Page 78 of Mixed Signals
“It looks okay?”
“It looks great.”
“You’re sure?”
His laugh rumbles low against my chest, right where I’ve got my chin pressed against him. He smooths his hand over my hair and presses his palm between my shoulder blades, soothing me. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
I lean more of my body weight against his chest. He wraps both of his arms around my shoulders, cocooning me. I don’t think I’ve ever been more comfortable in my life.
I hear the door to the kitchen swing open, heavy boots against the hardwood.
“Oh, shit. Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” Beckett sounds comically distressed. I don’t bother looking but it sounds like he’s talking with his back towards us. I bet he has his hands pressed over his eyes, too. Rich, coming from the man who I know loves a romantic interlude with Evie beneath the stars in the middle of our tree fields. I grin into the collar of Caleb’s shirt, my eyes still closed. Am I asleep? Am I awake? I don’t even know.
“Not interrupting,” I mumble, my arms still locked around Caleb’s waist. I want him to carry me to the car exactly like this. I want him to drive me home with me wrapped around him like a koala.
“That’s illegal, sweetheart,” he whispers into my hair, another smile in his voice. “Seatbelts are important.”
“I can be your seatbelt,” I slur.
Caleb laughs again and Beckett makes a gruff, grumbly sound that is a vague approximation of a laugh. “Is she bake wasted?”
“I called it bake bootcamp.”
“That feels right.”
“I can hear both of you.” I just can’t tell who is speaking. And why their voices sound like they’re coming from the end of a very long tunnel. And is someone playing merengue music?
Steady hands work at the strings of my apron. I let Caleb manipulate my arms as he gently guides me out of the canvas contraption. I sway on my feet and slit my eyes open and watch as he traces his thumb over one of the strawberries, draping it carefully over the shelf by the door.
I turn my muddled attention to Beckett. I do feel like I’m drunk. Like I’m ten thousand leagues under the sea. “Did you need something?”
Beckett shakes his head, watching Caleb tidy up some of the bowls on my workspace and drop them in the industrial-sized dishwasher—the smaller ones tilted halfway on the top rack, just the way I like. A knowing smile starts in his eyes and he turns his hat around until the bill is backwards, a little embroidered Christmas tree above the snaps.
“Hey, man,” he tips his chin towards Caleb. “How do you feel about dogs?”
Caleb glances over his shoulder. “In general, or a specific one?”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”
Beckett ignores me. “I know a guy who is looking for a home for a dog that was abandoned—”
“Where do you find these people?”
“—and he thinks she was supposed to be a police dog. She’s got all the commands down. He thinks she was dumped because she’s a little small for it and not nearly aggressive enough. A real sweet girl. She loves pizza crust. Her name is Poppy.”
Caleb pauses and tilts his head to the side, thinking about it. “I’m open to it.”
I look at him, a little shocked. “You are?”
He shrugs. “Why not?”
Beckett nods and crosses his tattooed arms over his chest. “I’ll let him know. Maybe the two of you can meet.”
I try to picture Caleb with a little rescue dog who loves pizza crusts. A slightly hysterical laugh bubbles out of me. That’s just what I need. Another reason to be attracted to the man.
Beckett’s concerned gaze snaps towards me. “You good?”
“Did you really come all the way over here to try and get another animal adopted?”
