Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five

Calvin

I wake up on the sofa, covered with a throw, my head spinning. Which is always better than pounding, a feeling I recall with disdain. I haven't drank this much since college. The room is cooler now without the fire but thankfully the steam is still coming up nicely.

Rezy's tiny body rises and falls on the floor at my feet. Like all babies, he sleeps a lot. Only this one survived a Vermont blizzard.

I hear water running through the pipes, telling me Caroline is upstairs showering. It's an old house but honestly, I like the charm.

I bought it from the previous owner with the furniture which is well-maintained but dated. Doing so saved me time and money. I analyze the rug, standing lamp and armchairs, relieved that Caroline isn't offended by the lived-in feel of the place. She's used to far more luxury. But this house could be a real family home. It may not be glamorous but it will be perfect for a kid to explore. My kid.

I still can't believe I'm going to be a dad.

I stand, at first unsteady, then go down to the basement and find what I'm looking for. My guitar is in remarkably good condition. Using my tuner, I tighten the strings at the headstock and base. I love this instrument. I saved over an entire summer, delivering papers and working at the Dairy Barn, to buy it.

It's true what they say. We cherish the things we work hard for more than those that come easy.

I climb back upstairs and find Rezy gnawing on the wooden leg of the sofa. I lean the guitar against the wall and lift the pup before he can do any real damage. "Had a nice nap, little guy?"

Soon enough I'll have a kid running around, tearing my place apart. At least my place in the city.

I set Rezy on the rug and sit in one of the chairs, grabbing hold of my guitar and softly play one of my favorite songs.

The last time I strummed my vintage Gibson was 1990. I know that because I put it away the day I walked from the band. The same day Jenny turned down my marriage proposal. It sparked a whole lot of wild pivots in my life.

The song, I've heard, is about a strained father-son relationship. I choose to interpret the lyrics as a ballad of paternal love.

Is it possible to love a child I barely know? My heart is full just thinking about Chacha. He will be arriving in a few weeks. I can't wait.

It occurs to me that this environment would be much easier for Chacha to adapt to than a bustling metropolitan city. He's lived in a tiny village his entire short life. But living here isn't in the cards. My life is in New York.

Rezy stops licking his paws and begins twirling in circles. I think he likes the music. He's proving worthy of the name Caroline bestowed on him.

The creak of the wooden stairs draws my attention and I stop playing. The sight of bare legs and pedicured toes makes me catch my breath. As Caroline descends, I notice her plaid shirt. It reaches her thighs. It's showstopping.

I realize it's a pajama top and my pulse kicks into overdrive. The way the soft fabric clings to her curves has me struggling to remember how to breathe. There's something incredibly sexy about seeing her like this, out of her usual city-perfect, high-maintenance armor. She still radiates a controlled elegance, but here, in this moment, there's an undeniable earthiness that makes it impossible to look away.

"Why did you stop?" she asks, coming to stand before me. It takes every ounce of restraint to look anywhere but at her shapely legs.

I clear my throat and continue playing, this time adding vocals. It's been a while since I've played for other people. It's been a lifetime since I serenaded a woman.

Caroline sits on the floor, beaming at Rezy who is back in the throes of tail chasing.

"That was lovely. You are so talented. Is there anything you don't do well?"

I chuckle. "Lots of things but none that I'll share with you. I prefer to keep the illusion alive."

She smiles. "Seriously, though. How did you get so accomplished at music?"

"Well, before I decided on medicine I wanted to be the next Bob Dylan."

She raises a brow. "Lofty goals."

I shrug.

"Why the switch to medicine?"

No point in beating around the bush. Despite the many stages that contributed to the shift, I answer in a nutshell. "Got my heart broken."

I don't think I've ever admitted that aloud. You know how people say they are open books? Well, I'm a closed one. Not intentionally so. It's how I'm wired.

"Oh, sorry to hear it," Caroline says, her frown indicating her sincerity.

I put the guitar aside. "I'm the one who should be sorry."

"For what?"

I glance at the sofa. "Passing out on you. Not very classy."

"It's okay. You dodged a bullet out there." We both instinctively look outside. The flakes are as thick as ever.

The room turns silent, a strange atmosphere taking its place.

"How about something a bit livelier?" Caroline asks, gesturing to the guitar.

"Any requests?"

She thinks a minute. "How about Uptown Girl ?"

I chuckle at the choice of Billy Joel's ode to Christie Brinkley. I pick up the guitar, think a moment and begin to strum the chords.

"You know it by heart?" she asks.

"I learned to play by ear." I don't mention that following my move to New York I was offered a contract to tour with another up-and-coming performer. While the singer is long gone, I've remained in regular touch with the agent who's gone on to represent some of the world's top talent.

"Duly impressed."

I hum the tune. "If you sing along, I'll match the key."

"I don't sing."

I stop playing. "Then I don't play."

She places her hands on her hips. "Hard ball, huh?"

I nod. "Yup."

Caroline begins singing shyly, a demeanor I haven't yet observed with this complex woman. "Uptown girl. She's been living in her uptown world . . ."

I keep my face smiley, as though she's the next Taylor Swift. Caroline goes along with it, gaining confidence with each lyric. But her hesitation was valid. This beautiful uptown girl is tone deaf. Wildly so. It's like a foghorn and a kazoo had a love child and decided to sing karaoke.

By the time song ends, she's using a fireplace prodder as her mic, belting at the top of her lungs. I can only pray for laryngitis to kick in. Mean, I know but—wow.

Caroline makes eye contact with me, making me regret my unkind thoughts. Her cheeks are red with exhilaration, the look on her face one of accomplished satisfaction.

"That was great," she says, somewhat out of breath.

"Agreed. Want to hear one of my own songs?"

I've never played it for another soul unless you count Pedro. Caroline will be the first. But it will be a win-win. I'll get to share my music with her and since she doesn't know the lyrics, she won't be able to sing along.

I begin and the expression on her face is precious. I realize, in this moment, I could listen to her sing all day long. Everyone has imperfections and I'm overjoyed to know what Caroline's are.

Like AC/DC blaring from speakers at full volume, it hits me hard. I'm falling for my friend.

Hook, line, and sinker.