“No, I’m not,” he says. “And I’m only like this with you.”
That hits me straight to the heart, because I know it’s true. I know this playful side of Caleb doesn’t come out — not with anybody else. Sometimes with my sisters. But I don’t think anyone else in the town has seen him as silly as he is right now.
And I love that it’s for me.
I love that he trusts me enough to be the goofball that he’s always been and not the serious coastal conservation guy.
I feel lucky.
“Well, what’s it going to be, Mrs. Bad Breath?” he says.
“That’s Miss Bad Breath to you.” I poke him in the chest.
“Not if I have my way,” he says.
My jaw drops at that bombshell and he lurches out the door, teeth freshly brushed as well, before rummaging around in his closet while I process that.
What does that mean?
He wants to marry me?
We literally have been back together for fifteen minutes and now he’s thinking about marriage.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
And to my surprise, she’s smiling back at me.
Seventeen
Caleb’s clothes are too big, but they don’t have the lingering tentacle brine and rainwater-soaked scent that my dress and cardigan had last night. So I decide, with just the slightest amount of trepidation, that if people assume that we spent the night together, I don’t care. Because we did. And okay, Caleb has firmly planted himself into my life as my boyfriend again. And if people want to gossip about that, well, that’s their prerogative.
Saltline is slammed when we get there, the place buzzing with storm gossip and caffeine like the entire town collectively decided to process their trauma over breakfast. The floor’s already a mess of wet footprints and sand, and every table is packed shoulder to shoulder with people rehashing the same three stories at increasing volume. Plates of eggs and toast and something fried I can’t quite identify keep passing by in a steady stream, the smell of grease and coffee thick in the air.
The restaurant itself is all worn wood and big front windows, sunlight cutting through the noise and catching on mismatched chairs and the long stretch of bar that runs the length of the room, already lined three deep with people waiting their turn. A series of antique buoys and nets line one wall, pictures of locals with award-winning fish strewn about.
Raymond Pike, an old fisherman as salty as the sea itself, takes one look at Caleb and I together — me in oversized baggy sweatpants — and motions for us to come sit behind the bar.
“Storm really did some damage last night,” Pike says. “We’re all doing cleanup today. Can we count on you guys to come help?” he asks.
I’m slightly surprised he doesn’t say anything about Caleb gripping my hand and daring anybody else in the bar to say anything. Well, maybe that’s exactly why Pike hasn’t said anything. Caleb’s making it pretty clear that we’re back together, and the fact that I’m wearing his clothes probably sends a pretty clear signal to everybody else there, too.
It doesn’t bother me as much as I thought it might. In fact, I’m pretty damn pleased about it myself. My cheeks hurt from smiling, and I haven’t quite seemed to have stopped since we left the lighthouse a few minutes ago.
I like the idea of being Caleb’s girlfriend.
And as much as it scares me, I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be scared about right now.
“Some odd things were seen last night, too,” Pike says.
Gunner lays himself down at my feet, and Pike tosses him a dog bone I know he always keeps in his pocket in case someone stops by with a pup.
I try not to be too interested in what he’s saying, try to play it cool.
“Ohh yeah? Like what?” I say. “Surprised anybody could see anything with the storm as bad as it was,” I add belatedly.
Pike doesn’t seem to think anything of it if it comes out a little strangled.
“You know how fishermen are,” he says.
