27. Chapter 27
Caitlin
“Earth to Caitlin,” Daniel says, waving a hand in front of my face. “You’ve been staring at that sandwich like it personally offended you. You ok?”
I blink, forcing a smile. “Sorry. Just thinking.” Picking up my sandwich, I take a bite and then set it down again with a sigh.
“Well, don’t leave me in suspense,” Daniel wipes his mouth on his napkin and leans back. “Although if I had to guess, I would say you’re thinking about a certain tall, dark-haired server who looks at you like you hung the moon?”
Heat rushes to my face. “He doesn’t look at me like that.”
“Please.” Daniel rolls his eyes. “The man has the subtlety of a puppy. Do you realize every time I come in for lunch, he glares at me? I half expect him to challenge me to a duel someday.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say, but I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “Adam’s not the dueling type.”
“Maybe not, but he’s definitely the staring-longingly-across-the-room type.” Daniel takes a sip of his sparkling water. “So what did he do now?”
I set down my sandwich, abandoning the pretense of eating. “He offered to help with my grandmother’s house. To look at the reports from the contractors and maybe even do some of the work himself.”
Daniel’s eyebrows lift slightly. “That’s… actually really nice of him.”
“I know, right?” I run a hand through my hair. “That’s what makes it so infuriating. He could have been a jerk, and then I could just keep hating him, but he has to go and be helpful.”
“The nerve of some people,” Daniel deadpans.
“You know what I mean,” I sigh. “I don’t know what to do. Part of me thinks I should say no on principle. Like, who does he think he is, swooping in to save the day? But another part of me…” I trail off, not sure how to articulate the conflicted mess of emotions.
“Another part of you really wants to save your grandmother’s house,” Daniel finishes for me.
“Yeah.” I nod, grateful for his understanding.
“And I’m running out of options. Uncle Peter and I both know the restaurant can’t afford to fund the renovations.
I’ve been saving, but it’s nowhere near enough.
And Aunt Charlene mentioned maybe taking out a second mortgage on their house.
I think they feel guilty for not keeping closer tabs on the condition of the place while Whitney was living in it. But I can’t let them do that.”
Daniel studies me for a moment, his green eyes thoughtful. “Can I ask you something? And feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”
“Sure.”
“Is your hesitation about accepting Adam’s help because you’re afraid of what it might mean? Like that, it might lead to something more?”
I stare at him, startled by his directness. “Maybe?” I fidget with my napkin, avoiding his gaze. “I guess I’m afraid that if I let him help me with this, it creates this… obligation. Or expectation.”
“And you don’t want that.”
“I’m just really confused where he’s concerned,” I admit. “Sometimes I look at him, and all I can see is the man who let his family treat me badly, who chose Millie over me over and over again. And other times…” I pause, struggling to find the words.
“Other times?” Daniel prompts gently.
“Other times I see glimpses of the Adam I originally fell in love with. Before Mount Pella, I never doubted his love. He treated me like the most important person in his world.” I shake my head.
“But I can’t trust those glimpses. I can’t trust him.
I was the most important person in his world, and then Mount Pella and Millie and everything still happened.
Even if I could forgive him, how could I trust him?
I’d always be waiting for it to happen again. ”
Daniel nods, taking a moment to consider his words. “Look, Caitlin, I’m not going to sit here and tell you what to do about Adam romantically. That’s your decision, and only you know what’s right for you. But do you want my advice as your friend?”
“Of course I do.”
“As your friend,” he continues, “I have to point out that accepting his help with the house doesn’t have to mean anything beyond that.
It doesn’t mean you’re getting back together.
It doesn’t even mean you forgive him. It just means you’re letting someone with relevant skills help you with a problem. ”
I consider this, turning the idea over in my mind. “That’s… actually a really good point.”
“Plus,” Daniel adds, “from what you’ve told me, this might be your only shot at saving the house. Since Adam has construction experience and can help make those renovations more affordable, isn’t that worth the potential awkwardness?”
My thoughts drift to Grandma’s house. There are memories embedded in every floorboard and window frame.
I remember summer mornings picking berries in the garden, winter evenings curled up on the window seat with a book while Grandma baked in the kitchen.
I remember feeling safe there after Mom left, feeling like I belonged somewhere.
“It’s more than just a house,” I say softly.
“Did I tell you she left while I was at school? My mom. I was in first grade. She just dropped a bag of my clothes off at Grandma’s and said she couldn’t do it anymore.
Grandma picked me up from school and said we were going to have a slumber party.
Later, when it became apparent that Mom really wasn’t coming back, she told me that my mom had to go away, but I was going to live with her now.
That I’d always have a home with her.” I swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat.
“That house… it’s a reminder that someone wanted me.
That I wasn’t just some burden to be passed around or abandoned. ”
Daniel’s expression softens, and he reaches out to squeeze my hand. “Then maybe it’s worth accepting help from any quarter to save it. Even from an ex.”
“Even if it means seeing him more? Being alone with him?” The thought makes my stomach flip in a way I’m not ready to examine too closely.
“Set boundaries,” Daniel suggests with a shrug. “Make it clear that this is a professional arrangement. Meet at the house only at specific times. Bring me, or your uncle, or Rachel as a buffer if you need to.”
“Rachel would love that,” I say with a small laugh. “She’s still volunteering to help hide Adam’s body if I need her to.”
“Your cousin is terrifying, and I say that with the utmost respect.”
“She is, isn’t she?” I grin, feeling some of the tension drain from my shoulders. “But you’re right. I can set boundaries. I can make it clear that this is just about the house.”
“And if it becomes more than that someday?” Daniel raises an eyebrow. “That’s entirely up to you. But at least this way, you get to see if he’s really changed while also potentially saving something that matters to you.”
I take a sip of my water, letting his words sink in. “Why are you so wise?”
“It’s just part of my charm, darling,” he says with a wink. “Comes with my devastatingly good looks.”
I laugh, grateful for his ability to lighten the mood. “Thank you. For the advice, and for listening.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
As we step outside into the bright afternoon sunshine, I feel lighter somehow. Daniel’s right; accepting Adam’s help doesn’t have to mean anything beyond that. I can set the terms, maintain my distance, protect my heart while still taking advantage of his skills.
“So, you’re going to do it?” Daniel asks as we walk toward the parking lot.
“I think so,” I nod. “I’ll talk to Uncle Peter tonight, get his take. But yeah, I think I am.”
“For what it’s worth, I think it’s the right call.” He stops beside his car, keys in hand. “Just remember, you’re in control here. You set the rules, the boundaries, everything. Don’t let him make you feel you owe him anything for this.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
As I watch him drive away, I think over my decision. This doesn’t mean forgiveness, I remind myself. It doesn’t mean trust. It doesn’t mean we’re getting back together. It’s just about the house. Just about saving something that matters to me.
* * *
I hover near the time clock, pretending to organize the stack of menus while watching Adam finish up with his last table. My palms feel damp, which is ridiculous. I’m just asking for help with a house, not proposing marriage. This is a transaction, not a reconciliation.
Adam gives his customers their check with that smile of his, the one that used to make my heart skip. It still does, if I’m being honest, but I’ve gotten better at ignoring it. He glances up, catches me watching, and his eyebrows lift slightly in question. I drop my gaze back to the stack of menus.
When I look up again, his table is empty, and he’s counting out his tip money at the server station. It’s now or never. I take a deep breath and walk over, conscious of keeping my steps measured, my expression neutral.
“Hey,” I say, sounding more tentative than I’d like.
He looks up, surprised. “Hey yourself.”
“Do you have a minute? Before you clock out?”
I can’t tell if it’s hope or wariness that flickers in his eyes. “Sure. What’s up?”
I glance around the nearly empty restaurant. The dinner rush is over, but there are still a few tables here, plus a couple of regulars nursing coffees at the counter. Still, this feels too public.
“Can we step outside for a minute?”
He nods, following me through the kitchen and out the back door into the small employee parking area. I turn to face him, clasping my hands in front of me to keep from fidgeting.
“I’ve been thinking about your offer,” I begin, meeting his eyes directly. “To help with Grandma’s house.”
“And?” His voice is carefully neutral, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s bracing himself for rejection.
“I’d like to take you up on it.” The words come out in a rush. “If the offer still stands.”
His face transforms, a slow smile spreading across it that reaches all the way to his eyes. “It absolutely still stands.”
“Great. I was thinking maybe you could come out on Saturday? Around ten? I can bring the contractor reports, and you can take a look at everything.”
He nods, looking so genuinely happy that I almost feel bad about my next words. Almost.
“Just to be clear,” I add, my voice firmer now, “this doesn’t mean anything other than I really want to save my grandmother’s house and don’t see another way to do so. This isn’t…” I wave a hand between us, “anything else.”
His smile dims a fraction, but he nods again. “I understand. Saving your grandmother’s house is the priority. No expectations beyond that.”
“Okay.” I exhale, relieved he’s not pushing or trying to read more into this than there is. “Good.”
“Saturday at ten,” he confirms. “I’ll be there. And Caitlin?” He waits until I meet his eyes again. “Thank you. For trusting me with this.”
There’s such sincerity in his voice that I don’t know how to respond. Thankfully, I’m saved by the back door swinging open. Jenny, the other server on shift, pokes her head out, her eyes landing on Adam.
“There you are,” she says, sounding harried. “Peter’s looking for you. Says you need to clean the men’s bathroom before you clock out.”
Adam’s face falls. “The men’s bathroom? I wiped it down just this morning.”
Jenny grimaces, pushing the door wider with her hip as she steps out, a blue bucket of cleaning supplies in one hand, yellow rubber gloves in the other. “Yeah, well, Mr. Mills just left, and Peter says it’s all hands on deck for this one.”
“Mr. Mills?” Adam echoes, horror dawning on his face.
“Yep.” Jenny nods gravely. “And I’m just warning you, he had the double bacon cheeseburger, two orders of onion rings, and the chili tonight.” She hands him the bucket and gloves. “So there’s probably a mess in there. Good luck.”
Adam takes the cleaning supplies like a man accepting his own execution, his expression morphing from joy to despair in record time. “I was so close to escaping for the day,” he protests weakly.
“Yeah, well, I still have tables to serve,” Jenny says with a shrug. “Otherwise I’d help you, Adam. Honest.” Jenny throws the last bit over her shoulder as she escapes back inside.
I press my lips together, trying desperately not to laugh as Adam’s face cycles through all five stages of grief.
“Regretting all your life decisions?” I ask cheerfully.
Adam turns to me, his expression so pitiful that a giggle escapes before I can stop it. He narrows his eyes. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“No,” I lie, then immediately cave. “Yes. A little.”
“I’m glad my suffering amuses you,” he says, but there’s no real heat in it. In fact, I catch the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
“Consider it part of your penance,” I suggest, feeling a perverse pleasure in his predicament. After all the times he let me down in Iowa, there’s something deeply satisfying about seeing him taken down a peg or two. Is that petty? Probably. Do I care? Not even a little.
“Fair enough.” He sighs, pulling on the yellow gloves with exaggerated resignation. “I suppose I deserve this and worse.”
“Probably,” I agree, unable to keep the smile from my voice. “Good luck in there. Rachel used to say Mr. Mills’s bathroom visits were ‘biblical’ in their destructive power.”
Adam winces. “That’s… vivid.”
“Just wait,” I say, already backing toward the door. “You haven’t seen vivid yet.”
“Saturday at ten?” he confirms, somehow managing to look both excited about our house project and horrified about his immediate future.
“Saturday at ten,” I agree. “Don’t forget to hold your breath.”
I turn to go back inside, but before I leave he calls my name. “Caitlin?” I turn back towards him.
“I regret so many choices I’ve made in my life, but this? Being here with you? Never.”
I don’t know how to answer that. For a moment we stare at each other and then I escape, slipping back inside and leaving him to his fate.
Uncle Peter glances up as I pass him at the grill. “You tell him about the bathroom?”
I grin, feeling a petty little thrill of satisfaction that he’s about to confront the aftermath of Mr. Mills’ digestive issues.
“Jenny did,” I confirm.
He nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Good. Consider it a test of character.”
I laugh, grabbing an order ticket. “If he survives that bathroom, he can handle anything.”
“That’s the idea,” Uncle Peter says, his eyes twinkling with mischief I rarely see. “That’s exactly the idea.”