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Caleb wasn’t Richard. He was the furthest possible thing from Richard. She’d told him not to manipulate her, not to push her around or play games with her, and he’d done as she asked. Unless you counted the fence, which she didn’t really, because he hadn’t felt he had a choice, and he’d been right. Weasel Face was the same thing—Caleb had been trying to protect her. Yes, he should have said something, but he didn’t have to be perfect for her to love him. Nobody got everything right all the time.
“There it is, baby,” she said when she located the sippy cup under the kitchen table. She set Henry on the ground and let him crawl underneath to retrieve it.
Caleb respected her opinions. He didn’t always agree with them, and he didn’t roll over and let her get whatever she wanted, but he respected them. Where Richard would have told her she was wrong, Caleb had said, “Let’s negotiate.” Where Richard had made her feel small and worthless, Caleb had made her feel beautiful, sensual, and appreciated. He liked her and admired her. He made her laugh. He made her come like a freaking freight train.
She loved him. Was she really going to let the legacy of a crummy childhood and a worse marriage keep her from finding out if she and Caleb could build something together? Something better? Something incredible?
She could be stupid, but she wasn’t that stupid. Not anymore.
Ellen looked at the clock. It was already a quarter past five. Opening the drawer in the phone table, she pulled out the slim Camelot phone book and flipped through to the Cs.
There it was: Clark, C. 501 Brooklyn Ave. 437-3372.
If she’d wanted to know where he lived, all she’d had to do was look in the damn phone book.
“You want to watch a movie while Mama takes a shower, Peanut?”
“Yas,” Henry said. “Watch the train one.”
If they hurried, they could be at Caleb’s in time for dinner.
Chapter Thirty-one
Caleb had just dropped his bloodstained T-shirt into the laundry basket when he heard Katie’s question from the back patio. “Where’s the cake?”
“What cake?” He rummaged through his drawer for a clean shirt.
“Clark’s cake. You know, the one you were supposed to pick up today?”
Shit. He’d forgotten about the cake. He’d forgotten about the whole party.
“Sorry, I spaced it. Can you pick it up? I have something I need to do.”
He’d made up his mind up on the roof—he was going over to Ellen’s. His father was right. Ellen was the problem he needed to fix. She mattered the most.
Ever since he’d come back to Camelot, he’d had the nagging feeling he wasn’t good enough—that he’d performed well in the army, where there was a structure, but as a civilian none of his skills would matter. He’d set the bar pretty damn high: rescue his family, launch a successful business, talk Ellen into happily-ever-after in the space of a few days.
No wonder he kept falling short.
His dad was right. He’d been doing his best. His best was all he had. If his best turned out not to be good enough, he’d do something else. Life would go on. There were no medals for being exemplary at security work, anyway. Only satisfied clients, if he did the work well. People who were safer because of him.
By any objective standard, he’d done fine over on Burgess Street. Ellen and Henry, Carly and Dora—they were all safe and healthy. But the job wasn’t done, because he’d fallen in love with Ellen, and only a complete jackass would give up on that as easily as he had.
Katie stuck her head through his bedroom window just as he pulled the new shirt over his head.
“Christ, Katie. A little privacy?”
She ignored him. “What do you
have to do that’s so important you can’t pick up the cake?”
“I’m heading over to Ellen’s.”
He didn’t have a clue what to say when he got there, but he’d think of something. He loved her, and he knew she had some feelings for him. It hadn’t all been a game. He wanted Ellen Callahan in his life, and he was going to keep turning up on her doorstep until she either convinced him they had no future together or fell in love with him. It might take months or years to bring her around, but he had time. Whatever effort it took to win her trust and her heart would be worth it if he got Ellen.
Backing off was for losers.
“You’re going like that?” Katie asked. “There’s blood on your shorts, and you’ve got caulk on your ear. Plus, your hand is gross.”
