Page 44 of Mixed Signals
Trouble.
“I hate to break it to you, Layla, but I’m about thirty percent of the way towards freaking out.”
“Okay, so.” Where do I even begin?The year was 2013 and Beatrice and I decided to form a secret society where we share recipes and—
“Layla.”
Right.
“I had someone over for coffee this morning,” I say in a rush.
Caleb blinks at me. His face slackens slightly and then he blinks again. He pushes away from the countertop and takes two steps back. He looks at the ceiling, then the floor. He clears his throat.
Awkward silence stretches between us and I clasp my hands together.
“Oh. That’s—that’s fine.” A blush flares to life on his cheeks, a bright and ferocious red. But this isn’t the same one he gets when he’s quietly pleased, or when he’s smiling so hard it looks like his face might stick that way. Or even when I trail my fingers down his arm. This is—he’sembarrassed.
And I am hopelessly, terribly confused.
Caleb stands in the middle of my kitchen with his shoulders hunched, looking like he wants to be anywhere else but here. He stares hard at the island. The stools slightly out of their normal spots and the two coffee mugs on the countertop. I watch his throat bob with a swallow.
“I think I’m going to—” He hitches his thumb over his shoulder, still not looking at me. “I’m gonna go.”
“What? No.” I grab his arm as he tries to slide past me. He stops abruptly, but still refuses to look at my face. My shoes get the full force of his focused attention. The stack of mixing bowls on the bottom of my shelf. A row of colorful cupcake liners. “You brought me breakfast. Stay. Eat with me.”
“I don’t—”
“Please.”
He sighs. A short, frustrated sound. “Layla.”
“Caleb.”
“I think I should go.”
“I think you should stay.”
He finally relents and looks at my face. I get a good look at his. I frown. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so disappointed.
“I thought we said we’d tell each other if we wanted to end it,” he offers in a low voice. “I wouldn’t have minded, if you’d told me. I understand.”
And, oh.Oh.He thought I had—he thought I had an early morningdateover. He thought I was back in my kitchen having breakfast with someone else. A romantic someone else. I think about how long it took me to get to the front door. How he had to knock at least three times.
I wince.
Caleb tries to move past me again and I grip him hard with both hands. He could steamroll me if he wanted, but he stays perfectly still and stares holes into the floor by our feet.
“Caleb, I have another confession.”
“I’m not sure I want to hear it.”
“I—” I stumble over my words, searching for an explanation that makes sense.
“It’s alright. Really, Layla. Third date is the charm for me, afterall.” He laughs a little bit and I hate it. How it sounds like he’s laughing at himself. “Please don’t—you don’t have to explain anything to me.”
I ignore him. “On the third Wednesday of every month, I have a standing appointment with Ms. Beatrice.”
Caleb’s head slowly raises. He looks at me, his dark eyes watching. Cautious. “Ms. Beatrice?”
