Page 31 of Caleb

“Caleb.”

“Taylor,” he said, holding out the bouquet. “These are for you.”

She glanced at the roses, her expression unreadable. “For what?”

“A start,” he said, his voice steady even though his heart pounded. “A heartfelt apology.”

She hesitated before taking the bouquet, her fingers brushing his briefly. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

He exhaled, the smallest bit of tension leaving him. At least she’d accepted his peace offering.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I?—”

“Mommy, who’s at the door?” Liam’s small voice called out, and Taylor glanced over her shoulder before stepping outside, pulling the door closed behind her.

“Thank you for the flowers, Caleb,” she said, her tone firmer now. “But I don’t think?—”

“Wait,” he interrupted gently. “I know I can’t fix what I did with roses, Taylor. I know it will take a hell of a lot more than that. But I just... I want to try. I want to make things right.”

She stared at him, her expression softening slightly before the walls went back up. “I don’t know if you can.”

“I don’t either,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “But I’d like the chance to try. Can I bring you dinner tomorrow? No strings, no pressure. Just dinner.”

Taylor hesitated, the conflict in her eyes clear as she looked at him. Finally, she sighed. “Fine. Tomorrow. Seven.”

He nodded, a flicker of hope spreading warmth through him. “I’ll be here.”

Would she give him a second chance? The question gnawed at him, refusing to let go. They’d slept together, for God’s sake—didn’t that mean something to her? It wasn’t just a reckless fling or a fleeting moment of passion to him. It had been a wake-up call—a sharp, unrelenting reminder of everything he and Taylor had once shared, everything he’d thrown away.

All because of the ghosts of his past.

What he’d witnessed between his parents had shaped him in ways he couldn’t fully explain, leaving scars he still carried. He couldn’t forget how his father’s anger had simmered, the bitter arguments that filled their home. And then, the final blow: his father ending it all in the most permanent way possible when his mother refused to give him the divorce he demanded.

The memories haunted him, coloring every decision he’d made since. He’d told himself he was protecting Taylor by walking away, sparing her the pain of being tied to someone who might ruin her happiness like his father had destroyed his mother’s.

But seeing Taylor again, the way her eyes sparked with emotion when she looked at him, the way she still managed to get under his skin—it was a stark reminder of what fear had cost him.

To her, though? Caleb wasn’t so sure. And that uncertainty was eating him alive.

What they’d shared wasn’t casual—it couldn’t have been. Not with the way she’d looked at him, touched him, let her guard slip just enough for him to see the vulnerability beneath. For him, it had been the moment he realized that what they’d had before was still there, still alive, and worth fighting for.

Now, he just had to convince her of the same.

The next evening, Caleb stood outside Taylor’s house again, balancing two takeout bags and a bottle of wine. He’d gone to her favorite restaurant—he remembered that much, even after all these years—and hoped it would be enough to ease some of the tension.

When Taylor opened the door, she looked at the bags in his hands, one eyebrow raised.

“Takeout?”

“I figured I’d play it safe,” he said with a small grin.

She stepped aside to let him in, her movements careful as though she wasn’t sure if she should let him cross the threshold.

“Liam’s upstairs with Mom,” she said as he set the bags on the kitchen counter. “So, no interruptions.”

“Good,” Caleb said, unpacking the food. “I was hoping we could talk.”

Taylor leaned against the counter, her arms crossed. “About what?”

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