“No, thank you, though.”
“Coconut-passion fruit french toast?” he prompts.
I chuckle at that. “Now you’re speaking my language, but editing must be done.”
“French toast is your language?”
“If french toast could come in a language, I would be fluent.”
“So if you go to any restaurant for breakfast or brunch, your order is french toast?”
I furrow my brow.
Caleb mirrors my expression, furrowing his own. “What?”
“You’re having a conversation with me about french toast.”
“It’s a conversation I haven’t had before,” he says, his mouth tugging upward in a smile.
“Yet you are trusting me with it.”
He quirks a brow. “I think I can take the risk on french toast.”
I can’t help it. I laugh, and now he’s smiling fully at me. As soon as I see it, I almost have to suck in a breath. Caleb’s smile isbeautiful.It reaches his eyes, and they crinkle in the corners.
I’ve never seen him do that on TV before. And I’m the one who has made him smile like this.
Okay, Isla,I tell myself.Don’t be ridiculous.Caleb is smiling at you. He’s being conversational and charming and that’s it.I’m getting a side of him nobody else gets, but it’s purely a comfort level because of my pushback on Arthur. That’s it.
Caleb escorts me all the way outside. We stand under a brilliant blue sky, and I watch as the sunlight dances across his black hair.
Gorgeous.
I clear my throat and refocus. “Thank you again, Caleb. I know this was way out of your comfort zone, but I appreciate it so very much.”
He smiles gently at me. “You don’t have to tell me again, Isla. I know you’re grateful. That’s all the thanks I need.”
I nod. “Well, thank you.”
“What did I just tell you?” he teases.
I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“I’ll let that slide,” he says. Then he clears his throat. “May I get your number? I’d like to get a link to the feature when it’s up.”
“Yes, of course.”
Caleb retrieves his phone and hands it to me. I find my fingers fumbling as I type in my number.
Which didn’t happen when I typed it in for Catherine.
I ignore that and then Caleb types on his phone. “I just sent you a text, so you have my number.”
His text comes through, and I see it simply has his name on it. “Got it. Thanks,” I say.
“This is your only assignment for The Downforce Network this weekend, right?” he asks, leaning against the side of the motorhome. “I think that is what you told Chip.”
“Yeah. This was the only assignment I was given.”