Chapter 28 Elena
It had been raining all day.
By the time I locked up at seven, the clinic smelled like wet dog and I was soaked through just from running between the building and my truck three times to grab supplies.
My phone buzzed as I started the engine. Caleb.
Power's out. But I've got a gas stove and a plan if you still want dinner.
I smiled and texted back:
On my way.
His driveway was mud by the time I pulled in. The house sat dark except for the warm flicker of candlelight in the windows. I grabbed my jacket and let Daisy out, and we both ran for the porch. Caleb opened the door before I could knock, Scout at his heels.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
He handed me a towel without a word. I dried my face, laughing at how drenched I'd gotten in ten seconds. Behind him, Daisy had already found Scout and they were tangled together on the floor.
"Power's been out since three," he said. "Storm knocked down a line."
"And your plan?"
"Pasta. Nothing fancy."
"Pasta is perfect."
The fireplace in the living room filled the house with warmth, candlelight flickering across the mantel, the windowsills, the coffee table. Just Caleb being practical. But it felt like a dream anyway.
I followed him to the kitchen where water was already boiling on the gas stove. He moved with quiet efficiency, reaching for a cutting board, a knife, tomatoes and garlic.
"Can I help?" I asked.
"Just keep me company."
I leaned against the counter, watching his hands. Scarred from years of work, callused, but impossibly careful as he diced tomatoes and minced garlic. He didn't waste a single motion.
"Long day?" he asked.
"Three emergencies before noon. Golden retriever ate a sock."
"She make it?"
"She'll be fine. Owner cried the whole time."
He smiled slightly. Added olive oil to a pan, let it heat. "Sounds about right."
The garlic hit the oil and the whole kitchen filled with the smell of it. He added the tomatoes, a pinch of salt. Stirred twice, then the pasta went into the water.
"How was yours?" I asked.
"Finished the trim in the living room. Started on the floors. Making progress." He glanced at me. "Wasn't planning on candlelit dinner, though."
"I'm not complaining."
Something passed between us. Just a look, and yet… I felt it, like something solid and warm, wrapping itself around my heart.
We ate on the floor by the fireplace, plates balanced on our knees, the dogs sprawled between us in a heap of paws and fur. The rain hammered the windows while the fire crackled and popped. I couldn't remember the last time silence had felt this easy.
"This is really good," I said.
"It's just pasta."
"It's not just pasta."
He looked at me, holding my gaze for a beat longer than necessary. "Glad you like it."
I set my plate aside. The fire threw shadows across his face, softened the sharp angles. Made him look younger somehow.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
"Sure."
"That day at the clinic." He looked at the fire, then back at me. "When you told me I could just ask you for coffee."
I smiled. "After you brought Scout in for the third time in two weeks?"
"The ear infection was real."
"I know it was." I smiled, then let out a soft laugh. "But you also brought Scout in once because he’d sneezed three times."
"Why'd you say it, though?" Caleb asked. "That I could ask you for coffee. You could’ve just…" He shrugged.
"I wanted you to ask."
He held my gaze, not saying anything. His chest rose and fell, our shadows playing in the back of the living room.
"Why didn't you?" I asked. "Just ask, I mean. From the start."
He was quiet for a moment. "Didn't think you'd say yes. You seemed like you had everything figured out. The clinic, your life... Didn't seem like there was room."
"There wasn't," I said honestly. "I wasn't really looking for anyone."
"What changed?"
I thought about him standing in my exam room with that box of abandoned puppies, asking for nothing. The Saturdays after, how he kept showing up without making it mean something. And I thought about this house, all the patient work he'd put into saving something everyone else would've torn down.
"You didn't need me to be anything," I said finally.
He looked at me, giving me nothing but silence.
"I dated over the years," he finally said. "Nothing serious. People always wanted me different. More talkative, or more outgoing. Less focused on work, you know?"
"Caleb—"
"I'm not good at pretending to be something I'm not. Can't do it." He gestured vaguely, frustrated with words. "My grandmother used to tell me… the right person won't ask you to change. They'll just fit."
I had to swallow hard. "She sounds like she was smart."
"She really was." He looked around at the house, the firelight on old wood. "But I stopped believing her after a while. Thought that kind of thing was just something people said."
"What changed?" I echoed.
He held my gaze. "You showed up. And you didn't ask me to be different. You just…" He stopped, as if searching for the right words. "You fit."
Just for a beat, time slowed, and I couldn't breathe. Couldn't even speak. I just stared at him across the firelight.
"I'm not good with words," he said. "Never have been. But I need to say this."
I nodded, quiet and careful, as if afraid I’d break the moment.
"I'd see you around town before all this. Hardware store. Diner. And I'd think… she's so far out of my league it's not even funny."
"That's not—"
"Let me finish." His voice was tender-rough, like calloused hands on soft skin.
"That day with the puppies… something about you just stuck with me. You were kind, good at what you do. And then… I just kept coming back because I didn’t know what else to do.
Kept finding excuses because I didn't know how else to see you.
But I needed to see you, that much I knew. "
I couldn't find the words. Instead, I just looked at him in the firelight, this man who'd circled me for weeks, too careful to push.
"I wasn't looking for this," I said, my voice shaky. "I didn't want to want anyone."
"I know."
"But I do now." I moved closer. "I want this. I… I want you."
He reached out, cupped my face with one hand. His palm was rough against my skin, warm from the fire, and his thumb brushed my cheekbone.
"I'm falling in love with you," he said. "Probably already there."
My heart stopped.
"Wanted you to know," he continued. "In case you needed to run."
I didn't run. Instead, I kissed him.
His hand slid into my hair. My hands found his shoulders, his neck, the rough fabric of his shirt. The fire was warm at my back and the rain was pouring outside and nothing in the world existed except his mouth on mine and his hand in my hair and the way he held me like I was something precious.
When we broke apart, I was crying.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yeah." I laughed through the tears. "I just didn't think I'd get this again."
"What?"
"This feeling. Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
He kissed me again. Slower this time. Like he had all the time in the world and planned to use every second of it.
The fire burned lower and, outside, the rain kept falling. The dogs were asleep by the hearth, tangled together like they'd been doing this their whole lives.
Caleb pulled back slightly, rested his forehead against mine.
"Stay," he said, and it wasn’t a question.
He offered me his hand and I took it.