5
CALEB
“What do you think, Emmy?” I asked, watching as the little girl slurped up the last bit of noodle broth from her bowl. “Who makes better Ramen, me, or Miss Wright?”
Emmy dropped her bowl down onto the glass coffee table, and her eyes wandered between me and Daisy.
“You,” she decided finally, smacking her lips and pointing at me.
“Emmy!” Daisy exclaimed, clutching her heart dramatically. “I thought you loved my Ramen noodles!”
“They’re ok,” Emmy shrugged, “But Uncle Caleb’s are better.”
My heart swelled when I heard her say that, and the sudden burst of pride had nothing to do with the Ramen noodle victory. Rather, it had everything to do with the look of wonder in Emmy’s eyes as she glanced up at me. In the span of a few hours I had gone from being a scary stranger, to being the cool uncle with an exciting apartment and an endless supply of Ramen noodles. In Emmy’s eyes, that made me the coolest guy in New York City.
I was Uncle Caleb.
I sat back on the leather couch, taking in the scene, the three of us huddled around the glass coffee table in my living room, eating Ramen noodles while some Disney movie about a talking fish played on the big screen TV in the background.
I didn’t often entertain guests at my apartment, but when I did this was far from the typical scene. Maybe that was what made tonight feel even more endearing. The hearty smell of soupy noodles filled the air, instead of cheap perfume and booze; the sound of Emmy laughing gleefully at the movie, instead of the whiney squeals of women snapping selfies that they would later use as proof that they had fucked someone famous.
I was not sure what it was but something about tonight just felt… right. I could see it on Emmy’s face. The kind of contented belonging that I always craved myself as a child, but could never find. Even now, as I looked back on my entire childhood, I couldn’t remember one instance that had felt as intimate or personal as tonight.
“It’s past your bedtime, missy,” Daisy said suddenly, glancing at the digital clock display under the TV.
“Nooooo,” Emmy whined, not wanting the night to end.
“You’ve gotta get some sleep,” I said, taking Daisy’s side. “Besides, the sooner you do, the sooner we can all hang out again.”
Daisy shot me a glare, but I was already ushering Emmy down the hallway towards one of the apartment’s guest bedrooms.
“It’s not pink or princessy,” I said, “But if you do have to stay for a while, maybe you can help me decorate it!”
I pushed open the dark wooden door to the guest bedroom and flicked on the light. Like the rest of the apartment, it had been completely fitted with modern and sleek pieces, custom ordered by the interior designer I hired when I first moved in. The interior designer had worked with nearly all of The Camden’s tenants, decorating each apartment differently to suit the personality and lifestyle of its inhabitant.
For me, that custom decor ended up being dark woods and lots of glass; sleek, modern lines, and clean finishes. I’ve always loved the decor in my apartment, and I’ve always thought that it suited me perfectly, but now, seeing Emmy look around the room glumly, I realized that it might not be so well suited for children.
“Maybe Caleb can take you shopping after school tomorrow,” Daisy suggested quickly, her eyes flashing desperately back to me.
“Of course we can!” I agreed, smiling down at Emmy. “I’ve meaning to decorate this room anyway, and now you can help me out!”
Emmy smiled, but she didn’t look entirely enthusiastic. Probably about as enthusiastic as I felt about the prospect of replacing my sleek and modern decor with bright, plasticky kid’s furniture.
Oh well, I thought. It’s a small price to pay if it would make her feel a little bit more at home while she’s staying here, and the kid’s had a rough ride so far.
“Come on,” Daisy said, nodding at the bed. “It’s way too late for you to still be awake, missy.”
I sat on the bed, while Daisy took Emmy into the attached bathroom. I knew there were spare toothbrushes, but I made a note to grab Emmy some toiletries too.
A few minutes later, Emmy walked out with a huge grin on her face, her hair brushed out and she was drowning in one of my spare white t-shirts.
“Looking good, kiddo,” I laughed as I stood and she bounded over to the bed.
Emmy climbed up onto the bed and scrambled to get under the covers quickly. Once she got herself situated, Daisy and I both took a seat at the foot of the bed. I let Daisy take over, flattening the sheets and smoothing out the pillows.
“Miss Wright,” Emmy said reluctantly, “When am I going to see Mommy again?”
“I don’t know,” Daisy said gently, and I could tell she was conflicted about the answer. Torn between telling the awful truth, or telling a lie.
“But you don’t need to worry about that,” I added quickly, and Emmy’s eyes shifted to me. Even in the dim bedroom light, I could see the start of tears puddling under her eyes, and I wished there was something I could do. Something I could say to comfort her.
“Everything is going to be ok,” I said. “I promise.”
I felt Daisy’s eyes staring up at me, and I had a pretty good idea why. She was probably going to tell me that it was not a good idea to make promises that I couldn’t keep. But I didn’t need anyone to tell me that. That was a lesson I already learned the hard way. I would never make a promise I did not intend on keeping. And when I promised Emmy that everything was going to be ok, I meant it.
We said our goodnights, then Daisy flicked off the bedroom light and gently closed the door. We padded softly down the hallway, back to the living room.
Daisy collapsed onto the couch and stifled a yawn, then glanced down at her cell phone on the coffee table as she shook the braid loose from her hair, letting the golden curls spill freely over her shoulder.
“Still no word from CPS?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she shook her head.
“Looks like we’ll be having a sleepover,” I teased.
“Nice try,” she said coolly, her eyes flashing up at me.
“What’s the supposed to mean?” I frowned. I walked across the room to the wet bar and I pulled open the glass door to the wine fridge, flooding the floor with blue light. I bent down, selecting a fresh bottle of Pinot Grigio, and then I grabbed two glasses and a corkscrew and walked back towards the couch.
“Come on,” Daisy said, keeping her eyes tilted up at me, “I’m not an idiot. You’ve been flirting with me all night.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, plopping onto the couch beside her. I started working at the foil wrapper on the wine bottle’s neck as she watched from her spot on the couch.
“Really?” she eyed me doubtfully. “Pressing up against me when we walked in the door? Brushing your knee against mine during the movie? All those little glances and smiles?”
She wasn’t wrong. Instead of making excuses, I offered a coy smile.
“And now this?” she gestured to the wine bottle in my hands.
“I figured we could enjoy a glass of wine while we wait for that phone call,” I shrugged innocently. “They don’t seem to be in any hurry.”
“Mr. Preston,” she snapped, “This little routine might work on other girls, but if you think you can charm your way into my pants with your flashy apartment and expensive wine…”
“Are you saying I’m not charming?” I glanced up at her, and her eyes flashed.
I stabbed the screw into the cork and started twisting, as I saw the resolve on her face soften.
“I’m saying that your charms won’t work on me,” she said firmly.
“Really?” I asked. I pried the cork out of the bottle and it made a gentle pop. Then I reached for one of the glasses and carefully poured the wine, watching it splash as it filled the glass.
I offered the glass to her, but when she reached for it, I pulled it away.
“Let’s not pretend that we don’t already know what I do to you,” I whispered, holding the glass out of her reach as she leaned towards me.
“What are you talking about?” she gulped, her eyes finding mine.
“I felt the way your body reacted to mine,” I said softly. “I felt the way I made your heart race and your blood rush…”
“You surprised me,” she insisted, but the slight tremor in her voice told me that even she doesn’t believe what she was saying. “That’s all.”
“You didn’t pull away,” I reminded her.
“I was just…”
“What?”
She shook her head, and when she reached forward for the wine glass I didn’t stop her from taking it. I watched her take a long, anguished sip before pouring myself a glass.
“Nothing is happening between us,” she said firmly.
“Fine,” I said. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you didn’t feel anything when your body touched mine.”
“I don’t have to explain myself,” she protested, but her voice was more strained than firm.
I closed the distance between us on the couch, and my knee brushed against hers.
“Then tell me to stop,” I challenged.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell you to stop,” she replied breathlessly, and I smiled because that was exactly what I wanted to hear. I took a sip of wine, then I set my glass on the table.
As I brought my hand back up, I let my open palm catch on her knee, wrapping around her bare skin under the hem of her pencil skirt. She didn’t move away.
“Mr. Preston,” she gulped, but all the protest was gone from her voice. I was close enough to feel her heart pounding, vibrating between us.
“Just say the word,” I whispered, squeezing her thigh. She inhaled heavily and her back arched towards me. Her nipples were hard again, piercing through her shirt, and as she licked the wine off of her glistening lips. I felt my own heart race, wondering how wet I was making her.
Now there was no doubt that she wanted this, no doubt that her body was responding to mine, and no doubt that we both felt the fire between us. My cock stiffened in my pants, throbbing impatiently, but I reminded myself to stay in control. We may both know what she wanted, but that doesn’t give me permission for all the things I wanted to do to her.
I leaned forward, burying my face into the soft milky skin of her neck but held my lips back. It was as much of a tease for me as it was for her. I wanted to taste her skin, wanted to fill my mouth with her warmth.
“Tell me to stop,” I said again, trailing my lips along the underside of her jaw, then over her chin, until our mouths were just inches apart, separated only by her silent hesitation.
And then Daisy surprised me. She angled her face up suddenly, and pressed her lips firmly against mine.
The contact made my need for her explode. I pressed my hand further up her skirt, exploring her bare thigh, while my other hand tangled through her soft blonde hair. My tongue spread her plump lips apart, licking away the leftover wine.
I felt her hands crawl forward to reciprocate, carving out the shapes of my muscles through my dress shirt. I moved my hand up to her own cotton work shirt, feeling the soft tent of her hardened nipple with my palm, then clenched my fingers around her breast and squeezed until a soft moan broke free from her lips.
I moved my hand up, plucking open the first button of her blouse, and then, out of nowhere, her phone buzzed urgently from the glass coffee table.
Just as suddenly as the kiss began, it ended with her pulling away and reaching for the phone. Her eyes shifted between the phone’s digital screen, then up at me.
“It’s CPS.”