Chapter Ten – Caleb #2
“You started it,” Caleb said, unapologetic, even as he braced himself for retaliation.
She didn’t disappoint.
Another handful of water came flying toward him, less coordinated this time, as her enthusiasm took over. It caught his sleeve and soaked into his shirt, cold seeping through the fabric.
Caleb laughed outright, the sound loud in the quiet clearing. He hadn’t laughed like this in a long time. Not like this.
Not like a big kid, his bear said gleefully.
“I think we should go dry off!” Hannah took a step back.
“Oh, absolutely not,” he said, shaking his head as he stepped closer. “You don’t get to declare war and then retreat.”
“I absolutely do,” Hannah shot back, backing away again, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, hair coming loose from her scrunchy to frame her face. “For your sake.”
“My sake?” Caleb asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah. I’m smaller. That gives me a tactical advantage in situations like these.”
“In situations like these...” Caleb nodded. “I’m guessing this isn’t your first water fight.”
“Oh, it is. But I’m a fast learner. I soon figured out how to make the most of a situation.” She quirked an eyebrow at him.
His bear rumbled, delighted. Let me play.
We agreed no shifting today, Caleb warned, but there was laughter in the thought now. Only splashing.
He scooped up another wave of water and sent it toward her, and she squealed, slipping on the smooth stones before catching herself, hands flying out to steady her balance. For a heartbeat, Caleb’s instincts surged sharp and fierce...
...but she was laughing, still upright, unhurt, and breathless.
“Okay. You got me. I’m surrendering,” she declared, lifting her hands. “I yield.”
“You don’t sound very convincing,” he said, stopping just out of reach.
She grinned at him, eyes sparkling. “That’s because I’m not.”
She splashed him again, smaller this time, more playful than defiant, and then she stepped back, breath coming fast, laughter trailing off into something else. Something deeper.
The moment stretched.
The stream murmured on, indifferent to their play fighting. Sunlight danced across the water, catching on the droplets clinging to Hannah’s trousers, her sleeves, her hair.
He saw it all. His senses heightened by her nearness.
And then the cold, inevitably, caught up with them.
Hannah shivered, wrapping her arms around herself with a rueful laugh. “Okay. That was fun. But I’ve reached my limit of cold endurance.”
Caleb nodded. “Same.” Although, as a shifter, the cold didn’t bother him at all.
They retreated back to the blanket together, damp and chilled but still smiling, sinking down side by side as the adrenaline faded. Hannah tucked her feet beneath her, and Caleb shifted closer without thinking, instinctively blocking the breeze with his body.
She leaned into him, and Caleb basked in her presence. In this perfect moment.
A moment he wanted to celebrate.
“One more?” Caleb poured them each a small glass of wine and handed her a glass. “Just a little one, as I’m driving.”
“Just a little,” Hannah repeated as she took the glass, her fingers brushing his again, perhaps on purpose. A man could hope.
They drank slowly, savoring it, while Caleb watched her—really watched her—this woman who had just laughed and splashed and played as if, for once, the world hadn’t asked her to be careful, to be strong, to be sensible.
His bear settled deep inside him, calm and certain that things would work out all right.
Hannah’s gaze drifted back to the water, to the stones beneath the surface, rounded and pale, catching the light as the current slid over them. After a moment, she leaned forward and reached into the stream, fingers closing around one before she drew it out.
She turned it over in her palm, brushing away the water with her thumb.
“It’s so smooth,” she murmured, as if surprised.
“It’s been worn smooth by the current,” Caleb explained. “Years and years of water flowing over it.”
Hannah nodded, still tracing the stone’s surface. “Patient work.”
“The most lasting kind,” Caleb murmured.
She slipped the stone into her pocket, a small gesture that made him smile. A keepsake.
Something to remember this day by. Perhaps of him. Or perhaps of how she’d felt here.
“We should go. I need to load the wine and then get you back home,” he said, though every part of him resisted the idea. “You must be getting cold.”
Hannah hesitated, then nodded. “I suppose we should.”
They gathered the remnants of their picnic slowly, neither rushing, both aware that something was shifting between them. The playfulness fading into something deeper, more deliberate.
When the basket was packed and the blanket folded, Caleb offered his hand once more. Hannah took it without hesitation.
The walk through the vines felt different now. Quieter. Closer. More intimate.
The sun was beginning its descent, light spilling low across the valley, turning the leaves translucent.
It felt quite magical, although Caleb wasn’t sure whether that was from the sunset or the company.
But he was enjoying both very much. It had been a while since he’d stopped and smelled the roses.
Or the grapes, his bear chuckled.
Or the grapes. Caleb sucked in the smell of the vines and the rich earth and felt truly alive.
At the storage building, Caleb unlocked the door and loaded the wine into the back of the truck. Hannah insisted on helping, and he didn’t argue. He liked it when they worked together.
When everything was secured, they climbed into the cab. The engine rumbled to life beneath them. Caleb pulled away slowly as the vineyard slipped past the window.
At the edge of the drive, Hannah glanced back.
Just once.
Her gaze lingered on the vines, the slope of the land, the place where the stream hid itself among the trees. There was something wistful in her expression.
Caleb saw it. Understood it. As he was beginning to understand her.
“We can come back,” he said easily, eyes still on the road. Not a question. Not a promise. A certainty.
Beside him, Hannah’s breath caught.
His bear stirred, satisfied and calm.
She needed to hear that, his bear said.
And I needed to say it.