Page 22 of Mixed Signals
Stella curls her arms around my waist.
It’s also the very best thing.
“This is weird,” Luka mutters somewhere above my head. Beckett makes an aggravated noise and there’s a scuffle. Luka grunts and his arm jostles my shoulders. “But also nice! Beckett, christ, why do you have to kick me? I was going to say it’s nice.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“I was. I was going to say we should group hug every day.” A pause. A thoughtful hum. “Evelyn has been a good influence on you. You’re more in tune with your need for affection.”
Beckett grumbles again. I press my face into Stella’s shoulder with a snicker.
“No matter what,” she whispers while Beckett and Luka continue to argue over our heads. “You’ve always got us, Layla. You’ll never be alone.”
She leans back and grins at me. “Whether you like it or not.”
Caleb finally appearson Thursday morning.
He emerges from the grove of trees surrounding the bakehouse like a hot, vengeful spirit, striding up my stone steps like he’s thought of little else since I last saw him. I pause with my tray of bear claws halfway behind the counter as he swings open the door with force, my poor floral wreath flying across the cozy dining space.
Everything about Caleb looks like a physical study of impatience. Stiff shoulders. Fierce frown. Hands struggling with the strap of his bag looped around the handle of the door.
I watch with interest as he untangles himself, cursing beneath his breath the entire time.
He looks like he ran here. Maybe got hit by a tornado on the way. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this disheveled.
Or grumpy.
“Give me your phone,” he says once he’s freed himself from the door. Nohello.Nohow are you. Nosorry I ignored you and your croissants for three days.
“What?” I’m still ten steps behind, I guess, my hand frozen halfway between the counter and the display case. A pastry hangs precariously in the balance. If Caleb isimpatience,then I amconfusion. Bewilderment.“Why?”
He crosses the distance from the door to the countertop in three long strides. “This week has been one thing after another. I’ve tried to come every day, but Alex was hungover and then my abuela needed help with her dishtowels, and Jeremy has this love note thing. It’s just been—” He presses two fingers between his dark eyebrows and exhales a heavy sigh, tension on his face and in the way he’s holding himself contained in the space in front of me. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I should have been. I wanted to be. I tried to text, but I don’t have your number.”
I frown and focus on the last bit. “How is that possible?”
It’s strange that someone I’ve been at least peripherally aware of for the past couple of years doesn’t have my phone number. I think Clint at the firehouse has my number.
Caleb is frustrated. “I don’t know.”
“You could have called the bakehouse.”
His face tightens. It is very clear that he didn’t think of that. “I suppose I could have.” He drops his hand from his face and beckons two fingers impatiently. My gaze sticks on that small, incremental movement. “Phone. Please.”
I put down my tray of baked goodness and slide my phone across the countertop. The tips of his fingers graze my knuckles as he grabs it, his touch gentle. He smiles faintly at my pink cupcake phone case, his thundercloud expression clearing.
“I’m taking you out on Friday,” he tells me.
I raise an eyebrow and blink away from where he’s tip tapping across my screen. “Oh yeah?”
He hums in the affirmative. “I’ll pick you up at 6:30.” He hands my phone back to me, dark brown eyes searching mine. I can make out flecks of gold in the afternoon light that slants through the giant windows. A smile curls at the corner of his mouth.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I’m having trouble catching up. One second I’m restocking my baked goods, and the next Caleb is swinging through my front door. I didn’t think I’d see him again for another four to six months, when we could pretend the ride in his Jeep never happened.
I watch him, watching me. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says, and his smile tips into something wider. “You look nice today.”
“I look nice every day.”
