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“Thanks.” Our eyes meet, and then we both look away quickly. It’s an odd moment—like we both suddenly felt uncomfortable.
My cheeks are flushed, and my heart is racing, and I’m definitely feeling things I shouldn’t be for Caleb. I keep my eyes down until I’ve reminded myself of who he is and has always been.
A professional. A man who’s incredibly careful about not overstepping boundaries. And a man who has seen me at my absolute worst.
Even if he was interested, he’d never make a move on me.
And he’s never given me any reason to suspect he’s interested in me as anything except a protectee.
* * *
That evening I turn in early.
As soon as we got home from our trip, Trey was ready to come on duty, so Caleb disappeared into the guest bedroom and I didn’t see him again. I spent a couple of hours painting and then had a light dinner of soup and bread.
I could have called one of my friends. Even gone out to visit someone. Or I could have kept painting or watched TV or amused myself on my phone. But I’m tired and restless and weirdly lonely, so I change into my pajamas and get cozy in bed to read.
It’s strange to have Caleb here in my house but not with me. He’s behind a closed door, and he’s going to stay there.
I shouldn’t want or expect anything else.
I’ve been reading for about an hour when a loud crashing sound causes me to sit up straight in bed, shocked and terrified.
Before I can make my mind work, Caleb is at my doorway. “Don’t move,” he bites out.
I wasn’t planning to move. I’m not even sure I’m capable at the moment.
Caleb is wearing sweats and a T-shirt, so he was clearly relaxing, but he’s got a gun in his hand right now and he’s barking out orders to someone—probably Trey—on a headset.
It’s only a minute before his stance changes. He glances back into my bedroom. “It’s fine. There’s no problem. Something fell in your studio.”
“Oh.” Relieved and confused and still jittery, I get up to check out what happened. Caleb follows me down the hall and into the sunroom I use as a studio.
It’s made up entirely of windows, and I usually just leave the blinds open because my backyard is private. But ever since they’ve been securing the house, Caleb has pulled down every single blind at night so no one can see into the lighted house.
There’s nothing in the room except my easel, a shelf with supplies, and a bunch of completed and half-finished canvases.
It’s easy to see what happened. I’d stacked several against each other to make more room this evening, and I must not have balanced them well.
They all fell to the floor.
Trey is crouched down, picking them up. He’s taking great care as he moves them.
“They’re not important,” I tell him, coming over to help. “You don’t have to be careful. They’re just some experimenting I’ve done.”
He stares down at an abstract landscape I painted in soft pastels. “These aren’t good?”
I laugh softly. “I mean, they’re not terrible, but it doesn’t matter if they get damaged. Anything I paint that I really care about, I take better care of.”
Without further ado, I stack the canvases up flat this time so they won’t all fall down again.
“They look amazing to me,” Trey says, looking around at the variety of paintings visible in the room.
Fortunately, the one I’m actively working on is covered so he and Caleb can’t see it.
It’s a painting of Caleb, so I really don’t want that to be public knowledge.
Caleb clears his throat. When Trey glances back to him, he must read something on his expression because he says, “I’ll get back outside. Always nice when an emergency turns out to be nothing.”
