Chapter 22 #2
I feel Caleb’s eyes on me, studying me. Then he reaches out, his hand covering mine on the table. His touch is warm, steady. “You’re not alone, Eve,” he says, his voice quiet. “I’m right here with you.”
I look at him, really look at him. His blue eyes hold mine, sincere in a way I’m not used to seeing. No teasing, no challenge. Just Caleb, offering something I didn’t know I needed.
“I know,” I say, and to my surprise, I mean it.
When he holds my gaze, something shifts between us, something uncertain but exciting. After a few minutes, I laugh awkwardly and look away, suddenly too aware of how close we are, how intimate this moment feels.
“You know, I’ve figured out one good thing about you coming to Thalvyn,” I say.
He quirks an eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“We became friends.” The words sound strange as they leave my lips, too small for what’s grown between us, too big for what we agreed to.
Caleb looks startled at my words. He sets his coffee down, his expression thoughtful as he seems to muse over what I’ve said. Something flickers across his face—disappointment? Frustration?
“You’re right,” he says finally. “But we’re more than just friends.” His tone has a meaningful edge to it, and for a moment, my heart soars. But I force it down immediately. I know better than to read into things, to hope for more than what’s been explicitly offered.
“If you’re referring to our benefits arrangement—” I start, keeping my tone light.
“No.” He cuts me off, his voice firm. His eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that steals my breath.
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Eve.
I will never be satisfied with just friendship from you.
” My heart beats so fast I can feel it in my throat.
I stare at him, trying to process what he’s saying, what he means
My phone rings, the shrill sound cutting through the tension between us. I fumble for it, cursing the timing. The yacht decorator’s name flashes on the screen.
“We have to go,” I say, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears. “It’s the decorator.”
Caleb just gives me an easy smile. “Let’s go, then.”
My mind races as we walk back toward North Cove Marina. I glance at him as we walk, his profile sharp against the blue sky. The spring sun catches in his golden hair, and my fingers itch with the sudden, inappropriate urge to run through it.
This wasn’t part of the plan. These feelings, this confusion—none of it was supposed to happen. We had an arrangement, clear terms, boundaries. And now?
Now I don’t know where we stand. And I’m not sure I’m brave enough to ask.
* * *
I’m at my desk, packing up my laptop when I check the time on my phone.
It’s getting late. I stayed longer than I should have, but those last-minute changes to the yacht decorator’s email just couldn’t wait until tomorrow.
It’s been two days since our meeting with him at the marina, and I’m still finding details that need adjusting.
The Serastra launch is too important to leave anything to chance.
I pause my packing to pat my pocket for Caleb’s car key. His car key. The ones he casually tossed to me this morning before his meeting with Ethan, saying he’d catch a ride back to my place with his brother afterward.
My place. Home, he called it.
“I’ll see you at home later,” he’d said, so naturally that I didn’t even catch it at the time.
When did that happen? When did my apartment become ‘home’ to him? And why doesn’t that freak me out more than it does?
I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought. It’s just a word. It doesn’t mean anything. My heart does a stupid, little flutter that I immediately try to squash.
This thing with Caleb—I’m not sure what it is anymore.
But it feels real when he orders my dessert at dinner—tiramisu with extra cocoa powder and a side of fresh berries, exactly how I like it.
When he pulls my feet into his lap to massage them while we’re watching a movie.
When he makes me breakfast every morning.
My phone buzzes with a text from him: ‘Meeting running late. I have to drop by my parents’ place. Might be late coming home.’
My pockets are empty, however, which is when I notice the key fob on my desk. I stare at it beside my laptop, turning it over with my fingers. A symbol of trust, of sharing. Something shifts in my chest, a warmth I’m afraid to name.
“Home,” I whisper to myself, testing the word, and it doesn’t sound as terrifying as it should.
I lean back in my chair, still staring at his key like it might give me answers to questions I can’t put the words to.
I slip the fob into my pocket, fingers still playing over it, testing to make sure it’s real.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I almost don’t hear the footsteps. Looking up, I see a man walking past my desk toward Iris’s office. It takes me a moment to recognize him—Richard, Iris’s boyfriend.
I’m instantly wary. What is he doing here so late? I remember him showing up drunk at our desks, grabbing Iris’s wrist when she tried to walk away. That hadn’t been the first time either, from what I could tell.
I watch as he approaches Iris’s office, and that’s when I notice the light is on. She’s still here, too. Of course she is; Iris has been working late every night this week, trying to keep up with all the projects. I’m beginning to wonder if the projects are the real reason, though.
What is Richard doing here again? As he reaches her door, I feel a sense of unease. I was sure after what he did last time, Iris would have broken up with him. Are they really still together? Why?
He pauses at her door, then pushes it open without knocking.
Something about his body language—the set of his shoulders, the way he moves—puts me on edge.
There’s an urgency to it, an aggression that makes my skin prickle.
I find myself getting to my feet, tension coiling in my muscles.
Maybe I’m overreacting, but something feels wrong about this whole scenario.
The empty office, the late hour, the way he’d barged in. ..
That’s when I hear the first raised voice from inside her office. Richard’s sharp and demanding voice. I can’t make out the words, but the tone is unmistakable—angry.
Then I hear Iris’s voice, higher-pitched, defensive.
The shouting gets louder. Through the blurry glass, I can make out two figures, and something about their body language sends alarm bells ringing in my head. I see him move around her desk, getting closer to her, and my feet are moving before I fully process what I’m doing.
I rush to the office, my heart pounding. What I see when I walk in makes my blood run cold. He has Iris’s wrist gripped in his hand, and she’s struggling to get away from him.
“Get out,” he snaps when he sees me, his face twisted with annoyance.
“I’ve called security,” I lie smoothly, reaching for the metal visitor chair.
I lift it slightly, testing its weight. “And if anything happens to you, I’m certain security will understand when I say it was self-defense.
” I tilt my head, letting a cold smile cross my face.
“I wonder what will happen to your job when they hear about this.”
“Tell your employee to leave,” he says to Iris, like I’m not even worth addressing directly.
Iris snatches her hand away from his grip. “You should be the one to leave.”
“You’re being unreasonable,” he says, his voice taking on that wheedling tone men use when they’re trying to manipulate their way out of consequences. “I’m not asking for much. And you had no right to drive that girl out of my apartment.”
“Our apartment,” Iris snaps back.
What girl? I file that question away for later and glance over my shoulder, pretending like I might see security approaching. It’s enough to make him nervous.
“This isn’t over,” he mutters, but he’s already moving toward the door. He brushes past me, and I stick my foot out slightly. He stumbles forward, catching himself against the doorframe.
“You tripped me!” he snaps, whirling around to glare at me.
I look at him innocently. “You should watch where you’re going. You hit my foot.”
His face flushes red with anger and embarrassment. For a moment, he looks like he wants to say something else, but then he just glares at both of us and storms out, his footsteps echoing angrily down the hall. Once he’s gone, Iris slumps into her chair like a puppet with cut strings.
“Are you okay?” I ask, setting the chair down but staying alert in case he comes back.
She nods, but her hands are shaking. “Sorry you had to see that. I don’t know what’s wrong with him lately.”
“What was that about?” I ask, fetching her a glass of water. “What girl? Is he cheating on you?”
Iris laughs bitterly. “Cheating? Nothing so simple. He’s suddenly decided he wants threesomes, and he’s been bringing girls over with cameras set up, and it’s just—” She looks at me, realizing what she is saying, and her face grows red in humiliation.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be dumping this on you. ”
“It’s okay. I’ve been worried about you lately. I thought you would have broken up with Richard.”
Iris lowers her gaze. “You’re not the first person to say that.
I know you’ve seen him like this, but he’s not that bad.
He’s just—I don’t know. Lately he’s changed.
I’m still figuring out what to do. Relationships are complicated, Eve.
It’s easy for an outsider to suggest walking away when there are a million memories weighing down on the two people. ”
“So what are you going to do?” I ask slowly.
She looks down at her wristwatch. “He’s probably taken the car.
I think I’ll go to a hotel tonight. I don’t want to start another argument when I go home.
” Looking at Iris sitting across from me, I feel a pull of solidarity.
She looks weary, like someone who’s been fighting battles on too many fronts.