Chapter 30 #2
Abby catches my eye, giving a knowing look that says, See, told you. And then she scrambles off the bench with the subtlety of an amateur sitcom star. “I’ve gotta go . . . help Mom with Fiona . . . and Benny.” She places her palms on Caleb’s shoulders and pushes. “Sit here.”
She sprints away, leaving her brownie untouched. Caleb rectifies that as he slides onto the bench, swallowing half of it before craning his neck to watch her go. “What was that about?”
I take a bite of the cheesecake, buying some time, because I’m suddenly nervous.
Whispering about forever while wrapped in sheets is one thing; planning a future with a courtyard full of spectators is another.
“She said you need to shave and that you dress like a hobo. But also begged me to ask you out.”
He chuckles, but his eyes lock on mine, twinkling and pleased. “You know, she’s a very bright girl. I think she might be on to something.”
I swallow another mouthful of cheesecake. Caleb was right. It’s a perfect dessert. “Might be?” I tease.
“I could always ask you out first. She has so little faith in me.”
My cheeks flush, which is ridiculous since we skipped right over that dating ritual when I straddled him on the seat of his truck.
Perhaps I should have considered inviting him out for coffee like a normal person.
I look away, spying the growing collection of partygoers on the impromptu dance floor.
“Or I could ask you to dance,” I say.
“Hmm.” He bites back a smile. “I didn’t think you did that anymore.”
“Swaying to music is just an excuse to touch you. It’s barely dancing.”
He scoots closer, and the wind wraps me in his scent.
I think he applied cologne, or perhaps aftershave.
He smells more formal somehow, but there’s something uniquely Caleb underneath the new scent.
It’s subtle and tempting. I want to move closer, press my face against his neck, and taste him.
Caleb licks his bottom lip, gaze crawling over my face, and then he clears his throat as the conversation picks up at the other end of the picnic table. I almost forgot we weren’t alone.
“But will you still like me when you figure out I have two left feet?” he asks.
“My favorite dance teacher used to say it’s not about perfection; the magic is in the attempt.” I climb out from behind the picnic table. “C’mon. Your daughter told me you were a catch. Prove it.”
He laughs. “All right. Let’s make some magic.”
He follows me to the dance floor, extending his hand when we arrive at the edge.
I don’t look around, refusing to make eye contact with anyone who may be watching with curiosity.
He tugs me into him, resting one palm on my back and tucking me close.
The eclectic playlist transitions to “You Make Loving Fun” by Fleetwood Mac, Mom’s favorite band, as I wrap my other hand around Caleb’s neck.
I inhale—definitely cologne. It’s spicy and sweet.
We’re barely swaying, but Caleb coaxes me into a gentle rhythm.
It would be soothing if my body didn’t always go haywire when he touches me.
I’m ready to drag him home by the shirttails.
“So when I spoke to my mom . . .” I start, cautious. He’d called this morning to make sure we were okay after our argument, but I didn’t tell him this. “We talked about me moving here.”
He pulls back, holding my hand close to his chest, his mouth falling open. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Really?” He grins. “Really, really?”
I laugh; I’m still nervous. This seems crazy, and I don’t want him to worry that I’m staying exclusively for him.
“I have some stuff to figure out, and we should talk about what it means for us. I know we’re new and made no promises.
But I’d like to see where it goes. I don’t have any preconceived notions for us.
” A lie, of course, but safer than the truth that I’m daydreaming up names for our future children. “We can take this slow, or—”
“Now you want to take things slow.” He wraps me in a full-body hug as we pretend to dance. “Right when I’m desperate to make you mine.”
I don’t respond—can’t respond, because my heart is pinballing in my chest, and my mouth is too dry to form words.
My body is a heat map revealing every place he’s pressed against me.
My emotions are a chaotic mix of fear, excitement, panic—but mainly love, delirious, irrational love.
“Or”—I gather the bravery to leap—“we could jump right in.”
Caleb’s fingertips tighten on my skin, and there’s a faint hitch to his breath before he releases it, tickling my hair. “Yeah. I like ‘or’ better.”
We sway under the canopy of twinkle lights, beside his found family, in the sanctuary of my best memories, and the place I hope to make even better ones in the years to come—our bodies connected, our heartbeats in sync—as my mind flashes ahead to every note we’ll make together.
Major, minor, melodic, but all of them in harmony.
“But let’s tell Abby I asked you out, all on my own. I can’t have her thinking she set us up. She’ll be insufferable,” Caleb says.
I laugh, and it emerges as a burst of joy—raw, unfiltered joy. We beam at each other, not even pretending to dance anymore, just staring at one another in a suspended trance. I wonder if he sees what I do, our future unspooling like a promise.
Caleb slides his hands to mine, and the music transitions to a pop song I don’t recognize immediately, but the kids on the dance floor do.
They squeal and spiral around us like they’re in the mosh pit of a live concert.
One of them, a young girl no more than five, stumbles into me, and Caleb catches her before she falls to the concrete.
“Whoa, you okay, Skylar?” he asks.
She grins at him, wild-eyed in the way of overtired kids, offers a shy, “Yeah,” and dances away.
At the interruption, I pick up my head and catch a glimpse of Mom at the far end of the patio, her back to me as she speaks to someone whose frame is so familiar that a shiver runs through me.
But he’s cloaked in shadow outside the canopy of lights, so I think my mind’s playing tricks on me.
It can’t be. He doesn’t exist here in my nostalgic, anticipative bliss.
He belongs in another world, and the two don’t collide.
But he takes a step forward, and his face comes into focus. I gasp, and Caleb turns, following my gaze as I make eye contact with my real life on the other side of the night.
“Eden,” Caleb says, his voice gruff. “Who is that?”