Chapter 4
Cal
“So what’s at stake this time?” Elle asks, picking up her pace a half mile from the bench.
“You said it!” I shout, taking off after her. “A grilled porterhouse, medium rare, with vegetables and a baked potato.”
She beats me. Again.
I can’t even be mad. I just smile, thinking about the steaks already marinating in the fridge.
“Can I tell you what’ll be at stake the day I actually beat you to the finish line?” I ask, still catching my breath, figuring nothing ventured, nothing gained.
“What?” she says, grinning, still basking in her win.
“A kiss,” I say, meeting her eyes. Searching her face for any sign, any flicker, that she feels what I’ve been feeling for weeks now.
“Cal, I—” she starts, then stops, the rest of the sentence catching somewhere behind her lips.
She’s searching for the right words, I can see that much.
But from the way her expression shifts—soft, apologetic—I know exactly what kind of words they are.
The kind meant to let me down easy.
"Have I been imagining the attraction between us?" I ask, not bothering to sugarcoat it.
"It's not that," she says, eyes darting away.
"Then what is it?" I press, reaching for her arm, letting my fingers rest lightly against her skin.
She exhales. “My life is complicated right now. I’m working on something... something personal. It’s either going to be the best thing that’s ever happened to me, or the thing that breaks me.”
She looks at me then, really looks. “And if it breaks me, I don’t want you caught in the wreckage.”
“What is it, Elle?” I ask gently. “Why can’t you just tell me?”
“My life is a mess, Cal,” she murmurs. “I’m not worth the hassle. Trust me.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?” I say, my voice low but certain. “We’ve been running together for weeks. Breakfasts, dinners, drinks. Time with Hannah. Time just us. This—” I motion between us “—this stopped being casual a long time ago for me.”
I pause, making sure she hears every word.
“I like you, Elle. And I think you like me too.”
“I do,” she says, nodding, unable to hide a shy.
“Then I’ll wait,” I tell her. “I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to trust me enough to tell me your story.”
She looks up at me, eyes searching. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I think you’re beautiful,” I say without hesitation. “You make me laugh. You’re witty, sharp, thoughtful. I can talk to you for hours—and we have.”
I step just a little closer.
“I know there’s something you haven’t shared with me yet. But I also know you’re worth it.”
"You can do better than me, Cal."
"But I want you."
***
Elle is setting the table for dinner while I man the grill outside.
Hannah has just finished her homework and is now stuffing it into her backpack along with a jumble of crayons and a notebook.
“Easy there, Princess,” I call out from my post. “You want that paper to survive the trip back to school.”
“Here,” Elle says, stepping over. “Let me help you pack.”
I watch from the patio, quietly in awe as Elle kneels beside Hannah and patiently walks her through the process, slotting each item into its proper place inside the backpack.
She smooths out the single sheet of homework, folds it neatly in half, and lays it carefully on top before zipping the backpack shut.
“You’re all set,” she says, offering Hannah a warm, genuine smile.
“Thank you!” Hannah exclaims, throwing her arms around Elle without hesitation.
Elle wraps her arms around Hannah’s small frame and closes her eyes, like she’s holding on for dear life. For a moment, something flickers across her face, grief, maybe. Is that a tear?
I look away, giving her a second of privacy, just as she quickly swipes it away and glances toward me, checking if I noticed.
What are you not saying, Elle? What could be so painful, so terrible, that you can't share it—not even with me?
***
After dinner, Elle and Hannah sit cross-legged on the rug by the coffee table, a deck of brightly colored Go Fish cards scattered between them. Hannah lets out a triumphant “Ha!” as she snatches a pair from Elle’s hand.
“You're ruthless,” Elle teases, pretending to pout. “I might cry.”
“You can’t cry during Go Fish,” Hannah says with mock seriousness. “That’s the rules.”
I chuckle from the kitchen, where I’m loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher. “I don’t know… I’ve seen Elle cry over a badly cooked omelet.”
“That was one time!” Elle calls out, laughing.
By the time I’m wiping down the counters, I notice Hannah yawning wide enough to swallow a cookie whole and rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.
“It’s bedtime, Princess,” I say, walking over and lifting her backpack from the floor. “Let’s go brush your teeth before you turn into a pumpkin.”
“I should get going,” Elle says, rising and dusting off her jeans.
“Can you wait until I come back?” I ask, catching her gaze.
She pauses, then nods. “Okay.”
“Have a good night, sweetie,” she tells Hannah.
“Good night, Elle,” Hannah replies around another yawn, her voice sleepy and soft.
After I tuck Hannah in and kiss her goodnight, I turn off the light and gently shut the door to her bedroom. I return to find Elle leaning against the porch rail, arms folded loosely, eyes trained on something far away. She's so lost in thought she doesn’t notice me until I’m right beside her.
“Thanks for waiting,” I say, nudging her lightly with my arm.
“Of course,” she says, glancing at me with a soft smile. “What’s up?”
I take a breath. “Hannah’s school is hosting this mother-daughter tea thing next week. I talked to my ex about it, but… she’s not interested in going.” I rub the back of my neck, suddenly feeling awkward. "I was wondering... I was hoping maybe you might..."
I’d love to," Elle says, nudging me back with her shoulder.
I let out a quiet breath I didn’t know I was holding and turn toward her. “Thank you,” I say, my voice heavy with gratitude. “You have no idea what that means to me. To Hannah.”
She shrugs like it’s no big deal, but her eyes say otherwise. “She means a lot to me too, Cal.”
We stand facing each other for a few seconds that stretch like they might never end.
As if my hand has a mind of its own, I reach up and brush her cheek with my thumb—slow, reverent.
Then I lean in and press a kiss to her cheek, lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of her skin beneath mine.
Our breaths mingle in the quiet, and I pause, not sure if I should stay or pull back.
Before I can decide, Elle wraps her arms around my neck, her fingers threading into my hair, sending a jolt of electricity straight down my spine. She tilts her head slightly, her lips finding mine like she’s been waiting for this moment just as long as I have.
Her lips are soft, tasting faintly of strawberry lip balm and lemonade. She kisses me back with such sweet abandon that I can’t help but pull her closer, wanting to stay here forever.
She pauses, just for a second, smiling against my mouth. Her eyes find mine, and in them, I see it. This is what she’s wanted too. We’re on the same page. We’re both feeling it.
I smile back, my thumb tracing her cheek, then gliding gently across her lips. And then I kiss her again—slow, deep, and unhurried. The kind of kiss that writes itself into memory, the kind we’ll both remember for the rest of our lives.