Page 80 of Mixed Signals
My foot slips in a patch of gravel and Caleb loops his arm around my waist again, tugging me closer until I’m pressed into his side. I cling to him as my eyes trail over every bloom. Every fleck of paint, every shingle, every last detail.
“Look at this.” Caleb holds me tighter. Brushes his mouth against the apple of my cheek. “You made this, Layla.”
“With a lot of help,” I try to deflect, but my eyes are burning—thick pressure right between my eyebrows that lets me know I’m about to start blubbering on the front step of my bakehouse.
Caleb ignores me. “I’m so proud of you,” he tells me, his voice hushed and earnest. His hands hold me tighter, and I wrap myself around him just as fiercely. Something in my chest shifts, realigns, and clicks into place.
A single tear slips from my lashes and glances along my cheek. When was the last time I heard that from anyone? When was the last time I believed it? I brush the wetness away with my knuckles and drop my forehead into his shoulder.
“I’m proud of me, too.”
NINETEEN
CALEB
Morning comes far too quickly.
Leaving Layla last night had been … difficult. I dropped her off just as the sun was slipping below the horizon, the sky a pale lilac cascading into midnight blue. She had fallen asleep with her face pressed up against the passenger side window, both of her hands clutching one of mine tight to her chest. I pulled into her driveway and cut the engine—sat there with the sky swirling brilliant strokes of blue and purple and deep, deep navy and just watched her for a little bit. My hand in between hers, a smile flirting with the corners of her lips.
Then she jolted awake—screamedWHATat me loud enough to have me rocket my head against my window—and almost gave me a concussion. It took her a while to stop laughing after that.
She had been pie punch drunk, donut delirious. I helped her into her house and she clung to my t-shirt like a tiny, persistent little barnacle. She twisted and tugged and tried to drag me back to her bedroom. I don’t know when Layla got so damn strong, but it felt like I had to use all my physical and mental strength to resist her.
Come cuddle, Caleb, she had whispered in my ear, teeth grazing.I’ll be good, I promise.
I almost tossed her over my shoulder and carried her there myself.
But today is important to her and I didn’t want to be a distraction. Plus, she fell asleep as soon as her pretty head hit the pillow, a cute little snore with every inhale.
So I tugged off her boots and covered her with her blanket and slipped out the front door after making sure it locked behind me. I set my alarm for an atrociously early hour and now here I am, with one of my arms flung over my face, groaning curses at the incessant buzzing from my nightstand. I slap at it without looking and sigh when it stops.
I want to stop by the bakehouse before Layla’s scheduled interview. I want to brush a kiss against her nose and get that nervous edge in her eyes to slip, just a little. She’s got nothing to worry about. The bakery looks amazing. I’m pretty sure I had erotic dreams about those fruit tarts last night.Baltimore Magazineis going to have a field day with her little glass cottage in the middle of the woods. It’s like something out of a book, like the stories parents tell their kids before they drift off to sleep.
Layla in the middle of the room, all of those flowers surrounding her like a halo. A coy smile on her lips and pink in her cheeks. Bare skin. Strawberry shortcake.
My phone starts buzzing again.
I reach for it with one eye squinted shut, sitting up when I see the screen. It’s not my alarm, but a phone call. I almost fumble it when I see Layla’s name blinking across.
“Hey,” I answer and try not to sound like I’m sporting a boner at the idea of her bare skin and shortcake. I arrange the blankets over my lap and clear my throat twice, like she can see me through the damn phone. “Good morning.”
Her breath hitches on the other side of the phone and the lingering heat evaporates. Alarm punches me right in the chest instead, and I’m reaching for my sweatshirt before she can say a word.
“Caleb.”
Her voice is thick and uneven. She sounds like she’s been crying. I grab a random pair of jeans and shove my legs through, the phone held between my shoulder and ear. I listen to her try and collect herself and almost lose my fucking mind in the process.
“What is it?”
“There’s—” Her breath hiccups and she lets out another shaky sigh. I charge through my house like I’m on my way to commit a felony. Which I might, as soon as I figure out what the hell is going on.
“Take a deep breath, sweetheart. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll come to you.”
I stop in the middle of my hallway and catch the barely-there sound of a muffled sob. Like she turned her head away from the phone, like she’s trying to stop crying long enough to talk. A flash of ferocious heat and then bone-chilling cold roars through my blood.
I like to think I’m a reasonable man. Controlled. But I’m feeling neither of those things right now.
“Layla,” I plead. “Where are you?”
