Page 55 of The Estate
They sat down in companionable silence as their focus was entirely on the sandwiches. Vinny’s Deli was truly the king of roast beef. Cal polished off his sandwich. When he sat back, he saw Rachel wasn’t that far behind. But she had a dab of sauce right on the corner of her mouth. Without thinking, he leaned forward with a napkin and wiped it off.
Her tiny gasp froze him in place as he sought her eyes. He was about to apologize when he registered what he saw. She wasn’t upset; she was excited. And that scared him down to his toes. It was like playing with a living flame. It danced and warmed you, but you risked getting burned.
“Um, thanks,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze. “I should never order extra sauce when I know it gets this messy.”
“It’s the messy ones that are the best,” he replied, trying not to think of all the ramifications of what he just said.
He cleared his throat, settling into the chair. “I realized today that I never properly showed you around the grounds. If you have nothing to rush off to or evening plans, I’d love to show you around.” Was he fishing for information on her dating life? Absolutely. Did he care? Not a bit. Because he was playing with fire.
“That would be wonderful, Cal. I’d really like that.”
And with that, once she was done eating and had detoured to wash any lingering sauce off her hands, they walked outside to the patio.
“Well,” he joked. “This is the patio. You’ve seen it.”
“I have.” She smiled in return.
“What you probably don’t know is that my grandfather put it in for my grandmother. She loved to sit out here each afternoon and knit. She said the light back here was better than anywhere in the house.”
“That’s lovely,” Rachel said. “When did she pass?”
“About fifteen years ago. My grandfather was never quite himself after that.” He led her off the patio and down the path toward the chapel.
“Yes, a loss like that leaves a mark,” Rachel said.
He glanced over and raised a brow in inquiry.
“My parents. A drunk driver.”
“I’m so sorry, Rachel.”
“Thank you. I can understand why your grandfather never fully recovered,” she looked at him carefully. “Or you either.”
She was very good at seeing him. Even the things he didn’t want seen. “Yeah. Losing my grandmother was tough. And when Pops died, that was a blow I haven’t really bounced back from.”
“I don’t believe anyone bounces back,” she replied. “Loss changes us in ways we can never expect, so we are never truly the same. When I’m missing my folks really hard, I remind myself that the pain of that moment is a reminder of the deep love we shared. It’s clear it’s the same with your grandparents. It’s nicethat you were so close. It sounds like you and your grandfather had a great relationship.”
Cal laughed. “He used to joke that we were destined to be close. My mother’s maiden name was Callahan, so when I was born, she gave it to me as my middle name to honor her dad.”
“Where did Alaric come from?” she asked.
“My father’s side. It was a traditional family name that he wanted. I always hated it, especially as a kid. Because of my closeness to my grandfather, I go by Cal.”
“You mother doesn’t seem to do that.”
“No, she doesn’t. I doubt she sees the point. She raised me as Alaric, which is fine. But to me, using Cal is a way to remind myself of the person I strive to be. Especially when I was in high school and college.”
“So for your friends, you’ve always been Cal and never Alaric.”
“Correct. Although my college my nickname s Fitzy."
"A man of many names."
Cal chuckled. "I guess so, but my friends that you met have all spent time with my grandfather, so they get it. They understand why I go by Cal; why it's important to me.”
“Words matter,” she replied.
“Words matter,” he repeated. Seeing her hands rubbing her arms, he took off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. He pretended not to see when she turned to smell it. How had she described it? Whiskey with a hint of leather and tobacco. He could live with that. He could live with that very well.
