"Your best is medium," he says, and I gasp loud enough that he cackles.
I take a long drink of water and watch him swing, letting the breeze cool the sweat on my neck. Days like this are the ones I hold onto—no drama, no arguments, no custody paperwork sitting on my kitchen table. Just my kid laughing in the sunshine and the sound of the trees moving above us.
Then I hear heavy footsteps on the trail behind us that leads past the river and I turn to see Caleb jogging past. Sweat darkens his shirt along his chest and under his armpits, and his face is flushed from the heat. He spots me and slows to a stop, giving me a short nod.
"Hey there," I say, holding up my water bottle. "Didn't know you were a runner."
"Trying to be." He pulls the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face and I see a flash of his stomach that I absolutely do not need to be noticing right now. Corded muscles are glistening with sweat again just like last week when he fixed the fence, and the trail of hair that leads lower makes my belly flutter.
"You picked a good park for it. The trail loops all the way around if you go far enough."
He nods and glances toward the swings where Ethan has already spotted him.
"Caleb! Hey, Caleb!" Ethan drags his feet to stop and jumps off the swing again. "Will you push me? Mom's arms are tired and her pushes aren't even that good." He's so energetic and full of life, and as he races toward Caleb, the dark glower on the man's face lightens a little.
"Thank you for that, Ethan. Very kind." I'm sure my son didn't hear me, but kids are so honest. He hasn't realized how words can affect people yet. I guess it's something I still need to teach him.
Caleb looks at my son and then over at me with an expression that sits right between reluctance and mild irritation. "Oh, I don't know. I'm just out for my run."
"Please? Just for a little bit. I want to go really, really high."
Caleb exhales through his nose, and I watch him wrestle with it for about two seconds before he walks over to the swings. For all his rugged tough guy antics, he seems like a decent man. He's good with Ethan even though he's mildly grumpy at times. He plants himself behind Ethan and shoves the swing with one arm, and it arcs so much higher than anything I've ever managed that Ethan shrieks.
"Higher!"
"That's high enough," Caleb mutters, but he keeps pushing. He seems to be loosening up a little the longer he interacts, though if I read him correctly, he didn't intend to bump into us.
I walk over and stand a few feet to the side, watching them.
"You know, most people smile when they play with kids at the park," I whisper to him as Ethan is at the top of his arc.
He glances at me. "I'm not playing. I'm just pushing him." He seems more rigid today than normal. It makes me wonder what's going on in his head. An ex-serviceman surely has a lot of stories, and if he was in the service for a long time, he probably has scary ones. I've known a few men with severe PTSD, though Caleb doesn't strike me as the type, but sometimes, you can never tell.
"Right. Well, your cheerful disposition is really making the other parents feel welcome. I think that mom over there might come ask if you do birthday parties." I chuckle, and he looks over at me, then glances around.
The scowl doesn't disappear entirely, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward into a smirk. God, he's handsome when he smiles, even if it's only halfway. I'm torturing myself, just like I thought I would. It's obvious this man isn't interested in a relationship, either. He's been a friendly neighbor and nothing more, and I've been reading into it. And besides, I can't get into something. I already know that and I've told myself a dozen times.
"Alright, kid, you're on your own," Caleb says, stepping back. "My hand's still messed up."
Ethan pumps his legs and keeps the momentum going. "Thanks, Caleb! That was awesome. You push way harder than Mom."
"Everyone pushes harder than me, apparently," I say. "My ego is taking a real beating today."
Caleb examines the scab on his hand then runs it through his hair as he scans the park. "You come here a lot?" he asks, turning back to look at me. His eyes are so brown and warm, I'd think he enjoyed spending time with me if I weren't more clued in.
"When Ethan's been cooped up too long and starts attacking my doorframes with pool noodles, this is where we end up."
"Yeah… I used to be the same way when I was a kid. Boys are so rough and tumble." There's a hint of nostalgia in his tone, but we're not really having a getting to know you conversation. Otherwise, I'd ask about his childhood.
"Do you have experience with kids? Because for someone who claims not to enjoy this, you're pretty good at it."
"No." He says it with zero elaboration, which is becoming a pattern with him. It feels almost robotic, like the military stripped him of his ability to even try to relate. It makes me feel a little sad for him.
"Well, you're a natural. Very nurturing energy."
He looks at me, and I honestly can't tell whether he's annoyed or amused, but he doesn't say a word. I don't think anyone's ever accused Caleb Ward of being nurturing. I'm enjoying watching him have absolutely no idea what to do with the compliment. I swear his cheeks tinge pink and his ears are red.
"I should finish my run," he says after a while.
