I sighed and leaned back, pressing myself into his chest and closing the distance between us. I’d never felt so safe, so secure.
He shifted to adjust the arm on the record player situated on the bookcase beside us. Moments later, the crisp sound of a timeless jazz ballad surrounded us. Caleb swayed our bodies from side to side in time with the music before he spun me in his arms so that we were face-to-face.
His hand slid down my arm until he grasped mine in his, offering me a tender grin and a playful wink. He brought my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. Capturing my gaze with his, he said, “My lady.”
I loved how he called me his so freely.
In my mind, I pretended he was mine.
His hand firmly settled on my waist, and he led me around his living room.
And that was how we spent the next several minutes—dancing.
Well, our version of dancing, that was.
Caleb pressed me closer to his chest, and I prayed he wouldn’t notice how unsteady my breathing had become. He made me nervous. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to being affected by his mere presence. His charming and gentle nature was sweeping me off my feet, and I felt like a fish out of water.
“Do you do this with all the girls?” I blurted into his shoulder.
Grace, shut up.
Caleb chuckled and pulled back slightly so he could look at my face. “What makes you think this happens often?” he inquired, no irritation in his voice.
I made a face. “You’re a bar owner. You’re constantly surrounded by beautiful people. As small as this town is, there have to be a lot of single, beautiful women, and with liquor flowing, people tend to let go of their inhibitions. There bound to have been other girls who have tried to shoot their shot with the person mixing their drinks. Doesn’t it come with the territory?” I reasoned, genuinely curious to see his reaction.
I worried that he might have this laundry list of women at his disposal.
Caleb didn’t respond with words. He pulled me close once more. Closer. Almost as close as I’d like us to be.
The music flowed throughout the room, vibrating between us.
“Hate to break it to you, but just like your bartender assumption, you’re wrong. I don’t usually go out with girls I meet at the bar. I actually have been meaning to tell you something. I was waiting for tonight,” Caleb started, turning us to face the other wall.
His response calmed the nerves spiraling in my belly. I wanted to know more, but like always, I got sidetracked. In front of us was a huge gallery wall of eclectic art pieces. Some big, some small. All full of life and probably stories too. But then I saw the most magnificent painting. It was a kaleidoscope of colors. So vibrant yet muted in the right ways. It reminded me of when I was a kid and would look up at the sun, despite being scolded at how bad it was for my eyesight.
This painting wasn’t amateur work. I took in all the little nuances of the piece—from the fine lines to the detailing to even the frame which had been carefully crafted.
At least all those boring art gallery openings taught me something.
“Who painted that?” I gasped, gesturing with my chin. I leaned forward for a closer look at it. There was somethingabsolutely breathtaking about the way the colors blended. It was almost youthful.
I shook my head, struggling to find the right way to describe it. I’d always had a hard time when it came to art. I’d been taught to appreciate it, but there were some things that you just had to feel with your soul and couldn’t be put into words.
“You like it?” he asked, his eyes dancing as if there was a hidden meaning attached to the artwork.
“It’s … the way the colors pop … I feel pure joy,” I said sheepishly, feeling a bit like a fraud as I tried to describe this art piece.
I saw Caleb’s expression morph to one beaming with pride, and he was about to continue when the front door of the loft flew open. A woman who looked to be in her late fifties barged in, whirling around the place like a tornado, not even looking at Caleb or me. She glanced around the entryway as she searched for something. Her curly brunette hair bounced as she shuffled shoes in the storage bench by the front door.
Shoes that looked rather small. They didn’t look like they would fit Caleb’s big feet at all.
I stepped away from Caleb and looked at him questioningly, wondering why he wasn’t alarmed by a random person bursting into his house and suddenly going through his belongings. Wasn’t he worried about being robbed?
He appeared sheepish and cupped the back of his neck nervously.
Okay, so this wasn’t a burglar. Good to know.
The mysterious woman stopped her search in the hall, moving toward the entrance to the kitchen to look in a basket there. I took that opportunity to get a really good look at her, and I started to notice the similarities to the man standing behind me. Their hair color was a similar shade as was their coloring. She’d let herself in, so that meant she had a key.
