunch shifts on. And then?—”
“Vienna?” A vaguely familiar male voice carries towards me. “Vienna Watson?”
Caleb stiffens. His shoulders draw up.
