Page 19 of Finding His Fox

It added a romantic vibe to this simple breakfast. This wasn’t a date at all. Or was it? What the hell did I say to Cal when I called him?

“Um, thanks for breakfast, but why are you here?” I asked Cal pointblank.

Cal didn’t answer me immediately. He took my plate and started adding food to it.

The gesture surprised me, but I didn’t mind it since I was starving. If I did it myself, I would’ve scooped up everything and left none for Cal.

Cal looked like he was considering my question carefully. I leaned forward, put my hands together, and waited for his answer.

“Do you remember calling me?” Cal asked, handing me back my plate.

“Thanks. I didn’t actually, not until I checked my phone this morning,” I confessed.

At first, I didn’t want to admit not remembering. Especially not remembering due to the influence of alcohol.

I reminded myself that I was not like my father and would never be like him.

Initially, I was also worried about what Cal would think of me. Strangely, I had a feeling it wouldn’t matter.

Cal seemed like someone who didn’t make quick assumptions about someone.

“So, what else did I do last night? Care to jog my memory?” I asked, trying to tease out what else I might have said or done.

Cal’s eyes moved to my lips and looked down at his plate, as if it suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world.

I couldn’t tell whether it was from the warmth of the morning sun, but his cheeks were reddening.

I immediately knew I must’ve done something I shouldn’t have.

Cal, being the gentleman that he was, merely gave a small cough and said, “When you called, you also asked me to help you move some things.”

“Oh,” I said.

My actions last night started to make sense. I probably didn’t want to be alone and wanted someone with me.

I knew that stepping into that house would take me back, make me feel like I was a teenager again.

A big, strong man like Cal would protect me from the feelings and emotions I had been running away from, things I had to face. As my therapist liked to say, my ‘Father Complex’.

Whatever. Maybe I just wanted some muscle. Max’s things were pretty heavy.

Cal had a concerned look in his eyes. I didn’t want to talk about it, not now. Not with this delicious food and equally delicious man in front of me.

I took a bite of his scrambled eggs and groaned. Smooth, buttery goodness. Move over Gordon Ramsey. There’s a new king of scrambled eggs—Cal.

“Well, I guess I might need help,” I said, a little too cheerfully. “Someone like you could make the job go faster,” I continued, eyeing his chiseled pecs unabashedly.

Cal was wearing a white T-shirt which was delightfully stretched across his chest, leaving little to the imagination. It looked like it was practically painted over him.

Don’t tell me that wasn’t intentional. Who would wear white when asked to do physical labor?

Cal raised a brow at my comment and continued eating. He looked like he was holding in a grin.

So he DID wear this shirt on purpose. Sneaky man.

Max suddenly jumped up onto my lap. He must have followed me all the way from my room. I gave his ears a scratch and heard a clang.

I looked up and saw Cal frozen. His hand that was holding the fork, which was now on the table, still raised in mid-air.