“Caleb, if y’all are just having casual sex, it’d be fine. Despite what I can see you think of me, I had my own wild and crazy days. I’m old enough to be your mother, not your great-grandmother. I know what a hook-up is. But young people who are having casual sex don’t talk about each other the way you just did about Cassie. I have a feeling you need to wake up and smell the coffee a little bit, young man.”
I stammer, totally shocked by her words. They hit right at home. “Uhm, I don’t know what to say. We’re friends, and yeah, uh . . . we’re a little extra-friendly sometimes, but yeah.”
Ms. Steele waits for me to trail off, scratching at the back of my head before offering another question. “How often do you see each other? Do y’all do other things than be . . . extra-friendly?”
“Well, we see each other a lot right now because we’re fixing up her house, so maybe four to five times a week. Oh, and we jog together and have pancakes on the weekends, usually Sundays, but recently, Saturday.”
“Caleb, in my book, that’s dating, probably neck-deep in a relationship, and you don’t even know it. You get along, and you—ahem—get along. Sounds like a done deal to me. Congratulations.” She finishes with a smirk as if she’d just solved all the world’s problems. She waits for me to reply, then clears her throat. “Caleb, you know that Oliver’s father and I are divorced, of course.”
“Yes, Ms. Steele.”
“Well, maybe Tony or Oliver has said what caused it, perhaps not. But regardless of what the boys think, the reality is that my marriage was over long before. We stopped doing those things together. We’d eat at different times, we’d do different things. We lived totally separate lives, apart from sharing a bedroom and occasionally being a little extra-friendly. So it probably was just a matter of time before things went the way they did. What I’m saying is that relationships can start mysteriously and end mysteriously. But to an outside observer, it’s not that mysterious at all. Seeing the way you react when you talk about Cassie . . . you’re looking good, boy. Scared, but good.”
I’m spinning and scared shitless. Fuck, she’s right. We’ve said all along that we’d just be friends with benefits, but somewhere along the way, maybe even before we started having sex, I think, it got more serious. I haven’t been with anyone else since we started working on her house weeks ago, haven’t even thought about it because Cassie was all I needed. I wake up looking forward to the day, telling myself each time that it’s because I enjoy the project out at 614 Douglas. But that’s a lie. I’ve been looking forward to the time spent working with Cassie. I’ve been looking forward to spending my time with her. Even the nights when I’ve gone over there exhausted, I feel good because I’ve been doing things for her.
What the fuck am I gonna do now? I don’t want the whole relationship thing. I obviously suck at them, if history is a good example. I can’t give my heart to someone again just to have it stomped on.Caleb
I’ve spent the last few days working like a madman, sunup to well past sundown. The only breaks I’ve taken have been to force myself to the gym for intense but abbreviated heavy workouts, throwing weights up and letting them slam to the ground in a misguided attempt to let off some steam. I’m trying to keep my mind busy, and it at least serves as a temporary distraction. I’m not sure what is going on in my head, and I’m not sure I’m ready to face it either, so I’m just gonna avoid that train wreck and work myself to death.
Cassie’s called me twice this week, trying to get together, and I’ve told her that I needed to get some stuff done on her house because materials are being delivered and I have to be ready, plus, I have another job that needs some attention too. She offered to come help, but I was a bit of a shit and said I could do it faster alone. The obvious truth is that I just need some space because I’m freaking the fuck out. It makes me feel like a total asshole, not being honest that I need a moment to get my damn head right. I mean, I know her history. She’s probably thinking I’m just like those assholes who ran out on her mom. I swear I’m not, but I just need to think!
So here I’ve been, working myself to the bone, not going home until ten or later every night. The results are clear, though. The house looks fantastic, if I do say so myself. The texture dried quickly in the summer heat, and while it set, I was able to do the floors. Cassie ordered a rich deep chocolate brown stain for the floors, which went on beautifully before I applied a sealing coat of poly.
I questioned her on her idea for wood floors in the bedrooms, but she said people would put down rugs by the beds for toasty morning toes. Those were her exact words, “toasty morning toes,” and at the time, I laughed at her. But I miss her silly ways of saying things.
Fuck, man. Stop it . . . focus. That wasn’t the deal, remember?
Today, I’m painting the upstairs bedrooms and supervising the crew I hired to come fix the porch. While I probably could have done the job myself, it needs to meet codes for listing, and the amount of wood and the lengths involved were a lot for me to handle on my own. With the need to bed the posts in concrete foundations, it was
