Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Gunner’s curled up next to me in bed when I roll over, reaching for Caleb, and while surprised that I find my familiar next to me instead of the man I spent the night with, I quickly settle into his side when the scent of baked goods and coffee hits my brain.
“You made a lot of weird noises last night,” Gunner observes.
“Gross,” I tell him. “You don’t get to talk about that.”
“I wasn’t talking about anything other than the fact that you sounded like a squirrel that I treed a few years ago.”
“Please stop,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut.
“I’m just telling you,” Gunner says, all faux innocence.
I roll my eyes and stand up, only to find that the clothes Caleb bought for me last night have all been neatly folded on a small chair next to the window. A note sits on top of the pile, and I pick it up, grinning to myself.
“I threw these in the wash last night after you did the best impression of Sleeping Beauty I’ve ever seen.
I figured you’d want something clean to wear today.
Sorry I wasn’t in bed waking up with you, but I can’t sleep as much as I used to, and I figured getting breakfast started would be the best way to show you I’m not going anywhere without ruining your beauty sleep. ”
He doesn’t sign the note, but he doesn’t have to. Obviously, there’s no question in my mind it’s from Caleb. As far as I know, Gunner can’t operate a washing machine and dryer, nor fold clothes, and lacks opposable thumbs to actually write a note.
I haven’t even had time to look at the clothes that he bought me, and considering what we — my cheeks burn as I remember exactly what happened last night, and a little thrill runs through me because it was so much better than I could’ve imagined.
Every moment with Caleb has been a revelation and a remembrance all at once
I carefully place the note on the chair next to the pile of free new clothes, and I pull off a pair of overalls, all denim with white tiny flowers scattered throughout.
The legs are artfully ripped in a few places, and while I probably wouldn’t have picked them out for myself, I can’t deny that they’re adorable.
A fitted T-shirt in incredibly soft material sits underneath them, and to my surprise, there are several pairs of underwear and cute little bralettes.
The girls who work in that shop must’ve helped Caleb out for him to be able to get all of this so quickly, and I have to say I’m thrilled as I put everything on, and it fits perfectly.
I usually just wear dresses to work, and when I’m home I wear sweats, or what someone with a lot more imagination might call athleisure, but is probably about twenty years too old to really be called that.
So having a pair of cute, if not completely my style, overalls to throw on with the fun little T-shirt and the lacy bralette peeking out around my neck and at the very top of the shirt feels really fun.
I peek through the rest of the pile. There is a floaty cotton skirt, some leggings, a dress that looks to be some sort of linen blend with poufy sleeves that I can just imagine wearing to work already, and I can’t deny that Caleb did a really good job.
It’s too much, but maybe too much is exactly what I need from him right now to feel safe.
Happily clothed in my new clothes and with a pair of socks he probably grabbed at the general store last night, I make my way downstairs, where the smell of breakfast cooking only grows stronger.
Much to my surprise, the coffee maker’s not turned on, and Caleb’s not in the kitchen.
“Where’d he go?” I say, looking at Gunner, who’s come down the stairs right behind me.
“Fancy,” Gunner says instead of answering, and I follow his gaze to a moka pot on the counter and a milk frother that’s been set out.
“Oh,” I say to myself, beyond pleased. There’s a tiny assortment of syrups in many different flavors, brand new, untouched, with the protective plastic wrap still on.
“He got this for me?” I ask Gunner, shocked and thrilled. He hadn’t put it in the cart last night, and there’s no way they sold this kind of stuff at the clothing boutique, which means he bought it at some point just to have on hand in case I ever came by for a latte.
“There’s pistachio,” I tell Gunner.
“You need to make me one,” Gunner says, licking his paw as he lays down. “Also, I’m hungry. I want cooked breakfast right away, please.”
“Also yes, sir,” I say, mock saluting him.
No sooner have I located the — than the front door creaks open, and Caleb steps in. In one hand and tucked under his arm are two big paper bags, and in the other hand is a bouquet of flowers.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he says, beaming at me.
“You got all—” I ask him. It comes out a little more sad than I meant it to, and he gives me a quizzical look before turning and closing the door, taking his shoes off.
He hands me the flowers after I finish filling Gunner’s food bowl and sets the two grocery bags on the counter.
He sweeps me up into his arms before I have time to react, and he says, “I went out to grab a few things for the next few days. We might’ve gotten food for Gunner and stuff to make sure that you’re not running around here naked, although if you change your mind and want to do that, I’m not gonna stop you, but I figured we need to feed ourselves as well. ”
“You didn’t have to do all this,” I tell him. It feels like the hundredth time I’ve said the words in the last two days.
“Ivy, I don’t have to do anything. Just because I don’t have to do something doesn’t mean I don’t want to, and it doesn’t mean I won’t,” he says, laughing.
He presses both hands against my face and gives me a long kiss before pulling away with a devious wink, and I’m practically floating on the feeling.
I set the flowers in water.
“They’re beautiful,” I tell him. Sunflowers, fuchsia roses, salvia, and what looks to be a few eucalyptus sprigs, as well as baby’s breath.
“Oh,” I say, my memory pinging. “Eucalyptus, that was on the list. Nice work.”
“To be clear, I didn’t know that,” he says, “and I don’t think I could’ve known that was eucalyptus if I wanted to. That wasn’t thoughtfulness, that was just dumb luck.”
“Now—” he gives me a little shove “—I made breakfast. It’s nothing special, but it’s in the oven, and I got out all the stuff for lattes—”
“How did you — when did you get all the syrup?”
His eyes crinkle at the corners.
“I picked it up on the way into town a few days ago. Before I saw you. I might’ve hoped that a certain somebody would stop by and that I could make them stay a little bit longer if I promised them a pistachio latte. That’s still your favorite, right?”
“Hell yeah,” I tell him. “I can’t decide if I think that’s adorable or slightly creepy.”
“It can be both,” Caleb tells me. “You want a pistachio latte now? You want something else?” He gestures to the lined-up bottles of syrup. “As you can see, I’m not a whole Sugar & Salt level of latte goodness, but I’m ready to make your heart’s desire.”
“What espresso’s in the moka pot?” I ask with professional interest.
“Oh,” he says quickly. “Lavazza.”
“My favorite.” I poke the lid, watching the espresso percolate out. “I can’t believe you remembered.”
He swats at my hand. “Stop messing with it sit down and let me fix you breakfast.”
I know better at this point than to argue with him, and despite being perfectly capable of making my own plate, I content myself with taking the extra leaves and cutting down the stems and getting the flowers arranged as nicely as I can in one of the huge Mason jars I find in the kitchen cabinet.
Before long, we’re both seated at the table, flowers brightening up the huge steel column that runs through the entire lighthouse, with a plate of egg and ham and cheese casserole in front of me, a piece of fresh bread Caleb bought this morning, and my sock-clad feet.
“I regret to inform you that your feet haven’t figured out how to stay warm even after all these years,” Caleb says.
I laugh and kick him lightly.
“Don’t worry,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper. “Happy to be your heater.”
“You better be.” I rub my foot on his shin. “This looks really good,” I say, spearing a bite of my casserole and putting it in my mouth.
He does the same and nods, chewing thoughtfully for a few minutes. “Yeah, I learned this recipe a few years ago. One of my favorites. Got really good at cooking.”
“You told me that last night.”
“You said I got really good at a few things, if I remember correctly.” He gives me a long exaggerated wink, and I blush in spite of myself.
Gunner lets out a loud burp, and we both glance over at him before bursting out laughing.
“That was excellent timing,” Caleb says.
“It always is, with him.” I reach down as the dog rubs his head against my knee.
“I need to go outside.” Gunner puts his paw on my thigh.
“Don’t run too far,” I tell him.
Caleb gets up before I can, opening the door and letting Gunner out the front.
“Should we be worried about him with everything that’s going on?” Caleb says.
“He can take care of himself. He’s smart, honestly, he probably is safer than I am. Just be sure to leave the door cracked, he doesn’t have thumbs but he’ll be back when he’s ready.”
“All these years, I thought you were running because your dog needed exercise and it wasn’t.
He walks himself.” Caleb points at me, shaking his finger.
“You were doing it for fun. That’s unnatural behavior,” Caleb says.
“What else have you been hiding from me? You ever think about being tied up? For fun?”
I nearly choke on my eggs, caught between a laugh and exclamation of disbelief.
“I—" I stutter," I don’t know what the hell that has to do with running—”
“All right, add it onto the to-do list for this week,” Caleb says easily, like we’re discussing ordering takeout.
“Caleb,” I say, “you can’t just say something like that and then—”
“Again, weird way to say yes, but—”