Chapter 40

Chapter Forty

Caroline

M y head is in the clouds. This morning, playing in the snow with Calvin, was magical. Maybe it's woo-woo, but for a short time I connected with my inner child. I mean, when was the last time I started a snowball fight? Perhaps, never.

The blizzard proved a gift. It's like Calvin and I are on our own island. Despite being outside for over an hour, we didn't see another soul. Not even a car. All we heard were the distant sounds of revving snowblowers. Granted, it's still early and the snow makes for a perfect sleep-in morning.

I'm back upstairs, thawing out after a hot shower. I'm invigorated, ready to take on the world. Exactly what Dr. Handsome prescribed for me.

I need to find a way to thank him. I give it a moment's thought and come up with an idea.

My phone beeps, startling me. Service is back, sparking a sense of disappointment. It was wonderful being completely off the grid for a little while, no one able to reach me, my troubles on pause.

I reach for my phone, seeing several messages have come through. Evie, Paul, Sam.

I shoot a quick text to Evie, telling her I'm fine, that I'll call soon. After a moment's consideration, I do the same for Sam. I'll have to phone Paul or he'll enlist the armed forces to track me down. But not right now.

Before I put the phone down, it rings.

"Hi, Sam."

"Are you crazy!"

"Hello, to you, too." It's the first time I've heard Sam raise her voice. "What's the matter?" I ask, sitting down on the bed.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to go places with strangers?"

I'm taken aback. "Calvin is not a stranger."

"Other than having a pretty face, what do you know about him?"

Sam can be a worrier but this seems like an overreaction. "He's my doctor. He works at the hospital. You met him."

"For five minutes! Is he married?"

"No!"

"How do you know that?"

I pause.

I hear her exhale, her tone somewhat softer. "Precisely."

I'm sure the next question will be if he has dead bodies in his basement. But she's made her point. Maybe I should have done some due diligence before going off with him to some remote house in the dead of winter.

"Okay, so I don't know as much as I'd like about him. We're relatively new friends. Oh wait, he likes animals."

"Seriously? That's all you've got?"

It feels like I'm on the witness stand, staring down a relentless prosecutor ready to tear me apart. Which could prove to be fine practice for what may soon be in my future.

I know Mama Bear Sam means well. She's a mom to two teenagers. If she wants to add me to her worry list, I'll take it.

To be fair, my friends met Calvin only once, at the hospital. But Calvin has been in my home several times, we shared drinks, laughs. I never saw a dark side. At some point, I need to trust my judgment.

I hit the speaker icon and plop backward onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "You do realize if Calvin was going to kill me, he would have done it by now."

"Not funny."

"Fine, I'll make some quiet inquiries," I say, more to get her off my back than anything else. "I don't need his life story just that he's not moonlighting as an axe murderer. Good?"

"How will you do it?"

The answer is obvious. "Paul." He's no longer on the payroll but he's the perfect man for the job.

"What about him?"

In jest, I say, "I'll have him tail Calvin the minute he gets back to New York."

"Better than nothing," Sam says, begrudgingly, taking me seriously.

I hear someone in the background shout, "Mooooom!"

Sam says, "Gotta run."

Before I can say goodbye, she adds, "Text me the Vermont address. If I don't hear from you every day, I'm calling the cops."

My reaction is less appalled than grateful. Who else besides the Fab Fifty Club has my back like this?

Only one person. The suspect himself.

Satisfied that I've managed things, I head downstairs, this time dressed in designer sportswear that fits me like a glove, accentuating my curves and hiding my bulges.

Calvin is nowhere to be seen. Neither is Rezy. Then I hear a loud scraping and peer out the front window.

Calvin is there, shoveling a path from the front door all the way to the street. Rezy is frolicking close by, sticking to the shoveled walkway. The pup survived the Blizzard of the Century, PTSD-free.

I watch Calvin fill the scoop, tossing the payload aside. It's an intensely masculine exercise and I find myself wishing I could see the flex of his muscles. The attraction is visceral.

The first time I met Calvin at the hospital, I was fully aware of his good looks. I even flirted with him, shamelessly. But we quickly fell into a budding friendship, speaking on the phone, meeting for the occasional drink or film. It never crossed my mind that things would morph once more, this time into a potential romance.

For a guy in his late fifties, he's what some would call strapping. He must be building up a sweat because like magic, he unzips his jacket.

I break away from my voyeuristic activity and enter the kitchen. The wood cabinetry has seen better days, the appliances are at least a decade old. But it's a homey kitchen and surprisingly appealing to me. Like if I concentrate hard enough, I'd see my Nana cooking up pancakes on the griddle, her green and pink apron around her ample waist.

That memory hasn't surfaced in years.

In the pantry, I find cocoa powder, sugar, mini marshmallows and by some Aunt Pearl psychic ability, there's spray whipped cream in the fridge. I heat up a pot of milk and make two steaming cups of hot chocolate. I can't recall the last time I turned on a stove. I had people for that.

Calvin may be right about walking away from the litigation for the sake of my health but I can't simply forfeit millions at the drop of a hat. What of all the things I've become accustomed to? The home in the Hamptons, my trips abroad, nightly dinners at the best restaurants. Paul.

Remarkably, the thought doesn't scare me anymore. I'll be okay.

I'm about to beckon Calvin for hot cocoa and to share my epiphany when I hear the front door open followed by the banging of boots on the doormat. My heart flutters. It's so . . . domestic. It feels wonderful.

"Hey," he says, an already-dried Rezy close on his heels. Calvin's cheeks are red from cold, his hair sticking straight up after removing his wool cap.

I'm setting a bowl of water on the floor for the pup when right before my eyes, Calvin slips out of his plaid button-down, revealing a white tank top that's clinging to him, damp with sweat. I now know the true meaning of eye candy.

The muscles I've been fantasizing about for days are now on full display and . . . oh boy.

He's cut. By that I mean, a six pack. I've never seen Calvin without his shirt on. Now I never want to see him with it on.

When did bench pressing become a requirement for practicing medicine? I can practically see him on a calendar—each month showcasing a different version of Calvin. Lumberjack Calvin. Firefighter Calvin. I'm fairly certain it would be a best seller, sparking a drooling epidemic.

He seems oblivious to my brazen staring and eyes the mugs. "What have we got here?"

"Your reward for manual labor. Something to warm you up," I say.

He approaches me, his presence palpable, the air between us charged. He takes the mug from my hand, his fingers brushing mine. "Floating marshmallows?"

I nod, raising my gaze from his chest, my voice stuck in my throat. A tiny smirk reaches his lips before sipping his drink. Okay, maybe he's not completely oblivious.

I swallow hard and we sit by the table, the Scrabble game untouched from last night. My mind whirls, and the silence between us feels thick, like we're both waiting for something. I'm praying he comes up with what to say, or it's going to get real weird, real fast.

"There's something I want to talk to you about," Calvin finally says, bless him.

His expression is serious, and a ripple of nerves runs up my arms. Is he about to ask for more than friendship? My pulse quickens at the thought. Amazingly, I'm ready for this. I want it too.

"Sure, what's on your mind?" I say, unable to sip my drink. The anticipation builds as he pauses to frame his words.

He moves his chair next to mine, placing his arm around my shoulder. I lean my head into the crook of his neck.

"Aunt Pearl never had kids of her own," he says, confusing me.

I regroup, quickly. "Like me," I say, trying to hide my disappointment. Clearly, I misread the situation. Big time.

He plants a soft kiss on my temple, like it's the most natural thing in the world. No more hesitation in his affections. I'm in seventh heaven once more, my insides turning to mush.

"Did you ever want to be a mom?"

I sit upright. "Not really."

Calvin averts his eyes. I'm not sure why but I'm suddenly feeling on guard.

He says, "You know that thing that slipped out by the fire yesterday after I had a couple?"

I get a strange feeling in my gut. I know what he means. I haven't forgotten. "About being a dad soon?" I laugh, awkwardly.

"It's true."

No playfulness in his expression.

He takes a sip of his hot chocolate, leaving a thin cocoa mustache along his top lip. "I met someone in Africa."

" What? "

The air is sucked out of the room. I'm standing now, unsure where to go or what to do. I was certain he was going to declare something meaningful about us , a heartfelt admission, taking our relationship to a new level. Not that he has another woman in his life!

I'm beside myself. Sam was right. How foolish I've been. A few meaningless kisses and my head went off to the races. I'm pathetic.

I hold back a sob. I need to get away from him but we're stuck in this stupid post-storm prison.

His eyes follow my movement to the door. "Oh, wait. That's not what I mean."

"It's my mistake. I just thought?—"

"Please listen."

I hold up a hand, hoping he'll stop speaking. I won't be able to contain the tears much longer.

He's beside me, gently lifting my chin. "Please, Caroline, hear me out."

A wayward tear escapes, Calvin watching its progression as it streams down my cheek. "I met a young boy named Chacha. I adopted him."

My head is spinning, trying to make sense of what he's saying. "You adopted a child?"

He nods quickly, seemingly aware of the urgency to explain himself. "The whole thing was fast-tracked. He'll be here in a couple of weeks."

This must be a practical joke. Calvin is older than I am by several years. I'm speechless.

Calvin studies my face. "You don't seem especially happy for me."

"What were you expecting?" I say, my tone clipped.

"Sorry?"

"You're a few years from early bird discounts and instead you're planning playdates? The other parents will think you're the boy's grandfather. Won't it be awfully embarrassing?"

His face pales. "You think I'm making a mistake?"

"That's an understatement." The harsh words are tumbling out of my mouth like an avalanche I can't stop.

I don't know why I'm so angry. It's his life. If he wants to ruin it?—

Calvin steps back, averting his eyes. "I can give Chacha a better life."

The child's name is Chacha. This is real. I'm floored.

"Have you ever parented anyone?" I ask, sounding like a prosecutor.

"Sort of. Pedro."

"Who is Pedro?" For all I know Calvin has an apartment filled with kids he never bothered telling me about.

"My late German Shepard."

"You're comparing dog ownership with parenting a human? Are you serious?"

Calvin sits back down, rubbing a hand through his hair. He looks distraught. "Listen, this is not how I wanted to tell you. I?—"

"Actually," I interrupt. "You didn't tell me. For days. You went to Africa without a word. Now you drop this on me out of the blue." I'm on the verge of either crying or shouting.

Calvin's face is pained. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

"Well, you did. You are."

I feel self-righteous, defensive. Threatened.

He gets to his feet, then slips past me, shaking his head as if realization is dawning on him. Maybe I'm getting through to him about this harebrained notion.

"I don't know what to say." He walks to the door, shoves his feet into his wet boots. "You have everything you need. Try to get some rest. Please . I'll come back to pick you up at the end of the week."

My anger morphs into fear. "Where are you going?" I squeak.

"Home, Caroline."

With that, Calvin walks out the door. Moments later, I hear the rumbling of a motor and look outside. Calvin is on his snowmobile, racing away. From me.