Chapter 14
Lucy
We were cleaning up after dinner, the easy rhythm of life we'd fallen into over the past weeks.
Then Cal said something stupid, and I laughed before I could stop myself.
In the corner of my eye, I could see Gabrielle in her bouncer, watching us with that serious expression she got sometimes, like she was taking notes on how adults behave. .
"That's the worst joke I've ever heard," My words came out tangled with laughter. "Truly terrible."
"Mateo would have laughed."
"Mateo had terrible taste in jokes."
"He really did." Cal grinned, pleased with himself. "He had this whole notebook of them. Said the groans were better than the laughs."
"He told me it was research."
"Research for what?"
"He never said. I think he just liked making people suffer."
Cal shook his head, smiling at the memory. "He used to test them on the crew. In the middle of a shift, completely random, he'd just launch into one. Owen would walk away. Liam would throw things at him. I'd just sit there and take it."
"Because you're a good friend."
"Because I was his captain and I couldn't assault him in front of the probies.
" He picked up a dish towel, started drying the pot I'd just washed.
"He had this one about a firefighter and a dalmatian that went on for ten minutes.
Ten minutes, Lucy. There wasn't even a punchline.
He just kept adding details until everyone was begging him to stop. "
I could picture it perfectly. Mateo sprawled in a chair at the station, grinning while the crew groaned, dragging out the joke just to watch them suffer. He'd done the same thing to me a hundred times.
"He told me that one," I said. "On our third date. I almost didn't go on a fourth."
"But you did."
"I did." I smiled, the memory bittersweet but not sharp. Not anymore. "He wore me down eventually."
Cal was quiet for a moment, his hands still moving over the pot. "He was good at that. Wearing people down. Making them let him in."
"He was."
Something shifted in Cal's expression. It was a soft, faraway look. "I wasn't going to like him, you know. When he first joined the crew. He was too loud, too friendly, too much. I thought he was going to be a problem."
"What changed?"
"He saved my life," Cal said it simply, like it wasn't a big deal.
"Three months in. Roof collapsed, I got pinned, and he came back for me when everyone else was evacuating.
Didn't even hesitate." He set the pot down, lost in thought for a beat.
"After that, I couldn't get rid of him. He just decided we were brothers, and that was it. "
I hadn't known that story. Mateo had never told me.
"He talked about you all the time," My voice sounded quiet. "How much he respected you. How much he learned from you."
Cal went still, his hands pausing on the pot.
"I'm glad you were there," I continued. "At the end. I'm glad he wasn't alone."
I let the words sit there, giving him space to do with them what he needed. It was the same grace he always extended to me, but it didn't need to be said, not now, when it wasn't about me. Cal turned to look at me, and there was something raw in his eyes, something I hadn't seen before.
"Lucy—"
"I mean it. I know it must have been awful. But I'm grateful it was you."
He held my gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded, once, and looked away.
We finished the dishes in silence. But it wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like something had settled between us, some old wound that had finally started to close.
And then Cal laughed.
It came out of nowhere, sudden and bright. "God, do you remember the time he tried to cook for your birthday? The paella disaster?"
The memory hit me and I laughed too, harder than I'd laughed in years. "He set off three smoke alarms."
"Four. There was one in the hallway."
"The fire department almost came."
"They did come. I had to call them off." Cal was laughing so hard he had to brace himself against the counter. "He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, covered in saffron, absolutely devastated. And you just looked at him and said—"
"I said, 'So, pizza?'"
"And he looked so relieved he almost cried."
I was laughing so hard my eyes were watering, the kind of laughter that shakes your whole body and leaves you breathless. It had been so long since I'd laughed like this. So long since anything had felt light enough to allow it.
When I finally caught my breath, I realized that Cal had been watching me all along. He wasn't laughing anymore. He was just observing, with a look in his eyes that made the air feel different.
"What?" I managed.
"Nothing." But he didn't look away. "I just like seeing you laugh."
The warmth between us shifted, sharpening into something else. It was the kind of tension that made my skin feel too tight, my pulse a deafening roar in my ears. We were looking at each other, and neither of us was pretending we didn't notice the change.
I turned back to the sink, desperate to steady myself. It was useless. I kept washing the dishes, trying to scrub the feeling away, but it couldn't be stopped. I was just trying to get through the next few minutes without doing something stupid.
But then Cal moved. He reached past me, for the dish towel, maybe, or to put something away. It didn't matter why. What mattered was that suddenly he was right there, close enough that I could feel the heat of him radiating against my back. I stopped fighting it. I turned around.
Mistake. Or not a mistake. I couldn't tell anymore.
We were inches apart. The counter pressed against my lower back, and Cal stood before me, so close I had to tilt my head up to meet his eyes. The kitchen had never felt so small. Or perhaps it had always been too small, and I’d simply never noticed until no..
He didn't step back. Neither did I.
"Lucy." My name in his mouth, low and rough, like it cost him something to say it.
His hand lifted slowly, giving me a window of time to stop him if I wanted to. But I didn't.
His fingertips brushed my jaw. Just that, the lightest touch, tracing from my chin to my ear, tucking a strand of hair back. His hand lingered there, curved against the side of my face, his thumb resting below my cheekbone, tracing slow, feather-light circles against my skin.
I could feel the calluses on his palm against my face, but I could also feel the slight tremor in his fingers. The one small sign that betrayed him. He wasn’t as steady as he looked.
Neither was I.
"Lucy." My name again, barely a whisper this time.
I should say something. Anything to break the tension, a joke, a step back, a reminder of all the reasons this was complicated. Mateo, our history, the ghosts that still lived in the corners of this house.
But I couldn't move, and I couldn't think. I could only stand there with his hand on my face and his body so close I could feel the heat radiating off him.
His thumb kept tracing my cheekbone, even slower now, moving back and forth in a steady, rhythmic sweep. It felt like he was memorizing the shape of me, as if he were trying to learn my face by heart.
"Tell me to stop," His voice sounded strained and rough. "If you want me."
I didn't tell him to stop.
I wanted this just as much as he did. My mouth made no sound against the tension, no protest. I just accepted it.
His other hand found my waist and settled there. I felt the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric of my shirt. He wasn’t pulling me closer, not yet; he was just holding me, as if he needed an anchor to keep from drifting away.
My hands moved without permission, rising to his chest. My palms flattened against the worn cotton of his shirt, and beneath my fingers, I felt it: his heartbeat.
It was fast and hard, a frantic rhythm that matched my own.
I wondered if he could feel mine, too, if he could feel how much I was trembling.
His eyes searched my face, looking for doubt, for permission, or perhaps for something I didn't have the words for yet.
"I've wanted—" He stopped. Swallowed. Started again. "For so long, I've—"
He didn't finish. Didn't have to.
It was so clear to me then: I’d wanted this, too. I’d been wanting him without letting myself name it, wanting him while pretending I wasn’t, wanting him in the jagged spaces between grief and guilt and all the reasons this shouldn’t happen.
His forehead dropped to mine, just resting there, our breath mingling in the small space between us. I closed my eyes, letting myself feel the weight of him, the warmth, the impossible tenderness of it all.
His nose brushed against mine. It wasn’t a kiss, not yet. Just the promise of one, hovering in the air. My fingers curled into his shirt, and I felt his hand tighten on my waist in response.
I tilted my chin up.
His lips were so close I could almost taste them. One breath away. One heartbeat. The whole world had narrowed to this kitchen, this man, this moment that felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.
I was going to jump. I wanted to.
His mouth brushed mine, barely there. The ghost of a kiss, soft as a question.
We were almost there, just a heartbeat away, but then Gabrielle wailed.
It was sharp and insistent, the kind of cry that meant she needed something right now.
Cal froze. His hand was still on my face, his breath still warm on my lips, the ghost of that kiss lingering between us. For a moment, neither of us moved, trapped in the orbit of what almost happened. Then the cry came again, louder this time, more urgent.
Cal exhaled a shaky breath and stepped back. He ran a hand through his hair, looking dazed, as if he were waking up from a dream he wasn't ready to leave.
"I'll get her."
He crossed to the bouncer, lifted Gabrielle with hands that weren't quite steady. She quieted almost immediately, her cries softening to whimpers as he held her against his chest, murmuring something I couldn't hear.
I gripped the counter behind me and tried to remember how to breathe.
We didn't talk about it.