Chapter Thirteen
Caine
Getting a phone call in the middle of the night has never made me happier in my life. I mean… three months… Fuck! For three months, all I’ve thought about is this woman. Three fucking months of being angry with myself for not getting her full name, or her number. I couldn’t even Google her.
I can’t believe Patrick gave her my number. And she actually called, thinking she was calling him. But who the fuck cares! She called. And here I am, towing her car and holding her hand.
Fuck! I’m still holding her hand.
I force myself to let go.
Soft, small, perfect.
Shit!
I grab the wheel as “If I had a Lover” by Dylan Gossett comes on, and I’m slowly beginning to regret picking this mix on Music.
“When was the last time you had a tune-up on your car?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation rated G.
“June.”
I can hear a tremble in her voice. I look over at her and, fuck it—I take her hand again.
“You thinking about your dad?”
Micky nods.
“Tell me about him.” I find myself saying.
With a shaky breath, Mikayla gives me a sweet smile and then reaches for my hand with her other. I squeeze her fingers as she rests my hand in her lap.
“He was the best. My dad was the guy who went to all my games—who studied with me. Even when he was sick, he helped me study for all my classes,” she says softly.
I chance a glance at her as she leans her head against her seat and closes her eyes. A small smile kisses her lips.
“When I was little, we went to the beach for summer vacation in Oregon. He rented one of those tandem bikes for me and him. I remember my brother Jack being so embarrassed because Dad and I rode it every day, everywhere! Jack is three years older than me, so he was way too cool to ride on it.” She gifts me with a smile.
I chuckle, knowing exactly how Jack felt.
“When I was thirteen, my dad got one of those bikes with a kid seat in the back for Pat to sit on. I refused to ride with him when he used it. I couldn’t be seen with my dad for the entire summer because he refused to go anywhere without Pat.”
“You’re a lot older than him, huh?” she asks, turning her head toward me.
She looks so sweet, and her earlier sadness seems to have passed.
“I’m the oldest. He’s the baby of the family,” I explain. “How many siblings do you have?” I ask, looking at her out of the corner of my eye for a quick moment.
The rain is coming down harder, and I notice red taillights stopped up ahead. I find I’m not in the least bit upset to be stuck in traffic.
“It’s just me and Jack.”
“But you aren’t close?” I ask, pressing for more information. I want to know her.
She chuckles sadly, then sighs. “It’s complicated.” Mikayla smiles at me but continues, “We kind of grew apart when Dad got sick. He would take Mom’s side a lot. Jack wasn’t home to see what was going on with her. But I guess she would call him a lot.”
Mikayla frowns when her phone buzzes. I look over and see Mom flash on the screen. She ignores the call and closes her eyes, which makes me frown.
“Have you spoken to her?”
“No” is all she says.
“Want to talk about it?”
“No. Why don’t you tell me about your siblings?” She turns toward me and really looks at me, her head tilted to the side.
I know what she’s doing. But since I know I will have more time with her, I let it pass… for now.
“Well, Hugh was born right after me, then Lance, Tiffany and Patrick.”
“Was it fun having so many siblings?”
I smile. “It was.” I nod, and we ride in silence, just listening to the music in the car.
“Break Mine” by Brothers Osborne plays softly over the speakers.
Then I feel her hand squeezing mine, and I realize I never let her hand go and she never pulled hers away.
I place her hand on my knee and run my thumb over her soft knuckles.
“This is me.” I pull into my drive and shut off the car.
“Oh,” Mikayla sits up. “You can take me to a hotel.” Her eyes dart over to me. She looks at me with surprise in her eyes.
Funny, that hadn’t even occurred to me. And I find I don’t really care for that idea at all. “The nearest hotel is thirty minutes away,” I grumble.
“And you’re okay with me staying here?” she asks, her head quirked to the side, looking at me.
Maybe a little too much, I think to myself.
“Of course. Come on,”
I hop out of my truck and walk around to her car.
I don’t even ask. I open her trunk and remove her duffel bag, then I slam the trunk closed. Before she can open her car door, I pull it open and stop short when I see those familiar doe-eyes looking up at me. Her green eyes have been haunting my dreams.
I take her hand, and we run to my front door.
We hurry inside, and I sit down and remove my boots and smile as Mikayla looks around. My home is nothing fancy. My parents live in the main house, which is far grander than mine. But this is home.
I built this place more than five years ago. It’s just a simple three-bedroom, one and a half bath ranch-style house.
“Want a tour?” I ask. “It’s nothing special.”
“It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, her head tilted back at the high ceilings.
I don’t know why it matters, but I find I really like that she seems to like my home. Mikayla looks around with wide eyes, and I know she’s being genuine.
Mikayla removes her shoes, and then I take her hand and show her around the house.
“It’s all open, but this is the kitchen, the living room and dining room,” I say as we walk to the right side of the house. “This is the powder room,” I say, pointing out the door right outside the living space.
I walk her to the other side of the house, where I have the bedrooms and my office. “It’s not much, but this is your room,” I say, opening the guest room. “We have to share a bathroom, but I promise I’m clean.”
Mikayla gifts me with a smile as I place her bag on the bench at the foot of her bed.
“You hungry, Mikayla?” I ask.
I feel a little nervous but hope she doesn’t notice.
“Yes.”
“Come on.” I grab her hand again and lead her back to the kitchen. “Um… I’m not much of a cook,” I say as I open the refrigerator.
“What do you have?” she asks, leaning against my side.
My heart pounds at the heat of her body against mine. The move is innocent, yet I find my pulse racing.
I look down at the little beauty beside me as she looks through my refrigerator.
“I’ll cook some chicken and veggies, how’s that sound?” she asks as she removes what she wants from the fridge.
It’s the strangest thing. I have a very strong urge to kiss her. My heart is tight in my chest, and my breath feels rough, but I know I can’t grab her. But, fuck if I’ve ever felt like this before.
I force myself to take a step back and walk to the bar stools on the other side of the counter and sit down. I have to force myself to step away from her.
“Caine?” she asks, looking over at me with a silly grin.
“Sounds great.”.
“That’s good, but I need you to tell me where your cooking stuff is,” she points out.
Well, fuck!
I stand up. “Sure, of course.” I shake my head, feeling like an idiot.
For the next thirty minutes, Mikayla directs me to the spice rack to pick out all the different flavorings she wants to add to the dishes she’s making. Thank God my mother got all the spices, so I have everything Mikayla asks for.
I show her where the dishes are, the pots and pans, then I sit back and watch as she makes chicken with a balsamic vinegar reduction sauce and roasted veggies from the oven.
For the first time since I moved in here, my house feels like a home. I take in the beautiful woman in my kitchen, the scent of garlic and rosemary and other spices I’ve never experienced before swimming in the air around us.
“It’s nothing special,” she says with a wink, repeating what I said earlier about my house. And I can’t help but smile back.
I take a bite and close my eyes at the flavors that rush over me. I’ve never had anything like it. There are hints of rosemary and thyme mixed with the balsamic glaze that she lightly added to the dish.
“This is amazing!” I say once I’ve swallowed my first bite.
“I’m glad you like it.” Mikayla gives me a smile while we eat in companionable silence.
Once we finish our meal, I take our dishes, and to my surprise, Mikayla comes over to actually try to clean them.
“I’m cleaning, you cooked,” I tell her, placing my body at the large sink and nudging her out of the way.
“I can dry and put them away,” she suggests.
“No, go sit and call your brother so he knows where you are,” I demand.
“You’re so bossy,” she complains. “But fine, I do need to call him.”
I smile when she walks to the counter and sits down with her cell phone.