“What do you wanna listen to?”
He shrugs. “Anything really. You decide.” He fastens his seatbelt, then settles back in his seat, as the van fills with more of his scent.
I exhale, then settle on Suede’sBeautiful Ones. “Ready?”
Kayden nods as he stares out the windscreen, his hands resting at his sides, his fingers brushing back and forth against the seat. The small, barely there movement alone sends shivers down the back of my neck, and again my mind decides to go all fucking rogue on me. Images of Kayden’s soft fingers trailing up my arm, along my shoulder, and across my collarbone course through me. My skin tingles like a light sunburn, and suddenly there’s not enough air in the van.
Get a fucking grip, Caleb.
I want to pretend that it has nothing to do with Kayden, and it’s just because I need to get laid, but the truth is, Iknowit’s not just that. If I just wanted to get off, I could go back on that app. Easy peasy. This has very little to do with just getting off and a lot more to do with him.
I feel Kayden’s eyes on me, and I reach for the steering wheel, then start the car. I try to center myself as I pull out onto the busy street. It’s only a short drive to Kelly’s garden center, but it takes longer than expected because of the weekend traffic. Kayden stares out the window for the most part, his lips moving quietly along to the lyrics. I don’t know what to say, so I just say nothing.
When we reach the garden center, it’s chaos. Everyone seems to have had the same idea we did, and I have to cruise around the large building a few times before a parking spot becomes vacant. Sweat trails from my neck and down my back, my hands clammy against the steering wheel.
“There,” I say, putting the van in Park, like some bus driver on a class field trip.
“Great,” Kayden says, then unfastens his seatbelt before opening the door and hopping out.Fuck.I bet he feels it too, how weird I’m acting.You’d better rein it in, Caleb Morgan. You better make it unweird and fucking fast.
Inside, it’s not any better. There are people everywhere, and every aisle feels like navigating an obstacle course. When someone bumps into Kayden for the third time, I almost lose it. He just shrugs at me like it doesn’t matter, but seriously, what the fuck is wrong with people? It’s not like he’s invisible or anything. Without giving it a second thought, I reach for his hand and twine my fingers through his. Kayden sucks in a fast breath, then stops in the middle of the busy aisle and looks at me. His eyes go impossibly wide while mine drop to our clasped hands.
“This okay? I just don’t wanna lose you.” I shake my head. “I mean…”
He nods carefully. “Yeah. It’s fine.”
I’ve held his hand more times than I can count over the years. At the zoo, when he was the one dragging me around, all excited about the new penguins or the lion cubs. At the beach, when he was jumping from one stone to another, squeezing my fingers to the point of pain whenever he was about to slip on the slippery rocks. Whenever I picked him up at school because Vivian had to take an acute shift at the hospital, and Kayden would skip toward me, his small hand finding mine when he reached me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Cool.” I pull him along with me toward the section with garden furniture. His skin is warm and soft against mine, and occasionally his fingers squeeze around my hand. It feels nice, probably too nice, but I decide it doesn’t matter right now.
As soon as we reach the section with outdoor furniture, Kayden lets go of my hand, and I miss the connection instantly. Unsure what to do with my hand, I bury it in my jeans pocket while I take in the chaos in front of us.
“This is insane,” Kayden laughs, looking around at the people weaving in and out of smaller sections with furniture on display. I laugh too, because yes, it is pretty insane.
“See anything you like?” I look around at the different displays of café tables and matching chairs.
“I don’t know,” he sighs, pulling his hat off, swiping a hand through his waves, before putting it back on. “I don’t even really know what I want.” He stares at me, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, like I have the answer, but all I have are fucking questions, likewere his lips always this fullandwas his gaze always this vast and seductive?
“Let’s just browse for a bit,” I grit. “We’re not in any hurry.”
“Okay.” He smiles softly, then heads toward a simple café set just about the right size for his balcony. He pulls out a chair and sits down. “I like the color.” The furniture is made of metal and painted a bright turquoise. “It’s… a happy color, don’t you think, Caleb?”
The sudden use of my name stuns me. He hasn’t called me by my name all week. I nod as I move toward him and grab the other chair, placing it next to Kayden’s. I eye it for a second, then plop down next to him. I lean back in the chair, and we sit there next to each other while people rush past us with shopping carts filled to the brim with parasols, flowerpots, and hammocks, screaming children in tow. The chair is fucking uncomfortable; the metal digging into my back. Maybe it’ll be okay with a cushion. I eye Kayden out of the corner of my eye, but I can’t read the expression on his face.
Eventually, he groans. “How’s it even possible to make a chair this fucking uncomfortable?”
A loud laugh shoots from my lips, and a few people look our way.
“Am I right?” He grins, looking right at me.
I nod. “Fucking awful. Maybe with a cushion…”
“Yeah, maybe.” He stands, looking around. “Let’s look at the ones made out of wood instead.” He grabs the chair and places it back next to the table, then moves toward the area with wooden furniture. His jeans hang loose just below his waist, and there’s a slight sway to his hips when he moves. His hips are wider than most guys’, but there’s no question that Kayden’s a guy; his wide shoulders and muscular arms, the slight dusting of scruff on his chin, and his scent as I trail behind him, leaving a little space between us.
Kayden pauses in front of a set of furniture in a light yellowish-brown and sweeps his fingers along the surface of the table. He then inspects a small label hanging from a chair.
“It’s cypress,” he says. “Isn’t it beautiful? The color. Almost like amber when the sun hits it just right.”
“It is,” I say, feeling all warm and floaty inside at the image Kayden is painting. He reaches in front of me and pulls out the other chair.