Chapter 8 Emma
Emma
My phone pinged with a text, and I looked up from my office computer to see a text from Mr. Henderson.
Mr. Henderson:
I need pics of the decorative moldings along the staircases, which I don’t see in the current file. I’ve got a contact here in Rome who’s got an on-site molding restorer who’s an expert. Also, I also need a shot of the river looking back at the land. Send both asap.
I texted back, reminding him that the molding was already under contract with Colburn Restorations.
This was self-serving. One, it had been four days since I’d slept in my car at the Henderson site, and I was still successfully avoiding Caleb, afraid he’d take one look at me and know I’d played Goldilocks.
My fear of getting caught had nearly manifested itself that morning. I’d just let myself out the back door when I nearly plowed over Bill from Colburn Restorations. He had a bag from Al’s Diner with a delicious scent coming from it that I knew was Al’s famous breakfast sandwich.
“Thought I was early,” he said, head cocked, noting my backpack.
“Early bird gets the worm,” I quipped. Early bird gets the worm? What, was I, ninety? But sheer panic had taken up all my brain’s bandwidth. I flashed what I hoped was a smile. “Just needed to check on some specs for Henderson before heading to the office.”
To my surprise, he gave me a gentle smile in return as he took in the way I was shifting nervously on my feet. “Most people your age don’t know the meaning of hard work.” He opened the bag and handed me a breakfast sandwich.
“Oh no, I can’t take your breakfast—”
“You may not have heard,” he said, “but I had a minor heart event a few months back. I’m not supposed to be eating these. So you’re saving my life by taking it off my hands.”
My stomach growled, and his smile faded.
“Do you need anything else?” he asked quietly. “Anything at all?”
“Um, no, thank you.” I could scarcely breathe because, somehow, he knew. “I know I should’ve run this by someone before just letting myself in. I’ll probably get in trouble—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, so softly that I got a stupid lump in my throat. “I never saw you.”
I think I managed a “thank-you” before I escaped, running all the way to my car, analyzing every look he’d given me.
Sweating in the chilly morning air, I drove as fast as I dared, still halfway holding my breath.
I’d just turned onto the main road toward town when I caught sight of Ryder in my rearview mirror, turning onto the road that would lead him to the Henderson job.
My poor heart, still revved, kicked hard. Too many close calls. I felt like a criminal. A fact that had not kept me from inhaling the breakfast sandwich.
Now, at the offices, I realized Mr. Henderson hadn’t responded to my text. His silence spoke volumes, and I resigned myself to my fate. I grabbed my bag and headed back to the jobsite.
There were several trucks in the circular drive, so I parked at the bottom and walked up the hill.
I could hear work going on upstairs, but I didn’t see anyone as I took the pics of the molding Henderson had requested.
And if I skulked out, it was because if I had to talk to anyone, I knew my guilt would give me away.
Anyone being Caleb. Because his truck was one of the ones in the driveway.
I walked—ran—down the hill to my car and opened the door—then froze.
A new laptop, still in its box, sat on my passenger seat.
“What the…?” I nearly broke my neck craning my head left and right to see if anyone was watching, but there was only one person who’d do such an extravagant, stupid thing.
Laptop under my arm, I stalked back to the manor and through the front door, where this time I found a sea of workers standing around a makeshift table comprised of two large sawhorses and drywall, Ryder being one of them.
On top of the drywall, a set of plans was spread out.
Caleb—looking his usual burly self in cargos, battered boots, a Colburn Restorations long-sleeved work shirt, and the glasses that somehow magnified the green in his eyes—was talking, face determined, mouth serious as he pointed out something on the plans.
It was a give-and-take between him and Ryder, the two of them strategizing on the spot.
As always, Caleb was perfectly at home being in charge, and it was…mesmerizing, watching him. I cleared my throat, and all the heads swiveled to me.
“Morning,” Ryder said.
Caleb’s easygoing expression didn’t change, but I was pretty sure his eyes heated. “Emma.”
Not taking my gaze from his, I lifted the laptop box. “Anyone know how this got in my car?”
There was a collective pause.
Ryder eyed his crew. They all shook their heads, except Caleb, who said, “Maybe Santa came early this year.”
Ryder turned to look at Caleb with brows up.
Caleb just shrugged and gestured to the plans. “As I was saying about the wainscoting…”
And they all went back to work.
Right. I walked out the front door and straight to Caleb’s truck, where I set the laptop on his driver’s seat. Santa, my ass…
I was back in my car before I realized I’d forgotten about taking a pic from the river looking back at the property. Shit. I headed back, skirting around the manor this time instead of through.
The path was a little rocky and steep, but beautiful.
The sound of the river washing over rocks lowered my blood pressure, but it wasn’t the deep-blue water, or the way the coastal live oaks bent over it protectively, or even the musical symphony of the birds in those trees that caught my attention.
It was Hank, standing on the shore about fifteen feet to my left as if enthralled, so close to the rushing water that the toes of his shoes were wet.
“Hello?” I called softly, moving toward him but not wanting to startle him into falling in and getting washed away. “Hank?”
He turned to look at me, and I put a hand to my chest. “Remember me? I’m Emma.”
He smiled, but my heart was thundering with worry that a single breeze might knock him into the rushing water.
“Can I help you back to the manor?”
He offered a hand, and I pulled him up the slight incline, steadying him on the rocky path. I kept a hold of his hand as we went. “It’s cold out here, and so muddy. We’ll be happier inside, yeah?”
He patted my hand. I was pretty sure he was humoring me, but I didn’t mind. He seemed like a perfectly sweet old man. At his pace, it took ten minutes to walk back, and as we got close to the back sliding door off the patio, I could hear Caleb talking.
“We can’t reconfigure the windows the way Henderson has now decided he wants, not without going through the historical society’s approval process again, which could take months.”
“And a lot more money,” Ryder said. “He’s not going to be happy when you tell him.”
“Me?”
“Or talk Emma into doing it. I don’t care—just talk him out of it ASAP. This is holding us up, and he’s the one harping on about keeping the schedule tight.”
“‘Talk Emma into doing it’?” Caleb repeated.
“Or do it yourself, I don’t care.” He clapped a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “Either way, you got this, right, Fixer?”
Bill, also huddled around the plans, said, “It’s a conflict. Of course he doesn’t ‘got this.’”
“Too bad you’re not asking him to ghost her,” another of the guys said. Tucker, if I remembered right. He looked a lot like Ryder and Caleb, so maybe another brother. The guy said, “He’s really good at that.”
I absorbed that little kernel of knowledge about Caleb to pull out later, like when my mind wandered to the what-ifs.
Like, what if he kissed like heaven? What if we gave in to the chemistry I didn’t want to acknowledge?
What if I made the mistake of falling for him and my greatest fear came true—someone else leaving me?
I decided him being bad at conflict and a ghoster to boot was a really good thing to know about him, because it meant there were no what-ifs to worry about.
Caleb put a hand on his look-alike’s face and pushed.
Everyone laughed and dispersed, while I tried not to stare at Caleb, who’d placed both hands on the table, head bent in concentration, hair falling over his brow as he studied the plans.
He’d shoved up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing corded forearms and a hint of ink.
I had no idea why my mouth watered. Clearly, I was just hungry.
Still holding Hank’s hand, I led him to the slider.
Caleb’s head immediately came up, his eyes taking us in, surprise flaring there.
“Look who I ran into outside,” I said lightly.
Caleb craned his neck and eyed the chair where Hank had been but was now empty. The tablet was still there, playing a show.
Muttering a soft “shit” beneath his breath, Caleb turned to me, apology and guilt in his churning eyes. “I can’t believe I missed seeing him walk off.” He took Hank’s hand and looked him over. “You okay?”
“Ah.”
“He was at the river’s edge,” I said quietly.
Caleb blinked and looked at his dad. “You got all the way to the river?”
Hank looked mighty proud of himself.
Caleb drew a deep breath, but if he was frustrated or pissed off, it didn’t show. He got his dad resituated in the chair. “Just ten more minutes,” he told him. “And then I’ll take you to Nell’s.”
Hank didn’t answer, already back into his show.
Caleb strode back to me. “Thank you,” he murmured. “I owe you big.”
Maybe his face was calm, cool, and collected, but I saw the distress in his gaze. Distress and something I’d never seen in him before—vulnerability.
“He’s had a stroke,” I said.
“Two.” He ran a hand through his hair. “He’s living with me right now.
I’ve got a caretaker who helps me take care of him, and my sister helps, too, but the man’s like a toddler.
A sneaky, trouble-loving, determined toddler.
” He reached out and playfully tugged on a wayward strand of hair that had escaped my ponytail, flashed me a half smile, and walked away.
I stared after him. A week ago, I’d never have taken Caleb for the responsible type.
But here he was, going to a gala to raise money for charity, running a crew on a multimillion-dollar job, caring for an elderly parent, helping distressed women in parking lots late at night, and handing out laptops.
Who the hell was this Caleb Colburn?
I walked to my car, that question bouncing around in my head, when I found the new laptop back on my driver’s seat.