Page 6 of Mixed Signals
“Maybe we shouldn’t have said goodbye,” Caleb mutters. One of his uncles tries to hand him a tiny shot glass. Caleb makes a face and shakes his head, then looks overtop of my head. “Christ. I think Charlie is encouraging people to take body shots off of him.”
I don’t even want to look. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Right. Time to go.”
He holds his hand out to me, palm up.
I twist my fingers through his and together we dash through the sand.
THREE
LAYLA
Thankfully,Caleb does not have any strange bobbleheads on the dash of his car.
Just one of the pine tree air fresheners with the Lovelight logo that Stella started selling at the farm a couple of months ago. An old newspaper wedged between the center console and the driver’s seat. A box from my bakery that he tries to hide as soon I slip into his Jeep.
I stare at him as he gets situated in the driver’s seat, adjusting the air vents so they blow on my legs and not my face. He checks his rear view and side mirrors and I smile. Of course Caleb checks his mirrors every time he gets in the car. I bet he knows his tire pressure, too.
I narrow my eyes and watch him, a restless feeling under my skin.
“Did you get a haircut?”
He drags his fingers through his hair, self-conscious. “No.”
“Did you grow, maybe? Taller?”
He snorts. “I haven’t grown an inch since I turned eighteen.” He narrows his eyes right back at me. “Why?”
“A nose job?”
He looks offended. “No.”
“Hip replacement?”
He laughs at that. “No. What’s gotten into you?”
“You just seem … different, is all.” Hotter, my brain screams at me. Level-ten attractive. I swear on my butter and jam baguettes that I have never noticed Caleb looking like … this … before. A passing attraction, maybe. An—oh, he’s cute—in an unassuming sort of way.
This is … not cute.
This is violently attractive.
I’m rattled by it.
I settle back into my seat and watch as Caleb continues adjusting his driver settings like he’s about to launch us into space.
It’s the Hawaiian shirt.
It has to be.
“I’m surprised.”
He gives me a hesitant look out of the corner of his eye, making sure I have my seatbelt on before he guides the car out of park. I think he’s regretting offering me a ride home. “By what?”
“That you didn’t want to take the Margaritaville bus.”
Another laugh rumbles out of him. Caleb’s smiles are frequent but his laughs are rare and I find myself sinking lower into my seat at the sound of it. His laugh is nice. Warm. “Nah. The lights give me a headache. Plus, I got out late from school today. I missed the bus.”
