Page 42 of Holiday Star
24
Still tired, Caleb and I separate to take naps after Jenny leaves. When I wake, it’s early evening. I watch out of my window as the sun gives one last kiss to the horizon before it sinks from view. There’s the comforting sounds of banging pots and water running from downstairs.
I take off my sweater and jeans, now wrinkled from my nap. Rifling through my luggage, I find my pretty short green dress with the belted waist and pockets. I had thrown it in at the last minute when I packed, anticipating that Jenny and I might go to a fancy restaurant while I was home.
Downstairs may not be an upscale restaurant, but the food sure tastes like it and I really want to impress the chef.
Pulling my hair up into a loose bun, dusting on some shimmery eyeshadow, and adding a layer of mascara completes my look. I stare at myself in the mirror.
Not too shabby.
The tantalizing smell of baking bread rises up the stairs when I leave the bedroom. I trace it down to the kitchen. Caleb is humming, bent over, peering into the oven, with Pip at his feet. He’s wearing a fresh pair of jeans and my favorite dark gray T-shirt. Adorably, he’s tied an apron around his neck and waist. It’s my mom’s, and it says “Kiss the Chef” in bold letters. I want to follow the advice but hold back, still unsure where we stand.
When he turns from the oven, he sees me and does a double take, letting his gaze rove over my dress and bare legs, then up to my face. “You look nice,” he breathes out, eyes sparking.
“Thanks.” I fumble, tripping slightly, as I move farther into the kitchen. “Can I help you?”
“Nope. I’ve got everything under control. It’s a steak and potatoes kind of night. With homemade candy cane fudge for dessert. Oh! I made sourdough dinner rolls, too. Is that all right with you?”
“Mmm. That sounds great.” I’m already salivating, mentally skipping ahead to dessert and picturing that minty-chocolaty fudge.
“You could do one thing for me, though.” He wipes his hands on a towel and throws it over his shoulder.
“What’s that?”
“We need some tunes. Take my phone and pick something out.” He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and passes it to me. It’s still warm from his body heat.
Caleb chops fresh rosemary, releasing its heady fragrance into the air while I thumb through the music on his phone. He’s got quite a selection. Everything from classical to show tunes to hard rock.
“What are you in the mood for?” I ask. “You have so much music on here that it’s difficult to choose.”
He pauses and tilts his head thoughtfully. “How about some jazz? Try John Coltrane, My Favorite Things.”
“You mean the song fromThe Sound of Music?”
He smiles, and it warms me from the inside out. I enjoy seeing him like this, relaxed, content.
“Yeah, that’s the song, but you’ve never heard it the way Coltrane plays it.”
With a push of the button, I turn it on. Caleb’s right. The clarinet mixes with the saxophone to make something magical. A snare drum sets the beat in the background. The music spilling out of his tiny phone speakers is light and sophisticated and lovely.
I feel like a real grownup, with this handsome man making me dinner and jazz playing. I almost offer him a glass of wine but catch myself at the last minute, remembering that alcohol and Caleb don’t mix. It’s no big loss to me. Beyond the occasional beer or glass of wine, I’ve never been much of a drinker.
Caleb’s phone buzzes in my hands. His mom’s name lights up the screen. I hold it out for him. He reaches over and declines the call.
“You do that a lot,” I note. “Avoid her calls.”
An uncomfortable twist of his mouth. “We have a…complicated relationship.” He turns away from me, busying himself with the food.
“You seem like you’re close to your mom,” he says, talking over his shoulder.
“We are, but we have a few sore spots between us. Mostly from around the time when my dad died. In the end, I know she loves me.”
Caleb’s quiet for so long I think he won’t respond, but then he says, “I guess I know my mom loves me too. She just has a strange way of showing it sometimes.”
I wait to see if there’s more, but when he remains silent, I decide not to press the issue. This is feeling almost like a date, and I don’t want to ruin the mood.
“Any update on the house renovations?” He changes the topic of conversation.
