Page 43 of Mixed Signals
“Or a helicopter. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Both are good options.” I peer over his shoulder at the bag, grease starting to bleed through the bottom. My stomach gives a ferocious rumble of appreciation. “What did you bring me?”
“A bacon and egg sandwich.” He props his hip against the counter at my side. I stare hard at the khaki pants. They’re distracting me from his face, but probably not for the reasons he’s counting on. They fit him … really well. “I figured you wouldn’t want to cook something for yourself.”
Something in my chest twists. A light pluck that echoes and shakes. I don’t like cooking for myself. After spending most of my time making food for everyone else, I usually just eat the scraps of whatever is left over from the batch of what I’m working on.
It means something that he picked up on that.
“You brought it here for me?”
He nods, a bemused smile twisting his lips. “I did. Sorry it’s so early. I wanted to catch you before I head over to the school.”
“Early today?”
“Bus duty.”
I can’t stop looking at the bag on the countertop. He stopped somewhere. For me. Got up early, made an extra stop, and drove all the way out here.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He lifts his hand between us, but then seems to think better of it. He drops it back to his side. “It’s no problem.”
I want to know what he was going to do with that hand. “Still, I—”
Something clatters in the back kitchen—cookie sheets, by the sound of it. I stare at the back door with wide eyes and Caleb—Caleb is around the corner and through the back door before I can even think to stop him.
“Oh, shit,” I whisper. I hope Beatrice is sprinting through the fields right now. Why did she take so long to leave? I’d bet all my chocolate croissants and my very favorite spatula that she was listening at the door, that nosy little troublemaker.
I follow after Caleb at a much slower pace and with a lot less enthusiasm. By the time I make it to the kitchen, he’s standing in the middle of it with his hands on his hips, staring intently at the back door swinging wide open.
“We need to call Dane,” he says in a stern, hard voice that zings right up my spine.
I ignore him and walk towards the door. I don’t want a bunch of bugs buzzing around while I’m trying to make rhubarb pie. A heavy arm snakes around my waist and Caleb lifts me up and away like I’m one of my bags of sugar. He sets me back on my feet by the sink, his arm still firmly around my waist.
It is disturbing how much I enjoy it.
“Someone was in your kitchen,” he tells me, his dark eyebrows in a low slant over his brown eyes. Specks of amber and gold dance as he gazes down at me, his hand clenching at my waist. It fans the little flame in my chest until I feel it ricocheting down to my palms. In the back of my knees and in the hollow of my throat.
I swallow hard.
“Caleb.”
He gives me one slow blink. He’s reluctant to stop scanning the place like an ax murderer is about to jump out from my walk-in fridge. The escape room experience really did a number on him. “What?”
“I have a—well, I have a confession.”
That gets his attention. He looks down at me and his jaw clenches. “Yes?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want you to freak out.”
He swallows again, bracing his palm against the table at my hip. With the black eye and this—this look on his face, he almost looks like a different person. It’s like the Hawaiian shirt revelation all over again.Caleb is hot,my brain supplies in a dreamy, singsong voice.Caleb is really hot.
Hot and protective and kind and sweet and he smells like fresh ground coffee. He brought me breakfast, practically kicked in the door to my kitchen, and he is standing so, so close.
