“Caleb.”
The way she said his name slid down his spine, raising all kinds of awareness that wasn’t fitting for a hotel parking lot. Okay, well, it would be if they were headed in the opposite direction, toward a room. But instead, they were circling each other for the eightieth time, and he wasn’t sure if he should find it exhilarating or irritating, given the subject in question.
Which still hadn’t been addressed.
“Havana.”
Apparently saying her name didn’t have quite the same effect on her. She blinked up at him with a small smile. “Is it that hard for you to not be in the know? I am allowed to have secrets. We’re not at that place where I tell you everything.”
That deflated him faster than anything else she could have said. Of course they weren’t. They were barely dating, regardless of any revelations he might have had about his feelings for her during that speech in Scott’s hotel room.
He sighed and ruffled the hair on the back of his neck. “Yeah, now I’m the idiot. Sorry. I’m carrying some crap around from… before.”
It was so ingrained to not talk about classified ops that Caleb’s conscience automatically pulled back, though it really wouldn’t matter overly much if he told her. The media had torn the op apart after it came out that his team had destroyed a village with not one insurgent present. Bad intel—the gift that keeps on giving apparently. Caleb hadn’t realized he had such issues with trust as a result.
Maybe because he’d been so busy backing off per her request. Funny how easily he’d jumped on that, barely offering one squeak of protest.
“It’s okay.” She put a hand on his arm, and the skin underneath tingled. “I made a bigger deal out of it than it needed to be. Can we focus on the fact that we have six months to get the town in order?”
Yeah. That was the thing he needed to be freaking out about. Six months was not an et
ernity. It was barely enough time to really get rolling—and that was assuming the whole shebang was being helmed by someone who knew what they were doing. The absolute last thing he should be doing was having some knee-jerk realizations about his own emotional ability to have a relationship with a woman.
He beeped the Yukon locks and opened her car door, praying it didn’t seem like the distraction it was. He needed a minute to get his head in order.
By the time he rounded the SUV and jumped into the driver’s seat, he’d at least gotten his expression semiblank. That was progress.
“Can we talk about the infrastructure plan?” she asked as soon as he clicked his seat belt into place.
He rolled out of the Best Western lot and headed west toward the dust trail that he had to take to get back to Superstition Springs. Hopefully there would be a sign to differentiate from all the other dust trails. “Which plan is that?”
“Police force. Fire and ambulance services. A school system. That plan. We’re going to need to figure out where those services will be located so I know how to fit them into the master design.” She chatted about that for a few minutes, oblivious to how his chest had gone numb.
What did he know about creating municipal services from the ground up? He’d need people to head those things. Not just people—they had to be experienced, willing to live in an experimental town with an uncertain future, and who knew they were on deck to help make it all happen.
Havana trailed off and glanced at him. “Are you okay? You got really quiet.”
“I’m thinking about all the stuff I have to do.”
It wasn’t even a lie. That was exactly what he was thinking about. Panicking would be a better term than thinking. But how was he supposed to admit that? It would almost be better to flat out ask her how they could get past casual and fall into special.
That’s what he wanted. And it was killing him that he couldn’t figure out how to stop hesitating.
“I’m here to help,” she reminded him and reached out to slide a hand down his forearm where it rested on the center console, stroking his bare skin in what she must have thought would be a comforting gesture. It might have been more so if her touch wasn’t electric, waking up all his nerve endings.
Actually it was both. She’d solidified that they were in this together at the same moment she’d fanned the spark between them.
He didn’t bother to fight it. All this was inevitable. Serenity had even predicted he’d find his soul mate after relocating. He’d just never expected to be sharing emotional intimacy with the woman he crossed swords with on a regular basis. Or that he’d be faced with convincing her how great they were together and left wondering how successful he’d be at it when she seemed determined to keep her distance.
Instead of pretending she didn’t affect him, which he had way too much practice at, he flipped his arm over and captured her fingers in his, lacing them together tight. “I’m counting on it.”
Fifteen
When they got back to town, Caleb had a renewed sense of purpose, and only some of it had come from holding hands with Havana for the last few miles of the journey. Shockingly, she’d let it ride without comment, but heightened color in her cheeks advertised that there was something going on inside her that she didn’t plan to share.
One day he’d be better at interpreting her blushes. For now it was enough to know that she’d been affected by something as seemingly innocuous as holding hands. He couldn’t wait to see what else she’d let slip regarding his progress with her.
“Are you going to tell people you’re not engaged to Scott?” he asked her as he pulled the Yukon into the space in front of Serenity’s hotel where he’d been parking it.