I go up the stairs to Roxie’s room, wondering if she’s still asleep. For the first time, I feel a flicker of uneasiness. Maybe I should have rung first. But I wanted to surprise her.
I hope she’s alone. You fucking idiot. This is the first time it occurs to me that she could have someone in there. What will I do if a guy answers the door in his boxers?
I stand outside her door and hesitate. Maybe I should just turn and go. Do I leave the flowers? Again, what if she’s not alone? Surely, she wouldn’t have gotten off with another guy in such a short space of time? But you don’t really know her at all, do you Caleb? I thought we had the spark of something special, but I was probably fooling myself.
I turn to go, and the door opens.
She’s talking as she comes out. I was right—she does have someone in there with her. I want to duck behind the pillar so she doesn’t see me, but I’m too late. I stand there like a fool with the roses in my hand and watch her exit the apartment.
She sees me immediately, and stops and stares—at the flowers, then at me. She looks different—her hair is twisted up in a tidy knot, and her face is free of makeup.
She’s not with a guy. Or, at least, not a grown-up. She’s carrying a little boy, maybe three or four years old.
And, even though the kid has blond hair, I immediately know by the way he’s snuggled up to her and the soft voice she’s using that it’s her son.
Chapter Sixteen
Roxie
For a moment, I think I’m going to faint. James squeals in my arms, and I loosen them hurriedly, aware I was squeezing him.
Behind me, my mother comes to the door, only then realizing someone’s there. “Oh!” she says, her eyes widening. She looks at me, then back at the man carrying the biggest bunch of roses I’ve ever seen. “Is this… Caleb?”
I’ve told her all about him, so it’s not surprising she recognized him from my description of “the most gorgeous man in the world and he wears a suit.”
“Yes,” I say faintly. James snuggles up against me, looking at the man shyly.
Mum steps past me and walks up to the speechless Caleb. “Good morning. I’m Roxie’s mother, Barbara.” She holds out a hand.
I’m not sure what I expect Caleb to do—maybe throw the roses on the floor and turn and walk off in the other direction. He doesn’t, though. Being Caleb, he pushes his awkwardness to one side, smiles at her, and takes her hand. “I’m Caleb Chase, ma’am. Very pleased to meet you.”
“We were just off out to the coffee shop for some breakfast,” Mum tells him. “Why don’t I take James and then you can follow us along when you’re ready, Roxie?”
I let her take my son out of my arms, too shocked to protest, and watch her smile at Caleb before descending the steps. When they’ve gone, I look back up at him, feeling the blood drain from my face again.
I’m not going to apologize. What we had didn’t call for heartfelt confessions, and what I’ve done with my life is none of his business.
Then I look at his face, into his eyes, and my bottom lip trembles. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I should have told you. But I liked you, and I wanted you to like me.”
I wait for him to grow angry, to yell at me for not telling him the truth. It’s happened before, and I’m sure it’ll happen a few more times before I meet a guy who’s willing to take James on as well as me.
Caleb tips his head to the side and studies my face. Then, to my complete and utter shock, he moves forward, slips a hand to the back of my neck, and kisses me.
I gasp, and then give a little moan as he presses me up against the doorjamb, his lips moving across mine with tender kisses. My head is spinning, my heart banging away against my ribs. I can’t believe he’s kissing me. Why isn’t he angry?
But when he finally lifts his head, there’s amusement on his face, not anger. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You should have told me.”
I don’t know what to say. I look at the roses instead. They’re beautiful. “Are they for me?” I ask, hearing a little catch in my voice.
“No, they’re for the woman next door,” Caleb says wryly. “Of course they’re for you.” He kisses my forehead. “Why don’t we go inside, and you can find something to put them in.”
I back into my apartment, still bewildered. “I don’t own a vase. I’ve never been bought flowers before.”
Caleb stares at me. “You’re kidding me?”
“The only man who’s ever bought me flowers was my dad, on the day James was born.” I take them from him and go into the kitchen to find a suitable bowl.
Caleb follows me and leans against the fridge while I pour water into a bucket. “How old is he?”
“My dad?” I glance at him and wrinkle my nose as he raises his eyebrows. “James is four.”
“So you were…”
“Sixteen when I got pregnant. I had him on my seventeenth birthday.”
I put the roses in the bucket and place it on the table. “I’ll arrange them later.” I walk over to him. “They’re beautiful, Caleb, thank you.”
He takes my hand and leads me into the living room, where he pulls me down onto the sofa. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because in the past, guys have walked off in the opposite direction when they’ve found out I have a kid. I didn’t want to see that look on your face.”
He studies me, realizes I’m serious, and frowns. “I would never have done that.”
“I realize that now. But I couldn’t be sure.”
“Does James live here with you?”
“No. After he was born, I stayed living with my parents. They’ve been wonderful and have helped me bring him up. But I want to be able to support him myself, and there just weren’t any jobs in the town where they live. So, I decided to move to the city for a while, and try to earn some money and save up for my own place. Mum brings James here on some weekends, and other days I go to visit them. They’re only thirty minutes outside the city.”
“You must miss him, though,” Caleb says.
My throat tightens. “Yes. All the time.”
He nods. “And you’re doing several jobs to save up.”
“Yeah. And I’m studying, too. I’m taking an online course—I want to be a paralegal.”
“Not a lawyer?”
“Maybe one day. For now, though, I’d be happy starting there, or even being a legal secretary. I hope that if I get this qualification, I’ll be able to get some kind of job in a law firm. That’s bound to pay better than waitressing or working in the mailroom.”
He opens his mouth, and I think that maybe he’s going to say I should have asked him for a better job, but he thinks better of it and closes his mouth again.
“What about James’s father?” he asks eventually. “Is he on the scene?”
“Vince sometimes pays child support, but that’s all. He has no interest in James. When he found out I was pregnant, he broke up with me. Dad has tried to get him more involved, but he doesn’t want to know. He has two kids by two other women, and he’s broke, so I’m lucky if the money shows up.” I study my hands. “I’m ashamed that he’s James’s father. And I’m ashamed that I got pregnant. I should have known better. I wasn’t stupid—I knew how babies were made, but we met at a party, and he gave me some line about not having any condoms on him but how he really liked me and couldn’t wait… I got pregnant the first time I had sex. How unlucky is that?”
“It happens,” Caleb says.
I shrug. I am ashamed. I’m in charge of my life now, such as it is—it’s not much, but it’s mine, and I’m in control. I choose where I work, whom I see. I don’t belong to anyone.
But sometimes, I get tired of being alone. Of being so free that I’m like a balloon, released to sail off into the stratosphere.
“Can you forgive me?” I whisper.
“I would’ve thought the kiss told you that.” He smiles.
I hold my breath. I can’t believe that he’s still interested in me despi
te me having a child. “So, what happens now?”
“I think,” he says thoughtfully, “that we’ll go down to the coffee shop and have a latte, and you can introduce me to your son.”
Chapter Seventeen
Caleb
I walk with Roxie to the coffee shop, my head still whirling with thoughts and emotions. Roxie, too, seems in a daze, as if she can’t quite believe I haven’t yelled at her and stormed off in a fit of pique.
Roxie never lied to me—she didn’t deny having a child, and I knew she was hiding something. The truth, though, is that she has shocked me, and I don’t quite know what to do with the information.
I’m too much of a gentleman to say that I would never be interested in a woman who has a child, but I admit I’m nervous about it. I haven’t had many dealings with kids. My sister and brother both have children, but I’m not close to them, and I’ve never been hands-on. I barely see them, so when I do, they don’t come running to me with cries of “Uncle Caleb!”
I’ve not given too much thought to having kids of my own. It’s something I thought might happen one day, once I’d found Mrs. Right and married her, but that day has always seemed way off in the future. And anyway, that isn’t what we’re talking about here. It’s not as if I’ve gotten Roxie pregnant. She has a child by another man.
I put my arm around her as we walk, but we’re quiet, and I think we both know why. If James’s father isn’t in the picture, and I were to carry on seeing Roxie, I would be saying to her that I’m willing to take on the role of James’s dad. Because anything else wouldn’t be fair to her. They come as a package, even though the kid currently lives with her parents, and it would be cruel to say to her that I want to continue dating her, but that I don’t want anything to do with her child.
Is that what I want? To take up the role of father to a kid that isn’t even mine? I can hear Seb now, saying What the fuck? Just how crazy are you? I’ve only known Roxie a week. Why am I even thinking about getting involved? I should be sprinting back to my car and driving back to my apartment at a million miles an hour!
And then, just as quickly as the panic came, it recedes. I look at Roxie’s bowed head as she studies the ground while we traverse the short distance to the coffee shop. She was obviously pleased that I didn’t just walk off when I realized who the child was and that I’ve asked to meet him, but equally she must also be aware of what’s going through my mind.
She looks different without her bright makeup. Whereas on Saturday she was trying to make herself look too false with her blow-dried hair, today she just looks… lovely. This girl has been working two jobs—three, if you count the band—and studying at night, to earn money for her child. I have nothing but admiration for her.
I don’t have to ask her to marry me. All I have to do is decide whether there’s any chance of us making it to a third date.
We enter the coffee shop. Barbara is sitting at a table with James, who is eating a breakfast muffin, apparently putting more crumbs across the table than he is in his mouth.
Roxie slides onto the bench opposite her mother, and I join her. James looks up at me, eyes wide. Roxie scoops up the crumbs scattered around him and puts them back on his plate. She looks flustered.
Barbara smiles at me. “Would you like a coffee?”
“I’d love one.” I catch the eye of the waitress, and Roxie and I order a latte. “Would you or James like anything else?” I ask Roxie’s mum. She shakes her head. “We’re fine, thanks.”
The four of us sit in silence for an awkward few moments. Roxie’s cheeks have flushed, and I have the feeling she’s dying a little inside.
I have to do something. I have to make a decision now whether I want to try to make this work, or I might as well collect my latte and leave. I look at Roxie, studying her profile, remembering how we spent all evening playing the guitar and making love, and warmth filters through me as if I’ve already drunk the coffee.
I glance at Barbara, who smiles, then at James. He’s picked up a toy from beside him, and he’s trying to give it a piece of muffin.
And suddenly, I know everything is going to be all right.
“Makuta, huh?” I say to James. Have you got his red mask, too?”
They all stare at me. James looks at the toy, and for a moment I think I’ve misjudged, and he’s not one of those boys who knows every single detail about the Lego Bionicle legends—he’s very young, after all.
Then he says, “No. I lost it at the play center.”
“Ah, that’s a shame,” I reply. “The red mask is so cool. What about the golden one?”
“I’ve got that,” the boy states. “And Grandma bought me Umarak the Destroyer last week.” He can’t quite pronounce his ‘r’s and says them as ‘w’s. Uma-wak.
“Wow!” I’m genuinely impressed. I’m still a child at heart. “I had all the Bionicles when I was a kid.”
“Did you have the Bohrok?” He pronounces it Bo-wok.
“I did, all six of them.” I try to ignore Roxie’s incredulous stare.
“Gali is blue,” James says, giving his Bionicle another bit of muffin.
“She is. She’s the toa of water. Have you seen the movie?”
“Only every day since about the age of two,” Barbara says with a smile.
“Me too,” I tell James. “Every day before breakfast.”
That makes the girls laugh. James looks up at me, his shyness turning to curiosity. “What’s your name?” he asks.
“I’m Caleb.”
“Are you in Mummy’s band?”
“No, although I do play the guitar. I design tablets. You know what a tablet is?”
“Grandma has a red one. Sometimes I play games on it.”
“I make those. And mobile phones.” I pull mine out of my pocket, switch it on and enter the code, search for a simple game, and hand it to him. He takes it as if I’ve handed him a gold bar. “Thank you,” he says, and I warm even more to him.
“Are you sure?” Roxie says doubtfully. “His hands are sticky.”
“Nothing a good serviette won’t deal with,” I tell her.
She watches her son pressing buttons. “What if he accidentally dials one of your investors or something?”
“If we’re lucky, he might get us some new business.”
She laughs and meets my gaze. Her eyes are filled with wonder. “Are you for real?”
I smile. “He’s a lovely kid. He does you credit. Both of you.” I flick a glance at Barbara, who’s trying not to look as if she’s watching us.
“You’re not running away,” Roxie whispers.
“No,” I tell her. “I’m not.”
Chapter Eighteen
Roxie
Over the next few months, I see Caleb nearly every day.
In the week, we occasionally go out for lunch, and then we catch up after work, or later if I’m waitressing or have a gig. Sometimes he comes to my place; sometimes I go to his. Most nights, we make love—often more than once, but we also do so much more than that. We play the guitar, watch movies, listen to music, and sometimes just lie in bed and talk. Every now and then, we go out with Seb and Colette, or Harry and Gaby, and sometimes all of them with Elen and her boyfriend, Danny, with whom she’s hooked up again after a while apart, and to my surprise we all get on really well.
I’m dating, I realize after a couple of weeks. In the real, proper sense of the word. I haven’t dated since I was sixteen, and even then, it wasn’t like this. I’m so happy I must shine with the force of a thousand suns.
The main reason for my happiness is that I just love being with Caleb so much, and the way he treats me makes me feel like a princess. He buys me flowers and chocolates, he takes me out to dinner, and he looks at me like… I don’t know… like I’m someone.
The other reason for my happiness is the way he is with James.
When I’m on my own, and there’s nobody there to observe me being emotional, I have to admit that I sometimes have a little c
ry when I think about how lucky I’ve been. If I have introduced any of the men I’ve been with to James—and I’ve only done this a couple of times—they’ve stared at him like he’s an alien, and practically ignored him. One told me straight that he wasn’t going to bring up another man’s child.
From that first day in the coffee shop, Caleb has been so sweet to James. We see him most weekends, and we take him out to the park or to the zoo. Caleb plays with him, carries him on his shoulders, teases him like a father should do, and although we haven’t discussed it, and I wouldn’t dream of suggesting it yet, I know that James is already starting to think of Caleb like a daddy.
I like that he doesn’t immediately throw money at the boy to buy his affection. He does treat him a lot, but then I suspect the man gets as much pleasure from buying and playing with the toys as the boy does. But it’s not like he goes into a toyshop and buys the whole two shelves of Bionicles to make James like him. He could afford to do so, I know it, but he understands that I wouldn’t want that. He does the same with me—he treats me, the way I suppose a man likes to treat his girl, but without making me feel uncomfortable.
It’s lovely taking things slow. We don’t talk about the future—we concentrate on the present, and just enjoy being together. In my head, I’m thinking it might be six months to a year before either one of us raises the issue of What’s Next. I have no plans to, anyway. I’m happy coasting, just enjoying being with him.
And then one night, in bed, when I think he’s fallen asleep after a particularly enthusiastic lovemaking session, Caleb says in the dark, “I want you to meet my parents.”
I open my eyes, then raise up on an elbow and stare at him. “What?”
He tucks an elbow under his head. The moon is half full and I can just see him, shining a dull silver in the moonlight. “I said I want you to meet my parents.”
“Why?”
He tips his head in the way that tells me he’s giving me an exasperated look. “Because I think it’s time they met the love of my life.”
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