Chapter Seven
Caroline
The first thing I notice as I step inside Tom’s home is the string of fairy lights that twinkle across the cedar deck. The delicious aroma of dinner mingles with notes of sandalwood cologne that gives me a strange sense of comfort, a sense of being at home. It’s cozy, welcoming.
He looks even more dashing tonight in dark-wash jeans and a gray Henley with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.
The fabric stretches across his broad shoulders.
If I had a weakness (which I don’t because I’m a mature woman and not some starry-eyed teenager), it would be for a man who navigates the kitchen with quiet confidence.
And those biceps flexing as he works certainly don’t hurt.
Ugh, Mags would have an absolute field day if she could read the wild novel unfolding inside my head right now.
“It smells heavenly in here, Tom.” I walk toward the kitchen and sit on a wooden barstool at the small island.
He sets down the bakery boxes on the kitchen counter. “Homemade chicken potpie.”
Tom opens the oven, and a cloud of steam billows out, carrying the rich scent of thyme and rosemary. He sets the golden-crusted baking dish on the stovetop, the edges bubbling. My stomach releases an embarrassingly loud growl.
He chuckles, hearing my stomach protest for food. “Just a few minutes and we’ll eat.”
“Wow, you made it all from scratch? Even the crust?”
He turns toward me, resting one muscled forearm on the granite counter beside me, close enough that I catch another whiff of sandalwood. “Remember when you called and I was elbow-deep in flour, rolling out dough?”
I nod. That night, I had returned home flushed with success from coordinating a charity gala.
It was perfect: the hosts were happy, the guests had fun, and I received more compliments than I could count.
Emilie and I had our standing Thursday night call scheduled, but instead, I received a text with crying face emojis accompanied by an apology about canceling because of a last-minute meeting for her work.
I had made chamomile tea in my favorite blue mug, the one with a chip on the handle.
I curled into the corner of my sofa, the phantom voices of the party guests still buzzing in my ears, and then it was silent.
I could hear the clock ticking on the mantle, and Aurora’s soft steps padded on the floor.
I picked her up and placed her on my lap; it was just the two of us.
With our call canceled, I realized I hadn’t spoken to anyone who truly saw me in a week. Maggie was in Blue Alder Cove, Lila was surrounded by her lively family, and Em was climbing her career ladder.
On impulse, I pulled out my phone and pressed video call before I could talk myself out of it.
He answered on the second ring, and we talked about nothing important, just life.
But I found myself laughing until my cheeks ached, and the knot in my chest slowly unwound.
No performance, no perfect Caroline smile, just me in my college sweatpants, being invited into something so ordinary. It was easy.
“Caroline?”
I snap my head back to Tom, who’s grinning at me.
“Yes, I remember. I said you’d have to cook it for me the next time I’m in town.”
“Well, today’s the day.” He slides a checkered dish towel over his shoulder. “Hopefully it’s as good as it looked.”
“I have no doubt it won’t be.”
He laughs, the sound rich like honey. “You flatter me, Red.”
Our conversation is interrupted by a sudden clap of thunder that rattles the windows. I jump, almost toppling over. Tom reaches out, steadying me with a gentle but firm grip.
“Easy there. It’s just some thunder.” His voice drops to a husky whisper.
There’s a loud crack like a tree splitting in half, then the lights flicker once, twice, before plunging us into darkness so completely I can only feel the warmth of his hand seeping through my sweater.
“They mentioned storms, but I didn’t expect this.”
Tom’s grip doesn’t loosen, and if anything, it almost feels like he pulls me a tiny bit closer to him. “Well, there’s no better place to ride out a storm than here, by the lake.” His voice is calm, soothing the nervous flutter in my stomach.
I’m not particularly scared of thunderstorms; in fact, I find them somewhat soothing. But the sudden shift from a cozy, well-lit room to complete darkness with Tom is a bit unsettling. As if I wasn’t already nervous about tonight.
“You always find a way to make everything sound perfectly okay, don’t you?”
“Guess it comes with the job.” He laughs lightly.
He slowly releases me, then I hear him moving about the room. By the diffuse glow filtering through the back door, I can see him rummaging through a cabinet, pulling something out.
A tiny flame casts shadows on his frame, and he lights a few candles and places them around the kitchen and dining room.
“Come on, let’s eat. A little darkness never stopped anyone from having a good meal.”
He reaches his hand out for mine, guiding me to the table. Like a true gentleman, he pulls out the chair for me before he takes his own seat across from me. As we eat, I find our conversation much like the potpie—warm, comforting, and full of unexpected delights.
The chicken potpie is divine. Every bite of flaky crust and creamy filling is like food for my soul. The care with which it’s been made, the thought behind it. That makes it even more special. Just like Tom.
When he first asked me about dinner, I immediately wanted to say no. But I had just told myself to let go and have fun. Well, having dinner sounded fun, so here I am, and it is fun.
Good company, especially with good food, is always accepted.
The power outage is a little unexpected, but sitting across from him with a soft glow casting over his face, it makes it even easier to be me.
Just me. Not any version of me that’s filtered through catering to someone else’s needs or wants.
Here, in this rustic lake house sitting in front of the small town, sweet firefighter, I can just be Caroline.
I take another bite, savoring the way the buttery crust dissolves on my tongue. “This is truly delicious, Tom. I never knew you had such culinary skills.”
“Well, being a firefighter teaches you a thing or two about cooking. We rotate cooking duties at the station.”
“A man who can cook like this?” I gesture at my nearly empty plate with my fork. “Now that’s a rare gem…at least in my experience.”
His eyes sparkle in the candlelight. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It really is. Thank you.”
“So, what’s your next big event?” He leans forward, forearms resting on the wooden table.
I shrug. “Oh, you know, just a little thing called Maggie and Jake’s wedding.”
He shakes his head, that crooked grin making another appearance. “After that, I mean.”
“It’s another charity gala.” The words taste flat coming out. I’m not sure why. I’ve always loved my job, but this one just feels different.
“You don’t sound too thrilled about it.” His gaze is steady on me, too perceptive.
“That’s a story for another day, Firefighter.” I don’t want to ruin such a wonderful dinner with my own personal woes. I nod toward the boxes on the counter. “Ready for dessert?”