Chapter 20
Gabrielle
Cal’s shirt smelled like detergent.
Not the cheap kind—warm and crisp, like clean cotton fresh from the dryer. It was soft from years of wear, the kind of shirt that held its shape and still invited touch. I wanted to live in it.
Or maybe I just wanted to live in this.
I was curled into the corner of his sleek black couch, wrapped in a blanket softer than sin, knees tucked under me. The oversized shirt had slipped off one shoulder. I adjusted the collar and, under the pretense, breathed it in—just a second longer than subtle.
“Checking whether I do my own laundry?”
I jolted, heat blooming in my cheeks. Cal stood over me with two mugs in hand and a smirk he wasn’t trying to hide.
He was barefoot, wearing flannel pajama pants that clung low on his hips and a heather-gray T-shirt that stretched just right across his chest. Comfortable.
Lethal. Like some unfair hybrid of homebody and heartthrob.
He handed me my second cup of coffee with a perfectly straight face, but his eyes were dancing.
I narrowed mine, pretending to inspect the shirt more seriously. “Mmm. Scented detergent, very bold. A little floral, a little citrus. I approve.”
“Your standards are terrifyingly high.”
I shook my head, laughing as he set a plate on the coffee table—croissants, fresh berries, and a sliced apple fanned into a perfect little spiral he’d absolutely done on purpose.
He dropped onto the couch beside me, the heat of him bleeding through the few inches of space between us. He didn’t reach for me right away—just let his thigh rest lightly against mine as he nudged the plate closer.
“I can manage a decent cup of coffee, but breakfast is all flaky pastry and dumb luck.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
He draped an arm along the back of the couch, fingers grazing my shoulder.
“So, I was thinking…” His tone shifted slightly.
“If you’re willing to let me keep you captive this weekend—purely consensual captivity, of course—I should probably run you back to your place.
Grab a bag. Study materials.” He sipped his coffee, then looked up over the rim.
“And something criminally flattering for a night out in Dallas.”
I raised an eyebrow, croissant halfway to my mouth. “A night out?”
He grinned, slow and sly. “We can’t exactly risk dinner in town. Not that there’s anywhere properly posh anyway. But Dallas is just far enough to be anonymous.”
Dangerous territory. But my pulse fluttered anyway.
I pulled one knee up, turning to face him, enjoying the thrill of the oversized shirt slipping against my bare skin. “Any other weekend demands I should know about?” I asked, trying not to sound too thrilled.
He tilted his head, mock-thoughtful. “You’ll be required to indulge in obscenely good coffee. Real tea, of course. Laugh at my bad jokes, even when they don’t deserve it.”
I snorted. “Sounds like torture.”
“And there’s one last requirement,” he said, turning toward me with a completely straight face, “Looking devastating in my bed, wearing my shirt.”
I sipped my coffee to hide the grin. “Tough terms. But I suppose I’ll manage.”
His eyes dropped to where the blanket had shifted, catching the hem of his shirt high on my thighs—and I felt his gaze like a touch, slow and reverent. The silence stretched—charged, but not awkward.
“I like you like this,” he said softly, the flirtation gone.
My throat went dry.
“Like what?” I whispered.
He reached over and tucked a stubborn lock of hair behind my ear, his thumb lingering a second too long. “Comfortable. In my space. Like you belong here.”
The air shifted—just slightly. But I felt it. Felt him. Felt the weight of what this weekend might become.
“Careful,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You talk like that, I might start leaving things here.”
“I’m counting on it,” he said, popping a raspberry into his mouth—grinning like he hadn’t just rearranged the furniture in my chest.
Headlights painted long golden swipes along the blacktop beneath the inky Texas night sky.
The low hum of Cal’s car filled the silence like a lullaby.
We’d been on the road ten minutes, heading south, small-town lights fading behind us.
Somewhere ahead: Dallas. Anonymity. A night out where we didn’t have to pretend.
Cal drove with one hand on the wheel, the other tangled with mine, his thumb stroking slow circles over my knuckles.
His posture was relaxed, but I could see the set of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows every time headlights passed us.
I watched him from the passenger seat, tucked into the buttery leather.
“We should play a game or something,” I said, breaking the silence.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Not a game really. Just questions. I’d like to know more about you.”
He flashed a half-smile. “Do your worst.”
I paused, chewing on my lip. “What’s your favorite color?”
He glanced over. “That’s it? You can ask me anything in the world, and you want my favorite color?”
I shrugged. “I’m starting you off easy.”
“Forest green,” he said. “You?”
“Red.”
His grip on the steering wheel was loose and easy as the road curved beneath us. “I had you pegged for blue,” he said, glancing over again. “Or purple.”
“It’s not an entirely reasonable answer. I like them all—color in general. Red’s just…bold.”
His lips twitched with amusement as the rural terrain shifted into suburban sprawl. The city was still miles away, but the air already felt different—less stifling than the uncertainty we’d left behind.
“How old are you?” My voice came out softer than I’d intended. “Not that it matters,” I added quickly. “I’m just curious.”
He exhaled through his nose, taking a moment longer than necessary. “Thirty-eight.”
I nodded once, squeezing his hand to signal that I was unfazed by the thirteen years between us. More than unfazed—I liked this about him. Older. Steady.
“Why Page College?” he asked. “Out of anywhere you could have gone?”
“I’m a legacy student.”
“Which parent?”
“My dad,” I answered quickly. “But that’s cheating. You asked two in a row.”
“I didn’t realize the rules were so strict.” He lifted my hand and kissed the inside of my wrist. “I’ll make it up to you. Ask me three.”
“Okay,” I said, thinking. “First question: favorite singer or band?”
“Ooh, tough one.” He clicked his tongue. “I suppose I’ve got to fall back on Oasis.”
I blinked. “Who?”
His head snapped toward me. “You’re joking.”
I laughed. “No, seriously—should I know them?” A beat passed. “Wait, is that the band that sings ‘Wonderwall’?”
He groaned, tipping his head back against the headrest. “Christ. Yes. That’s them.”
I grinned. “See? I do know them.”
“Barely,” he muttered. “That was question two, by the way.”
“That wasn’t—oh, come on.” I laughed. “You can’t count a clarification.”
He arched a brow. “I can, and I have. You’ve got one left. Use it wisely.”
I hesitated, suddenly unsure. But the words came anyway. “When was the last time you were in love?”
His thumb stilled on mine. He didn’t answer right away. “That’s a harder one,” he said finally. “You sure you don’t want to ask what I’d take to a desert island instead?”
I shrugged. “You told me to use my question wisely.”
He exhaled, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “That’s the kind of question better answered after a few glasses of wine,” he said at last. Not cold. Just carefully folded.
I nodded, sensing the edge I’d touched. “Okay, we’ll shelve it.”
He glanced at me, then back at the road. “If I answer that one…” His voice dropped. “Can I ask you something personal in return?”
“Of course.” My curiosity spiked, but I didn’t press. Not yet.
“I was engaged once. Back in England. It was one of those matches that everyone wanted, but we did actually care for each other. A win-win, I suppose.”
His gaze was firmly fixed ahead—not just on the road, but on some glassy memory out there in the dark.
“But Claire died,” he said finally. “And that was that.” A pause. “I’ve had a few casual girlfriends since, here and there. But that was the last time I was in love.”
His voice was infuriatingly neutral, like a lecture or a lab report. I sat frozen, the warmth of his hand no match for the chill that had crept into the car with us.
My mind snagged on that throwaway line: a few casual girlfriends here and there.
Was that all I was? Another casual fling neatly slotted into the margins of his life?
I pulled away before I could stop myself, my fingers slipping from his grip.
“Gabrielle,” he said—urgent, panicked. He looked over, eyes wide with the awful clarity of realization. “Oh God, no.”
I tried to smile, but it felt borrowed—flimsy and ill-fitting.
“You’ve got it all wrong.” His words tumbled out, tripping over each other to reach me. “You’re not—Christ, Gabrielle, you’re so much more than that.”
The car flew down the dark highway, but my pulse dragged slow and heavy beneath my skin.
“Listen to me,” he said, voice low and insistent. “I’ve never let anyone in like this. Not like you.”
A sharp, needy ache bloomed under my ribs. I wanted to believe him.
“I thought that part of my life was over,” he went on, voice fraying at the edges. “Romance. Love. A future with someone…” His eyes cut to me then back to the road. “Until you.” The words landed softly, but they echoed.
My pulse quickened as his hand found mine again—this time with an intensity that burned through every layer of doubt.
“I should have left that question on the shelf,” I mumbled, cheeks burning. “I’m sorry.”
He let out a small, incredulous laugh, his grip tightening like he thought I might slip away again. “What could you possibly have to be sorry for?”
“For…” I hesitated, then took a breath. “For making it about me. For being insecure.” I looked down at our joined hands, his warmth slowly seeping back into me. “And…I’m sorry she died.”
The highway stretched ahead—dark and endless—but tension bled from his shoulders as though my words had lifted some invisible weight. He brought my knuckles to his lips, slow and soft, and warmth bloomed under my skin.
“Thank you,” he said softly. The tenderness in his voice made my chest tighten.
The lights of Dallas shimmered on the horizon—a soft band of brightness encroaching on the night.
“Your turn,” I said, nudging his arm with my elbow.
“For?”
“You get to ask me something deeply personal.”
He chuckled. “I didn’t realize we were still playing.” He kissed my hand again. “I won’t hold you to that.”
“No, no. Rules are rules. Go ahead.”
He inhaled slowly. “You speak often of your father. It’s clear he meant a great deal to you. Still does. But you’ve never mentioned your mother. Where does she fit in your story?”
Of all the questions he could have asked.
I stayed silent too long, the words stuck on my tongue, unfamiliar. It wasn’t something I talked about. Ever.
Cal’s voice was gentle, careful. “Did she die as well?”
I scoffed—bitter, even to my ears. “No,” I said. The word landed hard. “At least I don’t think so. Though that would’ve been kinder.”
He let out a slow breath, saying nothing. He traced soft, deliberate circles over the back of my hand.
“She walked out on us when I was three,” I said finally, struggling to keep my voice steady.
The Dallas lights blurred like smudged constellations across the windshield.
I stared at them, hoping they’d explain what came next.
“Said she couldn’t take being a wife and mother.
” My throat cinched tight around that last word.
“That she wanted a different life.” My voice wavered, paper-thin against the hush inside the car.
“Aunt Suzy says she was heavy into alcohol, drugs, men—anything she could get her hands on.” I let out a breath.
“I have no idea where she is now. And I couldn’t care less. ”
Cal tightened his grip—a small, solid anchor. He didn’t speak, didn’t press. The quiet thickened—less like silence, more like space he’d cleared for me to breathe.
He inhaled like he was about to say something, then let the breath go. Whatever words he might have offered, he folded them away and held my hand tighter instead.
Eventually, Cal took the exit onto Mockingbird Lane.
“Wait,” I said after a minute, eyeing his sport coat and open collar. “You never told me where we’re going.”
He squeezed my hand, smiling. “A charming little place called Josephine’s.”
“What kind of place is it?” I asked, curiosity tugging at my voice.
His smile widened, a playful edge to it. “Do you know how hard it is to find a nice restaurant with a dance floor?”