Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Caleb
The house feels different on Saturday evenings.
Quieter.
During the week, there’s a rhythm to everything: morning chores, lessons, meals, tourists, lessons again, paperwork, collapse. Saturdays have their own beat. Stretched out hours. Different kind of tired.
I enjoy the quiet. I grew up in it. Lived in it. Prefer it.
Most days.
Tonight, I can’t settle.
Dinner is simple. Delaney left a covered dish for us on the stove before disappearing to do… whatever she does when she’s not in the kitchen. And Silas is out having drinks with some of the guys from the market.
Boone and I sit at the table while Sadie talks nonstop about the farmers' market, hands flying, voice bouncing all over the place.
“…and then Max tried to put a pumpkin on Pickle’s head, but Pickle tried to bite it, and Ivy said, ‘For the love of carbs, stop terrorizing the dog,’ and Penny rolled her eyes like this,” Sadie demonstrates, almost falling off her chair, “and Maggie said my aura looks like glitter.”
Boone gives a pained smile. “That… sounds accurate.”
“And,” Sadie continues, gaining speed, “Delaney let me stir the muffin mix all by myself, and she said I didn’t even get shells in the bowl, and then she said I have ‘excellent folding technique.’ What’s folding?”
“Mixing gently,” I say. “So you don’t beat all the air out.”
Sadie beams. “I’m a gentle mixer. Unlike Uncle Silas. He is a chaotic mixer.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
Boone snorts.
“And she let me lick the spoon,” Sadie adds. “Even though Daddy says you’re not supposed to because of ‘raw eggs’ and ‘salmon… something.’”
“Salmonella,” Boone reminds her. “And that rule is situational.”
“She said it builds character,” Sadie declares proudly.
Boone looks up at the ceiling, asking for strength. “That’s because she’s patient.”
“More patient than you?” Sadie asks sweetly.
Boone chokes. I smother a laugh in my napkin.
“Go brush your teeth,” he mutters. “Before I reconsider dessert privileges for the next week.”
“You already said we could have treats tomorrow,” she counters, sliding out of her chair.
“I said maybe,” he corrects.
She grins, absolutely not fooled, and runs off, socked feet squeaking on the wood.
Boone stands, gathering his plate. “I’ll get her through bath and books. You don’t have to wait up.”
“I know,” I say. It’s routine at this point. “Yell if she decides the shampoo bottle is a weapon again.”
“She likes the foam,” he grumbles, but his mouth curves at the edges.
Then he disappears, his footsteps fading toward the bathroom, Sadie excitedly arguing about which pajamas are lucky.
I stack plates and carry them to the sink.
The light’s on over the sink, but the rest of the house is dim, that late evening blue creeping in through the windows. I rinse the last plate, set it in the rack, and turn to the hallway.
That’s when I see her.
Delaney.
Sitting at the coffee table, hunched over her phone. Shoulders curled, elbows tucked in, trying to take up as little space as possible. The overhead light casts a ring around her, leaving the rest of the room shadowed.
She’s completely still.
I hang back in the doorway, just outside the cone of light, instincts reacting before my brain catches up. Years of reading skittish animals has trained me to stand where they can see me, but not feel cornered.
Her thumb moves across the screen once, then stops. Her jaw tightens. Her lips press together. Her eyes go glassy with emotion that doesn’t belong on her face.
Sadness.
No. Not just sadness.
Hurt. Old hurt.
The urge to fix it hits me, sharp and instinctive, the way I’d step in if a horse started trembling on the cross ties. Loosen the rope. Lower my voice. Make space.
I shouldn’t watch her in this way.
I know that.
Doesn’t stop me.
As if feeling it, she looks up.
Our eyes lock.
And as if someone flipped a switch, her whole expression shifts.
“Oh!” she says too brightly. “Hey. I, uh… didn’t mean to hog the room.”
She says it, expecting to be in trouble.
I step fully into the room slowly, letting my boots scuff the floor so I don’t spook her more.
“You’re not hogging anything,” I say. “It’s your home as much as ours now.”
Her mouth twitches. “Tell that to the sacred pantry.”
“That was Boone,” I remind her. “He made the pantry sacred. We were all fine living in confusion.”
A tiny laugh escapes her. It doesn’t reach her eyes.
“You okay?” I ask finally.
There’s a beat.
“Yep.”
Lie.
“You sounded more convincing when you said the mushrooms weren’t in crisis.”
“I’m fine, Caleb.”
Her fingers tap the edge of the phone. Once. Twice. White-knuckled.
“Delaney—”
“I said I’m fine,” she repeats, more force in it this time. “You don’t have to… whatever this is.”
I frown. “Whatever what is?”
She waves a hand in my general direction, not looking at me. “The… checking. The… noticing.”
“I live here,” I tell her slowly. “Noticing comes with the territory.”
“Then stop,” she says, too fast.
That makes me pause.
I’ve never been good at arguing. My mother can talk a man breathless and leave him smiling about it. Boone can shut an argument down with one look. Silas can spin so much charm no one remembers what the argument was about.
Me? I avoid fights the way I avoid barbed wire. Keep my distance. Move the animal to a different paddock. Find another route.
But the set of her shoulders, the way she’s braced, waiting to get hit, snaps at my temper in a way I don’t see coming.
“I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay.”
“You don’t have to,” she fires back, too quickly. “I didn’t ask you to.”
“I know you didn’t. That doesn’t mean I can’t care.”
Her head jerks up at that. Her eyes flash, sharp and scared all at once. “Well, don’t.”
The words land harder than they should. A slap I didn’t see coming.
I close my mouth, jaw tightening.
She seems to hear her own voice then, hears how sharp it was, and winces.
“I mean…” She rubs her forehead with the heel of her palm, trying to erase the last five seconds. “I’m just… It’s been a day. I shouldn’t be snapping at you. I just…”
“Just… what? I happen to have experience with that particular expression.”
“Well, congratulations,” she says, brittle humor edging her words. “You’re very observant.”
I exhale through my nose. This is not how I imagined this going.
She looks back down at the phone, thumb sweeping across the dark screen without unlocking it. Her breath hitches, subtle, but I hear it.
“What happened?” I ask quietly.
“Nothing.”
“That’s not—”
“Caleb.” My name is a warning now, thin and sharp. “Drop it.”
The tone hits an old reflex, back off, Caleb, don’t make it worse, but it tangles with the image of her hunched over that phone, eyes wet, and I can’t quite walk away.
“Delaney, you were upset. I saw you before you noticed me. You don’t go from… that to ‘everything’s great’ in two seconds.”
She flinches at the way I say her name.
I wish I could pull it back the second it’s out of my mouth.
“I don’t need you monitoring my emotional temperature,” she snaps, hugging her arms around herself. “I’m not a horse you’re checking for colic.”
“That’s not what I’m—”
“I’m serious.” Her voice rises half a notch. “I’ve had enough of being observed and analyzed and categorized by people who think they know what’s best for me. I don’t need it from you.”
“Nice,” I repeat, bristling. “That’s what this is? Me trying to check if you’re okay after clearly something upset you… that’s me being… what? Annoying? Controlling?”
I don’t know!” she bursts out, pushing to her feet. “I don’t know what it is, okay? I just… I was having a moment, and you walked in and stared at me like…” She breaks off, swallowing hard, eyes suddenly shiny again. “Like you saw too much and now I owe you an explanation.”
My hands curl against my biceps.
“You don’t owe me anything. I never said you did.”
“You don’t have to,” she says, wobbling. “People always want something when they look at you like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, not sure I want the answer.
She stares at me for a long moment, chest rising and falling too fast.
“Like you care,” she whispers.
The words land between us like a dropped plate.
Shattering.
She hears herself. Color drains from her face, horrified that she said it out loud.
I open my mouth. I have no idea what’s about to come out. Something like, of course I care, it’s not a crime to care, clumsy and probably wrong.
Before I can find anything, she blows out a broken laugh.
Her throat works once, twice. Her gaze darts toward the doorway behind me.
“I’m going to… go,” she mutters.
“You don’t have to,” I say, the protest out before I can catch it.
“I do. Before I say something worse.”
She slips past me, not quite touching, but close enough that a strand of her hair brushes my forearm. Citrus and sweetness hits my nose, and my body reacts stupidly, at odds with the tension snapping between us.
Her footsteps are quick down the hall. Her bedroom door closes.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.
Good job, Caleb.
Real smooth.
I should let it go.
Give her space.
But my mind is replaying Delaney’s words on a loop.
If I were smarter, I’d listen.
Instead, all I can think is that I’ve already crossed that line.
And I have no idea how to uncross it.