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The photo is too small for its frame and tilts as it falls against its backing. An older woman stares out of the frame. She’s a blonde like Caleb, with hair that spirals out from her head in vibrant curls. There is no denying the resemblance between them. The photograph was taken outside, with the woman sitting in a wicker garden chair. Her eyes are narrowed against the sunshine. But she’s smiling, creating the same slashing dimples that I’ve occasionally spotted on Caleb.
In the picture, I can see a neat little lawn and flower beds. Azaleas, bougainvillea. Pretty, delicate flowers that would have no place in the woodlands outside Caleb’s house. The picture was either taken a long time ago, in a previous home, or…
“Does she live somewhere else?”
“In a home.” The words leave Caleb like they’re being dragged by wild horses. At painful speed. Across gravel. He practically growls them. It’s not hard to recognize his rage. His guilt. His hatred for the entire situation.
I look again at the picture. His mother doesn’t seem old enough to warrant a home for the elderly, which means she’s probably sick.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” The words are bitten. Crisp and clipped. As he stares at the photo, he seems to turn slowly to ice at his end of the couch. His shoulders bunch beneath his t-shirt, his knuckles turn white as he grips the back of the seat. “People say that, but they say it to be polite. You can’t truly be sorry for something you don’t understand.”
Okay…I’ve definitely hit a nerve. And, in doing so, twanged that painful heartstring of my own again.
It’s as if his words are burning their way through my chest, to brand themselves on my heart.
What he doesn’t know is that I’m fully aware of exactly what it’s like to watch a loved one drift away. First to a hospital, then a specialized facility (or three), and on to the eventual passing out of life itself. I know how it feels to witness a parent fading away into nothing, unable to stop it, or even to slow it down.
“What makes you think I don’t understand it?”
The words are out before I can stop them. And they sound so heartbreakingly open, even to my ears, that Caleb’s gaze swings immediately to mine.
No. I think. I don’t need him to know. I don’t need him to feel sorry for me. This is not how the people of East River Forge are going to see me.
It’s why I moved out here, dammit. I’m not going to live my life in a place where every stare holds sympathy, and every acquaintance knows my father’s name. Or Nick’s. The absolute last thing I need is for Caleb Walker to treat me like some delicate flower, a little girl holding the pieces of her broken heart.
In an effort to show my strength and defiance, I deliberately meet his gaze.
Big mistake.
Whether it’s the sincerity he’s reading in my voice or my sudden sensitivity, a connection passes between us the moment our eyes meet.
I’m rooted to the spot. His eyes have claimed me, and I can’t seem to find anything more interesting.
You could describe Caleb’s eyes as brown. Or you could call them whisky or coffee.
But I can only describe what I feel.
Caleb’s eyes look the way chocolate tastes.
For a moment, he seems to stare at me with the same analysis. The same hungry curiosity. A small voice in the back of my head tells me to look away, to break contact. There’s a warning in its words, a sense of falling that tells me this is the beginning of something.
I open my mouth, without a clue what I might wish to say, and those dark eyes immediately fall to my lips.
Bigger mistake.
Suddenly, Caleb’s cozy, well-worn home doesn’t feel so comfortable anymore. It feels hot. Stifling. As if the air has grown thick and the walls are drawing in upon us.
I know the sensation. I’ve experienced it just a few times before.
Attraction. Magnetism.
Given Caleb Walker’s good looks, how close we are, and his habit of playing the savior, I’m unsurprised by the sensations creeping over my skin. I’m unsurprised by the heat that’s rising in my neck.
What shocks me is the intensity of it.
The room isn’t just warm, it’s sweltering. The walls aren’t just closing in around us, they are gone completely. I’m in a void that has disintegrated the world at large. I’m not just a little breathless, my lungs are pumping with the need for air, sucking down the heat around us and turning my insides to melted honey.
