"It's already done." He tosses the wet towels in the trash and sits back down like nothing happened. Then he looks at Ethan, who still has that stricken expression on his face. "You're fine, kid. I've had worse things spilled on me."
Ethan relaxes, and I pour him a new glass, setting it farther from his elbows this time. "Use both hands, please."
"Yes, ma'am," he mutters, shoving more muffin in his face. It's one thing I am grateful for, that Ethan never lets shame own him the way some adults do. I've been blessed that my inner healing came early in life, right when Derek cheated on me and I found out. It forced me to learn compassion before Ethan is full grown so I can be a better mother for him.
I sit back down and catch Caleb watching me for a second before he looks away. The way he handled that situation with such calm strength is such a turn-on. Derek would've snapped and made a comment about being more careful. My mother would've turned it into a lecture. But there's something about the calm spirit this man has that is so attractive.
We finish the muffins, and Ethan asks if he can go back outside. I tell him to put his plate in the sink first, and he rushes out with the screen banging shut behind him. The kitchen goes quiet andI realize it's just me and Caleb sitting at the table. Unfortunately, after the hullabaloo, I'm feeling less like a bubbly extrovert and more like a woman stewing over how attracted she is to a man she really shouldn’t bother.
I tilt my head toward the front porch. "Come sit outside with me. It's too nice to be stuck in the kitchen."
Caleb follows along, carrying his mug of coffee, and we settle into the chairs on the front porch. The street's quiet and the sun is warm. I hear Ethan kicking his soccer ball against the fence in the backyard. I pull my knees up to sit cross-legged and wrap both hands around my mug. I figure the only way to make this awkward silence between us go away is to get to know each other.
"Can I ask you something?" I say after a minute.
"Go ahead."
"Do you ever get tired of being the way you are?"
He looks at me sideways. "What way is that?"
"You know what I mean. All buttoned up and serious all the time. Don't you ever just want to let your guard down and be silly or relaxed or, I don't know, happy about something?" Maybe it's the wrong question to ask, but I'm sure someone somewhere has asked him this before.
He's quiet for a second, staring out at the street. "Well, I'm not unhappy." When his eyes meet mine, there's a curiosity there, like he's trying to figure me out.
"That's not the same thing as being happy." I take a sip of my coffee, but I'm not ready to let it go. "I ask because I'm the opposite. I try to always stay positive and make sure everyoneelse feels comfortable and okay. And sometimes it's exhausting." I pick at the rim of the coffee mug where it's been chipped at some point and feel his eyes on me.
"People assume because I smile a lot, everything's fine. Like being cheerful means I don't have bad days or that nothing gets to me. But it gets to me all the time. I just don't have the luxury of showing it because I have a kid who needs me to be steady and an ex who is looking for any crack he can find."
I didn't mean to say that much. I look down at my mug and feel heat creeping up my neck, embarrassed that I just dumped all of that on a man who came over for a muffin.
"Sorry," I say, forcing a laugh. "That was a lot. You came here for baked goods and I'm giving you a therapy session."
But when I look up, Caleb isn't smiling and he’s looking right at me, watching me with an expression I haven't seen on him before. I think he's understanding me, and maybe he can relate to how I feel. His eyes hold mine for a beat, and the look is so soft, I feel my heart flutter again. If we were closer together, I might think it was a spark of chemistry, that Mr. Ward wanted to kiss me.
Then he blinks and it's gone, replaced by the usual hard set of his jaw. He takes a sip of his coffee and looks back at the street.
"You don't have to apologize for that," he mumbles quietly. The switch from terse to soft is at least something. He's trying to connect on a human level. I just think maybe that part of him might've been broken beyond repair. What do they call that? FUBAR?
After a while, Caleb stands and sets his mug on the railing. "Thanks for the muffins. And the coffee."
"You're welcome," I say softly. "Thank you for listening to me. I'm sorry if it was too much."
"I told you not to apologize and I meant it." He nods his head, as if he's tipping his hat like an old-school gentleman, and then he starts down the porch steps.
I watch him go, and this time, I don't pretend I'm not watching. Caleb still walks like a soldier with an even gait and squared shoulders. I wonder if he'll ever get rid of that or if it's permanent. And I wonder if he'll ever be able to let go of that hard edge he has. It's sad how our servicemen go overseas and come back with hopes of having a life, only to find the training they've had has crippled them for a normal life.
I should be more careful. I know that. Derek's watching everything. I can't afford to let my guard down with anyone right now.
But I'm so tired of being careful, and Caleb felt safe sitting there.
What am I supposed to do? Live under Derek's thumb the rest of my life?
8
CALEB
Derek rubs his jaw and looks off down the street for a second before coming back to me. I stand on the opposite side of my truck bed, leaning on the frame. We've been in his driveway talking for a half hour already and he's just not happy with what I have to say.
