Chapter 13
Lauren
Through the ceiling-high window in my living room, I see the sun disappear behind the mountains on the other side of the lake.
Taytay and Jenna are curled up by the window, making the most adorable little orange and white circle, cuddled so tightly together there would be no telling which limb belongs to whom if it weren’t for the color of their fur.
I’m sitting at my kitchen table, a new Hallmark movie playing on my TV as I follow a muted tutorial on origami Christmas trees. I don’t want to celebrate too early, but it’s going incredibly well so far. Then again, with four minutes left in the tutorial, a lot can still happen.
I needed something to take my mind off things. Just this morning, when I made the mistake of opening social media, my stomach dropped when I saw what my cousin had posted.
Family days are the best days.
Which, sure, sounds cute. And the picture of her family in front of the Disney Castle was also adorable. Then I realized there were two very familiar people in the background.
My parents.
Who can apparently take time out of their incredibly busy schedule to take my cousin and her kids to Disney, but not to ask me how I’m doing.
Thank you to my incredible aunt for inviting us and organizing this surprise.
The rest of the caption poured even more salt into the wound. Look at them, wearing stupid headbands and having a stupid grand old time.
Yes, I’m salty.
I’m hurt.
And I’m angry that I’m letting it affect me so much. Why do I care that these people, who obviously couldn’t care less about me, have apparently found a replacement daughter? Maybe I should be thankful that at least it’s making my mother back off about having her own grandchildren.
Suddenly, there’s a heavy knock on my door.
Huh? I turn my head towards it. Was it actually a knock or did my coat slide off the hanger?
Nope. There it is again.
“Oh shit,” I curse under my breath and jump up from my chair. The blanket I had wrapped around my shoulders like a cape falls to the ground, under the unimpressed glares of Taytay and Jenna.
Another knock.
“Coming!” I shout and shuffle my way through the labyrinth of boxes stacked up to my eye-level in my living room.
Who could it be? Kieran’s knock sounds different, and Nic usually announces herself by tapping against my kitchen window and scaring the shit out of me.
“Please don’t be a serial killer,” I mutter under my breath. Then again, I guess if it were, they wouldn’t announce themselves.
Bang, bang.
“Oh, come on,” I whine as I pull the door open forcefully. “Have some fucking patience.”
I blink as I face a broad, winter-coat-clad man chest. Then I glance up.
“Caleb? What are you doing here?” I tilt my head back to look at his face.
I’m still getting used to seeing him wearing a beanie instead of his usual backward cap.
His face is hidden behind a thick red gingham scarf, and he’s holding a toolbox with glove-clad hands.
“And why do you have a toolbox with you?”
I’m pretty sure this is how several porn films start. Only I’m not stuck in a washing machine.
“Because I’m going to build your damn bookshelves,” he mutters, his voice muffled by the thick fabric of his scarf.
“What?” I’m hearing his words, but they don’t make sense. “Build my bookshelves?”
He pulls down his scarf with an annoyed frown. “Unless you plan on letting me stand here for the next hour instead of inviting me in. Because I’m pretty sure by then my fingers will have frozen off.”
“Of course, of course. Come in,” I stammer and open the door wider, now that I’ve determined he’s not a serial killer, and step aside to let him in.
The good thing about winter is that I never need to worry about Jenna or Taytay escaping. They tried it once. As if they’d made an escape plan, they bolted outside simultaneously as I opened the door when I came back from decorating Caleb’s café with him.
As soon as their paws touched the snow, they let out a loud, angry ‘meow’ and stopped in their tracks.
They tried one more time, but clearly weren’t too happy with the cold.
I’d waited in the doorway, arms crossed in front of my chest, waiting for them to realize their mistake, and I swear they walked back inside like petulant children.
Ever since then, nothing can get them outside. I thought about bringing them over to Nic’s for a playdate, but not a chance. I got them into the carrier, but as soon as I opened the door, they made their protests clear.
“I have tools, though. You didn’t have to bring your toolbox all the way here,” I tell Caleb as he brushes past me.
“Do you?” He glances at me over his shoulder, a skeptical frown almost hidden by the hair falling into his face.
He turns around and crouches down to untie his shoes.
“Are they proper tools or did you get them at a discounter because they are pink?” My cheeks flush, and I stare at him with wide eyes, mouth agape.
He shoots me another look over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching when he sees my face.
“Ha! I knew it.”
“I beg to differ. They’re red.”
“Well, I bet you that proper tools will yield better results than bought-at-some-discounter screwdrivers that have the same budget quality as Ikea furniture.” I cross my arms in front of my chest and watch him get up.
“They might have been cheap, but I’ll have you know they get the job done.”
“Sure, sure,” he says and gets up, toeing off his boots. “If it helps, I can attach one of the boards with your tools. Now show me where the damn things are.”
“If you insist.” I grin at him widely. “Follow me,” I say in a singsong voice and saunter ahead.
My cats lift their heads curiously as we walk by the living room, but stay cuddled up where they are. I wonder if they can even free themselves from the body part puzzle they twisted themselves into.
I guess I’ll find out sooner or later. For now, I lead him to what is hopefully going to become my library.
Suddenly his footsteps stop behind me at once.
“You haven’t unpacked?” The pain in his voice makes me freeze in my tracks and slowly turn around to him.
He stands in the doorframe, knuckles white around the toolbox handle, the color drained from his face. His eyes dart around the room, and I can see him swallow hard.
“Because I’m lazy,” I explain quickly and walk the few steps back to him.
“Not because I’m about to leave.” I grab his sweatshirt and pull on it until his eyes land on me instead of the cardboard boxes.
I want to hug him tightly, tell him everything is going to be okay, but a knot in my stomach stops me.
“And also because I’m kind of lacking the shelves to put all of this stuff onto.
Please don’t read more into it than it is. ”
“Okay.” He gives me a hesitant sideways glance, which I return with what I hope is a reassuring smile. I reach for his hand and tug him with me to one of the adjoining rooms.
“Here we are.” I make a grand gesture as I push the door open, revealing a room that has beautiful high windows and an incredible view over the lake.
It holds nothing but half-collapsed cardboard boxes of various sizes kicked into a corner, see-through zipper bags with screws, wooden boards, and my sad last attempt at building a shelf leaning against the wall to our left.
“You unpacked all of them?” he asks in disbelief, running his palm over his face. “Why would you do that?”
“Yes, I did,” I admit, pretending to be confused.
“That way, I could sort the items from the individual boxes alphabetically. That’s how you build Ikea furniture, isn’t it?
” His eyes jump to mine, and I glare right back.
“Please, Caleb. I might suck at putting together furniture, but I’m not dumb.
Obviously, I kept every knick-knack for each shelf together, each of them in a nice little pile.
” I point to each of the five piles, one by one.
“Sorry.”
“You’re forgiven,” I say graciously. “Do you want me to help?”
“Not if you would like me to finish them up today,” he mumbles and sets down the toolbox.
Rude. “You can keep these two out of my way.” He nods at my two cats, who are sneaking around the doorframe, suddenly curious about the stranger in our home.
I scoop them up, cuddle them to my chest and drop a kiss on their heads.
“Sure, I can do that. Holler if you need anything. I might put shelves together upside down, but I can still help you hoist them up.”
“I’ll tell you if I need help,” he says absentmindedly, clearly not intending to. I stick out my tongue at his back.
“Oh, I got it. Here’s what I’ll do. Now that I have you here, we can think more about the gingerbread motifs for our Christmas market booth!”
“You realize I never actually agreed to that,” he points out, and my grin widens.
“That’s okay. You didn’t have to.” The laugh that leaves me as I walk out of the room with both of my cats hugged to me would make the Evil Queen jealous.