Page 70 of The Reaper
I knew he’d bring wine.
Dean turned slightly, and their eyes met. The energy changed. Subtle, but enough to ripple over my skin.
“Dean,” I said, moving between them before testosterone could get the upper hand. “This is … Caleb.”
Dean’s brows lifted a fraction, the only sign he was caught off guard. “Is that so?” His handshake with Caleb was firm, deliberate, and just a shade too long.
“Good to meet you,” Caleb said, voice even.
Dean’s mouth curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Likewise.” His eyes, though, were all sharp edges, measuring the man in front of him like he was deciding whether to buy a rare cut of meat.
Trish, ever the diplomat, glanced between us with open curiosity. “Well,” she said, a knowing little lilt in her voice, “this is unexpected.”
21
CALEB
Isat at the polished table in Promenade’s dining room, the low hum of conversation and the clink of wine glasses filling the air, but my nerves were strung tight as a tripwire. The evening had started with a spark—Dean and Trish’s arrival, Meghan’s quick introduction, the weight of their eyes sizing me up like I was a target on a range.
Dean, broad-shouldered in his navy blazer, had a handshake like a vice, his gaze sharp, probing, like he could smell the secrets I carried. Trish, elegant with silver hair catching the candlelight, offered a warm smile, but I felt the undercurrent—family sizing up the stranger who’d walked into their niece’s life.
Meghan sat beside Dean, her posture relaxed but her eyes flicking between us, like she was watching a duel unfold. The setup felt like an ambush, and for the first time since I’d landed in Charleston, I wondered if I’d made a mistake, if this scrutiny—family, notes, shadows—was worth the trouble.
Dean leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice casual but loaded.
“So, Caleb, where you from? What do you do that brings you to a place like Charleston?”
His eyes didn’t waver, like he was peeling back layers, looking for cracks.
I kept my tone even, sipping the Pinot Trish had poured. “Montana, originally. Raised on a ranch. Now I do consulting—security, logistics, that kind of thing. Charleston’s a stopover, but it’s growing on me.”
I glanced at Meghan, her expression unreadable, but I knew she was listening, weighing every word. I didn’t lie—never did—but I danced around the edges, keeping the Danes, Dominion Hall, and my past locked tight.
Dean’s brow lifted, his fork pausing over the salad course. “Security, huh? Sounds intense. What kind of clients need that kind of work?”
The question was a jab, testing how much I’d give. I felt Meghan’s gaze, steady and sharp, like she was waiting to see if I’d slip.
“High-profile ones,” I said, keeping it vague. “Folks who need discretion, protection. Keeps me moving.”
I forced a smile, but the air felt heavy, Dean’s scrutiny a weight I hadn’t expected. Was this what it’d be like, tying myself to her world? Every dinner, every family moment, a cross-examination?
I wondered if I’d misjudged, if she was worth this kind of heat.
Trish cut in, her hand resting on mine, light but deliberate, her eyes shooting Dean a look that could’ve stopped a tank.
“Dean, enough. We’re here for Meggie’s masterpiece, not to grill her guest.”
Her voice was warm, but firm, a diplomat shutting down a fight before it started.
I felt a shift, a warmth spreading in my chest. Trish had my back, and just like that, she earned a place in my good graces.
Dean exhaled, his shoulders easing, and he raised his glass with a half-smile. “Fair enough. Let’s eat.”
The tension broke, like a cloud passing, and I caught Meghan’s eyes, a flicker of relief in them.
The meal rolled on, and the next course landed in front of me—chicken, but not the kind I grew up eating. The skin was crisp and golden, the meat so tender it came apart under my fork, sitting in a creamy mushroom sauce that smelled rich and earthy. Vegetables I couldn’t name offhand were plated alongside, bright and clean. It wasn’t just good—it was the kind of food that made you shut up and pay attention.
I’d had a lot of meals in my life, most of them forgettable, but this one … this one was something else. Dean seemed to think so, too, his earlier questions dying off as he started talking about Savannah and how the light there looked different than Charleston’s.
