Chapter 4
Caleb
Well, if it isn’t the very reason I was dreading coming back to town. And this party. My pulse races. I take a slow sip of my beer. I need a moment to compose myself.
Play the part, Caleb.
The ocean blue eyes with long lashes looking up at me hold me for a moment. I nearly get lost in them, until I realize who they belong to. Based on the shift in her gaze and how quickly she crosses her arms at her torso, it appears she just realized who she bumped into, too.
“Brooke Spencer,” I say with a smile.
“Caleb Foley,” she says, frowning. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m a wedding industry professional, aren’t I?”
She rolls those eyes at me. The gorgeous, sparkling eyes I’ve been trying to forget for five years. Fuck if they don’t still have me a little bit.
“Barely,” she scoffs. “Picking up random shifts at the country club or helping your dad when they’re understaffed doesn’t count.”
Ouch.
I lean my elbows back on the bar behind me. Her freckled cheeks turn pink and her brows furrow. She’s furious.
“Excuse me, I need to get a drink,” she snaps.
“What do you want?”
She ignores me and waves a hand trying to get the bartender’s attention from where she stands and, not surprisingly, doesn’t have any luck. On the one night a year the industry lets loose, the amateurs are handling service and, this late in the night, it’s a complete shitshow.
She resigns, crossing her arms again, and finally looks at me. “Water.”
I reach over the bar, grab her a bottled water, twist the cap, and hand it to her.
“Thank you,” she says, begrudgingly. “I see you dressed on theme this year.” She points a manicured finger at me, waving it up and down.
I hardly planned to dress on theme; I barely have anything unpacked.
I threw a light flannel on over my dark gray shirt on the way out the door.
It might unofficially be summer, but the New England nights are still cool.
I survey the room and, yeah, I guess I am a little on theme after all.
“What can I say, I love a theme party.”
“You hate theme parties.” She’s not wrong.
“Maybe I’ve changed.”
She scoffs again.
“And this.” I point a finger at her, miming her motions from moments ago. “Is this on theme?”
It has to be, because the Brooke I know would never wear something like this unless it was for a theme party.
She loves a theme party. She’s wearing a black cropped tank top with thick straps, a leather skirt with some kind of odd-looking belt made of silver hoops, hot pink tights, and tall black boots.
Damn. If I weren’t so caught off guard bumping into her, or rather her literally bumping into me, I’d be into this.
But it’s a far cry from the polished and preppy, dress-and-heels-wearing wedding planner I know.
“It is on theme, Caleb.” She puts her hands on her hips and spins in a circle. “You seriously don’t recognize who I’m dressed as?”
I shake my head because I honestly don’t—and to try to get the image of that skirt hugging her ass out of my head. It’s going to be a long summer if that’s on my mind every time I see her.
“I’ll give you a hint.” She stands on her tiptoes to get closer to my ear. “Naaa naaa na- nana,” she sings, her breath warm on my neck. This is so much worse than I thought it would be when I agreed to come here with Joey.
I still have no fucking clue.
“Clarissa! From Clarissa Explains It All!”
I mouth an oh and laugh. I see it now, but it’s fun to see her infuriated. It reminds me of when we worked the same weddings years ago, but I’m not about to let her know that.
“You’re such an idiot,” she says and turns on her heel, her tall black boot-wearing heel, and walks away, the long brown waves of her high ponytail swaying behind her.
I am an idiot. For so many reasons.
I’ve already been here much longer than I intended to be.
I prefer to stay behind the scenes. I’m comfortable there.
In the kitchen, focused on the task at hand.
But if I’m going to be the new face of Foley’s, I need to appear to enjoy an industry party.
Mostly I’m enjoying that my colleagues are having a good time.
This work is grueling; they all deserve a moment of fun.
My beer is empty, making it the perfect time to leave.
I head to the loading dock so I can sneak out of this enormous place without having to cross the entire room and run into Brooke again.
Turning the corner at a brisk pace, I nearly bump into a couple making out against the wall.
I should have been prepared for that. The dark corner make outs are not a shock at this party, but what’s with all the literal running into people?
I try to pass quickly when one of them calls my name.
I turn. “Hey Baxter.”
“Caleb, get the fuck out of here,” his female companion says. Shit. It was bad enough seeing Brooke. At least I know she doesn’t have it in her to kill me, but Maddie Murphy is an entirely different story. It’s been five years, but the daggers in her eyes tell me she’s still holding a grudge.
“Maddie, always a pleasure,” I say, taking a few steps back. Not because I’m scared of her. Fine, maybe a little. But I’d like to get the fuck out of here and go to bed so I feel ready for tomorrow.
“The only reason I’m not punching you in the throat right now, Foley, is because Brooke said I can’t.”
“Caleb, I can’t let you go out that way.” Baxter points to the loading dock doors. “I’ll be in deep shit. The dock is shut down for the night, but there’s a side door over there that will bring you to the front of the building.”
“Thanks, man.” I turn to the door. “As you were,” I say with a wink at Maddie.
“He’s such an asshole,” I hear her tell Baxter as I walk away. Followed by the sounds of lips smacking. Good for them.
There’s barely a crowd in front of the building.
Only a few people waiting for their rides.
It’s 11:30 and the party will last at least a few more hours.
I pull my old Hartford Whalers hat out of my back pocket and put it on so no one spots me walking to my car.
I’m not so cocky to think everyone wants to talk to me, but it’s already been a lot being back in town after so much time away.
I don’t have it in me to talk to anyone else tonight.
Until I hear a familiar voice. “I was not chatting up Caleb Foley.”
I raise my eyes under my hat and catch Brooke muttering to herself and frantically typing on her phone. I know I should keep walking, but I can’t help myself. Not when it comes to Brooke.
“Twice in one night. How lucky am I?” I step in front of her. “And you were indeed chatting me up. Singing in my ear even.”
She looks up at me with her big blue eyes open wide.
“I was not.” She smacks my chest. “Ouch!”
Ha. She’s given me a smack like that before, and it wasn’t met with the same muscle.
See, I have changed. Impossible hours in the kitchen can force a man to shape up in order to build stamina.
I had to keep up with the younger chefs.
The ones who went straight to culinary school instead of fucking around for years like me.
She looks me up and down. Taking me in for the first time tonight. “Hmm,” she says.
I raise my brows and tilt my head. “Hmm?”
“Ugh.” She shakes her head then looks at her phone. “My Uber will be here in two minutes. Can you please get out of here?”
I peek at her screen. “Looks more like ten minutes.” She pulls her phone to her chest. “Let me give you a ride home.”
Now that I’ve seen her and know that I’ll be seeing a lot of her this summer, the need to get her home safely is resurfacing in a way I’m not quite ready to address.
“I’m not going home with you, Caleb.”
My turn to roll my eyes. I didn’t mean it like that. “C’mon, I just want to be sure you get home in one piece.”
She steps back. Like she hasn’t forgotten how it used to be.
“I’ve been getting home for the last five years without your help, Caleb,” she bites at me. “I’ll be fine.”
Noted.
“Okay,” I resign. “Goodnight, Brooke. See you soon.” I walk away backward, smirking.
“I hope not!” If she’s pissed now, tomorrow morning is going to be interesting.
There isn’t enough coffee in the state to prepare me for today.
Sleep evaded me for most of the night after seeing Brooke and knowing I’d have to face her again today.
I knew I’d be seeing her, and as much as I want things to feel like they used to, they can’t.
I need to play the part of the unaffected jerk.
The part I played the last time I saw her.
Today, I need to stay professional and keep our history buried, like I have for years. Maybe it’ll be easy, seeing as she wants nothing to do with me. Ugh. Who am I kidding.
“Dad,” I say, turning to where he sits in the passenger seat. “Are you absolutely sure about this?”
Driving down Post Road with him, I realize how much I missed New England. Downtown Charter Oaks is picturesque with the shops along Post Road. Banners hang near the town green promoting local events. Historical homes fill the side streets.
Some might argue that this small southwestern corner of Connecticut isn’t New England enough, that it’s too close to New York City. Anyone with that take is usually passing through and doesn’t stop to see what it has to offer.
“Trust me, son,” he says. “It’ll all work out.”
I haven’t had a chance to talk to my mom to see what she thinks of this, but Dad must have her blessing.
Years ago, Dad wanted to expand the business to the city, but Mom convinced him to focus on growing here.
It was the right move. Mom, as she tells it, is always right.
Dad may have the culinary creativity, but Mom has the business acumen.
Together, they’ve grown Foley’s into one of the best independent markets and caterers in the area.
This summer, we have more weddings and events booked than ever before.
So many that Joey is helping with a few, and we’ve hired so much new staff I can barely keep up.
And we’re about to secure the biggest event of the season.
I turn off Post Road and onto a side street. I blow out a breath as I park the car.
“If you say so.”