17. Halle
CHAPTER 17
HALLE
I never could have imagined Caleb choosing a bar with white and red checkered tablecloths and a whole room filled with pool tables, but this restaurant is surprisingly perfect.
It’s loud, but the booth we’ve settled into in the back corner, away from the main bar and pool tables, is surprisingly private and cozy.
“How do you know about this place?” Straightening, I take in the dark paneled walls and the random memorabilia tacked to them. “It doesn’t seem like your kind of place, Mr. Fancy-Pants.”
It’s hard to picture Caleb in all his clean-cut glory ever stumbling across a restaurant like this.
I swear he blushes. “The owner was a client. I’d meet him here sometimes so he didn’t have to come to Boston. The food is great, so I come back when I’m nearby.”
“That’s…” Not the answer I was expecting. “Very kind of you.”
He dismisses my compliment with a wave of a hand. “Anyone would do the same.”
That’s the thing, though. They wouldn’t. Caleb might be the most considerate person I’ve ever met. And despite his job, despite the horrors he’s no doubt encountered, he remains unfailingly positive and believes in the good of others.
Unable to hold back a smile, I pick up the menu. It’s sticky, the way menus are in places like this. Ignoring the sensation, I open it and give it a cursory glance. “What’s good here?”
He doesn’t bother to open his own menu. “Everything.”
A breath of a laugh escapes me. I don’t doubt that he’s spent enough time here to try every last item on the menu.
“All right, then.” I scan the choices, surprised by the variety. The salmon with beurre blanc sauce looks incredible, and the crab rangoons boast the use of real crab meat. The pasta selections all promise that the noodles are homemade.
I can’t help but survey our surroundings again, just to be sure I wasn’t transported to a much finer establishment while perusing the menu. But no, it’s still the same dive bar with the same cringy décor.
“Ty was working toward becoming a classically trained chef when his girlfriend got pregnant. They got married, and he quit the program so he could support his family. You can probably guess how that ended up. But he saved up and bought this place a few years ago. It allows him to cook what he wants, so…” Caleb taps his fingers on the wooden tabletop. “We can go somewhere else if you want?”
“No, this is perfect.” I snap the menu shut and set it down. “I’m going to use the restroom. If the server comes by, will you order a water and the BLT for me?”
He scrunches his nose and eyes our closed menus. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
It’s the cheapest thing on the menu, and I’ll never knock a good BLT sandwich.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” I give him a reassuring smile as I slide out of the booth.
Before I can ask him where the restrooms are, he points to a hallway near the back.
With a grateful nod, I head that way. I don’t really have to pee, but I want to wash the sticky substance from my hands.
When I return to the table, a tall, broad-shouldered Black man is chatting with Caleb.
I slide back into the booth and offer the man a smile and a quiet “hi.”
“Halle, this is Ty.” He nods at the man. “Ty, this is Halle.”
Ty hits me with a gigantic smile. The expression radiates happiness, instantly putting me at ease. He’s older than we are, maybe in his forties, and good-looking, with straight white teeth, kind eyes, and tattoos along his entire right arm.
“Nice to meet you.” He claps Caleb’s shoulder. “This one here’s a good one. I promise you that. If not for him, I would never get to see my kids. He’s my hero.”
Caleb’s cheeks pink adorably as the man gushes. It’s endearing, really, the way this grown man refers to him as his hero.
“He’s pretty great,” I agree.
If it weren’t for Caleb, there’s no telling where I’d be right about now.
“I’ll leave you to it. Holler if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Ty.” Caleb shakes his hand, and as Ty disappears through a set of doors behind the bar, he focuses on me. “I ordered our food.”
“Thanks.” I brush my hair back behind my ear, then unroll the napkin from around my silverware and fiddle with the strip of paper that once held the bundle together.
“Is something wrong?”
Caleb’s deep voice startles me. “What? Why?”
“You seem fidgety.” He looks pointedly at where I’ve wrapped the paper strip around a finger.
“Oh.” I unroll it and set it on the table. “I just… I’m hoping my brothers aren’t being menaces for Cynthia and Thelma.”
His expression softens. “I’m sure they’re fine, but you could call and check in if it’d make you feel better. Or I can text Thelma?”
I straighten. “You would do that? ”
With a shrug, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “If it would put you at ease, then yeah.”
“Yes, please. If I check in on them, the boys will think I don’t trust them.”
And to be honest, I don’t. Not after their school shenanigans. But if I know them, smothering them will do me no favors.
Caleb types out a text, his fingers moving quickly across the screen, then sets the phone on the table in front of him.
“I know you’re probably feeling anxious after the school ordeal?—”
A humorless laugh bubbles out of me. “You have no idea.”
“But they’re good kids,” he goes on. “I hope you know that.”
Elbow on the table, I rest my chin on my palm. This is the farthest thing from typical first-date conversation, but we know each other already, so I suppose it makes sense that we’ve skipped over most of the awkwardness of getting to know each other.
He’s right. They are good kids, but good kids still do stupid shit. Maybe this is an inevitable part of growing up, but I can’t help but worry that with the role models they’ve had so far, they’ll take those things too far.
“They are,” I agree, reaching for my glass and take a sip.
“I know what they did with the paint.”
I nearly choke on my water. “Excuse me?” I sputter and cough, spraying droplets across the table.
If Caleb is bothered by the mess, he doesn’t show it.
“How do you know?”
With a shrug, he picks up his own drink. “When I asked Thelma and Cynthia about keeping the boys tonight, I noticed the art supplies were there. Apparently Thelma mentioned that she used to paint and was considering doing it again but didn’t have the materials. Then your brothers showed up with everything she needs.” His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “There’s no way she hasn’t noticed the labels on every piece that make it obvious they belong to the school. Frankly, I think Thelma would do the same thing, given the opportunity.”
Head ducked, I give it a shake. “I don’t know whether to be angry about the stealing or glad that they have no nefarious plans for the paint.”
His responding chuckle is more like a low rumble. “Personally, I think it’s sweet. You don’t often see teenagers taking an interest in the older generation, but it’s obvious that your brothers like Thelma and Cynthia.”
“It is sweet, isn’t it?” My shoulders sag a little in relief, though the sensation is quickly replaced with dread. “Ugh, this means I’m going to have to ask for the supplies back and drag the boys’ butts up to the school to apologize.”
Our server appears then, but rather than drop off our meals, she sets an order of the most delicious-looking mozzarella sticks I’ve ever seen in front of us.
“Thanks so much.” Caleb picks one up as she gives us each a polite smile and walks away. With a heavy hand, he dips the cheese stick in the marinara sauce and holds it aloft. “You don’t have to.”
I huff. Don’t have to what? Return the supplies? “ Caleb.” His name comes out as a scandalized scoff. “You’re a lawyer. You’re supposed to uphold the law.”
He shrugs as he takes a bite. “Technically,” he says when his mouth is no longer full, “they didn’t break any laws, since the school didn’t report it stolen.”
“Stop encouraging this,” I groan, burying my face in my hands.
Not even the temptation of the cheesy fried goodness can stop me from spiraling over the embarrassment that will surely come with speaking to the principal again. But I’m the adult, the parental figure, and it’s the right thing to do.
“I’ll take them to school after their suspension is over and make them return it.” With a nod of determination, I finally pick up one of the sticks.
Caleb arches a brow. “Didn’t say you could touch my stick, Hal.”
I drop the mozzarella stick instantly, and it rolls across the plate. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve asked. I shouldn’t have assumed. I?—”
“Whoa.” He wipes his fingers on a napkin and holds his hands up. “I was just kidding, Halle. I got them for both of us. Fuck.” Head dropped, he practically growls. “I should’ve realized how you would interpret that.”
“Oh.” My cheeks heat, and not because of the suggestive comment I’m only now registering. Pushing down my embarrassment, I force myself to make eye contact. “My mom was really weird about food. Sometimes she’d pick up food from McDonald’s, but only for herself. If I even asked to share the fries, it would trigger her rage. ”
The blue of Caleb’s irises deepens. “Halle.” My name is a soft exhale from his lips. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for.” I lift a shoulder. “You didn’t do it.”
He searches my face, lips pressed together like he wants to say more but is holding himself back.
I’m grateful for his tact. I don’t want to talk about my crappy childhood. Not on our first date.
“Dig in.” He gestures to the plate with a swish of his hand.
The trauma of the situation still clings to me, making my instinct to refuse hard to ignore. But I’m not that little girl anymore, and this is the perfect opportunity to work through one of my many trauma responses. So I reach for a cheese stick. It’s delicious, as I expected, causing a little moan to slip from between my lips.
Relief washes over Caleb, his expression lightening and his posture straightening.
“This is delicious.”
Smiling, he snags another for himself. “Ty makes the breading and sauce himself.”
“This place is a serious hidden gem. I’ve never been to a restaurant much fancier than this one, but I imagine he could be working in one in Boston if he wanted.”
Caleb nods, humming in agreement. “He could, but here, he can follow his passion while still having free time to spend with his kids.”
The waitress appears out of nowhere, a plate in each hand, and the two of us snap back, only now realizing how close we’d drifted together .
When she’s gone, I say, “Family means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”
He dips a fry into some sort of sauce and pops it into his mouth. “It does,” he says when he’s done chewing. “My family is small. Just my parents and me. But Salem and Thayer, those kids, Laith… they’re my chosen family.”
“You don’t talk about your parents much.”
He gives a gruff sigh. “My mom is overbearing and pushy. My dad only really cared about me when I was playing football.” He shrugs it off like none of it really affects him, but there’s no hiding the sadness in his eyes. “You probably don’t want to hear this. You’ve had it way worse.”
On instinct, I lay my hand on top of his on the table. “That doesn’t make your feelings about your own childhood any less valid.”
He flips his hand beneath mine and rubs his thumb on the inside of my wrist.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Sometimes validation is enough. There is no competition here. We both endured trauma; we’ve both been affected by it.
Thirty minutes later, we’re on our way back home when my phone rings and Quinn’s name appears on the screen.
My gut immediately sinks. It’s not a normal response for most people, but I’ve been conditioned to assume that something is wrong when one of my brothers calls.
“What’s up?” I ask, trying my hardest to keep my tone even.
“Could we stay the night with Cynthia and Thelma? ”
Confusion swirls through me. What? “You guys want to have a sleepover with Cynthia and Thelma?”
He blows out a breath, the sound crackling through the line. “It’s not a sleepover. We’d just stay the night. They’re going to teach us how to make their secret cookie recipe and brownies.”
“I…” I blink, still trying to wrap my head around the question. “Yeah… that’s all right with me if they’re okay with it.”
“They are. Thanks. Hope your date was good.” Without waiting for a response, he ends the call.
For a moment, all I can do is stare down at my phone in stunned silence.
“What was that about?” Caleb glances over but quickly focuses on the road again.
“My brothers want to stay the night with Cynthia and Thelma. They’re getting baking lessons.”
His laugh is loud in the small space. He rubs at his mouth to try to stifle the sound, but it’s no use.
“I never in a million years would’ve guessed they’d become friends with two old ladies. Or that they’d be interested in learning to bake,” I go on. “Especially not after Thelma cornered us in the grocery store the day we met her.”
Caleb clears his throat, probably trying to swallow back more laughter. “I think it’s because they’re kindred spirits.”
A smile twitches at my lips. “You have a point there.”
It doesn’t hit me until we’re in the driveway that this means Caleb and I will be alone in his house.
Does he expect ? —
I stop that thought before it can gain any traction. If I know anything about this man, it’s that I can trust him with my boundaries. In fact, I bet if I made a move, he’d stop me. That’s just who he is.
He leaves the car idling and undoes his seat belt, shifting my way. “I enjoyed tonight.”
I hold my breath, waiting for the but . When it doesn’t come, I exhale in a gust.
“I did too,” I finally say. Dancing was more fun than I expected, and the dinner was delicious. “This is kind of weird, right?” I whisper, smoothing my hands down the material of the dress. “Going on a date and coming back to the same place?”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t have to be.”
Right.
My stomach twists. I’m the one making it weird.
“I could walk you to the door and leave and come back, if that makes you feel better.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, along with some of the tension in my muscles. “No need. I’m okay.”
“Come on, then.” He kills the engine and pushes his door open.
Before I can slip my shoes on again—of course I took them off; as fun as dancing was, it did a number on my feet—he’s at my door, holding out a hand.
I accept the help, even if I don’t need it, wishing the night didn’t have to end.
Worried that when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll discover this was all a dream. A tease of what my life could be .
Caleb shuts the door and hits the lock button on his key fob, causing the SUV to let out a small honk.
“Don’t look now,” he whispers, lips grazing my ear. “But we have an audience.”
Without thinking, I dart a look across the street. Sure enough, Cynthia, Thelma, and both my brothers sit out front, partially illuminated by the porch light.
I lift my hand in an awkward wave and let it drop.
“It’s not just them,” he warns. “Salem and Thayer are out too. With Laith.”
“Oh, God.”
If I wanted to bury my head in the sand before, the uncertain sensation has nothing on the mortification washing over me now.
Caleb pauses to unlock the front door, so I take the opportunity to peer over my shoulder. Like they’ve been waiting for me to look over, Laith salutes us and Salem claps giddily. Thayer shakes his head like he’s embarrassed. Maybe for them, or maybe for us. I can’t be sure.
Hand on my waist, Caleb ushers me inside. “Sorry about them.”
“Small towns are so weird,” I admit, face flaming.
He shrugs. “It’s all I know. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t bother me. Besides, it’s only because they care.”
Lips pressed together, I nod. “When you put it that way, I guess it makes sense. And maybe once the embarrassment wears off, it’ll feel good to know people care.”
A soft smile grazes his lips. “It’s hard for you to let people in, isn’t it?”
I scoff a laugh. “You have no idea. ”
He really doesn’t, because though we haven’t known each other long, I’ve been more open with him than just about anyone in my whole life.
“But you’re letting me in.”
I swear he can read my mind. Maybe that’s what makes it easier to be myself with him.
“Yeah,” I whisper softly. “I am.”