Page 45 of A Love Like Christmas Time
“The last bus had already left, so I had nowhere to go. There I was, only freshly eighteen, with all my belongings and one stupid duffel bag that had theToy Storylogo on it, because it was the only one I could find.” A dry chuckle shakes his body. “Bobby found me there.”
“That’s how you met him?” I draw little eternity symbols on his back with my finger.
Caleb nods against my shoulder. “He took one look at me and decided to take me under his wing. He offered me a place to sleep in exchange for helping him out at the café. Ultimately, it turned into a kind of win-win situation.”
I tilt my head, his scruff softly scratching against my ear.
“After an unfortunate encounter with a delivery truck, Bobby had to quit his job. He got a nice settlement from his former employer and was living off it until his sister asked him to temporarily take over her café. However, a year before I turned up here, she decided to elope with some guy she met on a cruise and moved to France. Bobby tried to keep the café afloat, but his leg wouldn’t cooperate as much as he’d hoped. He needed someone to step in for him. And that someone was me.”
His body slowly relaxes. The muscles under my fingertips are not hard as stone anymore, though his embrace doesn’t soften.
“He taught me how to run it. How to bake. After a while, he let me move into his old apartment above Henry’s clinic. When I was twenty-five, he officially signed the café over to me. The only things he demanded in exchange were a promise to treat it with care, lifelong free coffee and pastries.”
“He got himself a good deal,” I whisper, softly nodding, my chin moving against his shoulder.
His chuckle finally sounds livelier. “He also made me go to therapy.” Another deep breath. “Though, I don’t think it helped me as much as we both assumed it would.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because Henry asked me to consider therapy only a few days ago. Gave me a whole speech about getting my shit together and how worried he was.” He shakes his head softly. “He even left me the number of one of his clients who’s a therapist. Then again, considering my mother and apparently sister just waltzed in here, maybe I should take him up on that.”
“They what?” I ask loudly. What the hell? “How? Why? Huh?”
“Thank you. That was my reaction. Only slightly more… expressive, admittedly.” His fingers start playing with the seam of my sweatshirt. “It was surreal. I never thought I’d see her again.”
“What did she want? Did she apologize?”
“I didn’t exactly let her,” he admits, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. “I told them to get out.” Silence stretches for a few moments. “For once, I thought things were going well, but five minutes-” He snaps his fingers. “And I’m a fucking mess. I learned to deal with the pain and anger, Lauren. Over the years, I kept it in check and slowly but surely, it turned into a memory that only sometimes resurfaced. But today?” He takes a deep breath. “I just saw red.”
“Hey,” I say calmly. “You got blindsided into an extremely painful situation. As long as nobody got hurt physically, I say whatever reaction you had was probably appropriate.”
“Maybe I should take Henry up on his offer. I don’t even think my old therapist practices anymore. Not sure if they could tell me anything I haven’t been told before, though.”
“And what is it you’ve been told?” I whisper, glancing sideways at him but seeing only his hair.
His shoulders harden with tension, but he continues speaking. “That it wasn’t my fault. That both of my parents failed me. That I’m worthy of love.”
“Damn right you are,” I whisper. I can’t help myself. I lean back a tiny bit and kiss his temple.
“And you know what?” he asks. Now it’s his turn to loosen his grip. I lean back until our eyes meet and send lightning of pain right through my heart. God, he looks so vulnerable. Red-rimmed eyes, puffy cheeks, lips red from biting them. Before I realize it, my hands are cupping his face, brushing away the last traces of tears from his cheeks.
“I'm also worthy of a slice of that probably now-cold pizza you brought.”
I freeze, my thumbs on his cheeks. “Seriously?” I ask him dryly and furrow my brows. What a whiplash of a conversation.
He shrugs. “Seriously. I’m hungry.”
I shake my head at him as I slowly climb off his lap, coming to a stand on shaky legs that tingle with sleep right next to his chair.
“Well, we can’t have that.” I take a step back. If he wants to change topics, I’ll let him. For now. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I had them make it half-half. We’ve got spinach, pepperoni, four cheese and one half of simple Margherita.”
“Pineapple. For the record. That’s my usual order. But those will work.” He quickly wipes his face with his sleeve as he getsup. My face scrunches up, making him laugh. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
“Oh, I tried it.” I walk alongside him to the counter. “The consistency isn’t my jam on pizza, same for mushrooms.” I shrug and then come to a stop. There’s something I need to tell him before I let him pretend our conversation never happened. And I’d be shocked if that weren’t his course of action.
“Thank you,” I say, and wait until his eyes find mine, his eyebrows scrunching together in confusion. “For telling me.”
“Thank you for listening,” he says, and squeezes my hand as he walks by. “It helped.”
