2. Chapter 2
Caitlin
The pizza place is crowded and loud. I’m supposed to be reading my menu, but mostly I’m watching Adam as he studies his.
The dim lighting casts shadows across his face, highlighting his cheekbones and the firm line of his jaw.
How did I end up here, on a date with the most gorgeous guy whose ever shown interest in me?
And more importantly, how do I stop myself from ruining it completely?
“Everything looks great,” Adam says, setting down the menu and catching me staring. His smile makes my stomach flip. “What do you think you’ll want?”
“Oh, um…” I pick up the menu and scan it.
“I really like the Margherita. Or we can get the carnivore special if you like meat. I really like it sometimes, but other times it feels like too much, you know? But some people find the Margherita to be too simple, so it’s hard to …
.” I realize I’m rambling and snap my mouth shut.
Adam doesn’t seem to mind. He has a grin on his face that makes crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Let’s get both. We can share.”
“Both?” I blink at him. “That’s a lot of pizza.”
He leans forward as if he’s about to impart some secret. “Leftover pizza makes a great breakfast.”
The server comes by, and Adam orders the Margherita, carnivore special, and two beers. When she leaves, he turns those brown eyes back on me. “So tell me about yourself. Did you grow up in Colorado?”
“No, actually.” I take a sip of water to wet my suddenly dry throat. “I moved here about seven months ago. I’m originally from Oregon. But I’ve been traveling around for a while. Lived in a couple of different places.”
“Lucky for me,” Adam says, and my cheeks heat up.
I remember the first time he came into the cafe.
It was a Tuesday morning, and I was half-asleep, having stayed up too late eating ice cream and crying after yet another guy informed me that he’d had a good time but I was just too out there to date seriously.
Adam walked in wearing faded jeans and a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing tanned forearms. I almost dropped the coffeepot when he smiled at me, and Dylan Masters became a distant memory.
After that, he started coming in three or four times a week, always sitting in my section. He’d order coffee and breakfast, and we’d make small talk. And every time he walked through the door, my heart would start racing.
Yesterday, he’d finally asked me out after finishing his usual breakfast.
“I was starting to think you just really liked our breakfast specials,” I told him.
“The food’s good,” he’d said, “but the service is exceptional.”
Now here we are, and I’m a nervous wreck.
“What about you?” I ask, pulling myself back to the present. “Are you from Colorado originally?”
“Iowa, actually.” Adam takes a sip of his beer, which has just arrived. “Small town called Mount Pella. I moved here for college.”
“Why here?”
He shrugs. “Just needed a change. Plus, I like mountains.”
“You said you work in construction?”
“Yeah. I enjoy working with my hands.” He flexes his fingers around his beer bottle, and I try not to stare. “I’m also starting to make furniture on the side. Nothing fancy yet, but I’m learning.”
“That’s amazing,” I say, genuinely impressed. “I love that you’re pursuing something you’re passionate about.”
“What about you? What do you want out of life?”
“I’m still figuring things out.” I trace circles with my finger on the table. “I’ve mostly worked in different food service jobs. I practically grew up working in my grandmother’s restaurant.”
“Your grandmother owns a restaurant?”
“She did.” A familiar twinge of sadness hits me. “She passed away when I was eighteen. My uncle Peter runs it now. It’s called Louise’s Table. We lived in a little town near Portland.”
“I’m sorry about your grandmother,” Adam says, his voice softening.
“Thank you.” I take another sip of water. “She was amazing. She taught me everything I know about cooking. Some of my favorite memories took place in her kitchen.”
Our pizzas arrive. Adam puts a piece of each pizza on a plate and pushes it towards me.
“So why aren’t you working in a kitchen now?” Adam asks after filling his own plate.
“I don’t have any formal training, so it makes getting jobs harder. At least jobs in good restaurants. I thought about culinary school, but…” I trail off, unsure how to put my feelings into words.
“But?” he prompts.
“But I left home and kept moving from place to place soon after Grandma died. I told myself it was just for a year, and then I’d go back, but that year turned into two and then three, and now here we are at seven.
With every year that passes, I keep thinking that this is the year I’ll go home, get serious about life.
But I’m still here.” I finish with a shrug.
“Well, I’m glad you’re still here,” Adam says, taking a bite of his pizza. “Otherwise we might never have met.”
I’m sure my face is beet red as I pick at my pizza. “What about you? Did you always know you wanted to work in construction?”
“Not at all. I got a business degree because that’s what my parents expected. I didn’t realize how much I’d enjoy building things until I got a summer job with a crew that did home renovations.” He takes another slice. “Sometimes the path isn’t straight.”
“Tell me about it.” I finally relax enough to take a proper bite of pizza. “I’m sure my life path looks like a five-year-old scribbled it.”
Adam laughs, and the sound makes my chest warm. “I like that. It’s more interesting than a straight line.”
We fall into an easier conversation after that, discovering we both love the outdoors. He tells me about his favorite trails in the area, and I share stories about camping with my cousin along the Oregon coast.
By the time we finish our meal, I’ve relaxed enough to stop overthinking every word out of my mouth. Adam is easy to talk to, laughing at my jokes and sharing his own stories. He insists on paying the bill despite my protests.
“You can get the next one,” he says, and my heart does a little flip at the promise of a next time.
As we stand to leave, I adjust my purse on my shoulder, accidentally hitting my empty beer bottle. Adam catches it before it can topple over.
“See?” I say. “Walking disaster.”
“Quick reflexes,” he counters with a wink.
We make our way through the crowded restaurant toward the exit. I’m hyperaware of Adam’s hand resting lightly on the small of my back, guiding me between tables. The gesture is protective but not possessive, and I lean into his touch.
Just as we reach the door, my foot catches on the leg of a chair, and I pitch forward. For a terrifying moment, I’m certain I’m about to face-plant in front of everyone, not for the first time. But Adam’s arm shoots out, circling my waist and pulling me upright against his chest.
“Whoa there,” he says, his voice low near my ear. “I’ve got you.”
My face burns with embarrassment as several nearby diners look our way. “Sorry,” I mumble. “I told you. Walking disaster.”
Adam doesn’t let go right away. “Are you okay?”
“My dignity’s bruised, but I’m otherwise fine.” I straighten up, putting a little space between us even though part of me wants to stay right where I am, tucked against his solid chest.
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, holding the door open for me.
His easy response makes me feel a little better.
The night air is cool as we step outside. Adam’s truck is parked a block away, and we walk in comfortable silence. I’m already mentally replaying every awkward thing I’ve said or done tonight, building a case for why he won’t want to see me again.
The drive to my apartment is too short. Adam finds a parking spot right in front, and I wish I lived farther away.
“Thanks for dinner,” I say as we walk to my door. “I had a great time.”
“Me too.” Adam stands with his hands in his pockets, looking down at me with those dark eyes that make my stomach flip.
I fumble with my keys, certain this is where he’ll politely say goodnight and disappear from my life. “Well, goodnight then.”
“Caitlin.” His voice stops me as I turn toward my door.
“Yes?” I look back at him, keys clutched in my hand.
“I’d like to see you again.” He steps closer. “If you’re interested.”
“Really?” The word bursts out before I can stop it, way too loud and eager.
Adam chuckles, the sound warm in the quiet night. “Really. Maybe this weekend? There’s a trail I’d like to show you. If you’re free.”
“Yes!” I modulate my voice this time, but can’t keep the smile from spreading across my face. “I’m free. That sounds great.”
“Perfect.” He takes my hand, his fingers warm against mine. “I’ll text you tomorrow.”
Then he brings my hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss against my knuckles. It’s such an old-fashioned, unexpected gesture that I forget to breathe.
“Goodnight, Caitlin,” he says, releasing my hand slowly.
“Goodnight,” I whisper.
I watch him walk back to his truck, only turning to unlock my door when he gives a last wave before driving away. Once inside, I lean against the closed door, my hand still tingling where his lips touched my skin.
A giddy laugh escapes me, and I cover my mouth even though there’s no one to hear. Despite my nervous babbling, despite nearly falling on my face, he wants to see me again. The thought makes me feel lightheaded with happiness.
* * *
I check my phone for probably the hundredth time as I force myself to choke down the sandwich I’ve made for myself. Adam said he’d try to be home for breakfast, but it’s already past noon, and the empty chair across the table mocks me. He also hasn’t called or responded to any of my texts.
I’ve been replaying scenes from yesterday’s funeral in my head all morning, Adam’s arm around Millie’s waist, her head on his shoulder, her mascara-streaked face pressed against his chest. The memory makes my stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with hunger.