Page 17 of Holiday Star
He holds up the book. “The vampires in this novel—they sparkle in the sun.”
Oh.Yeah, now I remember. The thought of a shiny vampire makes me smile. “Why?” I tease. “Are you planning on getting into my make-up?”
He makes a surprised noise, like that’s not what he expected me to say, and then snorts with laughter. At that sound, a slow cat-like satisfaction curls up my spine. It’s probably unwise to enjoy making him laugh like that.
Too much pressure.
The laughter fades quickly into his morose look. He sighs as if the burst of happiness took too much out of him and starts reading again.
I take in his appearance, cataloging the changes I see since Mom and Seth’s wedding. This isn’t the Caleb I met before. That confident, cocky Caleb is gone. Purple shadows lie like bruises under his eyes. He’s lost weight, his muscles less bulging. Those cheekbones are so sharp they would slice open my hand if I dared to touch him.
“Last night you said you were hiding,” I say, wondering what’s responsible for this new Caleb. “What’s going on?”
He shrugs, artificially nonchalant. “Not much. I fired my agent, canceled my upcoming projects, and mute all incoming phone calls.” He doesn’t even look up from the book he’s reading.
Alrighty, then.
“You should try muting your cell phone.” He gives a dismissive glance at my phone lying on the end table next to him. “It’s liberating not to be tied to that thing anymore.”
And miss texting with Jenny every five minutes? I don’t think so.
As if on cue, Jenny’s name lights up my screen.Her text message pops up.What’s he doing now?I leap across the couch, almost landing in Caleb’s lap, muting the phone before he can read what she wrote.
“No thanks. I’ll keep my phone on.” I slide it into the back pocket of my jeans as I eye him. “How’s your head feeling?”
“Hurts.” He sends me an accusatory glare.
I screw up my face, wrinkling my nose against a stab of guilt. “Sorry. I feel bad I hit you.” It only takes a couple of steps to cross the room and move closer to him. “Now that you know Seth’s in Japan, what’s your plan?”
Caleb’s still looking at his, or rathermy, book when he answers. “Like I told you last night, I’m going to stay here as long as I can,” he says with complete confidence. Finally, he raises his head to look at me. “I’ve got a couple of changes of clothing.” He points to a small duffle bag I didn’t notice before. “I’ll have to do laundry, but I should be fine.” A condescending smirk and then a wink before he returns to his reading.
Excuse me? Did he seriously just wink and then dismiss me?
I wait for him to say something more, to acknowledge that these plans involve me, since I’m also living in this house and I’m definitelynotleaving. The way I see it,I’mthe landlord andhe’sthe squatter.
Caleb doesn’t look up, though, borderline ignoring me.
It’s extremely irritating.
“Oh-kay.” I draw the word out. “What about me?”
Squinting, his gaze travels back to me, the book falling to settle against his broad chest. “What about you?”
“I’m living here too, you know. How are we supposed to share this space? With all the construction, it’s tiny.”
Only the kitchen, living room, master bedroom, and its bathroom are fully renovated. The rest of the house lies under huge sheets of semi-translucent plastic tarps, so thick I can barely hear the distant sound of hammering and the buzz of power tools. The plastic tarps are taped from the ceiling to the floor, cordoning off the other rooms from us like we’ve been exposed to an alien life form and are under quarantine. Any moment now, scientists in scary yellow hazmat suits should enter to examine us. That’s how the house looks.
“Easy. I’ll sleep on the couch, and you take upstairs.” He answers like he’s got it all figured out, which I highly doubt.
“How about the bathroom? You can only get to it by walking through the master bedroom.”
This makes him pause. I resist the urge to say, “Told you so.”
“I suppose we’ll have to take turns in the bathroom.” Caleb’s trying to work it out in his mind. I can practically see the gears turning. Next thing I know, he’ll come up with a shower schedule and then a chore chart. He lifts one shoulder and looks back to his book. “You doctor types are pretty efficient, anyway, so it shouldn’t be an issue.”
And now he’s stereotyping me. Awesome.
Although, I guess I also did that a little last night. Stereotyped him.
