“It was exhausting and lonely. I kept telling myself it would get better once I got used to it.” Caleb shook his head.
“And you didn’t,” I prompted, wondering where the story, Caleb’s story, was going.
He shook his head. “No. And then everything else happened.”
I waited, watching him struggle to put his thoughts into words.
“Eva’s husband died,” he said. “And my dad got sick not long after. I was still touring. I was missing everything. Phone calls instead of dinners. Video calls instead of being there. I realized I was living the life I thought I wanted and missing the one that actually mattered. I was missing all the important moments with my family that I could never get back.”
The street narrowed ahead, lights dipping lower. I could hear the strain in his voice now, controlled but present.
“I managed to get out of my contract early, but I had to pay a penalty that put me right back where I started, which was brokewith a bus ticket. So I came home. When my dad passed, keeping the shop open felt like the only thing that made sense. Teaching feels right. I’m sharing music instead of being consumed by it.”
We walked a few steps in silence, the weight of it settling without discomfort.
“I like my life now,” he said. “I just don’t want to lose it again.”
“Why would you lose it?” I questioned with concern. For a moment, I wondered if I had asked too much as Caleb took his time before answering.
“The shop isn’t doing well financially. That’s why I’ve been teaching snowboarding at the ski hill. I keep getting calls from my old agent. He wants to try to sign me again,” Caleb confessed.
“You’re tempted,” I softly surmised.
“It would solve a lot of problems,” Caleb remarked.
“It would create more if you’re unhappy,” I told him.
He nodded, and for a few minutes we did nothing more than wander. We paused at a handmade ornament display. He picked one up, turned it over thoughtfully, then put it back like he was afraid of committing to anything unnecessary.
“There is one more thing,” he said, pulling out his phone and glancing at the screen before holding it out toward me. “I want to show you something and also apologize.”
I took the phone, confused, then frowned as the images loaded.
It was us.
The two of us at the skating rink. Caleb holdingAbby’s hands as she leaned back into a glide. Me skating beside them, laughing at something Abby had said. Another angle from farther back, holding hands as we circled the rink.
Below the photos were captions and speculations with far too many emojis.
“Someone posted these,” Caleb said. “They picked up traction faster than I expected.”
I scrolled, heart doing a strange little stutter. “They are asking if I am your girlfriend.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that anyone would do this or about how that would affect you.”
I handed the phone back, forcing myself not to overthink.
“It is strange,” I admitted. “But I don’t feel… upset. Just surprised.”
“That is a relief,” he said. “I hate the idea of dragging you into something you didn’t ask for.”
I looked at him. “People talk and there isn’t anything you can do about it.”
He studied my face carefully. Before either of us could say more, someone called his name.
“Caleb Green!”
A woman stepped toward us, phone already raised, eyes bright with excitement. She stood too close, getting into our personal space.
