“Experience tells me you may change your mind,” Caleb says.
It’s hard to tell how significant that comment is. He’s got such a deep voice that everything he says has a serious tone. I’m learning to spot his moments of deadpan humor, but I don’t think this is one of them.
I try to lighten the mood. “And you’d miss me if I left?” I tease, taking the towel from my hair and finger-combing the damp lengths.
“I’d miss the money.”
I freeze in place, hand still entangled with my hair. I watch as Caleb’s eyes widen and he stumbles.
“Sorry, that came out wrong.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I meant…” Caleb sighs and sets his empty plate to one side. He shifts in his seat to lean closer. Apparently, this doesn’t suit because he abruptly stands up and moves to the couch. Sitting across from me, he hitches a knee up onto the seat. It’s a small couch, and his leg suddenly brushes mine.
While I showered, Caleb had gotten dressed in a gray t-shirt and plaid pajama pants. They look supremely comfy and have a thread loose at the end of one leg. His feet are as bare as my leg and the skin-to-skin contact makes me jump.
I realize that we almost match. My cotton shorts are a bright Christmas red and paired with a white cami.
“I didn’t mean to say that I only want you here for the money,” he begins to explain. His hands are turned toward me, palms up, and he’s staring with such severity that I can’t help making fun of him.
“Just that you wouldn’t want me here if I wasn’t paying?”
“Yes—I mean, no! I just—” he rubs a hand down his face. His forefinger and thumb pinch down over his eyes. “What I mean is… the money is important.”
“You don’t have to apologize for that, Caleb,” I say. “Most people think money is important.”
“No, I mean, the money is forsomething important.” As he lets his hand fall, I meet a gaze burning with tension. A tension fueled by sincerity.
I act on instinct and reach over to place a hand on his leg. The plaid is warm under my palm, and I feel the muscle of his thigh contract beneath my touch. An echoing tension grips my lower stomach. I swallow and take my hand back.
“I know that,” I assure him.
“How?”
Caleb frowns, instantly suspicious. Did the man ever just let anything go? He’s a damn bulldog with a bone. No, not a bulldog. He’s more honorable than that. More dignified. A German shepherd?
A wolf?
Raising my brows at him, I keep my tone calming.
“You don’t exactly come across as someone who easily gives up his privacy, Caleb Walker. If you’re renting out a slice of your own home, it would have to be for something of significance.”
I just haven’t figured out what that something was.
One glance around the room and I’m confident that it isn’t the house. Everything in Caleb’s home possesses a lovingly worn quality. Like a favorite pair of faded jeans. Or an exhausted lover. Nothing is new but nothing needs replacing.
He also clearly works to live, not the other way around. He seems content enough to work as the labor comes, helping his community more than striving for a shining career. He just doesn’t come across as someone who hungers for more in life; he’s content with the world as it is.
After necessity and money, there comes love. But he doesn’t have a wedding ring, and there’s no sign of a lover or woman in his life.
In the end, I can only guess at one thing. One potential answer to the mystery of Caleb’s need for money.
“Is it your mom?”
The sudden flame in Caleb’s eyes is almost angry. Like I’ve broken through and penetrated his life before he’s willing to let me in.
“I, er… I saw your picture,” I explain, gesturing to the frame on the mantelpiece. It had been the first thing to catch my eye last night. I’d been drawn to it as the only object in the room that was so personal. “I figured she’s your mother.”