7. Halle
CHAPTER 7
HALLE
N o, no, no. The words echo in my mind as Caleb steps onto his back porch, and when he spots me bawling my eyes out, I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.
The last thing I need is for him to witness my humiliation.
I dash my tears away and stand. I’ve got my hand on the doorknob, ready to slip inside and pretend I didn’t see him, when he barks out, “What’s wrong? Who hurt you?”
At the sound of genuine worry in his tone, my breath catches. Slowly, I turn and exhale. “No one.”
He bounds up the three porch steps, each one groaning beneath his feet. I’m pretty sure the whole decking is rotted out, but that’s a problem for future Halle.
“Then what’s wrong? You’re crying.”
Now that my escape has been thwarted, I brush past him and plop down in the plastic chair. “It’s nothing.”
“Listen,” he says, easing into the other chair.
I don’t know whether to be offended or pleased by the way he so easily invites himself over and gets comfortable.
“I know it’s none of my business, but if there’s anything I can do to help, please tell me.”
I inhale a shaky breath, blinking back another round of tears, and force myself to meet his eye. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit of a fixer?”
He winces. “A time or two.”
“You don’t need to do that. Not with me. You don’t know me. I don’t expect you to swoop in like Superman and fix my life. My problems are mine to deal with.”
I’ve dug myself out of shit more times than I can count, and I’ll do it again the next time I find myself stuck. I’ve only ever had myself to rely on, and that won’t change just because my new neighbor has a savior complex.
“I just… I like to help,” he says softly, almost brokenly.
Brow furrowed, I assess him. The light hair and the dusting of stubble shadows his achingly perfect jawline?—
Stop. Good God. Stop thinking about his jawline! We have more pressing issues to deal with!
It hits me then. Caleb and I are a lot alike. I might not know him well, but it’s obvious that he takes care of the people he cares about, probably to his own detriment, and I do the same. Time and again, I’ve put myself in a tough spot to help my mom out or take care of my brothers. Our situation now is the definition of that. I’m now fully responsible for them when, some days, I feel as though I can hardly look out for myself.
I clear my throat. “But who helps you?”
Brow furrowed, he lowers his gaze to his hands in his lap. For a long moment, he doesn’t speak, like he’s really considering my question. Finally, he straightens and says, “I don’t know. No one, I guess. Not really anyway.”
Though the candidness surprises the shit out of me, I keep my expression tempered, only giving him a small, sad smile. “It’s tough being the fixer.”
“The fixer?” He arches a brow.
“Yeah, the person who swoops in and takes care of everyone else, even as they continue to struggle on their own.”
“That’s what you think I am?” He cocks his head to the side, curiosity glimmering in his blue eyes.
“I don’t just think it. It’s been obvious since the day I met you. You helped a total stranger move in, then fed us, refusing to take no for an answer. And when I discovered that you bought a house beside your ex-wife and her husband to be close to your kid? That only confirmed the theory. It doesn’t get any more fixer than that.”
He frowns, lacing his fingers together. “Fuck, you’re right.”
I tip an imaginary cup in his direction in a mock toast. “Welcome to the club.”
He watches me out of the corner of his eye for a few long seconds, then clears his throat. “Don’t think you’ve distracted me from the reason I came over. You were over here crying.”
I groan, burying my face in my hands. “I was really hoping you’d forget that.”
“I forget nothing.” He kicks his legs up on the railing.
My lungs squeeze tight, scared that the whole railing will crumble, taking the whole house down with it.
Miraculously, it holds. It’s a wonder, really. If it collapsed, that would be the icing on the cake that is my epically shit-tastic day.
“I got fired,” I say, throat burning with the threat of a fresh wave of tears. “From the coffee shop,” I add. “It might not seem like much, but I need the extra income.”
Though his eyes drill into the side of my face, I don’t dare look at him. If I do, I’ll break down again. Normally I’m better at keeping my shit together, but with the added stress of keeping a roof over my brothers’ heads, I’ve reached my limit.
With a sigh, I stare out at the field behind our houses. It’s filled with wildflowers, but tonight, all that’s visible are the intermittent twinkling of fireflies.
I inhale, finding that my breath is embarrassingly shaky. I’m not even surprised I got fired. Normally I can toss myself into any situation and figure it out, but the chaos of the coffee shop, the constant noise and busyness, had me too flustered to function properly. I made a fool of myself.
“Would you like a cupcake?”
At the out-of-pocket question, I whip around to face him. “What?” I laugh. “Where did that question come from? ”
Shrugging, he stands. “You sound like you could use a cupcake, and I happen to have some at home.”
With my lips pressed together, I assess him, trying not to notice how delicious he looks. “This is feeling very much like a real-life get in the van and I’ll give you candy moment.”
His laughter floats around us on the night air. It’s a nice laugh. Warm and sweet. It suits him.
“Do you want a cupcake or not?” he asks, eyes dancing in the moonlight. Hands in the pockets of his jeans, he leans against the railing. “I could always eat them all myself, but?—”
I hold up a hand. “I’m a girl who’s had a bad day. I’m not saying no to a cupcake.”
Inside, the boys are still sprawled out in front of the TV, watching a movie. Knowing they won’t even notice my absence, I follow Caleb down the stairs and across the yards. This is the first time I’ve crossed the invisible line that separates our homes. Despite the darkness, I try to eat up every detail. Like the small outdoor table set up close to the house with a variety of herbs on top of it.
“My daughter wanted to grow them,” he says when he notices where my gaze has gone.
With a nod, I continue my inspection, taking in the swing set and ground-level trampoline.
His porch steps don’t creak or groan beneath our weight, and his back door slides open silently as I follow him into his house.
“Wow.” The word is out before I can stop it. “This is beautiful,” I add, since there’s no taking my awe back now .
The interior walls on the main level have been removed so the dining room, kitchen, and living room are all open to one another. The wooden beams that crisscross the ceiling add warmth to the space. So does the fluffy-looking couch. It faces a tv that looks more like a framed piece of art than an expensive piece of electronics. The dining room boasts a table large enough for six. The kitchen is spacious, the chandelier above the island surprising for the home of a single man yet still fitting. The cabinets are a light brown wood color that pairs perfectly with what looks like marble countertops. The stairs near the front door have been hollowed out, and beneath them is a custom bookshelf, every inch of which is filled with books and knickknacks and photos.
This is what I want some day. A beautiful, updated house that still feels like a home.
“Thank you,” he says, leaning against the side of the island. “I had help with the design. And though I did as much work as I could on my own, I had to hire more of it out than I would have liked.”
“I’m sure, with your job, you don’t have a lot of time for home improvement projects.”
“Exactly.” He nods toward one of the stools tucked against the island. “Take a seat.”
I settle in and glide my finger along one of the veins in the stone countertop. Caleb doesn’t move.
“So,” I say, brow arched. “Where are these cupcakes you promised me?”
He grins, and a dimple I’ve never noticed before pops out, instantly causing my heart to skip a beat.
“I promised you a cupcake,” he teases. “I didn’t say anything about sharing any more than that.” He shuffles to the other side of the kitchen, and when he turns, he’s holding a plate completely full of cupcakes. “That one there is chocolate-chocolate.” He sets the plate in front of me and points to the one with smooth chocolate icing. “Birthday cake, strawberry lemonade, cookie dough, brownie sundae, orange creamsicle, banana split, red velvet, and finally, peanut butter.”
Mouth watering, I blink at the selection. “That’s quite the random selection.”
He shrugs. “Salem owns a cupcake shop. She always has extras.”
“Salem is your ex, right? Seda’s mom?”
“Yeah. Want a drink?” He steps back and pulls open a cabinet.
“Water would be great,” I reply. “I haven’t had a chance to meet her yet.”
“I’m sure she’ll introduce herself soon. And when she does, she’ll probably show up with more of these.” He gestures to the assortment of cupcakes. “I was kidding, by the way, when I said you could only have one. I’ll never eat all of these. Take as many as you want.”
“One is more than enough.” I already feel indebted to this man. In a matter of days, he’s done more for me than almost anyone ever has. And he’s been gone for a good portion of the time that my brothers and I have been in Hawthorne Mills.
“At least take a few for your brothers.”
I bite my lip, uncertainty swamping me. “You really wouldn’t mind? ”
His gaze softens, the blue of his irises darkening. “I don’t mind at all.”
I swipe the birthday cake flavor for Casen and brownie sundae for Quinn, then pick up my water and slowly sip it.
Caleb stares at me, waiting.
“What?” The question is pointless. I already know what he’s going to say.
“You’re supposed to take one for yourself too, Halle.”
My stomach sinks a little. “I feel bad. I don’t want to take all your cupcakes.”
“Halle.” His bossy, commanding tone should bother me. Instead, I feel it in places I don’t want to think about.
To distract myself, I snag the red velvet.
“Good.” With a nod, he picks up the peanut butter one. “Eat up.”
Certain that he’ll scold me again if I don’t, I peel the paper from the cupcake and take a bite. “Mmm,” I hum as the flavor of the cake and the rich cream cheese frosting register. “This might be the best red velvet cupcake I’ve ever had.” I take another bite.
He chuckles, amusement lightening his eyes a hue. “And to think you held yourself back.”
I purse my lips. “I was trying to be nice.”
“Hey.” He raises his hands. “I offered you a cupcake in the first place. You were always going to get one.”
For the next several moments, we eat our cupcakes in silence. I have to hold back a moan more than once to keep from embarrassing myself, but the flavor is incredible, so it’s not easy.
Eventually, he wipes his mouth and clears his throat. “If you really do need another job, I might have a solution for you.”
“Really?” I straighten and survey the house. “Do you need help cleaning?” Keeping this place clean wouldn’t be so bad. From the sound of things, he’s gone a lot, and?—
“No.” He drops his head and huffs a laugh. “I’m good on that front, but I do need an assistant. I’ve been putting off looking for someone, but now…” He shrugs. “It’s yours if you want it.”
“An assistant?” I fiddle with the cupcake wrapper while the thought settles in. But in seconds, my shoulders droop, and I shake my head. “I can’t travel into Boston. The commute would be too long.”
“No, you’d work from here.” He straightens on his side of the island. “Answer emails, phone calls, keep up with my schedule. Things like that. I don’t see any reason you’d need to come to Boston. You can use my home office. The computer is secure.”
I press my lips together. Another remote position. It’s tempting, but it feels like charity. Like he doesn’t really need an assistant. He’s just making this up because he’s a fixer. And after what a disaster the coffee shop turned out to be, I can’t help but doubt myself.
Caleb splays his hands on the marble countertop and ducks so we’re eye to eye. “How about a trial run? That way we can make sure the situation works for both of us before I hire you on part time.”
I twist the ring on my thumb. It’s nothing special, a flea market find, but it’s one of very few items my mom ever gave me just because. Maybe it’s stupid to cherish it, but I do.
Lips pressed together, I nod. “A trial run would be good.”
He pushes his hair off his forehead for what has to be the third or fourth time tonight, his focus fixed on me. “I’ll be home until Sunday night. What day works best for you?”
“Tomorrow?” The sooner I know whether this will work, the better. “Around two?”
He picks up his phone, taps at the screen, and nods. “Works for me.” After a few more taps, he slips his phone into his pocket. Then, without a word, he pulls plastic wrap out of a drawer and tears off a piece.
“Thanks for this. It did make me feel better.” I wad up the cupcake liner and stand, and before I can ask where I should dispose of it, he pulls out a cabinet with a hidden trashcan. “Fancy,” I mutter, tossing the wrapper in. “I better get going.” I shuffle to the back door and peer back at him. “Make sure my brothers haven’t killed each other.”
He nods once. “I’ll walk you home.”
“It’s literally next door. I’ll be fine.”
But Caleb can’t be persuaded. He follows me outside, carrying the plate holding my brothers’ cupcakes, only handing it to me when I’ve pulled the back door open.
“See you tomorrow,” he says, carefully stepping off the porch. He eyes the foundation like he, too, worries the whole thing might fall apart.
“See you,” I agree .
I lock up behind me, scared to admit to myself that maybe Caleb really is my guardian angel.