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When they weren’t having sex like it was going out of style, they watched a lot of television together. For someone who didn’t own a TV or even have an internet connection at his house, Caleb seemed to like television an awful lot.
His things started collecting at Penny’s apartment. His toothbrush and deodorant moved into her bathroom. A gargantuan tub of protein powder squatted on her kitchen counter. The second of his hoodies joined the first in her closet, along with several of his shirts. Then on Thursday, he brought his laundry over to use the machines in her building, and now those clothes lived in her bedroom as well. His shirts and jeans hung on her hangers, his underwear and socks occupied the basket which became a semi-permanent fixture in the corner of the room, and his dirty clothes mingled with hers in her hamper.
They seemed to be failing miserably at the no-strings thing.
Not that Penny was complaining—but she’d had serious, long-term relationships that hadn’t moved this fast. Caleb had effectively moved in with her, and the ease and speed with which they’d integrated their lives rattled her whenever she stopped to think about it.
So she chose not to think about it. As a strategy, denial was working pretty well for her.
Penny continued to be astonished by how much she and Caleb had in common. Besides having enough physical chemistry to power the next SpaceX launch, they’d read a lot of the same books, laughed in all the same places at the TV shows they watched, and shared the same political views. She wasn’t just wildly attracted to his body; she actually liked him.
Plus, Caleb knew how to cook and cared about eating healthy. In her previous relationships, balancing her food preferences with her boyfriends’ unhealthy ones had been a perilous minefield that frequently resulted in Penny settling for a dry chicken breast or wilted salad at whatever burger joint or wing place she’d been wheedled into patronizing. But meals with Caleb were an entirely different proposition. Rather than undermining her good habits, he reinforced them.
She’d sworn never to cook for a man again, but cooking with a man was different. They compared favorite recipes, planned and shopped for meals together, and prepared the food side-by-side in her small—but immaculately clean—kitchen. Caleb didn’t just pull his own weight in the kitchen; his proficiency even surpassed hers in some areas. A stint working in the kitchen at Applebee’s had left him with some impressive sous-chefing skills. The man diced onions with a dexterity that was downright sexual.
Penny loved to watch his hands as he worked. The gentle precision with which he held the knife handle as the blade flashed left her lightheaded and drooling. More than once they’d had to put their meal prep on hold while she dragged him into the bedroom.
At present, he was pounding a trio of chicken breasts into submission with a meat tenderizer—which was also weirdly a turn-on—while Penny sliced tomatoes for the caprese salad. The fabric of his plaid shirt pulled tight across his broad shoulders as he worked, and he had the sleeves rolled and pushed up to his elbows. The sight of his forearms tensing as he hammered the meat presented an unfair distraction. Instead of paying attention to where her blade was going, she was ogling the man in her kitchen.
“Fudge nuggets!” Penny exclaimed as the knife cut into her index finger. “Son of a biscuit.”
“Did you cut yourself?” Caleb asked, abandoning his tenderizer to rush to her side. “How bad?”
“It’s fine,” she said, squeezing her injured finger to stanch the bleeding.
“Let me see.”
She pulled her hand back, cradling it against her chest. “You’ve been handling raw chicken.”
“Come on, then.” He nudged her toward the sink with his elbow and washed his hands thoroughly with antibacterial soap before reaching for her. “Put it under the water and let’s see how bad it is.”
It wasn’t too bad, but it was right next to the fingernail and hurt like the dickens. Caleb’s fingertips gingerly prodded the area around the wound as he examined it, and once again Penny was impressed by how gentle his big, rough hands could be.
“No stitches necessary.” He shut off the water and tore off a paper towel that he pressed against her finger. “Hold this in place while I get you a Band-Aid.”
While he headed off to the bathroom in search of first aid supplies, Penny tried to remember the last time someone other than her mother had fussed over her like this, and came up blank. It felt nice to be the one taken care of for a change.
Caleb came back and peeled the blood-soaked paper towel away from her finger, frowning in concentration as he tended her injury. As she watched him, an unfamiliar sensation unfolded in her chest. It expanded, filling up all the empty spaces, and making her feel lighter than air.
I love him.
She’d thought she’d been in love before, but she’d never felt anything like this for any man she’d dated. She’d exchanged I love yous and pictured weddings and children down the road, but she’d never once felt this sort of desperate, possessive urgency. This certainty. This pain.
“You all right?” Caleb asked, peering at her with worried eyes. “You look a little dazed. You’re not phobic about blood, are you?”
She shook her head, too shaken to form words.
“There,” he said softly, kissing her finger once he’d finished wrapping the bandage around it. “All better.”
“My big, strong hero.” She leaned forward to kiss him, her lips lingering on his. Savoring every breath while she still could.
He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. “You sure you’re okay?” He pulled back to look at her with a frown. “You’re shaking.”
“I guess I scared myself a little.” She tried to give him a reassuring smile.
His eyes crinkled with concern and he reached up to trace a finger over her lips. “You should be more careful.”
She wound her arms around his waist and rested her cheek against his chest. “I know.”
