11. Retreat
1577 Words
Elena's POV:
Milo didn’t need much convincing to keep playing with his toy cars, and soon enough I forgot the humiliation, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, building an elaborate racetrack out of his blocks cheered me on. Slowly, my hands stopped trembling. My heart found a steadier beat.
"You good."
"Thanks, Milo," I said with a smile.
The simple rhythm of play, the sound of Milo’s delighted squeals, the way he narrated every dramatic crash—it all helped unknot my chest.
Just when I began to think I might survive the day without combusting, I sensed movement behind me.
Caleb.
He walked over—slow, careful, like approaching a wild animal that might spook. His eyes met mine for a split second, a soft clash of heat and memory—
Then he looked away. Straight at Milo.
“Buddy,” he said, voice low but gentle, “what’s going on here?”
Milo gasped in excitement. “Daddy! Look! Me and Lena made a TRACK! And the blue car is WINNING because Lena said it’s the fastest and I SAID NO—so I made MY car the fastest—see??”
Caleb crouched beside him, shoulders stiff, attention glued to his son. Not me.
Not even by accident.
“Looks like you two worked hard,” he murmured.
I swallowed, nodding like a robot. “He’s a great engineer. Very demanding, though. I think I’ve been fired five times in ten minutes.”
Milo puffed out his chest, proud. “Yes. Because she made the cars kiss on accident.”
Caleb choked.
I went beet red. “They bumped into each other! That’s not kissing.”
“Yes it is!” Milo declared. “You made them go like this—” He grabbed two cars and mashed them together with an exaggerated “MWAAAH.”
Caleb coughed into his fist, ears slightly pink. “Milo, cars don’t… kiss.”
Milo looked offended. “Then WHY do they make kissing sounds when they bump?”
“That’s not—” Caleb closed his eyes like he regretted getting into this conversation. “It’s not a kissing sound, bud.”
“Yes it is,” Milo muttered stubbornly.
I bit my lip, trying not to laugh. Not because the cars were kissing, but because Caleb still refused to look at me—even now, even laughing, his gaze stayed strictly on Milo or the floor.
He was pretending everything was normal.
I was grateful.
And utterly humiliated.
What did he think I was? Some unhinged, horny woman who couldn’t control herself? Someone who dreamed loudly about her best friend's brother?
Goddess, I wanted to slam my head into the nearest piece of furniture, or... something, anything that would make me stop feeling like this. An amnesia right about now would be great. Greater, if Caleb Monroe was the one who forgot this s**t.
I forced myself to look away from him, gaze drifting toward the window. Snow fell thick and white, softening the world outside into a blurry cotton-cloud landscape. It was so beautiful, but it meant I wasn’t going anywhere today, and from the way it looked, neither tomorrow.
Maybe the goddess—who had done absolutely nothing for me my entire life—might feel pity this once.
She never helped when I didn't shift at sixteen, and my wolf stayed dormant, playing hide and seek with my soul once in a while. She never helped me when my father told me that I didn't belong in a pack, and I should live with humans. She didn't help when I begged her to save my mother, when my mother was all I had...
But maybe—just maybe—she’d help me this once... to escape this shame...
Milo tugged my sleeve. “Lena. Hey. LENA. You not looking.”
“Sorry, little engineer.” I forced a smile. “I got distracted.”
“By what? Snow?”
“Yes.”
No.
More like the giant, hot, brooding werewolf who saw you dreaming about him.
But sure, let's all go with snow.
Caleb sat down next to Milo, careful to keep a safe few inches of distance from me, like I was a live wire. That stung a little. Even if it was smart. Even if it was what I wanted.
Mostly.
“Lena,” Milo said, climbing into my lap without warning. “What do you DO?”
I blinked. “Do?”
“For WORK,” he explained, as though dealing with the slowest adult on earth. "Adults do that. Work. Daddy do."
“Oh.” I smiled. “I work at a bakery.”
Milo’s eyes bulged. “A REAL bakery?”
“Mm-hmm. I own it. A real bakery."
His jaw dropped. “A place with muffins and cookies and cinnamon rolls and donuts?!”
“All of those,” I said, laughing softly.
He gasped dramatically. “Daddy, can we go to Lena's bakery?”
Caleb’s lips twitched—almost a smile.
"Mmhm, we will see..."
Milo wriggled around, looking very excited at the prospect of visiting a bakery.
“So do you eat cookies for breakfast, lunch and dinner?”
“Absolutely not.”
“WHAAAT?” He looked HORRIFIED.
Caleb huffed. “She would be sick in two days.”
“I would not!” Milo insisted. “Daddy, you don’t KNOW. Cookies are magic.”
“You don't get to grow up with only cookies. You need vegetables,” Caleb muttered.
“I don’t wanna vegetables,” Milo declared proudly. "I don't tall like daddy. I stay short like Lena."
I choked on air. Did he just... call me short?
Caleb snorted, shaking his head.
"I'm not short. Your daddy is just a giraffe," I said, mustering all the dignity I was left with. Milo shrugged, and Caleb couldn’t hold back a soft chuckle that time.
It warmed me more than the fireplace ever could.
“Ok,” Milo continued, like he hadn't just offended me greatly. “Do you make the cookies yourself?”
“I do. I make all of them.”
His eyes widened. Blue and beautifully innocent. “So you’re like a COOKIE WIZARD.”
“A what?” I laughed, shaking my head.
“You can make cookies ANYTIME. Just—poof!” He flailed his hands. “Cookie wizard!”
Caleb shook his head. “It’s called a baker.”
“No! Wizard!” Milo insisted.
I giggled.
Caleb’s gaze flicked to me, and it made my breath stutter. Then he looked away again, pretending he hadn’t looked at all. Goddess, this was becoming harder... to pretend play this game...
“Lena,” Milo said, “when you go back, me and daddy wanna come to your bakery."
I nodded. “Of course you can. I'll give you free cookies."
“Yay!” Milo cheered. “Daddy, did you hear? Free cookies! I’m gonna go to the city and eat ALL the cookies!”
Caleb shot him a weary, soft look. “Not all of them.”
“Yes,” Milo said confidently. “I’m gonna eat one million cookies.”
“No,” Caleb said.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Caleb rubbed his forehead. “Why did I teach you numbers?”
“Because I love math,” Milo said smugly.
Something in Caleb’s face softened—so real and warm it made my chest ache.
He leaned over, ruffling Milo’s hair. “That’s true.”
Then Milo added, “And because I’m smart.”
“That too.”
I laughed again, my earlier embarrassment slowly loosening its claws. The room felt warmer. Softer. Almost peaceful, despite the underlying tension still humming between me and Caleb.
Milo went back to pushing cars down the book-ramp we built, making explosion noises. I helped repair the track whenever it collapsed, occasionally sneaking glances at Caleb.
He cleaned a bit more, folded a blanket, straightened a cushion—moving in and out of our play area without ever standing too close. Without ever letting his eyes linger more than a second.
He acted like nothing was wrong.
After almost an hour playing, my energy began to dip. I need to get some air... maybe sleep, this time without embarassing myself.
“Hey, Milo,” I said softly, touching Milo’s shoulder. “I’m going to rest for a bit.”
Milo pouted. “Noooo. But we didn’t finish the race!”
“No, Milo,” Caleb said, sounding torn between amused and exasperated. “Let Lena take a break.”
"Ok-kay..." Milo said, smiling. "Take rest."
"Thank you."
I forced myself up, smoothing my sweater. When I glanced toward Caleb, his eyes darted away immediately, like looking at me was dangerous.
I swallowed hard. The snow had to stop by tomorrow. I couldn't survive another day of this humiliation...
“Thanks for…” I gestured vaguely at the room. “Everything. And your food is delicious. Good night,” I said, looking at his throat, and not into his eyes.
"Good night," he whispered, voice rasping... low... and far too intimate.
My stomach flipped. My chest tightened.
Nodding and mumbling something, I hurried up the stairs before the silence between us swallowed me whole.
The door clicked shut behind me.
And only then did I let myself breathe.
Fuck, Elena. This is so f****d up!
(-)
- Writer
