Chapter 17: Caleb's Porch Light

Caleb's POV

I had rehearsed it for six weeks, and none of it was any use.

She stood on my porch with snow melting in her hair.

A baby monitor stuck out of her coat pocket, and I forgot every word.

"It's Tuesday," I said, like an idiot.

"I'm asking."

"Come in."

She came in, and I shut the door, and the house felt smaller with her in it.

She took off her coat and hung it on the hook by the door, where it had never hung before.

She set the monitor on the kitchen table, turned up, and we both listened.

Poppy's breath came through it, slow and even.

"She's asleep," Maggie said.

"I can hear."

"I'm not asking for the year to be over."

"I know."

"I'm asking for tonight."

I put down the dish towel.

I had been holding it the whole time, and I did not know where I had thought I would put it.

"Tell me what you want, Maggie."

"I want you to stop being careful."

"I can do that."

"I know you can."

She stepped in until her sweater touched my shirt.

"I've watched you be careful for months. You haven't once looked at me where I'd notice."

"I've looked."

"Where?"

"Everywhere you wouldn't notice."

Her mouth twitched, and then it went serious, and she put her hand flat on my chest.

"You're shaking."

"It's cold."

"It's sixty-eight degrees in here."

"Then I'm shaking."

She laughed, softly, and I kissed her.

It was not the kiss from the kitchen of the diner, which had been anger and flour.

It was slow.

Her mouth opened under mine, and she made a small sound in her throat, and I forgot I was a careful man.

I backed her against the kitchen counter, and she pulled me in by the front of my shirt.