Beautiful Elixir (Beautiful Oblivion #3) by Addison Moore Page A

on or off, Caleb was the boy to watch—still is.
    “Hey, beautiful.” His eyes brighten as if someone just lifted the dim switch. A sweeping heat drifts through me when he calls me that. “I was just about to text you.” He holds out his beer like an apology before setting it down. “Let me help you with those.” He takes the sacks from me and nods me toward the kitchen. “Can I get you a drink? Cold or hot, I’ll make it any way you want it.”
    “I’m good.” I lead the way, taking in the Nicolson’s taste in décor. The home was purchased furnished. Mostly it’s cabin chic knickknacks, a chandelier made of antlers, lots of dark logs lining the walls. It’s odd knowing Caleb had nothing to do with the room fixtures or decor as if this were some elaborate stage, we were the actors in some terrifying play—a Greek tragedy.
    A carved bear stands erect in the corner holding out a wooden sign with a Bible verse.
    Caleb flicks a finger at it. “It’s pretty amazing right? I’m betting Gavin made it.”
    “I bet you’re right. He’s sort of our lumberjack slash artisan on the hill. So what do you do? You like to whittle away at anything when you’re all alone?” I give a glance to his crotch without meaning to. Oh, hell, I meant it.
    I make myself at home by pulling out the groceries and plucking a pan from under the island. Contrary to popular belief, I know my way around the kitchen. I’ll have a gourmet meal whipped up in no time before I break the news that I don’t have a dime to pay him for representing me. Although I’m sure Caleb will accept payment in far more interesting ways. I smirk at the idea. I’m not my mother—at least not in that respect.
    “The only thing I whittle away is time.” He pulls another pan out and glides a thin stream of olive oil across the bottom. It all feels so natural with him. Like we’re not playing house, like we’re really sharing one life. Caleb has always been the one person I seemed to click with. Keith and I were nothing but a burst of angry breakups and makeups, lots of jealousy and cheating, (his end), and lots of boneheaded forgiveness on my part. In truth, Keith was a stand-in for something I craved but could never really have, and now I’m looking right at him—Caleb, the juicy steak ready to satisfy my anemic hunger.
    “I do like long walks where I can clear my head,” he finally confesses.
    “So you’re a hiker.” I jump, forcing my ponytail to swing behind me—a move my mother would approve of. She always did say men prefer younger women, that young is all a state of mind, age is just a number, and all that other bullshit old people feed themselves like hard medicine crushed in applesauce. Ponytails certainly fit the age bracket in which she’d like me to project. She’s probably right, though. Another thing about my mother, no matter how shallow, how superficial the world may peg her, she’s often right about a lot of things when it comes to men.
    I rinse the pink fish and slosh it into the sizzling pan, pretending its Keith. Although Keith and I were done before we ever hit the fire.
    “So it’s out now.” I wash my hands with lots of soap under a boiling faucet. “Can you cook your hands in hot water? I think I’m cooking mine.” I snap the water off and tap my fingers over a dishtowel until they stop prickling. “My video debut is official,” I continue. “All my friends think it’s the bomb. Do people still say that anymore? Anyway, it sort of is—the dirty bomb. That’s the real reason I’ve dusted off an old euphemism, so I can over use it the right way.” I give a little wink.
    Caleb hasn’t stopped tracking me with his gaze, those floating owl clock eyes that have the uncanny ability to follow me around the room without him having to turn his head. A part of me still can’t believe he’s here. Caleb is larger than life. Those dimples of his just waiting for my touch, that wide, warm chest begging me to press