“Ellie,” Caleb says. “Go and keep Sonny occupied for a moment, why don’t you?”
Ellie takes off into the next room, and Caleb shuts the door behind her.
“Are you together?” I ask.
“No.” Caleb wipes a hand around the back of his neck. “Nothing like that.” He steps closer and meets my eyes, like there’s something in them that’s worth seeing.
That firm hand around my waist, steadying me…
The gold flecks in his eyes, reflecting the afternoon sun…
“Look. I’m sorry for not telling you about Ellie before, when I was here.”
“Thanks for your apology.”
Caleb flexes his jaw. Shadows circle around him as the morning sun lifts higher into the air, no longer burning through the windows brightly like it was before. The black tee and dark hair combo makes him look like a dark archangel—a force not to be reckoned with, but a force you still wanna take a chance on, just because you know how good it tastes to gothere.
We have so much to catch up on, and Caleb’s eyes are wide with the same thought as we stare into each other’s soul, waiting for the other to first make a move.
I can’t. Not after he made me look like a fool. He broke my heart and his disappearance forced me to pick up the pieces afterward. Some fragments are still missing, and always will be. Only he can restore them.
So, why doesn’t he? With the kids occupied in the next room talking about planes and Barbie, we could steal a kiss in the kitchen and surrender to the sexual tension before it ruins us in other ways.
And then there’s a knock on the door.
Hope disappears faster than my house did from the fire.
Caleb walks past me, smelling of pheromones and nostalgic cologne, and opens up the door.
“Is Ms. Hart staying here?”
I whip around and lock eyes with a scary, suited man waiting out on the porch. He looks too well-dressed to be a local around here. A city guy. I have a knack for spotting them out of the crowd—either broken or walking around with excessive pride.
The cold way he looks at me suggests he’s coming from an insurance firm.
Caleb widens the door—an indication for me to come on over. I give the man a half-welcoming smile and try not to look too confused.
“Ms. Hart,” he begins. “Allow me to introduce myself.”
If there even is a person behind those eyes.
“My name is James Taylor, owner of an insurance assessment company called JT Insurance Claims. I received a case earlier this morning from one of our clients about a faulty stove that set fire to your house.”
I nod robotically in response.
“As a loss assessor, I will be carrying out an investigation on your house. A report request has also been sent to the fire house yesterday, so we can gather more information.” James extends his gaze to Caleb. “Please allow Ms. Hart and I a moment alone to talk.”
“Certainly,” Caleb says, taking off. He pats me on the back—a small gesture that gets every bone in my body quaking. “Looks like you could be in luck.”
Sure.
If luck is the stove company pressing charges when they find out I set my house on fire for insurance money.
The man in front of me looks like he has a hunger for this kind of thing.
I’m totally screwed.
6
