Page 17 of Caleb

“This is going to be fun,” he said, grabbing the menu. “It’s almost like a date.”

“No, it’s most definitely not a date. Keep telling yourself that,” Taylor muttered, flipping open her menu.

The waiter appeared to take their drink orders, and Caleb ordered a bottle of red wine before she could protest.

“You’re assuming I’ll drink with you?” Taylor asked, arching an eyebrow.

“You’re assuming I’d let you drink alone,” he replied, grinning.

She huffed, but the corners of her lips twitched despite herself.

As the wine arrived and they placed their orders, the initial awkwardness began to ebb. The restaurant’s warm glow and the hum of conversation created a cocoon of unexpected ease.

“So,” Caleb said after a sip of wine, “how’s the convention treating you?”

“It’s been productive,” Taylor replied, swirling her glass. “Busy, but good.”

“Good,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m glad to hear it.”

She glanced up, her brow furrowing slightly at his tone. There was no teasing in his voice this time—just quiet sincerity.

Sincerity had always been her weakness. There was something about hearing the truth, raw and unvarnished, that cut straight through her defenses. And Caleb’s words—so honest, so unexpectedly vulnerable—melted a little of the ice she’d carefully built around her heart.

It wasn’t much, just a crack, but it was enough to make her hesitate. Enough to make her wonder if, just maybe, there was still something worth saving between them.

Before she could dwell on it, he tilted his head, a playful glint returning to his eyes. “Do you remember that time in college when we tried to make pasta in your dorm kitchen?”

Taylor groaned, the memory bursting to life in her mind. “How could I forget? You didn’t know the difference between a colander and a pot lid.”

“Hey,” he said, holding up a hand in mock defense. “In my defense, I grew up on a ranch. We didn’t have colanders.”

“You boiled the spaghetti and then dumped it into a bowl of water because you didn’t think it was ‘wet enough,’” she said, laughing.

Caleb chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “It was an experiment.”

“It was a disaster,” Taylor countered, shaking her head. “We ended up ordering pizza.”

“Best pizza I’ve ever had,” Caleb said, his grin softening.

Taylor smiled, the laughter easing the tightness clenching her stomach. “You were a terrible cook. Still are?”

“Absolutely,” he admitted. “That’s why God invented restaurants like this.”

They fell into a rhythm, their conversation flowing as easily as the wine. They reminisced about college—the late-night study sessions, the impromptu road trips, and the friends who still held a special place in their memories.

Taylor found herself laughing more than she had in months, the tension she’d been carrying since the start of the convention fading away.

Why did this feel so natural? Like she’d just met up with her best friend, and they were catching up.

When the waiter brought their meals, they shared bites of each other’s dishes, their banter light and playful.

“You still talk with Annie?” Caleb asked, twirling his fork.

Taylor nodded. “She’s married now. Two kids.”

“Good for her,” Caleb said, smiling. “She always had that ‘settle down and bake cookies’ vibe.”

Taylor chuckled. “And you always had that ‘ride off into the sunset’ vibe.”

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