Chapter 94
Elena's POV
In the afternoon I tried reading, then gave up and stared at my phone instead.
Caleb hadn't texted since leaving that morning. Was he still in meetings? Was he thinking about me at all, or had work swallowed him whole?
The phone rang. My heart jumped.
"Hey." His voice was low, tired. "How's the ankle?"
"Better. Lila helped me ice it earlier." I curled up on the couch, pressing the phone closer to my ear. "How's the project?"
"Exhausting." A pause, then Hector's voice in the background, muffled but unmistakably gleeful: "Boss, your scent's leaking through the phone."
I couldn't help it—I laughed.
"Ignore him," Caleb muttered, but there was warmth beneath the irritation. "He's an idiot."
"Hey!" Hector's voice got louder, like he'd grabbed the phone. "Elena! We're going out for dinner tonight. Steakhouse on Fifth. You should come celebrate—we finally got the approval!"
"Hector, give me the—"
"She's invited! Non-negotiable!" There was a scuffling sound, then Caleb was back, slightly breathless.
"You don't have to," he said quickly. "Your ankle—"
"I want to." The words surprised me, but they were true. "If you're okay with it."
"I'll pick you up at seven."
---
The restaurant was warm and loud, the kind of place where conversations overlapped and silverware clinked against plates in a steady rhythm. Hector had secured a corner booth, and he waved us over with his usual enthusiasm.
"There they are! Our guests of honor!" He pulled out a chair before Caleb could. "Sit, sit. Let's celebrate."
Caleb slid into the seat beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed.
Hector started pouring drinks, sliding a beer toward me. Caleb's hand shot out, intercepting it smoothly. "Juice," he said, replacing it with a glass of orange juice without looking away from the menu.
"I'm not that delicate," I protested.
"After last time?" His eyes flicked to mine, one eyebrow raised. "You're lucky I'm letting you have sugar."
Hector choked on his drink. Lila full-on cackled.
"Last time?" she demanded. "What happened last time?"
"Nothing," I said quickly, face burning.
"Oh, it wasn't nothing." Hector leaned forward, grinning like the devil. "She got drunk, wrapped herself around our boy here like a koala, then puked all over him."
"Hector." Caleb's voice dropped to that dangerous, quiet register.
Hector held up his hands. "Just setting the scene!"
The sharpness in his tone cut through the teasing. Hector's grin faded, replaced by something more genuine. "Right. Sorry, Elena."
"It's fine," I mumbled, though my cheeks still felt like they were on fire.
Under the table, Caleb's hand found mine. Squeezed once, briefly, before letting go.
---
I watched him across the table as the evening wore on. The way he leaned back in the booth, one arm draped along the edge, tie loosened and top button undone. The way he listened to Hector's rambling stories with the faintest hint of a smile, like he was indulging a particularly enthusiastic puppy.
He looked... relaxed. At ease in a way I'd never seen before.
He's always so tense, I thought. Always braced for the next hit. But here, with them—with me—he's different.
God, I wanted more of this. More nights where he smiled without guarding it. More moments where the weight on his shoulders lifted, even if just for an hour.
"You okay?" Caleb's voice pulled me back. He was watching me, head tilted slightly.
"Yeah." I smiled. "Just... happy, I think."
His expression softened. "Good."
Friends who truly cared. People who saw me and didn't want me to be smaller. A life that felt real instead of scripted.
The restaurant noise faded behind us as we stepped into the cold night air. Hector was already steering Lila toward his car, chattering about some shortcut home. I pulled my coat tighter, grateful for the warmth still lingering from dinner.
"I can walk," I said, testing my weight on my injured ankle. It protested, but held.
Caleb's eyebrows drew together. "I could carry you. Or piggyback."
"There are too many people around." I glanced at the scattered pedestrians on the sidewalk. "It would look weird."
He didn't argue, just fell into step beside me, matching my slower pace. The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable, exactly, but it felt heavy with something unspoken. I limped along, hyperaware of him adjusting his stride to mine, never rushing me.
After half a block, I couldn't stand it anymore.
Caleb stopped under a streetlight, its yellow glow cutting through the darkness. He turned to face me and dropped into a half-crouch.
"Up."
"I can manage—"
"Your foot or my patience." His voice was flat, but I caught the edge underneath. "Pick one to save."
I bit my lip, then carefully leaned forward, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He stood smoothly, his hands secure under my thighs, and started walking like I weighed nothing at all.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Every shift of his shoulders reminded me how close we were. I kept glancing around, half-expecting someone I knew to appear.
"Coward," Caleb murmured.
"I'm not—" I started to protest, but he cut me off with a low sound that might have been a laugh.
We passed another intersection. The rhythmic fall of his footsteps was almost hypnotic. I found myself relaxing despite my earlier nervousness, my chin coming to rest against his shoulder.
"Am I... too heavy?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Caleb's steps faltered for just a second. "Are you fishing?"
"What?"
"Fishing for me to say 'no, you're so light,' or some shit like that."
Heat flooded my face. "I wasn't! I was actually asking!"
"Mm." He seemed to consider this. "Yeah, you're a bit heavy."
I sucked in a breath, instinctively trying to wriggle down. "Then put me—"
His grip tightened, keeping me firmly in place. "Heavy on my mind. Not on my back."
I froze. For two full seconds, my brain refused to process what he'd just said. Then it hit me, and my ears burned so hot I thought they might catch fire.
"You—you can't just say things like that," I stammered against his neck.
"Why not? It's true."
"You're such a smooth talker."
"First time anyone's called me that." There was definite amusement in his voice now.
At the next crosswalk, the light turned red. Caleb stopped, and the street fell quiet around us—just distant traffic and the sound of my pulse in my ears. Then he turned his head slightly.
His lips brushed my cheek. Brief, deliberate, gone before I could react.
Every nerve ending suddenly awoke. Without thinking, I buried my face in the crook of his neck, hiding.
"Behaving now?" His voice was soft, teasing.
I didn't answer. Couldn't. I just stayed there, breathing in his scent, feeling his warmth seep into me through layers of fabric.
I didn't lift my head again until we reached his estate.