“You got all—” I ask him. It comes out a little more sad than I meant it to, and he gives me a quizzical look before turning and closing the door, taking his shoes off.
He hands me the flowers after I finish filling Gunner’s food bowl and sets the two grocery bags on the counter. He sweeps me up into his arms before I have time to react, and he says, “I went out to grab a few things for the next few days. We might’ve gotten food for Gunner and stuff to make sure that you’re not running around here naked, although if you change your mind and want to do that, I’m not gonna stop you, but I figured we need to feed ourselves as well.”
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I tell him. It feels like the hundredth time I’ve said the words in the last two days.
“Ivy, I don’t have to do anything. Just because I don’t have to do something doesn’t mean I don’t want to, and it doesn’t mean I won’t,” he says, laughing.
He presses both hands against my face and gives me a long kiss before pulling away with a devious wink, and I’m practically floating on the feeling.
I set the flowers in water.
“They’re beautiful,” I tell him. Sunflowers, fuchsia roses, salvia, and what looks to be a few eucalyptus sprigs, as well as baby’s breath.
“Oh,” I say, my memory pinging. “Eucalyptus, that was on the list. Nice work.”
“To be clear, I didn’t know that,” he says, “and I don’t think I could’ve known that was eucalyptus if I wanted to. That wasn’t thoughtfulness, that was just dumb luck.”
“Now—” he gives me a little shove “—I made breakfast. It’s nothing special, but it’s in the oven, and I got out all the stuff for lattes?—”
“How did you — when did you get all the syrup?”
His eyes crinkle at the corners.
“I picked it up on the way into town a few days ago. Before I saw you. I might’ve hoped that a certain somebody wouldstop by and that I could make them stay a little bit longer if I promised them a pistachio latte. That’s still your favorite, right?”
“Hell yeah,” I tell him. “I can’t decide if I think that’s adorable or slightly creepy.”
“It can be both,” Caleb tells me. “You want a pistachio latte now? You want something else?” He gestures to the lined-up bottles of syrup. “As you can see, I’m not a whole Sugar & Salt level of latte goodness, but I’m ready to make your heart’s desire.”
“What espresso’s in the moka pot?” I ask with professional interest.
“Oh,” he says quickly. “Lavazza.”
“My favorite.” I poke the lid, watching the espresso percolate out. “I can’t believe you remembered.”
He swats at my hand. “Stop messing with it sit down and let me fix you breakfast.”
I know better at this point than to argue with him, and despite being perfectly capable of making my own plate, I content myself with taking the extra leaves and cutting down the stems and getting the flowers arranged as nicely as I can in one of the huge Mason jars I find in the kitchen cabinet.
Before long, we’re both seated at the table, flowers brightening up the huge steel column that runs through the entire lighthouse, with a plate of egg and ham and cheese casserole in front of me, a piece of fresh bread Caleb bought this morning, and my sock-clad feet.
“I regret to inform you that your feet haven’t figured out how to stay warm even after all these years,” Caleb says.
I laugh and kick him lightly.
“Don’t worry,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper. “Happy to be your heater.”
“You better be.” I rub my foot on his shin. “This looks really good,” I say, spearing a bite of my casserole and putting it in my mouth.
He does the same and nods, chewing thoughtfully for a few minutes. “Yeah, I learned this recipe a few years ago. One of my favorites. Got really good at cooking.”
“You told me that last night.”
“You said I got really good at a few things, if I remember correctly.” He gives me a long exaggerated wink, and I blush in spite of myself.
Gunner lets out a loud burp, and we both glance over at him before bursting out laughing.
“That was excellent timing,” Caleb says.
