Page 108 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
“Caitlin,” he says quickly, standing. There are shadows under his eyes, and a tightness around his mouth. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be back.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I reply, lifting the bag I’m holding. “I brought lunch. Turkey and avocado wraps, and Aunt Charlene sent some of those fried apple pies you love.”
He nods, a small smile touching his lips but not quite reaching his eyes. “Thank you. That’s… that’s really thoughtful.”
An awkward silence stretches between us. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
“Listen,” he finally says, his voice low and careful. “After what happened the other day, I’d understand if you wanted to take a break from working here. I can finish the house on my own, if that’s what you need.”
The offer hangs in the air between us. He’s giving me an out, a way to distance myself from him and the painful memories we’ve been excavating together.
“I want to be here,” I tell him firmly. I don’t add that being away from him these past three days has felt wrong somehow, like a step backward rather than forward. I don’t tell him that Aunt Charlene’s words about forgiveness and understanding have been echoing in my mind, making me view everything in a different light.
Surprise flashes across his face, there and gone so quickly I almost miss it. “Okay,” he says with a nod. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” I confirm, moving toward the kitchen to put away our lunch. That’s when I notice it, or rather, the absence of it. “Adam, where’s the dining room table?”
The table had been our workspace, covered with blueprints and tools and the detritus of renovation. Now the space where it stood is empty, just bare hardwood floors stretching from wall to wall.
Adam goes back to his measuring. “I moved it.”
“Moved it where?” I press, looking around as if the massive oak table might be hiding in a corner.
“It’s…” he hesitates, shoulders tensing slightly. “It’s in the garage. I needed more space to work.”
Something about his tone doesn’t ring true. The table wasn’t that much in the way, and we’d been working around it just fine until now. But I decide not to push it. Whatever his reasons, Adam clearly doesn’t want to discuss it.
“Okay,” I say instead, putting our lunch in the kitchen. “How’s everything coming along?”
He seems to relax slightly at the change of subject. “Good. Better than I expected, actually. The plumbing in the upstairs bathroom wasn’t as bad as I expected.”
I watch Adam as he continues his measurements, noting the careful way he holds himself, like something inside him might break if he moves too quickly. He looks tired, no, more than tired. He looks exhausted.
“Have you been having trouble sleeping, Adam?” I ask, opening the thermos of coffee I brought him. “You look terrible.”
He looks up, flashing me a tired smile. “That bad, huh? It’s a good thing I’m not a vain man. And yes, I’ve been sleeping. Some.”
“Some meaning what? An hour? Two hours?” I hand him the coffee, our fingers brushing briefly.
“Enough,” he says, taking a grateful sip. “I’m fine, Caitlin. There’s just a lot to get done.”
We fall into our familiar routine. Adam returns to work in the dining room while I start priming the newly repaired walls in the kitchen. The physical work feels good, gives me something to focus on besides the swirl of emotions that threatens to overwhelm me whenever I look at him for too long.
We work side by side until we have to leave for our shifts at the restaurant. As I’m putting away my tools, I catch Adam watching me, with an unreadable expression on his face. When our eyes meet, he doesn’t look away.
“I’m glad you came today,” he says quietly.
“Me too,” I reply, and I mean it. Whatever happens between us, I’m glad we’re facing it together instead of apart.
* * *
The next several weeks pass in a blur of work on Grandma’s house and gradually warming days. Adam and I work togetheron the house almost every day, but there’s a new guardedness about him; he’s tiptoeing around me in a way he never did before.
“You don’t have to be so careful with me,” I said once, surprising myself with the words. “I’m not going to fall apart again.”
Adam has looked up, his expression softening. “I know you won’t. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, Caitlin.”
Some of the tension between us dissipated at his reply. But he still maintained a careful distance even as we laughed together over lunch or celebrated small victories like getting all the kitchen cabinets painted.
