“I do not want to fuck her,” he said calmly.
“Oh, sure. Then why did you get her number?” I asked.
I wasn’t a hundred percent sure he had gotten her number but I was almost sure that he had. He basically confirmed my suspicions when he didn’t deny it. And for some stupid reason I was determined to make him admit it.
“You’re being crazy,” he said unfazed.
“Don’t change the subject. Did you get her number or not?”
“Yes, I got her number. Technically.”
My heart sank.
“Thank you,” I said, trying to stop my quivering chin. “For proving my point.”
Caleb sighed. “I’m not sure what point you’re trying to prove. But if it makes you feel better—”
“Just take me home!” I said, shoving my arms across my chest and turning to stare out the window. My heart beat wildly in my chest.
Caleb looked at me for a moment, probably trying to work out my special brand of crazy before sighing and easing the car back into the traffic. A horrible tension sat between us like a brick wall. I glanced over and noticed his jaw was ticking. He was wearing sunglasses so I couldn’t see his eyes, but he was gritting his teeth so I knew he was pissed. Or frustrated. Or both. And I couldn’t blame him. He’d knocked up a psychopath.
HONEY
We rode home in awful silence which was only made worse by my desperate need to cry. My face was stiff with the cold ache of unshed tears, but I refused to cry in front of him.
As we pulled into the parking space outside our apartment, the car was barely stopped before I climbed out and started across the parking lot.
I felt worked up.
Confused.
Jealous.
Insane.
And—
Whoa.
My baby moved like she was doing tumbles in my tummy.
“Wow!” I said.
Caleb came up behind me. “Are you okay?”
Again, our baby moved and my meltdown was completely forgotten.
“I think your baby is an acrobat,” I said.
Caleb smiled and it glittered in his eyes. I took his big hands and spread them across my baby bump. But nothing happened. When it looked like our baby had gone back to sleep and wasn’t going to move again, he let his hands drop to his side.
“I’m sorry you didn’t feel it,” I said softly.
“Seems my boy is active. I’m sure we’re going to feel him more and more.”
“You’re calling Bump a boy. Is that wishful thinking?”
He smiled. “You keep referring to him as a her.”
“Well, one of us has to be right, I guess.”
He laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”
The frost between us began to thaw.
“I’m sorry for arguing about the sales girl,” I said, casting my eyes down at my feet. I don’t know what had come over me to make me feel so vulnerable.
He lifted my chin. “You don’t need to say you’re sorry.”
“I’m not usually so difficult.”
“It’s okay.” His face was gentle, and in his eyes was an unbearable tenderness. “Remember what I said, I’m not going to be with anyone else.”
“I know.” I sighed and relaxed. It was easy to forget all the reassurances he gave me when my hormones were doing mini drive-bys past my sanity.
“Are we good?” he asked.
“Yes, we are.”
“Good. Now are you ready for the second half of your surprise?”
I nodded. Unsure of what I was agreeing to.
“We’re going to dinner.” He gave me a broad grin as he gave me his arm. “Let’s go enjoy ourselves before you get too big and I can’t get you out the front door.”
He winked but I punched him in the arm anyway.
He took me to Catfish Kelly’s, which despite its name was a very upmarket restaurant in town where bookings were hard to come by. We ate over-the-top hamburgers and ridiculously-priced sweet potato chips, while sitting out on the deck overlooking the water. I was relaxed and he was happy. It was easy between us again and my meltdown over the sales girl was forgotten, although the fact he got her number still lingered. But our conversation was easy and comforting, and in my heart I knew things were going to be okay. Somehow.
After our hamburgers, he didn’t seem to be in a rush to get home, so we drove up to Cavalry Hill and sat under a starlit sky, watching the twinkling lights of Destiny below. It was a magical night, and he told me stories about his granddaddy, and how when he was young, his granddaddy would take him out to the cabin by the river and teach him how to do all sorts of things, like fix engines, build forts, cultivate marijuana plants, and how to use a slingshot.
“But the best thing he ever taught me was how to draw,” Caleb said.
“He was an artist?”
“He had a sketchbook, and when the noise in his head got too much he’d sit out on that porch by the river and draw. I can’t tell you how many nights we sat out there, an old man and a boy, just quieting the noise in our heads with our pencils and sketchbooks.”