I take his, but can’t seem to let go of mine. In fact, I’m crushing it tighter in my hand.
This list reveals so much about me. I feel exposed, and he hasn’t even touched it yet.
“Cassidy?” Caleb reaches over and gently brushes his fingers across the hand holding my list. Involuntarily, the paper falls from my hand and onto the table. He doesn’t reach for it. Instead, his eyes meet mine. “You have to hand it to me. I’m not going to take anything you’re not ready to give.”
That tells me so much about him.
Shakily, I reach down for my list and hand it to him.
I open his and immediately burst out laughing. Mystery, True Crime, Biographies.
“Predictable much, Caleb?” I laugh.
“Wait, let me add to that.” He snags the list out of my hand and scrawls Captain Underpants at the bottom.
My reaction is fits of giggles that bubble out of me, unrestrained.
“That’s probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs.
As Caleb is facing the back of The Coffee Shop, I swirl around in confusion. He just shakes his head and reads the list in his hands and his eyebrows skyrocket.
I fiddle with my coffee spoon. I know what’s written there. Romance, Self-Help, Humor.
He looks at me, down at the list, and at me again.
“Obsessed with work, are we?”
“Pardon me?”
“Research for work much?” Caleb asks, with a smile tugging at his lips. He lifts my list and turns it toward me. “I mean, I’m by no means an expert, but it’s like a survival guide on how to get through the stress of wedding planning 101.”
That was not the reaction I was expecting. Relaxing a bit, I smile, then I chuckle.
This feels good. Normal. I’m about to open my mouth to say something when I’m interrupted by Ava breezing by, asking me, “Cassidy, Phillip just called in the lunch order. Do you want to take it back with you, hon?”
Lunch?
I look down at my watch and gasp. We’ve been having coffee for that long? I jump up out of the booth and berate myself for the time I’ve lost that I’ll have to make up.
“I have work to do…I need to get back.” My voice is shaky, and I have to work to control it. “Ava, charge everything to our account, please, including Mr. Lockwood’s coffee,” I call out.
“You got it, hon,” Ava replies cheerily. A large brown bag waits on the counter near the cash register.
Caleb is still sitting in the booth, his dark eyes boring into mine as he stands slowly. Even in my heeled boots, Caleb is still a good eight inches taller than me.
I try to control my flinch as he raises his hand to my face, brushing back a curl.
“So, instead of the date, can I call you?” he asks softly.
Unable to speak, I nod.
“Okay. And we’ll talk more about Friday?” Caleb’s mouth crooks up before he trails his finger down my cheek.
I feel that single touch scorch through my body like a burning flame. I teeter on my heels and end up pressing my hands against his warm chest. Gasping, I move to step away, but find his hands are locked onto my elbows.
I say the only thing I can. “Yes.”
Caleb leans down to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “I will never make you do anything you don’t want to do, Cassidy. We can talk later about Friday when you’re less in a hurry.”
I tilt my head back. “Thank you.” Such simple words to convey such a depth of feeling. But I’m thankful he seems to understand I need to process this.
“Cassidy! Phillip’s called twice. Apparently, the boy is starving,” Ava yells from the front of the shop.
Disconcerted, I glance back up at Caleb who’s mildly annoyed at my brother’s interruption. However, his voice is nothing but warm when he speaks.
“I’ll give you a call later,” he promises.
With mixed feelings of excitement and dread, I flee, snagging the bag of food on my way out.
I already miss the man with the crossed arms standing behind me as I leave.
9
Caleb
I’m standing beside the booth where Cassidy and I were sitting when I hear a rough male voice behind me say, “Son, I hope you’re not playing games with that girl. I’d really hate to have to take one of my cleavers to you.”
The voice belongs to the weathered face of the older man who had been standing at the counter the entire time I was speaking with Cassidy with his arms crossed. He looks like he’d like nothing more than to carry out the threat.
“Matt,” Ava snaps, walking up with her fists on her plump hips. “Leave him alone. Cassidy is a big girl and can take care of herself.”
I choose my words carefully. “Actually, it’s nice Cassidy has so many people who care for her. I suspect she doesn’t let many in.” I sit back down in the booth, leaving the older man in a position of power.
Deliberately.
During my time with the Army, I was an intelligence officer. It was my job to be able to ferret out information from difficult sources. I was trained to blend into a crowd and to eavesdrop on conversations. I was taught to pick up social cues in conversation to determine how best approach a wary target.
I was also taught when to stand down.
“Ava, she’s fragile,” Matt growls.
“No, she’s not,” Ava snaps back. They start bickering, forgetting about me for a moment. I listen with one ear while thinking of the woman in question.
Cassidy Freeman went through a metamorphosis, forged of the strongest steel after being shattered into a million pieces. It isn’t the beauty of her dark curls or ocean blue eyes that have me captivated. Her courage to carry on when there was nothing is what’s drawing me in. She could have broken at any time, fallen on her shield and given in. No one who knew the truth of what she lived through as a child would have faulted her for it. But each day, she wakes up and dedicates her life to her family, to her business, to her community, with wit and humble grace.
Like the people who uncovered the atrocity that was her life before she turned nine, I hope every one of the motherfuckers who caused her such trauma are dead.
“He’s not even listening.” I tune back in to hear Matt berating me. Ava’s shaking her head at his antics.
“I’m not standing around while you talk about our girl,” Ava announces. Giving me a once-over, she mutters, “You’ll do, Mr. Lockwood.”
I’m surprised because we were never introduced. I stand out of ingrained manners and respect. “Madam, a pleasure as well. I hope our paths cross again.”
“If you take care of our girl, I’m sure they will,” Ava tosses over her shoulder as a customer walks in.
Matt’s eyes narrow on Ava before he slides into Cassidy’s seat. He’s not done saying what he feels he needs to say, so I slide back into mine to listen. Neither of us speak for a moment.
“Lockwood. Do you have a first name, son” he grumbles.
I hold out my hand. “It’s Caleb.”
“Matt.” He sighs and gives me a firm shake. “We’re both right, Ava and I…about Cassidy.”
I decide to stop him. She doesn’t need everyone betraying her. “Matt, can I ask a question before you continue?”
He nods.
“Would Cassidy want you to tell me what you’re about to tell me?” I ask cautiously.
Matt’s face tightens before letting out another sigh. “No.”
“Then would it help you for me to tell you about me?” I offer unexpectedly.
He blinks. “Well, damn. I wasn’t expecting that. Go ahead, Caleb. Hit me with telling me about you. Why should I give a damn?”
I pick up the remainder of my coffee. Swirling it around, I lift the cup to my lips and drink it. I make a snap decision to reveal what I’m about to as I put it down. “Because I’m a private investigator. The company I own used to be Laskey Investigations.”
Matt’s face freezes with complete shock.
He�
��s not just the short order cook at The Coffee Shop, but he co-owns it with his wife, Ava. He’s also a former psychologist. I know from the file I read, he helped Cassidy as much as he could to get her through her nightmares, to pull out the details of what happened in her past.
I know he and his wife, Ava, consider themselves surrogate parents to the Freeman family.
Matt is regarding me with a mixture of shock and anger. “Does she know?” he hisses.
I know he means Cassidy and not his wife. “I shouldn’t know, Matt.” Still disturbed by what I read in that file, I slowly shake my head. “And yet, if I didn’t, I would keep making more mistakes when it comes to her. Does that make sense?” I seek guidance.
Absolution.
“How long have you known?” His voice still holds a note of fury, but it’s tempered.
“Since Sunday,” I answer immediately. “My brother asked me to run a background check on the company. He’s using them for his wedding.”
“Lockwood, Lockwood…” Matt mutters to himself. “Ryan’s your brother?”
I nod.
“So, you also found out…” My expression gives him his answer. “I’m sorry, son. Jason used to bring Ryan in to talk to me. I hope it helped some.”
I swallow hard. Here’s another person I have to thank for saving my brother while I was off saving the world. “No, Matt. I have you to thank. I had no idea…I never would have left…” My voice trails off.
Matt reaches over and claps my shoulder, bringing my eyes back to his. “You have nothing to feel guilt over when it comes to Ryan, Caleb.”
I shrug. I’m still working through that.
“When it comes to my girl though, you’d best be sharing that shit soon. She won’t tolerate a betrayal like that,” Matt concludes.
“How” I demand. “How do you bring this up in a conversation without destroying something so new, it hasn’t even been defined yet? I haven’t even gotten her to agree to go out on a date with me. I had to bargain with her for a phone call.”
Matt smiles and shakes his head at me. He reaches into his apron before grabbing a note pad and pen. He scribbles something quickly on it. So quickly, that if I didn’t know his former profession was being a doctor, I would be able to tell just by the way he’s writing. I just hope I can read whatever it is.
Matt tears off the sheet and hands it to me. Then he stands and holds out his hand.
Standing, I shake his automatically. “Try that. I have faith in my girl. A pleasure to meet you, Caleb. Drop by any time.”
He ambles away, back to the kitchen, before I read what he wrote.
I recognize it’s a quote from Thomas Paine.
“The real man smiles in trouble, gathers strength from distress, and grows brave by reflection.”
On the other side of the paper, he wrote, “You’ll figure it out.”
I fold the scrap and put it with the one Cassidy wrote earlier in my wallet before walking out of the coffee shop.
10
Cassidy
Caleb, as promised, called me that night.
It was the first time a man outside of my family called me for any reason other than work.
When the phone first rang, I stared at it like it was a snake. It almost went to voicemail before I picked it up.
After a few minutes of stilted conversation, Caleb decided to let me know he was going to download a romance novel to his Kindle.
I laughed at him.
“What? I need to be able to get inside your mind, Cassidy. I need a playbook of sorts. Don’t these things help a guy out?” he teased.
I think I might have crushed him when I told him that the real reason we read them was because of the hot guys on the cover.
We spent the next few minutes debating whether or not Caleb would get disowned if he decided to take up cover modeling as a profession.
By the end, I was laughing and recommending a few romantic suspense books I didn’t think would traumatize him for life.
They also didn’t have models on the cover.
“So, Cassidy, given any more thought to what I asked earlier?” Caleb tries to sound nonchalant, but I can hear the cautious optimism in his voice.
Friday night. A date. Any more thought? How about all my thoughts?
I hear a low chuckle.
“Crap, did I say that out loud?” I can feel the blood rushing to my face, I’m so mortified.
Caleb laughs harder.
I desperately search the room, trying to find anything to extract myself from this humiliation, and find the clock. “Oh, look at the time. I have to get some sleep. I guess I better go.”
Still chuckling, Caleb says, “Wait, Pixie. Hold on a second. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing because it’s all I’ve thought about all day too.”
I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it. Seriously?
“Oookay.” I have no comeback to that.
“Seriously, Cassidy.” His husky voice fills my ear and leaves me feeling like I just drank a glass of wine too fast. “I’m still in my office because I barely got any work done today, wondering if…”
“Wondering if what, Caleb?” I ask quietly.
“Wondering if you’d say yes?” he replies, just as quietly.
I curl up in the middle of my bed into a ball, my arm wrapped around my knees because I’m petrified.
Do I have the courage to try to reach through time and space for the one star I never thought I would ever get to make a wish on? I look around my room. I’ve tried to build dreams in here. It’s time I tried to live one.
“Okay,” I whisper.
I hear a rush of air come from Caleb on the other end of the line before he says huskily, “Great. I’ll pick you up at six on Friday.”
Hearing the rustle of clothing, I picture him walking on plush carpeting, muffling the sound of his boots.
“What are you doing?”
“Fist pumping the air,” he says seriously.
I blink a few times, then I burst out laughing.
Smart. Funny. Arrogant. Gorgeous.
What the hell did I just agree to?
“I love that sound, Pixie,” Caleb murmurs. “Perfect way to end a call.
“Wait, Lockwood. What the hell am I supposed to wear? How will you know where to pick me up?”
“I’ll call you tomorrow, but you should be ready by six.” He hangs up the phone before the thoughts of possibly backing out can even formulate.
Told you—arrogant. But maybe not quite the asshole I thought he was on Monday.
Plugging my phone into my bedside charger, I wrap myself in my blankets with a smile on my face.
And for the first time in weeks, my dreams don’t end in nightmares.
They end with Caleb.
It isn’t until the next morning at the office I realize I never thought to check my planner to see if we have an event on Friday night. This man has me so off-kilter, that I, the freaking obsessive compulsive wedding planner, never looked at any calendar the day before while I was contemplating accepting Caleb’s invitation.
I snatch up my calendar and grab my iPhone, comparing both for Friday at six. I groan and put my head in my hands. I never do this. I double booked appointments.
I never double book appointments.
Never.
This is what Caleb Lockwood does to me. He throws me off my stride. He makes it so I can’t think. I come up with all kinds of preposterous thoughts to downplay these feelings for him. This is why going out with him is a bad, bad idea.
Reaching for the phone, I call Em. She’ll help me get my head on straight. Jabbing my finger on the extension, I call her office phone.
“What’s up?” she answers distractedly.
“Can I come down? I need to talk to you,” I ask, sounding desperate to my own ears. I pray she doesn’t notice.
“Sure.” Her voice now sounds calm and tranquil. “I’m just going over the Lockwood-Dalton designs. I could use a second eye.”
Of course she is. I can’t get away from the Lockwoods.
“Be right there.”
Taking calming deep breaths, I grab my phone and planner and walk out the door to my sister’s office. My heels make sharp tapping noises on the refinished hardwood stairs as I make my way to what I hope will be a sanity check.
Walking into Em’s office a few minutes later, I’m enveloped in her creative wonderland. I chose to convert two of the upstairs bedrooms to be the model of efficiency and organization while still maintaining charm through hidden organizational compartments in cabinetry leaving me with a gigantic office. Em chose to keep two separate areas only allowing one as her client space by taking over the old drawing room and the front parlor.
The drawing room where Em entertained clients grabbed your eye because the upscale elegance didn’t cater to one sex or another, one generation or another. It didn’t throw bridal in your face. The gray palate plays off the restored mahogany wood. As Em once explained to me, color popped more off gray than any other color, including white. So, to truly get whether something (including white) was a correct shade, hold it up to gray. Fortunately, this wasn’t where Em spent most of her time. It would have driven us all insane.
Connected to it is the front parlor area, which she uses as her design space because of the natural sunlight that streams through the bay window. It’s filled with jewel-toned colors, pillows made of every color and texture imaginable. Beautiful stained-glass dream catchers catch the fall sun and throw translucent shapes around the room as you walk in. Framed, antique art deco posters decorate the walls.
This space is Em’s soul put on display, which is why very few are ever invited here.
Em could be found here most of the time sketching in the window seat, lying on the antique rug, or on a chaise lounge, as she is today. She has music playing softly as she works.
I drop into one of the overstuffed chairs facing her chaise. Hooking a leg over it, I wait for her to finish what she’s doing. I learned early on with Em’s art to never interrupt. If I didn’t have the time to wait, then what I have could wait until she had time.
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