But does it?
He left for six months when he had a child back in Long Island.
I should really ask him about that the next time we’re alone, now that I’m over the initial shock waves from yesterday when he told me Ellie’s age.
“Piper?” she addresses me with a sweet smile. “May I braid your hair?”
“I’m sure Piper would love that some other time,” Caleb cuts in.
“Actually,” I counter, returning Ellie’s smile—a replica of her dad’s. “I would love for you to braid my hair. Right now.”
Caleb’s smile fades. He probably thinks this is my way of getting under his skin, revenge for what he did nine years ago. But having a girl to hang out with is fun.
I’m used to Sonny zooming around the house like a madman twenty-four seven playing airplanes. I love that kid to bits, but sometimes I’m not in the mood for a race. Being a single mom can be draining at times.
Sometimes all you wanna do is sit back and get your hair played with.
“Be gentle,” Caleb cautions, standing up to fetch more coffee. “I’m sure Piper doesn’t want her hair follicles ripped out. She’s not a Barbie.”
“No,” Ellie chuckles, weaving strands of my hair through her fingertips. “She’s a real-life Barbie.”
Jesus.Why did Caleb have to go and raise the most perfect girl?
My eyelids droop, sleep closing in as Ellie glides her fingers softly through my hair. I slept so little last night that not even coffee can save me.
And damn, does Caleb make it strong. He uses the same blend he used to. Spicy caramel-vanilla.
Just like the aftershave he wears. That hasn’t changed either…
He tells me he’s never seen a black bear.
Of course he hasn’t. He’s a New Yorker. So, on our second date, I take him out into the forest.
The coffee notes linger on my tongue as we walk side-by-side.
Silence.
We walk under a canopy of green, pine trees shooting up into the sky all around.
I gawp at him as we maneuver through the forest.
Calm. Unbothered.
With a jawline that could do more damage than a butcher knife.
Jesus Christ. Surely there has to be a catch.
He can’t really be this perfect.
Can he?
His onyx-brown eyes reflect the sunlight as he turns to me to answer a question.
“You get used to it. Sometimes there’s only so much you can do.”
“Does it ever bother you at night, when you remember those you were unable to save?”
He goes quiet and I realize I’ve struck a chord.
