Still no laughter? I narrow my eyes and wait a beat more for a delayed response.
Nothing. Just a stoic blink no different to the ones that came before it.
He’s harder. More guarded than before.
He opened up quickly the first time. We both did. And now he’s putting way too much distance between us.
Like we’re no more than strangers at Bean There…
“I have a babysitter, but I’m thinking it would be better if we could both be on childcare while the other is at work. I should be able to change around my scheduled four days so it coincides with your working pattern. It’s the least Ryan can do,” he mutters, “for signing me up to—” Another throat clearing. “Never mind.”
Of course. It was Caleb’s boss who proposed that Sonny and I stay here a while.
“Sounds good.”
“I suspect there will be some overlap,” Caleb continues. “So that’s when Grace can step in and babysit.”
“Great.”
“I’ll do the cooking, unless I’m on a one-to-eleven PM shift, in which case you’ll have to be head chef.”
“Noted.”
“Send me a list of what groceries you and Sonny need.” He catches my eye for this next part. “I take it you’re still lactose intolerant?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to bleach the toilet on the off chance I drink the wrong milk.” I chuckle, anxiously waiting forhis reaction as I realize what the fuck has just come out of my mouth.
Dairy now apparently affects both ends.
Caleb breaks eye contact and leaves me to pick up my dignity from the floor.
God, it’s just like before. I had no control over my mouth then, same as now. His presence is to blame. Self-control disappears as soon as I’m alone in his company.
Moving swiftly on…
“Um. Hey. Don’t worry about the groceries. I’ll sort them out. You kindly invited Sonny and me into your home. The least I can do is?—”
“Your house burned down, Hart.”
Thanks for the painful reminder.
“Everything is taken care of,” he insists.
I exhale an inward sigh of relief—it’s not like I have money flying out of my ears to provide groceries for a nuclear…family.
That’s essentially what we are. But what’s going on here is very unconventional. Not to mention that our children have two different sets of parents…or that’s what Caleb believes, at least.
“Soy milk, unsweetened?” he clarifies, composing a list on his phone.
“Yes. Thanks.”
I’m sweet enough as it is…
Too bad Caleb no longer gets a taste.
Ellie hops outside wearing a pink floral T-shirt, and a smile on her face that lights up the day more than the sun. “Can I have coffee, Dad?”
“It’s for adults only, I’m afraid, sweetheart.” His soft voice and the term of endearment at the end is no good for my ovaries. Dad of the year goes to Caleb Rourke—that’s for sure.
