“It always is, with him.” I reach down as the dog rubs his head against my knee.
“I need to go outside.” Gunner puts his paw on my thigh.
“Don’t run too far,” I tell him.
Caleb gets up before I can, opening the door and letting Gunner out the front.
“Should we be worried about him with everything that’s going on?” Caleb says.
“He can take care of himself. He’s smart, honestly, he probably is safer than I am. Just be sure to leave the door cracked, he doesn’t have thumbs but he’ll be back when he’s ready.”
“All these years, I thought you were running because your dog needed exercise and it wasn’t. He walks himself.” Caleb points at me, shaking his finger. “You were doing it for fun. That’s unnatural behavior,” Caleb says. “What else have you been hiding from me? You ever think about being tied up? For fun?”
I nearly choke on my eggs, caught between a laugh and exclamation of disbelief.
“I—" I stutter," I don’t know what the hell that has to do with running?—”
“All right, add it onto the to-do list for this week,” Caleb says easily, like we’re discussing ordering takeout.
“Caleb,” I say, “you can’t just say something like that and then?—”
“Again, weird way to say yes, but?—”
The moka pot starts hissing, steam erupting from it, signaling that it’s done percolating the espresso, and Caleb motions for me to stay seated while he gets up again.
“You can’t keep joking about that,” I say. At the same time, my brain is screaming that we could get used to this.
“I’m not joking,” he says. “Would you say yes if I asked you to marry me?”
“Caleb,” I tell him, then I stop, really thinking about it. It’s been too fast, for sure.
“What’s your plan with work?” I ask him, which is probably too harsh of a subject change, but is something I need to know. And I need a break from this ‘let’s jump into marriage’ discussion.
Caleb takes out the milk, fills up the frother, silent as we listen to the quiet mechanical whir. Somewhere outside, Gunner barks, and Caleb turns off the stove, the moka pot finally ceasing boiling as he removes it from the heat.
“I called them yesterday, when we were downtown,” Caleb says easily. “They’ve agreed to let me stay here as my new… sort of base of operations. I’ll probably have to travel back and forth and maybe a few nights there further south, but they’re fine with me working remote, and they really liked the plan that I have for Watchmere Light.”
“The plan you have for Watchmere Light?” I repeat.
I don’t know why that’s the part of this my brain is stuck on. The man is saying that he’s working remote, he’s stayingin Silverlight Shore, and all I can ask about is the plan for Watchmere Light.
I guess because I’m a complete idiot who refuses to examine her emotions, but here we are.
He gives me an amused look from being set up into my cup.
“My plan for Watchmere Light,” he agrees.
Caleb just keeps working on making my latte, not expanding at all.
“Are you going to stay living here?” I push, nudging some casserole around on my plate. I might be a coward for not making eye contact, but it is what it is.
“Well, the plan is still to automate Watchmere Light,” he says. “It doesn’t need a keeper anymore, and the state stopped paying a stipend to my uncle a few years ago, it turns out, so no, I probably won’t be living here. And I’ll probably go ahead and move all of my uncle’s personal effects out of the house like I had planned, although—” he trails off, concentrating on pouring an even amount of espresso in each cup.
“Okay. Well, we can do that maybe while we get ready for the ritual.”
“Sure,” he says. “Four hands are better than just two, right?” He adds the milk into the cup with the espresso, stirring. He tops it off with a bit of the foam from the frother, an expert twist of his wrist, and I give him a long, narrow-eyed look.
“What?” he says. “I’ve made a latte before. You’re gonna love this foam heart,” he says with a sly grin.
