Caleb crossed his arms. I can't date you. It's ridiculous. I have a daughter. My life is chaotic and messy and loud.
Yours is. He gestured toward the car outside. Engineered for perfection. We make no sense. "Logic is a tool, Caleb.
It's not a rulebook for how to live," Caroline said. She stepped closer. The scent of sandalwood cut through the smell of the pine. I live in a perfect engineered world and it is entirely dead. There is no pulse in a boardroom.
There is no heartbeat in an offshore account. She reached out. For a second, Caleb thought she was going to touch his face. Instead, she picked up a piece of rough, unsanded scrap wood from the table. "You take something rough and you make it into something strong, something that lasts," she said quietly, looking at the wood before looking up into his eyes.
I just want one evening where I don't have to be the CEO. I just want to sit across from a man who isn't intimidated by me and have dinner. Caleb looked at her, really looked at her. The harsh morning light exposed the fine lines around her eyes, the slight tension in her jaw. She was terrifyingly powerful, yes, but she was also asking, not demanding, asking.
He let out a long breath, blowing a stray piece of sawdust off the workbench. Maya has soccer practice until 6:00 on Tuesdays," Caleb said, his voice low, resigned, but something warm fluttering in his chest. I have to pick her up, drop her with Mrs. Gable in shower. I can't be anywhere until 7:30. A genuine brilliant smile broke across Caroline's face.
It completely transformed her, shedding 10 years and 100 layers of corporate ice. 7:30 is perfect, Caroline said. Wear the charcoal suit, but lose the tie. It looked like it was choking you. She turned and walked back toward the waiting car.
Caleb watched her go, the heavy thud of the Maybach door echoing in the quiet yard. He looked down at his sawdust-covered hands, then at the coffee cup. He took another sip. Tuesday was going to be complicated. Caleb stood in front of the warped mirror in his bathroom, aggressively wrestling with the collar of his shirt.
He had ditched the tie just as she'd ordered. It felt like a concession, a small surrender of his own rigid rules. "Dad, your hair looks weird." Maya was standing in the doorway clutching a plastic Brontosaurus. She was wearing mismatched socks and a soccer jersey that swallowed her small frame.
Weird how? Caleb asked, running a wet hand through his hair, trying to force it to lay flat. Like, you tried too hard. Just leave it. Caleb paused, looking at his daughter's reflection in the glass. seven years old and she already doled out brutal unvarnished truths.