“See, my fiancée was pretty pissed off when I showed up with a ring instead of wine, so I need to head out and exchange it. You know, got to keep the old ball and chain happy.” I shrug then turn to head for the door.
“Caleb, give me my ring!” She jumps on my back before I get even a few steps away.
We wrestle around for a few minutes before I pin her to the ground. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the emerald-cut diamond ring and slide it onto her tiny finger. It’s so big she probably could fit two fingers inside of it—but she doesn’t take it off.
That one night was the happiest moment of my life. Manda and I never got married. Don’t get me wrong. I tried. She moved in with me the following week, but she would never set a date for the wedding. We fought almost weekly about it, including on the way to the restaurant the night she died.
When Manda died, she didn’t just leave me alone. She left me to grieve. Amanda Baker. Fucking Baker. I’ve never hated that name more. Her headstone should read Jones. She was mine, and the entire world should know it.
AFTER A long six a.m. flight from Savannah, I finally arrive in cold-ass Chicago. I’m sure the city is beautiful, but when I left, it was seventy-four degrees. It’s the middle of March, and the snow flurries are still floating through the air in my new city. I have no idea what I’ve gotten myself into by moving up here. I’m just glad I at least have something—or more specifically, someone—to look forward to.
While riding the escalator down to baggage claim, I’m trying to keep my excitement at bay when I catch sight of the gorgeous wide shoulders waiting at the bottom. I wouldn’t be able to tear my eyes away even if he weren’t waiting for me. His jeans ride low and his dark green button-up clings to his body. Shit, is this the way guys feel when checking out girls? Because I’m not just staring right now—I am straight-up ogling him. As I step off the escalator, dragging my large suitcase behind, he flashes me a bright smile. I give myself away as I jog over to meet him.
I’m not exactly positive how you greet someone you have met once but have been talking to every single night for weeks. I’m usually all about the hug, but I can’t figure out what to do with Caleb. If you ask me what I want to do? I would throw him down, right here and now, on the cold airport floor. I’d lick every inch of his defined body, but I’m classier than that—at least in public.
Instead, I stop just in front of him and say, “Hey, you.” It’s kind of my go-to phrase at this point. I shove my hands in my jacket pockets to keep from touching him.
“Hey, Emmy.” He smiles a breathtaking grin before pulling me against his hard body. I guess Caleb is a hugger, too. I go all too willingly into his arms, and he squeezes me tight before releasing me.
“You have more bags?”
“No, just this. The guys are driving up the rest of my stuff in a few weeks.”
“The guys?” He lifts a questioning eyebrow.
I roll my eyes and shake my head at his jealousy. “Oh hush.” I gently slap his chest but immediately wish I hadn’t. I have to turn and look away to keep from moaning when my hand meets his firm pec. Oh shit. Caleb is even hotter than I remember.
“Come on, sweetheart.” He throws a casual arm around my shoulders and guides me outside.
We stroll through the parking lot, chatting about the trip, when suddenly we stop next to a shiny black…truck.
“You drive a truck?” I ask, surprised and even slightly confused.
“I figured a Southern girl like you would appreciate it. Why the surprised face?” He leans over to lift my bag into the back.
“Uh, because some guy named Eli is using his truck to help me move in a few days,” I say with a little more attitude than I needed, but I can’t help but feel like Caleb pawned me off on someone else. If he didn’t want to help, that’s fine, but he could have just told me that. Now I feel awkward for even having asked him to pick me up today. Perfect—he probably felt obligated.
“No, my friend Eli is helping Sarah move,” he says very calmly but still manages to pack some unexpected asshole into it.
“What? That’s the same thing! She’s in rehab—I’m moving her stuff.”
He leans his back against his truck, and I can tell that he is trying to choose his words. And he’ll probably even apply a little sugarcoating too.
“Caleb?” I demand a response. “Can you enlighten me here? If you didn’t want to help, that’s fine, but you could have just told me that. I don’t want to be a burden on you just because you are trying to sleep with me. Jesus.” I throw my hands in the air and head back toward the airport. “Forget it. I’ll call a fucking cab!” I shout, walking away. Yeah, I’m acting like a child, but I can’t help but feel a little put off.