Chapter 7
BLAKE
Cal’s house appears to be more of a cottage as I pull into the driveway and park.
The light blue-gray siding is pretty against the dark roof, shutters, and front door.
My stomach flips at the thought of being in such close proximity to him for the next couple of months.
When Ellison and I lived in Savannah, we had plenty of space but this…
Steeling myself, I turn off the ignition and climb out of the car, the muggy Tennessee air hitting me like a wall.
My dress shirt sticks to me even though I rolled the sleeves up, and my slacks are not as “light” as the company promised.
I was going for casual but Cal will probably think I’m late for my tee time.
Normally he’d be right.
Even though I hate golf.
Hesitating for a moment, I decide to leave my bags in the car and grab the six-pack of beer from my passenger seat instead. I shouldn’t be this nervous and I probably wouldn’t be if I didn’t know what he tastes like.
Dammit.
The flowerpots on the porch are in full bloom, brightly colored petals turned up toward the sun. They’re distracting enough that I don’t hear the front door open.
“I can’t take any credit; my brother-in-law takes care of them. He told me not to touch anything after I overwatered the last batch,” Cal says wryly as he leans against the doorjamb.
He’s dressed in athletic shorts and a navy blue T-shirt that’s snug against his chest, a braided bracelet around his wrist that I somehow missed the night before.
He looks edible.
“If it makes you feel better, I think all the flowers in my apartment in Savannah are silk. I didn’t even attempt to try the real ones.”
Cal grins and steps back into the house, motioning me to follow.
So I do, closing the door behind me and toeing my shoes off on the mat.
The kitchen is simple with white shiplap walls, stainless steel appliances, and dark green cabinets. The living room is much the same, with tan furniture and wide-plank wood floors. It’s masculine and clean and almost entirely devoid of personal touches.
How long has he lived here?
“This is the kitchen and living room, obviously,” he says as I take everything in. “I don’t like a lot of extras. Most of this was done when I moved in.” The words are unapologetic as I place the beer on the white countertop.
“Are you okay if I cook?”
“Yeah, of course. There should be everything you need but I can get something if I don’t have it. Admittedly, I do a lot of takeout and easy meals, so my needs are pretty basic.”
“I’ll take care of feeding you while I’m here.” I want to say that I’d be happy to do the cooking, like a small thank you for him agreeing to do this, but it comes out low and throaty and he blushes.
Whoops.
“Uh, yeah, that…that would be great,” Cal manages, clearing his throat and looking anywhere but at me. “So, umm, there’s a half bath downstairs and two bedrooms upstairs. Each with their own bathroom.”
He stares down the darkened hall to a closed door at the end while rubbing the back of his neck, completely lost in thought.
“Cal?”
“So, this is going to sound weird,” he says without turning around. “That room is private. It’s nothing weird, just my studio but…”
“Okay,” I tell him simply because he’s already gone above and beyond for me, and the least I can do is stay out of one room in his house.
“I realize that—”
“Cal,” I start, holding my palms out, “you’re allowed to have privacy.” I chuckle and it’s the first time in the last few minutes that he’s met my gaze. “I know a thing or two about wanting privacy.”
“I’ve never had to explain it to anyone before,” he says with a frown like he’s grappling with the concept.
“I’m not a celebrity by any means, but I know what it’s like to share something you think is safe only to have people far removed from your life want to comment on it. I’m not here to pry and I’m not here to overstep. I just need whatever you’re willing to give me for the time we have together.”
CAL
This fucking guy…
I can’t tell if he’s this good of a liar or if Blake Reynolds is simply a good guy, and right now, I’m not sure which version I want to be true.
He’s understanding and agreeable, and what is wrong with me that I find that insufferable?
My silent question goes unanswered as I stand alone in my kitchen. Blake is getting settled upstairs and I’m just frozen at the counter, my body unable to leave this spot. I might be overreacting, but I also don’t know what the appropriate amount of reacting is in a situation like this.
There’s no handbook for having a fake boyfriend after your last boyfriend died more than five years ago and you’ve been too scared to get close to anyone again.
Maybe I should just tell him.
Clear the air.
Then he’ll understand why I am the way I am.
Mentally discarding that idea, I’m halfway to reaching a bottle of the beer he brought when I hear Blake call my name.
My heart stops for a beat in my chest as the uncertainty in his voice reaches my ears.
What…
Without thinking, I walk to the stairs and, quietly as I can, take them two at a time until I’m face to face with Blake in the doorway.
“I’m sorry. This was in the bottom of the closet. I didn’t go looking for it or anything. It was just there and well,”—his eyes drop to the photo on top as my stomach does a slow roll that has me swallowing back panic—“I need to ask if you’re seeing someone.”
How could I be this fucking oblivious?
“No,” I hear myself say, the word quiet as I take the box without meeting Blake’s eyes. Mine are glued to the photo of a much younger me and the man I would have given anything to still be with me today.
“Cal.”
“No, he…” I swallow hard, unable to remember the last time I had to say the words out loud. Therapy had helped, but there’s nothing that alleviates this kind of pain. “He died. It was a long time ago.”
Blake swears quietly under his breath, both of us quiet as I stand holding the only items of my past I couldn’t bear to part with.
“I’m so sorry. If you want me to go, I understand.”
“No,” I tell him, surprised that I mean it. “I…I think maybe it’ll be good for me to have someone around again.”
“Cal, I don’t even know what to say.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t use that room and forgot that I’d tucked this box in there.” With a wry smile, I add, “Kind of a dick move on my part.”
He chuffs out a laugh but doesn’t say anything, his hands falling to his hips as he watches me.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks again as if I’ll be less sure this time.
“I’m sure, and I’m going to put this away.” I nod toward my room. “Just don’t tell anyone, okay? Losing Liam isn’t something I’ve shared. My sister and her husband know, but most people don’t know how to handle it and then everything gets awkward.”
“I realize this wasn’t your plan, but thank you for sharing that with me.” His expression is so sincere I have to swallow down the lump that forms in my throat. “And you don’t have to, but if you ever want to talk about him, I’m here to listen.”
“Why?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it, the box in my hands heavier as he chips away at the wall I erected all those years ago.
“Because while I’ve never experienced a loss like yours, I know what it’s like to be unable to be myself—to have no one to talk to.” A sad smile ghosts over his lips. “It’s lonely and if all I do here for you is ease that for a while, this will all have been worth it.”
Run.
It’s the first thing that comes to mind but I can’t—won’t—be that rude, so I thank him and then move toward my room where I can finally take a full breath.
Because it’s too much.
Too soon.
And maybe not enough.