Page 72 of Suddenly Entwined

“So much for blowing over,” he says, his hands solid on the steering wheel, focused on the road ahead.

Chapter twenty-four

Berg

There’s no denying the magnetism that seems to flow between Caro and I. Having her at the table with all my best friends only solidified how I feel about her. She let me pour my heart out in the truck. Let me lay my hand on her leg, breath quickening as she listened. Now there's electricity in the air that has nothing to do with the storm sweeping across the island. With the windshield wipers on full speed, I pull onto our street. Small branches litter the road ahead, and I tap the brakes as someone’s blue recycling bin tumbles across the street.

“This is going to be a mess tomorrow,” I say, turning off the radio as I park.

Caro unbuckles and glances back. “I think they’re asleep.”

“Of course they are. Would they have ever stopped talking for that long if they were awake?” I joke.

She laughs softly. “Good point. You get Natalie, I’ll get Lou.”

Here we go. Another example of how Caro goes above and beyond to help. How she’s devoted to making sure my daughters are cared for. And because my children are an extension of myself, every time she does something to make their lives better, that love and attention stretches out to reach me as well. I feel it square in my chest whenever she answers their questions patiently, hugs them extra tight, and sneaks them a cookie when she thinks I’m not looking.

As I round the cab of the truck with Natalie’s legs wrapped round my torso, there’s a biting crunch beneath my boot. Shards of glass shimmer as I follow their path right to Caro’s broken window and the inside out patio umbrella beneath it.

“For fuck’s sake,” I breathe, stepping over the rest of the glass and hurrying up the steps after Caro.

What if I hadn’t invited her out tonight and she’d been inside when that happened? The idea makes me mad, and it didn’t even happen.

We ditch the girls' shoes and coats at the door, soothing them when they stir. After they’re tucked in bed and we creep out of their room, I go into damage control mode.

“What are you doing?” Caro asks as I head to the kitchen and rummage around in the junk drawer.

“Remember when you didn’t have a door for a few hours?” I ask, reaching deep into a drawer.

“How could I forget?”

I find the headlamp and pull it over my head. “Well, now you don’t have a window.”

“Come again?”

I wave my hand so she’ll follow, and lead the way to her door, sticking my arm out against her torso when she almost walks into the mess of glass.

She gasps, covering her mouth with both hands when she sees the damage.

“My stuff!” she cries, and I put my arm around her for a quick squeeze.

“I know. I’m going to get some plastic up. I think I have some in the garage. It shouldn’t be too bad, the umbrella didn’t make it inside. I don’t want you out here. Go move things away from the window and pack a bag for the night.”

“A what?”

“An overnight bag. You don’t have a goddamn window, Caro. Go.” I give her a gentle shove. “Be careful of glass!” I yell after her before heading to the garage.

I find her in her room a few minutes later, trying to sop up a puddle of water beneath the broken window.

“My bedspread is damp.”

“I figured as much. Do you have your stuff?”

“I don’t really need much,” she says, a bit of sadness in her voice as she looks back at her bedroom. The lamp from beside her bed is smashed and there’s a pile of ruined books on the floor.

“Good thing I know a handyman.” Caro slips her hand into mine as we walk back upstairs, and I can’t bring myself not to weave my fingers between hers.

“This weather is crazy,” she says, cheeks pink and hair wind whipped while we take off our shoes.

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