I shook my head, not wanting to think about all I’d left behind when I fled Florida at fifteen. And definitely not wanting to open that can of worms with Cade.
Not now, notever.
“There weren’t all that many of them, anyway. I was only five when it happened.”
“Fuck,” he cursed quietly. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged and sipped my beer. “Anyway, I went to live with my uncle after that and he wasn’t the kind of man who… He didn’t think things like costumes and candy were…” I chewed my lip. “Trick-or-treating wasn’t a thing I got to do, I’ll just leave it at that.”
Cade’s eyes were very sharp as they scanned my face. He was in full detective mode. (A.K.A. human-lie-detector mode.) After a few more seconds under his scrutiny, I feared he’d see everything about me. Every secret I’d ever had, every shame I’d ever buried.
Thankfully, the ringing of the doorbell shattered the intensity of the moment. A chorus of kids yelling “Trick or treeeeat!” followed.
“Showtime.” Cade swapped his beer for the candy bowl, then grabbed my hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll show you the ropes. You’ll be a candy-passing pro in no time, Goldie.”
Chapter Fourteen
I’m 30 days sober!
(Not in a row, just this year.)
- Imogen Warner, cutting back on tequila
“That’s the last of it,” I called, flipping out the porch light to discourage any stragglers. I toted the empty bowl back to the kitchen where Cade was loading our dirty dinner plates into the dishwasher. “We’re officially out of candy and closed for business.”
He looked over his shoulder to smile at me. “Can’t believe they went through it all. I’ll have to buy a pallet next year.”
“Don’t think I didn’t see you sneaking those Milky Ways,” I teased him. “Now some poor kid is going home with an empty bucket.”
“I’m sure they’ll survive.” His eyes moved past me to the living room. “Socks still out?”
“Like a light,” I murmured. When I’d passed by, the puppy was fast asleep in his doggy bed, a puddle of drool forming beneath his slackened jowls. “I guess tearing apart that entire plush toy really tuckered him out.”
“Mmm,” Cade hummed, moving toward me.
I watched him approach, feeling my pulse slowly pick up speed. The evening, until this point, had been remarkably mellow. Aside from the brief, emotionally fraught blip about my childhood earlier, we’d kept the conversation light for the past few hours.
Cade, I learned, was no slouch in the kitchen. He’d whipped together a caesar salad with homemade dressing and fresh ciabatta croutons sautéed in garlic and oil. It was freakishly good, especially when paired with baked potatoes and topped with hand-breaded chicken cutlets.
Though I offered to help, I spent most of the dinner prep-time darting back and forth from the front door. The doorbell seemed to ring every ten seconds as a parade of kids from infancy to their mid-teens in a wide variety of colorful costumes marched up Cade’s porch steps seeking candy. Sometimes Cade came out to say hello to his neighbors, but mostly it was just me manning the door, the puppy racing circles around my feet. (Socks took quickly to his role as support staff in the candy-distribution system, greeting everyone with tail wags and tongue swipes.)
I kept a lookout for Rory and Declan in the bedlam, but I knew from their chatter at breakfast that they planned to stick closer to their own neighborhood tonight. Gigi may’ve allowed them modicum of freedom, but that freedom was limited to the two-block radius surrounding The Sea Witch. If their bikes weren’t back in the rack by eight on the dot, they’d be grounded for life. No doubt I’d hear all about their escapades tomorrow.
I was looking forward to that.
Not only was Cade a good cook, he was also funny. Throughout the night, he made jokes — sometimes at my expense, more often at his own — and told stories about his crazy family. Born and raised in Maryland, though none of his siblings lived there anymore. He was the youngest of three much older sisters and a self-proclaimed “accident” — one his parents were thrilled about, even though they’d not planned on starting over with a newborn in their late forties. Now, they were in their late seventies and had uprooted to a retirement community on the sunny shores of North Carolina, where their days were full of pickleball and potlucks.
His sisters were all married, all had boatloads of kids, and all scattered across the continental United States, which meant Cade didn’t see them often but, when he did, he saved up his vacation time to stay for longer than a few days. After seeing him with his dog, I could only imagine how he was with his nieces and nephews.
I’d bet he was a great uncle.
The more I learned about him, the more I got to know him, the harder it was to hold him at arm’s length. He was slowly but surely working his way beneath my defenses — despite my best efforts.
The first time I’d clapped eyes on him, I’d scoffed at the idea anyone could be so genuinely altruistic. So inherently decent. It was alarming to realize just how wrong I’d been to doubt he was a good person.
Evenmorealarming?
He seemed to think I was a good person, too.