Page 7 of Mixed Signals
There’s irony in that statement somewhere. “How is that going? The teaching?”
“It’s good. Different. I’m learning. I’m lucky Katie Metzler decided to go on that soul searching trip in the Florida Keys.”
An odd choice for a self-discovery trip, but okay.
“The school was pretty desperate for a Spanish teacher for their summer session and they didn’t care that I basically had zero qualifications. I’m getting my certification while I fill in. Hopefully I’ll be a full-time staff member by the start of the new school year. It couldn’t have been better timing, all things considered.”
“Were you upset? With what happened at the Sheriff’s station?”
“You mean when Dane fired me?” He huffs out a laugh. “No, not at all. It was time. We both knew being a deputy wasn’t a good fit for me anymore. He only fired me so I could get the severance package.” Caleb glances at me briefly. “Maybe I should have been upset, but I don’t know. I was mainly relieved. I think I can help more people as a teacher. More kids, at least.”
Especially in our tiny town, where Caleb spent more time keeping Ms. Beatrice from using her car as a battering ram outside of her coffee shop than preventing any sort of major crime. I’m sure Dane has it handled on his own.
“Alex keeps telling me I should forget about the certification and just show the kids old reruns of the telenovela my abuela always made us watch. She never missed an episode ofCorazón Salvaje.”
I grin. I see him around town with his grandma sometimes. He towers over her, and she’s usually bossing him around, making him carry her groceries. “Wild Heart?”
“That’s the one.”
I hum in consideration. “It’s not a bad idea.”
“The school board might have something to say about it.”
I snort a laugh and peer over my shoulder at his backseat. His car is tidier than the mess of crumpled receipts, old mixing bowls, and expired candy canes that litters mine. It smells like cinnamon in here, like he’s got a whole batch of gingersnaps somewhere. I reach for the edge of the pastry box half wedged beneath my seat, hoping there’s something sweet inside. I forgot my damn slices of cake at the bar, distracted by Caleb trying to herd the entire Alvarez group like a bunch of drunk cats.
I rattle the white box I rip out from beneath the seat with a yank. I’m conscious of the fact that I’m wearing a very tight green dress and the material is probably all the way up around my waist at this point, but Caleb’s eyes are firmly on the road. Thank god. “Is there anything left in here?”
“You think I have that kind of self-control?”
I give him a bland look. “I absolutely do.”
Every week he comes in and eats exactly one croissant while staring longingly at an entire case full of buttercream cronuts. His self-control is steel enforced. His hands flex and release on the steering wheel and I shimmy back in the seat. My gaze crawls up his arms to the slope of his shoulders, the hollow of his throat and the strong line of his jaw. One hand releases the steering wheel to card through his dark hair. With night pressing in around us, it almost looks like spilled ink. Chocolate melting on the stovetop.
Honestly. I’ve known Caleb for years. How have I never noticed howhandsomehe is?
Probably because I’ve been lost in my manic motivation to find a life partner. Or the string of lackluster men I’ve allowed to yank me around for the past couple of years. Or maybe my self-imposed rule to never, ever date someone within town limits. I think it made me have blinders.
Our town population is somewhere around seven. I can’t imagine having to see a date-gone-bad everywhere I look. If I had to see Bryce on the regular, waiting in line at my bakery, ordering my favorite salted white chocolate oatmeal cookies—I’d die. I would simply cease to exist.
And I’d probably be arrested for murder.
Caleb clears his throat. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You saved me a hefty Lyft bill tonight. Not only can you ask me a question, you can also enjoy free coffee at the bakehouse all week.”
A smirk curls at the edge of his mouth. “You already give me free coffee.”
“Well, now you get coffeeanda question.”
He pauses for a second. “Just the one?”
“Does it matter?”
He looks shocked that I’d even ask. “Of course it matters.”
“How so?”
“If I only get one question, I should pick something good.”
