Page 45 of Mixed Signals
“Yes. She comes over and we sit here and we talk about all of the things we have planned for the rest of the month.”
Caleb’s mouth twists, confused. “Why doesn’t she just—why was the door wide open?”
“Because it is a secret, Caleb,” I say, deadly serious. “We heard you at the door and she ran. Can you imagine the utter destruction this news would rain down upon the town if people knew?”
“I don’t think—”
“We have a reputation to uphold. Everyone thinks we hate each other. Secrecy is key.”
His lips twitch again but this time it looks like a smile. A normal smile. “I see.”
“Yes,” I nod. “Now you see.” I curl my hands around his arms and shake him as much as I’m able. Which is … not that much. “Did you really think I was two-timing you with some mystery breakfast date?”
“Maybe.”
“You did.”
“Alright, I did. But to be fair, you were being very suspicious.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Who has a date at five in the morning?”
His blush lingers. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
He smiles, gentle and slow and achingly careful. I want to trace it with my fingertips and press it deeper into his skin. I don’t want him to have to be careful with me.
Caleb doubts himself in so many ways—big and small. He was so ready to believe that I was done with him. That he wasn’t worth further consideration.
It makes me sad.
I slip my hands down his arms until my fingers are curled around his wrists. “Yes, you are here. And with a bagel, no less. All Ms. Beatrice brought were some shortbread cookies and a bunch of complaints.”
“Hm.” Caleb turns his hands until our palms are pressed together. Until his fingers are threaded through mine. We’ve gotten pretty good at this hand-holding thing. It’s everything else that’s a work in progress. “That raises an interesting point, actually.”
I blink and watch the way the color on his cheeks fades to a light dusting of pink, his eyes becoming slightly calculating. My brain is moving a little slower than usual, standing this close to him. “What does? The cookies?”
“No, your clandestine early morning meetings.”
“Oh. What’s interesting about it?”
Caleb squeezes my hands and guides me closer until the toes of my tennis shoes are tucked neatly between his scuffed boots. My apron brushes up against the starchy material of his button-up. A breath shudders out of me.
“What’s in it for me?” he whispers. He tugs our hands until both of my arms are wrapped low around his waist, his palms smoothing up my arms. His touch is intentional, slow—heavy and delicious. A beam of golden light slips through the gauzy white curtains of my kitchen and slants across his boots, working slowly up our legs as the sun rises with the rest of the world. I like him like this, here in the quiet. When it’s just me and him and a bagel sandwich in a paper bag on the counter. Shortbread cookies in a tin and the warm puff of his breath against the skin of my neck. His nose nudges my chin and I tilt my head to the side, exposing more of my skin for him to explore.
“In it for you?” I ask hazily, too focused on the slow press of his body against mine.
“This is a secret, isn’t it?” His voice is lower now, a deep rumble that I can practically feel. His bottom lip grazes the hollow just beneath my ear and I shiver. “What do I get for keeping your secrets, Layla Dupree?”
I hum and trace the curve of his jaw with my eyes. The fan of dark eyelashes across the apple of his cheeks. What color would they burn if I slipped another button free from this fancy shirt? I watch with interest as his lips part on a shaky sigh. It seems whatever game he just started is affecting him as much as it’s affecting me.
I smile.
“What would you like, Caleb Alvarez?”
He tips his head forward and his nose bumps mine. One hand leaves the curve of my arm to settle between my shoulder blades instead, a gentle pressure until I arch into him. He lays his palm flat and drags down, down, down, fingers catching in the strings of my apron. A smile starts at the edge of his mouth. I want to bite it.
I clench my fist in his shirt.
“I want—” His fingers find a single apron string and he tugs.
