Page 17 of Redemption

"Another storm's about to come through," he says as we gaze at one another.

We haven't been able to keep our hands to ourselves since I watched the video and he confessed how bad his mental health has been. Surprisingly, it's given us a new lease on our relationship. At least it seems that way. I'm not walking on eggshells around him, wondering what's going to set him off. He's smiled more at me since we watched that video than he has in months. "You think so?" I question, glancing up at him.

With a nod, he points to the sky. "It's covered by the trees, but you can see it coming from the west. Look at the way those clouds are moving. They're fast, it'll be here and then gone pretty quick.

I didn't realize how much I missed this. His quiet confidence and knowledge that he so freely shared with anything who asked. We lost so much these past few months.

Caleb's presence feels like a balm on my wounds, a reminder that we're healing. The way he leans back, effortlessly cool,makes me smile. Then he nods towards my jeans, a playful gleam in his eyes.

"You know," he starts, with that teasing lilt in his voice, "that rip in your jeans is how I first noticed you. I couldn't stop staring."

I laugh, shaking my head. "Really? Was it the rip or my stellar personality?"

He grins, leaning closer. "Definitely the rip. Made me curious about the girl who walks around with a sexy tear in her jeans like a fashion statement. Then I got to know you, and I realized how it's just another part of the personality that I love so much."

The rip runs along my thigh. He digs his finger into the rip, and scrapes his nail across my skin, noting the way my flesh breaks out into goosebumps. "And here I thought it was my smile that caught your eye," I tease back, brushing my fingers through his hair.

"You have plenty of other irresistible qualities, but it was definitely the rip that got me first. Gave me a glimpse, you know?"

His eyes linger on the exposed skin with a warmth that tells me he’s not just talking about the fabric. It’s a reminder of our beginning, the excitement, the butterflies. My heart does a little flip reminiscent of those early days.

"Guess I owe my defiant little rip to why you're so obsessed with me," I say, smoothing down the denim with mock seriousness.

He reaches over, pulling me over his hips. I settle there, twining my arms around his neck, dropping a kiss onto his jawline.

"You could say that," he chuckles, leaning back in his seat with a contented sigh. "You know what else I miss? Making cupcakes with you. We haven't done that in ages."

I light up at the suggestion. Baking has always been our thing, our way to reconnect. "Let's do it. I think we need an afternoon of frosting and fun."

We get up and head inside, the screen door creaking behind us. The kitchen is our canvas, and the counter soon sprawls with ingredients: flour, sugar, eggs, and of course, our favorite cupcake toppings.

As we sift and mix, there's a sense of rhythm between us, an easy dance we fall into. Caleb nudges me playfully with his elbow as I crack an egg. "Careful, you'll mess up your jeans even more."

"A little batter never hurt anyone," I quip, flicking a bit of flour at him.

He laughs, brushing it off, then his gaze softens. "It’s good seeing you like this," he says, his voice more serious. "Happy."

"I'm happy because you’re finally sharing with me," I admit, holding his gaze. "Feels like we're finding each other again."

Our moment stretches, filled with unspoken understanding, before I break it by plopping a dollop of batter onto his nose. He feigns shock, eyes wide in mock horror.

"War, is it?" He reaches for the bowl and steps closer, but I dart out of reach, giggling.

"Careful with the batter, Chef Caleb. We need enough to actually make cupcakes."

Once the batter is safely in the oven, we tackle the icing. Caleb decides on a whim to add some food coloring, creating a kaleidoscope of pastels. We start spreading it onto the cooled cakes, our movements relaxed and playful.

"Oops," I say as a smear of blue ends up on my cheek. I try to wipe it away, but Caleb stops me.

"Wait," he murmurs, leaning in. His lips find mine, warm and sweet, a slow kiss that tastes a little like sugar and a whole lot like love.

I laugh softly as we break apart. "I think that's the best way to clean up icing."

He grins, white teeth gleaming and cheeks dimpling. "Glad we're on the same page."

As we finish decorating, our hands often find each other's, our bodies occasionally brushing against one another. It's as if every touch is a reassurance, a reaffirmation that we're still here, still us.

Once the cupcakes are done and neatly lined up on the tray, Caleb snags one and splits it between us. We stand side by side in the middle of our kitchen, savoring the taste of vanilla and buttercream.

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