‘Plenty of time.’
ChapterEleven
Johannes
Every day Caleb becomes that little bit more interesting to me. He surprises me in the most unexpected ways. Like the way he couldn’t keep his eyes off of me. Made me want to cook dinner half-naked, too, but the risk of hot oil splattering on my bare skin drove me to pull on a T-shirt.
I got to work frying off some beef mince and beans, flavouring it with paprika, salt, chilli flakes and a crack of black pepper. I whip up a chunky pineapple and tomato salsa, then mash up an avocado with some red onion, and shred some lettuce and cheese.
I’m just warming up the tortilla wraps when Caleb steps back into the kitchen. He’s barefoot, wearing a different pair of sweatpants and his hair is a curly, wet mess.
Oh, boy.
In what world did I think asking him to stay was a good idea?
This is temptation city, and there is absolutely no way I can act on anything. Not when we have to work so closely together. Not when I’m fresh out of a heart-wrenching workplace relationship that’s so severely affected my performance.
‘Something smells incredible,’ he comments from where he lingers on the other side of the island, a safe distance away from me. I’m glad such a big obstacle lies between us, and the electric the crackle of energy I keep feeling when I’m around him.
‘Well, I hope you’re hungry because I’m used to cooking just for myself and apparently don’t know how to double a recipe. I’ve made enough to feed a family of four.’ The pan is full to the brim with the beef and bean mixture, which I packed out with grilled onions and peppers.
‘Absolutely starving. Who knew typing all day could be such hungry work?’ he says, sliding onto one of the bar stools.
He looks so… natural, so at home. It shouldn’t startle me, but something zings around my bloodstream like it’s electrifying me. Luckily, the oven timer dings which gives me an excuse to turn away and take out the wraps while I get myself under control.
In the time it took him to shower I seem to have made us a build-your-own taco station. Normally I’d just cram everything into wraps from the bowls and pans I used to make the components, but I’m spooning things into serving bowls and everything. Don’t know who in the Nigella Lawson I think I am right now, but Caleb’s eyes light up as I call him over to help himself.
‘This reminds me so much of being back home with my family,’ he says as he fills three wraps, not skimping on the cheese or sour cream like I am.
We settle down next to each other at the breakfast bar as he continues. ‘Having four hungry boys to feed, plus my dad, Mom always used to just let us go for it and serve ourselves rather than spending ages plating up and letting it go cold. I’m the youngest, so I always just copied everything my brothers did– though they were grown men when I was just figuring out how to hold a knife and fork.’
‘How old are your brothers?’ I ask, mouth filled with taco.
‘Gregg’s fifty-one, Damon’s fifty-two and Joshua’s fifty-four so there’s around a twenty-year age difference between us.’
I whistle. Being an only child, I can’t even imagine that.
‘How’d you find it?’
He ponders for a second, eyes on his plate like he might find the answers there. ‘I love them all, so much, and their now-wives and all of the nieces and nephews they’ve given me. But, it was lonely at times. They were all away at college already when I was born and then when they graduated they all moved back in for various periods of time and then they were gone again with their partners to start their own lives. We all get on great now I’m older, but I’m closer in age to my nieces and nephews than I am to my brothers.’
‘Yeah, I can imagine. Though I have no siblings, so I guess I actually can’t! I don’t even think I would have liked having one. I wasn’t very good at sharing.’ I don’t tell him that I’m still not. That I hated sharing Jackson with Hendersohm. I definitely don’t tell him how bitter it’s made me.
‘Luckily, I didn’t have to share anything. They were off at bars and football games while I was still playing with toy cars in my bedroom. Then I told them I was gay, and I remember Damon saying well at least they never had to worry about me stealing their wives.’ That extracts a chuckle from me. It reverberates around my body, catching me off-guard, because I’m not sure when I last properly laughed like this.
Which turns into me laughing like an idiot for a solid minute whilst Caleb watches on in confusion. Eventually he starts laughing, too– it might be catching, or perhaps he’s just laughing at me– but this feels so freeing. Like it’s loosening all the tightness in my muscles, releasing the bones in my spine from where they’ve become locked. My jaw relaxes, my shoulders drop, and the lingering headache that’s been gnawing at the base of my skull evaporates.
It takes me a good few minutes to collect myself before I can take another bite of my taco, but even then, a hearty smile lingers on my face.
‘You good?’ Caleb asks, polishing off his third taco, a blob of sour cream clinging to the corner of his lips.
I can’t stop myself from reaching over to wipe it away. I brush my thumb over his lip and he just stares back at me, frozen in place, frozen but also hot. So fucking hot. His eyes are so clear and so green as they lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my toes curl. Everything slows down. I watch a flush creep up over his skin, staining his pale cheeks a rosy red. I see his eyes widen as I bring my thumb to my own mouth and close my lips around the digit. I suck the remnants of the sour cream off then slowly pull it out of my mouth with a wet pop.
‘I am now,’ I say.
His mouth drops open.
I can’t believe what I’ve done. But mostly I can’t believe how cute he looks when he blushes. I can see the pulse at the base of his throat bumping like it’s about to erupt out from beneath his skin. He blinks slowly and I watch his auburn lashes graze the tops of his heated cheeks. I want to feel that heat with the palm of my hand, to push my fingertips into his hair, and trace the delicate skin under his eyes with my thumb. But that really would be madness.
