Page 27 of The Love Dose
“I had no idea you owned a house.”
“I don’t use it as often as I should but it’s been well-maintained. All you have to do is show up. I'll drive you there, show you around and pick you up a few days later. You’ll be as good as new and back home in time for Christmas.”
If only.
Still, maybe time to regroup is not a bad idea. And it’s free.
“Okay, I’m in,” I say before I’ll change my mind. I need this. I owe it to myself. “When should we go?”
“I’m off tomorrow. Pack a bag and I’ll pick you up in the morning.”
Not much time to think it over. “Doctor’s orders?”
The devilish curve of his lips shapes itself into another smile. The Zen version. “Yep.”
He stands and I instantly bemoan the distance. I walk him to the door. “Thanks, Calvin. You’re a wonderful friend.”
Before I know it, Calvin is hugging me. His embrace is strong, warm, and so very comforting. He’s holding on as firmly as I am, clinging to me like I’m his life preserver in a stormy sea. I feel his stubble on my cheek, the sensation igniting a rush of heat that pools low in my stomach, making it hard to think. I don’t want to let go.
He steps back and I’m stunned into silence by my visceral reaction. I would have stayed in his arms for days.
Calvin swallows hard, clearly affected too, his gaze lingering on me as if he’s weighing his options. “Eight a.m.?” he asks, his words low and heavy. I nod.
He has one foot out the door when I find my voice. “Wait a second. Where exactly is your house?”
“In Sugarbush Falls.”
Calvin notes the confusion on my face and says, “Guess I forgot to mention that minor detail. It’s a hidden gem deep in the heart of my home state, Vermont.”
Chapter Nineteen
Calvin
Idecide to walk to my place instead of hopping on the subway for one stop. I need to cool off. Where better than on the streets of the Upper West Side in what feels like subzero temps?
The sky is overcast with the threat of snow. I walk past the museum, decorated in cheerful twinkling holiday lights then stop at a cart with hot pretzels, the enticing aroma reminding me I haven’t eaten much. I pay the vendor, slather the pretzel with mustard, take a bite, and keep walking.
The snack is not enough to calm my pounding heart. I’m certain Caroline heard it like a cacophony of African drums. It started when I sat beside her on the sofa. Surely, the result of my concerned mindset, the wine glass in my hand, and her gorgeous eyes on me. The proximity of our legs didn't help either.
When I could no longer withstand it, pulling her into my arms, it took all my self-control not to kiss her.
Not on the cheek like in the hospital. Not a friend’s kiss. But a deep, lingering, combustible kiss.
As I cross the street, all I can think of are Caroline’s pale pink lips. So very kissable.
I came to her place in a huff, storming past the doorman who surprisingly, gave me little more than an amused wave. I’m not ashamed to admit how much it hurt that Caroline took off from the hospital without a word to me. I thought we meant more to each other. Friends don’t do that.
But seeing her so vulnerable stripped me of all but one emotion. A fierce need to protect her. It lingers with me even as I reach my building. I can't explain why these feelings are taking over my brain but they are. I'm no shrink but it probably has something to do with nearly losing her. I'm realizing what is truly important. Or more accurately, who.
I head up to my apartment and unlock the door. For a split second, I expect Pedro to come bolting toward me, tail wagging, full of boundless energy. He’s gone, of course. Has been for months. Another reason I was eager to go to Tanzania when the opportunity presented itself.
Turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life.
I hang up my coat in the front closet and set my boots on the mat beside the front door. The only sounds are the banging of the radiators, pumping heat like I live in a two-bedroom personal sauna.
Then I hear a ding from the laptop on my desk. I hurry over, excited to find a new message from the orphanage. I tap it open and scroll down to the attached photo of Chacha. He’s holding the soccer ball I gave him, a broad grin on his adorable face.
It’s his eyes, though, that always get to me. Huge for his face, dark as coal, revealing a poorly masked melancholy.
