Page 3 of A Pretty Fixation

“Me?” I sputter in my confusion.

His expression is of absolute delight as hetightens his grip on me. “It’s you!”

“Okay, I don’t know who—”

“You’ve been here all this time?” he blurts outhappily. “In Hartford? At Delham?”

My pulse spikes. What the hell is up with thisguy?

His excitement is making me anxious. “I think youhave me mixed up with someone else.”

“No, itisyou,” he insists. “I know itis.” He laughs short. “Don’t you remember me? Caleb.”

That name incites a warm sensation. I fight itoff.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” I writhe out of his graspand back up to Scarlett.

She’s beyond confused, bouncing her eyes from himto me. “What’s going on, JD?”

“I have no idea.”

Caleb stiffens his muscular jaw. “I can’t believeyou forgot about me. We were kids but not young enough not to remember. Did youeven look for me?”

“I’m sorry, Caleb.” Saying the name sets off asweet taste in my mouth. “I’m not who you think I am.”

“Bullshit,” he grits. “I know those eyes. Yourhair…” He pauses, adoration in his gaze as he drinks in my appearance. “Dove.”

The sudden jab in my chest catches me off guard.

Dove. It’s like the name should meansomething. But I can’t make sense of it.

“Wrong person,” Scarlett states firmly, whichsnaps me back.

I shake it off. “My name’s Jordyn, not Dove.”

Caleb pats the air. “Wait. That’s either your realname or….” He cuts to Scarlett briefly. “You said you wanted everyone to callyou Dove. You never told me your real name.”

“Sure.” I suck my teeth and lean to one side.“Look, Caleb, I don’t know if this is some game you play to pick up girls, butit’s not working. It’s creepy.”

He grunts. “I’m not playing a game. Don’t youremember at all?” He dips his head and peers up at me as if waiting for me tothrow my arms around him and tell him I’m only joking.

I glance at Scarlett.

She raises her flawless brows.

Refocusing on Caleb, I ask, “Where exactly have wemet?”

“You were there for a month,” he says, voice soft.“We connected.”

A month.

Is that how long I stayed at the foster homebefore the adoption?

That time in my life remains a blur. I’vesuppressed my painful past, and I have no desire to recall anything.

“You’ve made a mistake,” I reiterate, gripping thebag strap tightly. “I’m not her.”

His steely-gray eyes wilt, and unmistakablefrustration shrouds his features. “No. It is you.”

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