Honestly

Hannah

“I’ll get it,” my mother calls as I exit my bedroom, rubbing my eyes.

Good thing she plans on answering the door, because I’m not dressed or even halfway decent. I slept in, and now I’m going to be in a rush to get ready for work and make it on time.

“Hannah, Caleb’s here to see you… again,” Mom says just when I reach the end of the hallway. Conveniently. Like she couldn’t have said it five seconds sooner, so I wasn’t standing here completely exposed.

Yep, that’s Caleb. My boss. Looking at me in my Powerpuff Girls T-shirt and shorts—a pair of pyjamas that have seen better days, considering they’re thirteen years old and way too tight.

Akili tears past me with an enthusiasm she only has for me when she’s been alone all day. The little traitor.

“Hey,” he greets.

I don’t know what he’s looking at because I can’t focus on his face. I’m watching Akili jump at his legs. He bends down to scratch her ears. Oh, he was probably talking to her.

“Hi,” I finally reply, in case he was addressing me. “Um… you could have called.”

My mom’s eyebrows inch upward, likely on account of the snark in my tone directed at my boss.

Caleb doesn’t seem surprised, though. “I know. I… uh… I wasn’t sure if you’d answer.”

I step forward, not wanting to be rude, but also not wanting to get too close. “So you decided to stop in… again?”

“Just thought it would be good for the environment if we carpooled. Yeah?”

“That’s not necess—”

“Let me get out of your way, kids. Caleb, can I get you anything? I won’t embarrass myself by offering to cook something, but coffee? Tea?” My mother slowly backs away toward the kitchen.

“No, thank you, Mrs. Parker. I’m fine.”

Without another word, our buffer leaves the room. I wish Akili wasn’t so obsessed with Caleb so I could hold her over my braless chest like a shield. Instead, I cross my arms. “You don’t have to drive me to work. Aren’t you supposed to be there earlier?”

“Nah, Adriano and Tyson are there and I’m sure they have things covered. Want to stop for a breakfast sandwich on the way?”

I swear, Akili’s ears perk up when he asks that. “You’ve spoiled her.”

“Wow. You’re a smart little thing, aren’t you?” He nuzzles his nose into her neck, making baby sounds.

What is happening right now? I know he said that he loved her the other day, but I thought it was just… conversation. Like, yeah, I love cheesecake. But the way he’s gushing over her, and she’s lapping it up, I’m beginning to think he meant it in more than a platonic way.

And that does a number on my confused heart.

I need space. “Come in. You can sit in the living room while I shower and get ready.”

Caleb’s eyes widen, and for the first time, it appears he’s taking in my outfit. Though, instead of the laugh I’m expecting, he bites his bottom lip and trails his eyes down my body. His gaze alone gives me goosebumps. “Right, yep. Okay. Akili and I will wait in there.” He takes a deep swallow, slipping off his shoes without putting my dog down.

I don’t wait around to make sure he gets settled. My timeframe to get ready just increased by thirty minutes, but the sooner I get Caleb out of here, the better it will be for my frazzled emotions.

The entire time I’m in the shower, I replay the extremes our encounters have wavered between. Cold, distant Caleb who first greeted me at Hibiscus. Angry, micro-managing Caleb who insulted my flounder. Caveman Caleb who beat up my ex to defend my honour. Or the one who used the sole morning off he takes each week to drive me and my dog to the vet.

He must be walking around with eight different personalities, because each day, I get a new one. Even if the cranky, harsh Caleb is appearing less frequently, that still doesn’t mean anything. Not when I overheard him saying he wishes I’d quit.

A conversation we still haven’t spoken about.

And now, enough time has passed, I’m not sure it’s any of my business. It’s possible he wasn’t even talking about me. He could have been talking about his sister, because I know she works for Henry. Why didn’t that occur to me before?

I run my round brush through my hair, blow drying my long locks, with Kelly Clarkson encouraging me with one of her many incredible pop ballads. Instead of singing the lyrics, I find my mind drifting to how Caleb would react to new extreme hairstyles. What if I got a perm? Dyed it blonde? Cut it all off? Why is this even crossing my mind?

I pause the song, then stare in the mirror for several seconds, willing my reflection to reply.

The answer is clear: because I care about his opinion of me. And not just the quality of food I’m creating.

Maybe that’s why my passion for creating food has disappeared.

Maybe that’s why I can’t tell up from down in his presence.

Regardless, it’s the reason I need answers to that burning question. Does he want me to quit?

Fifteen minutes later, I walk into the living room to find my mother chatting with Caleb. She finishes explaining to him that my dad left for his usual flight to Nassau. I can tell by her words that she misses him when he’s away. Even after all these years of their routine, his leaving never seems to get easier.

“Ready?” Caleb asks, looking up at me from the sofa.

My little furry Brutus is still in his arms, tongue lolled to one side and a contented look glazed over her eyes. The only thing she’s expressing is, He’s mine now.

“Yes.”

We both say goodbye to Akili and my mom, grabbing our coats and exiting into the cool winter air. Technically, we have a few days until it’s officially winter, but the minus six temperature isn’t waiting on a technicality.

As soon as Caleb’s door closes and he’s got the ignition on, I blurt, “Do you want me to quit?”

His hand freezes over the gearshift, and his eyes stay focused straight ahead at our lopsided oak tree. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Blinks four times.

“Are you having a stroke? Lift your arms. Try to smile.” I know he’s not having a stroke, but I just got a clear answer to my question. “Whatever. That was the only answer I needed.”

He does lift his arm, but only to shift the car into reverse. “Hannah.”

“No, don’t bother, Caleb. I knew this was a bad idea from the start. I thought we could be adults and focus on our job, but I guess there’s too much bag—”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” I swallow hard and close my eyes, refusing to shed a tear.

“I don’t know about you, but given our past, sometimes the lines between employee and someone I once cared a lot about get blurred.”

Wow. He couldn’t be more clear about where he now stands. He doesn’t still care about me. He once cared about me. As in past. I’m surprised by how much that confirmation hurts.

“You can count on me to focus on my job. There won’t be any more blurring, Chef.” I intentionally use his title instead of his name, trying to fake indifference. “If I’ve done anything to make you think I’m not capable—”

“You haven’t. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“I heard you in your office.” I don’t mean for it to come out so confrontational, but I think we’re beyond decorum. And apparently beyond caring whether he’s upset I was eavesdropping.

If he is, he doesn’t show it. “That’s part of the reason I wanted to talk. So I could tell you how much I appreciate you—your skills. You’re an asset in the kitchen, and I don’t want our past to bleed into work. But that doesn’t mean—”

“Heard. Loud and clear, Chef.”

He huffs a loud sigh. I turn to look out the window. Together, we don’t utter another word for the rest of the drive.

I should have listened to my instincts a week ago.