Chapter 31
Brooke
Caleb’s got one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on my thigh.
I’m so relieved to be driving home with him instead of Mom.
Her behavior today was not only extremely unprofessional but hugely embarrassing.
She treated an important client meeting like the Gilded Age marriage mart.
Hoping to marry me off to the richest bachelor regardless of what I want.
What I want—what I’ve maybe always wanted—is Caleb. Driving in his stupid Wrangler with the doors off. Working together on my porch. Cooking together in the kitchen. Fine, him cooking in the kitchen.
“How’s your migraine?”
“Much better,” I say with a smile. I did manage to catch it before it got bad.
Not only does Mom not have patience for my migraines, but Kent wasn’t understanding either.
Mind over matter, he used to say to me. Like I could simply decide to feel better and, poof, the migraine would disappear.
I wish. As pathetic as it sounds, Caleb simply asking how I feel makes me feel cared for and important.
“I’m glad,” he says, squeezing my knee. “So sometimes the medication works and other times it doesn’t?”
“Basically. I know a lot of my triggers…dehydration, red wine, tomatoes—”
“Tomatoes?”
“I know, it’s tragic.”
Caleb removes his hand from my thigh and rakes it through his hair. His brows knit together in concentration.
“You okay?”
He blows out a breath. “That rules out so many things I can cook for you. Do you know how good my gazpacho is?”
“Aw, babe,” I laugh. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but even if I didn’t have an aversion to tomatoes, there’s no way I’m eating gazpacho. Soup’s not meant to be cold.”
“Excuse me?” He’s so offended, it’s cute.
“It’s for warming you up on a cold day or warming your soul when you’re sad. Not to be eaten cold. Gross.”
“You think you know a person,” Caleb says with a laugh.
“Anyway, I try to avoid my triggers, but sometimes a combination of things can cause an attack, sometimes it’s hormonal.
Most of the time the medication does the trick, or I’ll need to rest in a dark room for an hour or two.
When you found me at the office…that was the worst one I’ve had in a while. I’m glad you came to check on me.”
“I was fuming when I got there. After all the shit you gave me about messing something up.” I’m sure he was. I shouldn’t have been so hard on him “But when I saw you on the floor, Brooke…I was terrified,” he says, his hand finding my leg again. “I’m glad I came to check on you, too.”
I rest my hand on top of his and squeeze. He has his eyes on the road, his brown hair blowing back with the wind, looking like a fighter pilot with his aviators on. He gnaws at his lip, and I can’t wait to get him home.
“Caleb, what are you thinking about?”
A sly smile stretches across his face. “I want to show you something. Can we make a detour?”
“Sure.”
“Great, we just have to swing by my place and grab Wendell.”
“Wendell? Who’s Wendell?”
Getting out of the Wrangler has gotten a lot easier, but Caleb still gets out of the car as fast as he can to meet me at the passenger side with an extended hand. “You know I can get down myself, right?”
“I know,” he says with a smirk, grabbing my hand. “But it gives me a good excuse to touch you.”
I hop, literally hop, out of the car. Caleb unhooks Wendell from his harness and clips a leash on his collar.
He’s the cutest little corgi I’ve ever seen.
According to Caleb, Wendell’s not his biggest fan, but he does seem to like me—he gave me a pretty wet greeting when we picked him up.
Poor pup shouldn’t be stuck with a human he doesn’t like, even if I happen to like that human very much. I might just have to steal him.
We’re out in the backcountry at a beautiful farm. The drive up was gorgeous. I never get to be the passenger when I drive these roads, so I have to miss peeking at the charming homes and farms in favor of not running my car off the road.
The landscape is lush and green thanks to recent rains (mostly on the weekdays, thankfully). Maybe I can control the weather with my Thursday night pleas to Mother Nature after all. Caleb keeps my hand in his as we walk up the driveway, his other hand holding Wendell’s leash.
“This isn’t the part where you murder me, is it? I left my pepper spray in my bag in the car.”
He stops in his tracks. “Do you really carry pepper spray?”
Do I carry pepper spray? Men. “Caleb, I’m a woman who’s often alone late on weekend nights, of course I carry pepper spray.”
“Oh.”
“So, murder, no murder? I just need to prepare. Make a mental checklist, you know.”
“You and your lists. No murder.” He laughs, raising my hand to his mouth and kissing my knuckles.
“I wanted to show you why I’m hesitant about taking over Foley’s.
This…is what I want.” He gestures broadly to the land around us.
There are two houses, one set back up the driveway and one a few dozen yards away, plus a large barn further out.
It’s all beautiful and picturesque, but I don’t understand what he’s trying to tell me.
“You want to be a farmer?” I ask skeptically. I know we all contain multitudes, but I never expected one of Caleb’s to be farming.
“God, no.”
Oh, thank god, I don’t think I could be a farmer’s girlfriend. Am I even a chef’s girlfriend? We haven’t yet addressed Hannah calling him my boyfriend. I feel so high school with him and not like a woman who’s about to turn thirty. He tugs on my hand to face the smaller of the two houses.
“I want to convert that farmhouse into a farm-to-table restaurant. Maybe I’ll use those few garden beds for herbs and greens, but the rest would be local, from other farms. It needs some work, but that means I can make it my own.
The main house is in move-in condition. The barn is another story, and I have some ideas, but I’m getting ahead of myself. ” He grins sheepishly.
Caleb Foley has a plan. And a good one. We aren’t too far out of town, and this area is full of wonderful family farms. It’s where everyone comes to pick strawberries in the spring, go apple picking in the fall, or cut Christmas trees in the winter.
Where people who know how to cook pick up their CSAs.
He’s on to something. Especially with his cooking.
It’s a bit of a risk, but restaurants always are.
And there is the whole parents handing over an already successful business with an excellent reputation and years of devoted clientele thing. But it’s a brilliant idea.
“Caleb…it’s gorgeous. I can picture it. And I can see you doing it.” I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him. Wendell sniffs the grass between us, around us, anywhere within the range of his leash.
“It might not happen, but I wanted you to see it. See why I’m not sure about what my parents want for me.
The market and catering are my dad’s dream.
I know how lucky I am to have been mentored by him, but he wanted to build something of his own and watch it grow.
I think he and I are alike in that way. Taking over Foley’s feels like getting a fast pass or skipping the line. It’s not mine.”
“Oh,” I say, taking in his words. Would taking over Spencer Soirees be my fast pass? Mom started the business, but it’s always felt like it was ours. I pocket those thoughts for another time. “Have you talked to your parents about this?”
He shakes his head. “C’mon, there’s one more thing I want to show you.”
Caleb pushes the old barn door open. I suck in a breath.
It’s stunning. Old and falling apart, but beautiful.
And huge. A hundred and fifty people could fit in here and there’d still be room for a dance floor.
The beams are perfect for string lights.
Or three sleek light fixtures would work beautifully across the ceiling—a large one in the middle and two smaller complementing it.
The guest house isn’t too far, so if the kitchen were big enough, it could be used for weddings.
Barn weddings had their moment—I know many brides who wished they could have a do-over on that trend—but there’s something about this space.
It’s a blank canvas ready for any event design with the perfect touch of rustic, like Beachside Pavilion.
It could be transformed into almost anything. Minus the ugly ballroom chairs.
Wendell rushes by me, dragging me out of this beautiful vision.
Caleb wraps his arms around me from behind and rests his chin on my shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing,” I lie.
“I see it too,” he says, placing a kiss on my temple.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, cooly.
“It would make a beautiful wedding venue.”
God, it really would.
I turn myself around in his arms. “I thought you didn’t want that. What your dad wants. To do weddings or catering.”
“I didn’t,” he says with the sly grin again.
“But it’s possible I’ve had a change of heart…
I like weddings, being part of someone’s celebration.
What I don’t like is having to prep in one place, schlep food and supplies somewhere else, cooking in tents or terribly equipped kitchens.
But here…I don’t know. It’s just an idea. ”
“What inspired your change of heart?” I ask, trying to keep cool, but I feel my cheeks warming.
“No one…nothing,” he says quickly.
I wrap my arms around his neck and lift myself on my toes to kiss him.
“It’s a good idea. Thank you for showing me. You need to show your parents.”
“I don’t know.” He sighs. “There are a lot of things I need to figure out. I need to finish the business plan, price out renovations, pull all the documents for a loan…”
“You mean like a long to-do list that feels complicated and overwhelming?” I smile.
Standing here in this man’s arms is already my favorite thing but add the opportunity to work together and help make lists, organize paperwork, develop a system.
It’s almost euphoric. “I know someone who might be able to help with that.”