Saint & Sinner: A Second Chance Romance by Georgia Le Carre

Author:Georgia Le Carre [Le Carre, Georgia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-28T23:00:00+00:00

31

Caleb

I thought back to all the prison noodle meals I had managed to put together due to my skills with an electrical outlet, clippers, and the guts to drop a live wire into a cup of water. And then there was the years living with my dysfunctional parents, of course. I’d learned how to survive on pasta made with butter and tomato puree.

Today however, I had all the ingredients that I could possibly need to make it a great treat for her.

“I do,” I replied. “Is spaghetti okay with you?”

“I’m not okay with spaghetti, I love it.”

I grinned. “Good.”

“Did you learn how to cook from your mom?”

I was silent as the dark memory came to mind. “No.”

The sound of my voice was like the shutting of a door and her face fell. To build the kind of intimacy I wanted with Willow, I couldn’t hold back any part of myself from her.

“She was an alcoholic,” I said softly. “My stepdad drove her to it, with his cheating, and his problems with substance abuse.”

To give her time to process it I jumped off the counter and set about putting a pot of water on the stove to boil.

She appeared by my side and slipped her hand through mine. “I’m really sorry, Caleb,” she said softly.

“It’s okay. I haven’t seen her in a very long time.”

“What do you need me to chop up for you?”

“Do you like spring onions?” I asked and she nodded with a smile.

I retrieved them from the fridge along with a bunch of bell peppers, carrots, mushrooms, and the ground beef we would need. She began to rinse them in the sink.

“Do you like shrimp?”

“I do,” she said, amused. “But that’s already a lot of meat. You want to add shrimp too?”

“I want to make sure you have a great meal.”

She rose on the tip of her toes to nibble lightly on the tip of my nose, and I couldn’t believe the audacity. I hadn’t completely got used to someone being so liberal with me and my body. I enjoyed every moment of it though. When we were younger and my hair was much longer she used to pull out her hair ties and use them to style my hair. When she was finished, she used to lean back and say, “You’re too beautiful to be a boy, Caleb.” My hair was much shorter now, but I wanted her to be as mischievous with me as she had been then.

“When did you last speak to your mom?” she asked, as she picked up a knife and began to chop the vegetables.

I thought of my mother swinging her fist into my face. “It was a long, long time ago.”

“Do you ever plan on seeing her again?”

“Can’t. She’s dead.”

A heavy silence filled the room, and I sensed she regretted her line of questioning. “I’m sorry,” she apologized in a small and breathy voice.

I went to her, encircled her waist with my arms, and pressed my body into hers. “There’s no need to be.

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