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The Coffee Shop Ch. 02

By: beccca



Saturday finally arrived clear and cold as it often was in Michigan in early February.

She had been up since six that morning getting ready. She had showered, washed her hair and herself with some expensive body wash from the mall. She slid the new lace panties up her smooth legs and over her nicely wide hips. Then, she fastened the matching bra around her waist and pulled it up over full, somewhat heavy breasts. After making some adjustments, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater that she knew he would like. She left her hair loose, because he had asked her to. He like the way the curls cascaded over her shoulders, he said. Once that was done and her shoes were on, she pulled on her coat and headed out to her blue pick-up and drove to the coffee shop.

He wasn't there yet when she arrived so she sat there quietly in her truck. As she waited, she thought back to the last time she had seen him. The time in his car when he had kissed her. Oh, the feelings that had stirred up in her. For the rest of the day it felt as if she was on fire inside. She couldn't get him out of her thoughts, but that was nothing new. She smiled as she though back to when she was in school. She had had such a crush on him. Probably because he had been the only one to ever tell her how pretty she looked. He always seemed to have something nice to say to her. Perhaps it was natural then that she should want to please him. She had come to crave his compliments and that bright smile like a drug. She had kept her feelings to herself. He was married after all and even if he hadn't been. She was sure that there was no way that he would be interested in a chubby girl like her.

That had been a long time ago before he had been transferred. Now, he was back in town. She was just waiting for him to arrive. He wanted her and she trembled inside as the thought of what the morning would bring.

Suddenly, she was startled out of her reflections by a tapping on the window. She turned and smiled. It was him! She opened the door and he helped her out. He brushed the curl out of her eye and gently kissed her on the cheek.

"I'm sorry I'm late, little one. I had a minor family crisis at home. I got here as soon as i could, though."

"That's alright." She said. "I only just got here, myself."

He kissed her gently on the lips this time. "Good, then let's get going. He opened the car door and helped her in, then slid in on the drivers side. Once the door was closed and his seat belt fastened, he started the engine and pulled into traffic. They were silent for most of the trip except for small talk about how each other's week went. Mostly, they left each other alone with their thoughts about what was to come. 

They soon arrived at his office which was one of those nondescript glass boxes that are a common part of life anymore. She followed him inside and waited while he signed in. After that, they headed over to the bank of elevators and stepped into one that was already open. He pushed the button and she watched the door slide closed. She felt that familiar drop in her stomach as they started up. She looked up and watched the numbers and smiled as she listened to him humming softly. Then, she felt his hand close around hers and she felt that warm feeling return again. 

The car stopped and the door glided open to reveal a bank of work stations. Everything seemed so quiet and deserted, almost like the ruins of an ancient tomb or temple. They stopped at a door off to the side and she listened to his keys jingling as he opened the lock and they went in.

He crossed the room and around his desk and pulled the blinds closed then turned to her. Her heart started racing as he came back from the desk and gently pulled her close. He slowly covered her mouth with his and they could both feel the blood rushing in their veins as their lips opened and their tongues met. Already, he was asserting himself over her as it was his tongue that slipped into her mouth, probing for all those sensitive places and making her moan for him.

He broke the kiss and ran his hand down her face before stepping back. He leaned back against the and watched her for a moment. He let her squirm just a little bit, letting the anticipation build between them before he spoke.

"Now, little one, I want you to strip for me. Slowly now. I want to enjoy every bit of the show."

She nodded and kicked off her sneakers. Her hands trembled slightly as she unsnapped her jeans then slid the zipper down slowly. Then, she turned around and slid the denim over her round bottom and down her legs. Then, she turned back around and inched the sweater up over the round breasts pulling it off a little faster than she would have liked. She stood in front of him for a moment in her panties and bra as she let him look to his hearts delight. She shivered a little in the cool air and felt her nipples harden, but, she knew it was only partly from the chill in the room. She hooked her thumbs into her panties and slid the lace down her legs, then kicked them aside. Then, she reached behind herself and unhooked her bra. She slowly slid one strap then the other down her plump arms. Waiting for just a moment, she verrrrrrrry slowly peeled the cups down from her breasts and tossed the bra in the direction of her panties and smiled to herself as she listened to him take a deep breath as he saw her finally revealed to his gaze.

He approached her and circled her as he looked her over up and down. Instinct told her not to move and she kept her eyes on the blind behind his desk even as she could feel his eyes burning into her. He came up behind her and cupped a fat breast in each hand, squeezing softly at first, then more firmly as his lips traced a scorching trail from her temple down the side of her face and neck. He gave her nipples a firm pinch and pulled them upward smiling into her hair as her moan shattered the silence of the room. 

"That's my girl." He whispered, even as his hands glided slowly down her soft skin. One hand down over her belly, gently tracing the curve of it even as he continued downward. The other hand descended down her back, pausing right about midway when she suddenly moaned again and arched against him. He made a mental note of that spot for future reference while he cupped a firm ass cheek. He especially loved her ass. So nice and wide and round. Just right for paddling. He could feel himself growing even harder than he was already thinking about it.

"Open your legs, little one." He whispered in her ear even while nibbling on the super sensitive lobe. Her breathing quickened and she parted her legs while his hands dipped inside. The front hand found her clit already hard and throbbing while the one that had been on her butt probed for her cunt. He slipped two fingers up into her, probing gently. She was wet for him already which pleased him greatly. He continued to finger fuck her while his other hand softly pinched and pulled on her clit. She could feel the pressure building up and pooling in a part of her way down in her belly. She could feel her knees getting weak as she leaned against him all the while mewling like a newborn kitten.

Sensing that she was getting close, he pulled out suddenly and she whimpered in frustration. He laughed softly and tilted her chin up until she was looking into his dark eyes. 

"Now, little one, on your knees. It's time you showed me what you can do. He gently pushed down on her shoulder and she sank to to the floor. She was then at eye level with the front of his jeans. She could feel her heart race as she watched his hands undo his belt and lower his fly. She licked her lips as she looked up at him, silently waiting for permission. He nodded and she reached inside and carefully pulled out his hard cock. It wasn't especially long but it more than made up for that with it's thickness. She rose up on her knees and placed soft little kisses up the side and on his balls. Then, slowly, she licked up it from base to the tip. He groaned softly as she licked under the rim of the bulging head. Then, she slid her warm lips around him and started sucking. She took him in slowly, licking and sucking until her nose was nuzzled up against his stomach. She could feel him getting even harder even as she held him in her mouth. 

His breath was coming quicker now as her mouth was pumping him faster. He could feel her tongue tracing a vein that was pulsing on the side. He tried but he couldn't hold back a groan that erupted as she flicked her tongue on that very sensitive spot. He was fast approaching climax and so pulled her head back before he was too far gone. "On the couch, little slut. On your knees. Face the wall." He was panting now from the arousal and his effort to keep himself in check. Also, his language was getting rougher as it usually did at a time like this.

As quickly as she could, she climbed onto the couch and faced the wall. She spread her knees wide and this caused her pussy to open and it shown wetly at him as he the top desk draw and retrieved a ping pong paddle. He approached her and slowly ran the edge down her spine, feeling a wave of pure lust as she arched her back in response. He slowly rubbed the surface of the paddle against the smooth skin of her rounded ass and she sighed softly. That sigh was replaced by a sharp puppy like yelp as he suddenly delivered a series of five blows to first one cheek then the other for a total of ten. H stepped back and admired the pink glow that formed over her bottom. That was just how he wanted to see it. 

He dropped down onto his knees behind her and for a moment just savoured the heat that radiated off of her pink ass. Then he reached between them and pulled the plump pussy lips apart. Inside she looked like a fresh peach with the morning dew dripping off it. He leaned in and slowly licked from her clit to the top of her ass then stopped and waited. 

"Oh, please." she whispered softly.

"Please what, little one? Tell me what you need."

"Please, oh please lick me again. I need it. I need to feel your tongue on me again."

He licked again. This time he circled her clit slowly and sucked it into his mouth. She moaned and pushed back against him. He gave her a sharp slap on her bottom and ordered her to keep still. She did so but it was a great effort to do so. The pleasure was just too intense. 

"Ohhhh please, please let me cum." She begged.

"I don't think so, little one. You're not quite ready."

"But I need it! Please, I need to cum so bad!" She cried out as he grabbed a handful of brown curls and hauled her roughly backward. 

"I am the one to decide when you cum and when you don't. You just remember that, slut!" He whispered fiercely in her ear before pushing her back down on the couch. 

Seeing her splayed out on the couch looking over her shoulder at him, half in fear and half with pure animal need, he couldn't wait anymore. He rose up behind her and pulled her ass cheeks apart as he roughly shoved his stiff cock into her moist cunt. She was still tight enough inside that it ripped a gasp from him even as he started to pump in and out of her. He tried to take it slowly at first, but he just couldn't help it. Maddened with need, he started to pound savagely into her as he gripped her long dark hair.

Again and again he drove himself deep into her until he felt her starting to contract around his shaft. This was it. He knew she couldn't hold back anymore if she tried. Even as he pushed into her, half mad with on approaching orgasm, he managed give her the permission she needed.

"Now, little one! NOW! Give me your submission!" She let out a wail that he was sure rattled the windows. Her whole body tensed and he felt her cunt clench itself around him. That was all it took for him. With a roar, he exploded, pouring his hot molten cum deep into her. He thrust all the way, balls deep and held there while they both rode out the waves of exstacy that threatened to overwhelm them both.

His heart was still pounding as he finally pulled of her. He rolled over onto the couch and pulled her over with him and held her close as they slowly came down from the wonderful high of their union. He brushed back her hair, kissing and murmuring softly to her as she rode out the aftershocks or her orgasm. 

"Little one, you did very well. I'm very happy with you." He said to her as they dressed later. He pulled her close, kissing her forehead softly. She looked up at him. Her eyes here dark and shining.

"What is it, little one? Why the tears?"

"Oh, Sir. I don't want this to be the only time. I want to be with you forever. I want to give myself completely to you. I want you to accept me as yours."

"Little one," He cupped her face in his hands, his eyes dark with the deep emotions he was feeling. "You already have and I acceped you a long time ago. However, there is just one more thing."

"What's that?" She asked, curiously cocking her head to the side.

"From now on, you are to call me Master." He whispered as his lips came down on hers again."

This time, it ws her that broke their kiss.

"Yes, Master." She said, smiling joyously.

The end?

The Coffee Shop Ch. 02



Author's Note: I appreciate the comments for the first chapter, constructive criticism is what I need to become a better writer! So to those of you who made suggestions or otherwise, thank you! Here's the second chapter in Peyton and Caleb's story. 

+++

The storm had been slow in building, steeping the small coastal town of Hamish, Maine, in fog and low-lying black clouds that seemed incapable of deciding when exactly to release their bounty. 

When the first wave of the storm hit, it had been via a strong northeasterly wind. Within minutes of the hurricane-like gale pounding Peyton Gray's childhood home, the electricity had gone out, interrupting her gray-matter-numbing afternoon program.

Peyton waited patiently for the backup generators to switch on, too cozy under her thick throws to brave a dash into the turbulent outdoors. Minutes ticked by and Peyton came to the dire conclusion that she would have to brave the storm after all.

With a weary sigh, she extracted herself from her pile of blankets and headed to the back of the house where her coat and the spare flashlight were stowed. Glancing briefly out of the window pane, Peyton could see faint white flashes of lightning within the heavy black clouds, the thunder faint to the ears as of yet. She exchanged her moccasins for her pink-as-a-pig rain boots, knowing that they would garner better protection from the coming rain than the worn-in leather.

Tightening the strings of her coat hood tightly under her chin, Peyton tested the flashlight, strengthened her resolve, and dashed outside only to be blasted back indoors by the wind of the storm.

Digging her boots in, she shut the patio door and pushed out into the gale, swearing under her breath as she was whipped back and forth across the backyard. The going was slow, but finally she made it to the small white detached garage where fuel for the backup generators was stored. After a quick search inside, she found the heavy red plastic containers filled to the brim with gasoline. When the garage side door slammed shut with a resounding bang, followed seconds later with loud ticking pellets, Peyton growled, a first for her.

With a determined shove she braved the storm again, the water like rubber mallets as they struck her skin, instantly soaking her to the bone. That's when her eyes went to the sea, and Peyton was astonished to see how grey the water had become under the dark clouds. Used only to the sunny Los Angeles weather, it was an astonishing change. The once lazy waves that clipped the cliffs of Lighthouse Island had become angry swells that crashed hard against the rock. The island looked vulnerable against the storm, and the tell-tale spray against the Overlook told her that the waves were definitely high.

In that moment, a brilliant white streak of lightning darted across the equally turbulent sky, the cacophonic boom sending Peyton's heart reeling. Quickly Peyton readjusted her grip on the gas containers, desperate to get out of the storm.

She was almost to the generators when she heard it. How was anyone's guess. The bleak cry of help was so thin and weak that in the next loud boom of thunder, it was completely lost.

Quickly Peyton reacted, her mind racing with images of an injured fisherman or ridiculous teenage surfer who thought it wise to catch a record-high swell or two. After shoving the gas containers in the back room, Peyton rushed out in front of the Barn, having to slit her eyes against the sea spray as she searched.

Lighthouse Island was barely visible in the torrent of sea spray and fog, and there was nothing on the road leading to town. Ignoring the potential dangers of her next action, she slid across the gravel and mud to the Overlook, and got lucky.

"I'M DOWN HERE! SOMEONE HELP ME!" the voice cried, the bellow unmistakably male. Peyton surveyed the cliff edge in confusion before her brain cells kicked in. Falling to her knees at the edge she bent over warily and found herself staring at the top of a soaked mop of ink black hair and two shaking hands that were clinging to the cliff rock like a monkey to his tree. Peyton threw out her hands and grasped hold of the broad male shoulders, digging her toes in as she pulled the body back up over the ledge.

"Dig your feet in!" she hissed at him, feeling her feet slide on top of the soil as his weight drug her back down. If the man didn't give it some effort, they both would be hurtling to their deaths this evening.

There was a grunt of pain from the male and soon they were safely back away from the edge, boots and limbs sliding across the rock and muddy soil. 

Peyton lost her footing with a gasp, falling hard onto her back and bringing the heavy male down with her. Once she regained her breath, her eyes connected with the bleeding, pale face of someone she had hoped, beyond a doubt, that she would not see again until nine o' clock tomorrow morning.

The male-in-distress was none other than Caleb, her eye candy.

Before she could allow herself to flounder under those pain-glazed eyes, Peyton's good sense kicked in. "Are you too hurt to walk?" she asked him.

His head twitched, out of pain or cold, she wasn't sure. Peyton moved quickly now, tugging him to his feet and instantly received a mouthful of his t-shirt as he came barreling back into her. Chilled arms clung to her torso and Peyton tugged her head out of his trim chest so she could see.

Burdening his weight, Peyton practically drug him to the Barn, her eyes raking over the area to see if he had been with anyone else. That's how she saw a red bike wrapped around the trunk of a thick oak, it's back wheel missing completely. A bag from the local grocer was caught around the handlebars, fluttering with loud pops against the hurricane-force wind.

Training her eyes back to her destination, Peyton tried to recall where the first aid kit had been stashed, vaguely remembering its last known location had been the medicine cabinet in the kitchen.

Peyton crashed into the back patio door, grunting as Caleb's very solid weight fell heavily against her own. After fiddling with the doorknob, they both tumbled in and Peyton nearly broke her neck trying to keep the two of them upright. Her eyes found the gas containers and she swore under her breath.

Dragging Caleb now, she spoke in a chattered hiss.

"I n-need to start u-up the generators," she told him as she brought him to the first floor bathroom. It wasn't the most spacious of the bathrooms -- that would be hers upstairs -- but it would have to do. "T-Take off your clothes and get d-dried off the best y-you can. When t-the electricity comes b-back on, t-take a bath to g-get some heat in you. I'll get the f-first aid kit." Peyton lifted up his cold chin to look over his cut and found his eyes were sharp, the pain almost gone from them. "C-Caleb, did you catch any of that?" she asked.

Caleb nodded, the movement taking his chin out of her grip. "Yes," he answered in his usual aloof tone, though his eyes seemed a touch cooler than usual. Peyton was suddenly struck with the thought that Caleb did not like asking for help and was not used to kind treatment.

Shaking those thoughts aside, Peyton nodded back. 

"Good. I'll be back." Peyton hurried down the hall, leaving a trail of mud and water behind her as she raced out into the storm, not slowing down to pull up her hood or adjust her boots. It was a pointless venture, considering her drowned-rat state. Quickly she dumped the gas into the generators and flipped the switch, almost giving out a cry of glee when the main rooms of the Barn flickered to life.

Making a quick dash indoors, she sealed off the storm and shrugged out of her coat and boots before hurrying down the hall. Peyton was hit with a wave of irony as she realized the object of her daily fantasies was here, all alone with her, albeit a bit worse for wear. She shook the rapidly emerging desires that came along with that thought, determined to focus solely on keeping Caleb warm the most socially acceptable away (i.e., her clothes remained on) and tidying up the cut on his head.

At the sound of running water coming from the bathroom Peyton stopped at the doorway, which was still wide open, and cleared her throat.

"Caleb, if you'll hand me your clothes, I'll put them in the washer for you. I'm afraid all you'll have to wear is something of my dad's, but it'll only be temporarily."

There was a pregnant pause as the water shut off and Peyton scolded herself when the devil on her shoulder told her to take a peek around the door for a quick look-see.

"They're in the sink," came Caleb's aloof murmur. 

"I wrung out as much water as I could," he added on in afterthought.

Keeping her head ducked and her eyes trained in the opposite direction of the tub -- and the large wall mirror above the sink -- she scooped up his damp clothes from the sink basin and turned back to the doorway. "I'll bring you clothes and after you're dressed, I'll take a look at the cut on your head. Yell if you need anything."

"Towels," Caleb said suddenly.

Peyton turned to the towel rack and saw it was indeed missing a few of her parents' trademark towels. She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a stack, setting them on the ledge of the bathroom counter.

"Yell if you need anything," she repeated before shutting the door behind her.

Going into caretaker mode, Peyton did as she promised without any thoughts to the naked, pale boy-almost-man in the bathroom down the hall. She retrieved a pair of clothes from her father's closet, smelling them to insure they didn't reek of mothballs or must. Peyton checked the bedroom down the hall from the bath for clean sheets, refusing to think about them beyond a clinical they-must-be-clean-and-smell-nice standpoint. 

After pulling out the emergency kit, Peyton set on making them some form of supper, her stomach growling protests to its empty state.

After a few false starts with the gas stove, Peyton dumped vegetables and stew meat into a pot before retrieving bread and cheese for grilled cheese sandwiches, a habit of hers started from her childhood years. Never did the Gray family have soup without sandwiches, it was considered abnormal if they went without.

When she heard the sound of the bathtub being drained, Peyton picked up the stack of clothes she had retrieved and knocked on the bathroom door.

"Caleb, I'll leave the clothes out on the bench beside the door. If anything doesn't fit, let me know and I'll try to find you something else." She hesitated briefly before continuing. "If the cut on your head is still bleeding, just use one of the bathroom towels to clean up. I'll be in the kitchen with the kit when you're ready."

Peyton set the clothes aside and walked into the kitchen, checking the stew in order to give herself something to do. Suddenly, her hands began to shake and she lifted her head when the feeling of electricity began to shiver down her spine.

Caleb was standing at the kitchen entry, a crumpled rag pressed to his forehead and a towel over his shoulders. He fit into her father's L.L. Bean inspired attire perfectly, speaking wonders of how much muscle he actually had. Her father was a retired police officer and even in retirement had kept up his physique. The sweater and shirt underneath fit Caleb like a second skin.

"So that'll work, won't it?" she asked him, cringing a little. "I know it looks like old people clothing."

Caleb plucked at the sweater and shrugged a shoulder, saying nothing.

She gestured to a chair. "Take a seat and I'll look at your cut. Obviously it's still bleeding. Is that the only cut you have?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Caleb said after awhile, his closer presence wreaking havoc on her nerves. She put the lid back over the stew pot and wiped her hands as she turned to the table. She unlatched the emergency kit lid and set it back, taking inventory of what was available. Her father often stocked the kits and even with his lax visits the habit hadn't waned.

"Let me see the cut," she told him, plucking up gauze, swabs, and alcohol. Then it struck her fully what he had said.

"Wait," Peyton told him, watching as his hand froze a few inches from his face. "What did you mean by that?"

Caleb's ice green eyes grew cold within a second, his face guarded.

"It's nothing," he responded carefully, his voice firm. For a second, Peyton felt as though he was pleading with her not to press the point.

She didn't, especially when blood began to slowly make its way down his forehead. Gently she took the rag from his hand and dabbed away the blood, unscrewing the alcohol with the other hand.

"This will sting," she told him as she retrieved a cotton ball and sealed it over the lid of the pungent bottle, wetting one half of the cotton as she tipped it over.

"It's not a big cut," Caleb reasoned, though his knuckles turned white when she removed the rag and pressed the cotton to his skin. To his credit, he didn't jerk back or make the smallest sound. Peyton had a sick feeling in her stomach that he was very used to sealing off his emotions. Either that or he was very good at playing off bravado, but she knew better. This wasn't just bravado. This was insensitivity; someone desensitized to pain itself.

Quickly she covered the alcohol and brushed sealant over the cut, glad that it didn't need stitches. She was more than capable for the job, having stitched up her father a few times in her mother's absence, but it made her ill to do so.

After the sealant dried she applied the gauze to keep his hair away and any leakage from escaping. Once that was finished she checked his fingers and saw the broken nails were worn down to the nub. 

"Nasty habit, nail-biting," she told him as she threw away the cotton ball and put everything she had used back in its proper place.

Caleb said nothing.

"May I ask what you were doing on the Overlook?" she pressed as she stowed the kit in the medicine cabinet, turning the lock in place once the doors were shut.

She turned to see Caleb was examining his fingers, his damp hair falling in front of his face.

"Going home," he said quietly, curling his fingers so they formed two large fists.

Peyton hesitated. "But you were dangling from the cliff, Caleb," she said quietly. "That's at least ten feet from the road."

Caleb's eyes shot up to greet hers, the dark look within them foreboding. "I said I was going home, so that's what I was doing," he practically growled at her, standing up quickly.

Peyton stepped back, her breath catching in her throat. "Okay," she said quickly, giving in. "You were going home, I got that." She gestured to the chair again. "Sit. The stew should be ready in about fifteen minutes. Surely you're hungry?"

Caleb swallowed and sat down slowly, his face becoming wary.

Peyton mentally kicked herself. She was a complete stranger trying to dote upon him. Of course he was wary, he had every right to be!

"I'm Peyton," she told him, holding out her hand. "Peyton Gray."

Caleb took her hand in his, not breaking eye contact. "Caleb Vaughn," he responded. The second their skin brushed, Peyton felt an instant fire shoot straight through her, all the way down to her toes.

She smiled and ignored the way her skin tingled at his touch, releasing his hand at the same time he did hers. "Well, Caleb, if you're hungry, stew will be ready in a bit. Finish drying off your hair and go warm up by the fire -- I don't want you catching a cold."

A wry smile played on Caleb's lips. "I'm fine," he said in his same quiet tone, though this time he sounded a bit amused. "You don't mind if I call you, Peyton, do you?"

Peyton was glad in that moment that her back was to him because the second her name slipped from his lips, every muscle south of her navel had tightened and turned hotter than Hades and Peyton bit down hard on her bottom lip to seal up the gasp of surprise that had threatened to escape.

"Nope," she responded quickly as she pulled down a tin of tea from the cabinet above her. As she busied herself with finding the tea kettle, Caleb dried his hair with lazy strokes, his light green eyes flickering over the kitchen décor. 

Peyton could only imagine what he thought of the place. The house had kept the seaside cottage theme, mainly out of her father's interests than anything else. He had been a sailor and therefore decorated his home as such. The furnishings were minimal but cozy; the decorations centered on the sea with family photos adding a more personal touch. The kitchen was fairly modern however, due to her parents' love of cooking. The floor was tiled, the walls were given personal treatment by custom paint and paneling, and the cookware was of high quality. The counters were marble, and the furniture made by a craftsman in town.

Peyton turned her thoughts back to the present, pulling out of her memories so she could focus on what she was doing.

"I completely forgot," she muttered, turning to Caleb. "Your bike," she told him, cringing as she said it. "I hate to say it, but it's totaled. If you want I can go out and get it, I completely forgot about it honestly, but I don't know what you'll do with a bike missing its back wheel." Caleb sighed, running his hand through his dark hair. "Don't worry about it."

Peyton waited for him to add something to that but he didn't. She met his inquisitive gaze with a look of surprise. "That's it? 'Don't worry about it'?" she asked him.

Caleb shrugged and continued to dry out of his hair, saying nothing.

She snorted. "Are you just trying to be difficult or are you a man of few words?" she pressed, irritation getting the best of her.

Caleb smirked wryly, his eyes softening a little. 

"A bit of both, I guess," he replied slowly.

Peyton sighed and turned back to the stew. "Of course," she mumbled.

The stew was ready and Peyton scrambled to set up bowls and plates, glad that she had started the grilled cheese sandwiches sooner. "Grab a bowl. Take as much as you want, I made a fairly decent pot," she told him as she then worked on the tea, opting for the regular loose-leafed kind instead of her normal chamomile. Caleb didn't strike her as a tea-sipping kind of guy, so the less fancy the better.

Halfway through pouring them two mugs, the electricity kicked back on.

Peyton sighed. "Of course it would do that when I'm ready to eat," she grumbled. "Excuse me a moment. I've got to switch off the generators." 

She gestured to the living room. "If you want, there are blankets in the living room cabinet and it's warmer by the fire. I don't mind if you eat in there as long as you don't spill anything."

Caleb shook his head at her offer. "I will grab a blanket though. I'll promise not to make a mess," he told her, granting her another wry smile -- and a wink.

Too stunned to comment, she just nodded and escaped, vaguely remembering that in her mission to keep Caleb warm, she was still wearing her damp clothes and wet jeans. She sighed as she pulled on her still dripping coat and rain boots. She'll just have to wait a bit longer for her turn at being pampered, she thought wryly.

Tugging her jacket over her head once more, she darted out into the rain, unable to stop the yelp that escaped her lungs when the cold rain bit into her skin. Quickly turning off the generators and turning the switch she rushed back to the house, skidding slightly on the mud as she ran. After dumping her boots and jacket again she rushed to the stairs.

"Everything okay?" Caleb called from the kitchen.

"Y-Yes!" she stammered. "I-I just have t-to change c-clothes!" she called back.

She hurried to her room upstairs and stripped the second she was in the bathroom, dumping the wet -- and now muddy -- clothes in the sink. She jumped into the shower and let the water warm her up before jumping back out, drying off quickly. After pulling out her warmest clothes she went to the bathroom mirror and washed off her face, catching her reflection in the mirror.




The Coffee Shop Ch. 02



Where Caleb was fair, she was tanned, the color resembling liquid caramel with a bit of cream. A soft spray of freckles graced the tops of her cheeks, giving her the look of childishness that added even more youth to her five-foot-two figure. Her eyes, a strange color of golden amber, looked sickly yellow in the false light of the bathroom. Peyton made a face, her freckles and nose crinkling at the effort.

Peyton braided back her dark sienna-colored hair, her full lips pulling into a frown when a loud rumble of thunder followed by a brilliant white flash lit up the room. Telling herself to not diddle, she went back downstairs and slid into her fleece-lined moccasins, her feet instantly thanking her for the warmth.

Caleb had just stood up to retrieve another bowl of stew when she walked into the kitchen. Smiling at him she grabbed her own bowl and waited in line, noticing the sandwich tray was running low. She smirked wryly at that. Clearly he had been hungrier than he let on.

"Thank you."

Peyton blinked and stared up at Caleb in surprise to see that while he wasn't smiling, he wasn't glaring either. That was a start. "The weather channel says the storm will last through the night," he continued carefully, his eyes never leaving her face. "I don't want to be a nuisance," he said pointedly.

Peyton took a mental note of Caleb's absolute refusal for help, astonished by his sheer lack of informality and the radiating chill of his defensive posture. Caleb was obviously ready for a fight that wasn't going to take place, and Peyton wanted to know why.

"There's a bedroom down the hall," she said after awhile, adopting his formal tone. "It's one of the warmer rooms in the house. If you aren't comfortable there, the couch is open." She fought against arching an eyebrow to him. "And you're not a nuisance. Unexpected, yes, but it's not any trouble at all, Caleb."

Caleb didn't know how to respond to that, which she expected. He turned from her and ladled more steaming stew into his bowl before sitting down in the chair at the end of the table. Peyton turned her back to him, glad that she could hide her shaking hands and use the heat of the stove as an excuse for her flushed face.

Caleb at the coffee shop versus the Caleb sitting at her table were two completely different Caleb's, she reasoned as she filled her bowl with stew. Coffee Shop Caleb was formal, yes, but personable. He chatted with the customers quite often, even breaking a smile. When that cute blonde girl came around, he seemed more alive. But the present Caleb, the one she was tending to, was not personable. He was formal, almost overtly so, and each smile he granted her did not reach the glacial depths of his unnaturally light green eyes. This Caleb frightened her, more than Coffee Shop Caleb.

Peyton took two warm cheese sandwiches and sat at the opposite end of the breakfast table, glad she had left the stove on for the heat that licked around her legs was amazing. She noticed that Caleb had angled his body towards the stove as well, the blanket tight around his torso.

At that thought she checked the temperature on the a/c and heater control, standing up to turn up the heater a bit more. It would be sweltering upstairs, but at least Caleb wouldn't freeze.

As soon as she sat in her chair, Caleb's calm and gentle voice carried across the table. "I lied to you. About being at the ledge."

Peyton lifted her amber eyes to meet his green ones, forcing herself not to flinch away. She swallowed hard before clearing her throat. "What were you doing that close to the ledge?" she asked quietly, her expression demanding absolute truth.

Caleb's face was like a mask, his eyes two bright fiery orbs of rage that she knew wasn't aimed at her directly. "Wishing I had the guts to jump," he replied in that same infuriatingly formal voice.

Peyton inhaled his challenge and exhaled her own temper before answering. "You test yourself by standing at the ledge," she said in an even tone, his hardening gaze telling her she was right. "How often?"

It was Caleb who broke eye contact first, his nostrils flaring as he struggled for control over his inner demons. Peyton watched as his head bowed towards the table, his hair falling in front of his pale, flawless face. Briefly his hands on the table turned into fists before his body began to tremble with pent-up emotions that Peyton couldn't even begin to imagine.

"Every day," Caleb replied hoarsely, the emotional struggle obvious in his voice. "I stand at the edge every day and wait. I keep thinking that I'll have the strength...and each day I fail," he continued, his struggle fading into cold finality. When he met Peyton's eyes again, there was no sign of weakness. Peyton couldn't imagine the control he must have, or why it was there in the first place.

Peyton was not a therapist or a psychic, but she didn't need to be either of those things to see that he was in pain. Caleb wanted -- needed, more likely -- help, but he did not know how to ask for it. It struck her hard then that Coffee Shop Caleb was more personable because he was happy. Caleb was only happy when he was pretending to be someone else.

"You fail because you must have a reason to live," Peyton responded after a long stretch of silence. She had been trying to make her voice sound as controlled as his, but that just wasn't possible. 

"And on a subconscious level, no one wants to die. Your instincts for survival will botch every attempt at death you make. Surviving is engrained within us." She did not break his icy gaze when she continued. "I can preach all I want but unless you change how you approach whatever situation you're in, no one can help you. You must take the first step."

Caleb said nothing, his stare fluctuating between ice and pain. Peyton waited patiently, refusing to make it easy on him.

Peyton knew she wasn't qualified for problems like this. He needed a therapist, someone he could talk to and get him the help he needed. He needed friends, a support group, something, not Peyton.

But she knew that there was nothing in this world or the next that could stop her from helping Caleb. Selfishly she clung to the impulse to care for him even though she was positive she would only end up hurt by her decision.

For weeks Peyton had wondered why exactly she was lingering in Hamish, unsure of her direction or purpose. Now, she was sure of her reason and she would be damned if she left before the dust had settled.

Peyton internally chuckled at that. So much for putting the coffee shop incident behind her.

+++

PLEASE REMEMBER TO VOTE!!



The Coffee Shop Ch. 03



Author's Note: I appreciate you guys sticking with me, and for all the votes/comments/and criticisms. I hope this chapter satisfies some of your cravings for answers, and yes there will be more somber notes. ;-) I think it's only appropriate that I warn you readers in advance there is no sex as of yet. Caleb is a delicate character to work with, as you'll soon find out.

As always, this work is copyrighted, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

++++

Peyton Gray quietly exited the house through the front door early that next morning, taking care to not slam it shut so as to not wake her house guest. Tightening the folds of her fleece jacket wrap around her, she followed the gravel path that led to the woods, her heart beating in her throat.

The bike was just as she had remembered it: mangled around the trunk of an oak, the back wheel completely missing from the frame. Her amber eyes roamed the forest undergrowth but the wheel was gone. With a sigh she extracted the bike and took a better look at it, cringing as she did so.

It was an old Schwinn, one of those early models that no matter how fast a person pedaled, they remained in one place. The bolts and chain were rusted and Peyton knew the Schwinn had seen better days at least twenty years ago.

Scooping up the frame she turned back to the rusty red house, her mind falling back to last night's events.

++++

After dinner, she and Caleb had settled onto the couch to watch the weather. After at least twenty minutes of reigning silence, she relinquished power of the remote to him to let him pick a show. Within seconds they were watching the newest episode of Sons of Anarchy and for the rest of the night, they were silent.

Not that Peyton minded. She was addled enough by Caleb's speech during supper. He hadn't yet spoken to her about finding help for whatever problem or problems he was facing. In fact, after he had straightened up over his stew, unclenched his hands, and thanked her for dinner; Caleb hadn't spoken at all.

Which was fine, she had reminded herself. Caleb would talk when he was ready.

But the wait was slowly killing her.

After Sons was over, she showed him the bedroom and promised that in the morning she would bring him his bike. Anything beyond that was his decision. He had just stared at her, the blank look on his face mildly uncomfortable, so she had escaped upstairs and curled up under her bed covers.

For hours she tossed and turned as her mind raced with worried thoughts of what exactly was haunting Caleb. She wanted to help him, she wanted him to stop being such a stubborn hard ass, she wanted to know the truth, she wanted to kiss away his pain—

And that's when she decided enough was enough.

Peyton sat up in bed, her limbs exhausted from the struggle with her blankets, her head too busy to let her rest. A cup of tea would do her good, she hoped, so after donning her robe and moccasins, she descended the creaky wooden stairs to find the kitchen light already on.

Caleb was sitting at the breakfast table, a mug of tea in his hands. At the sound of her footsteps, he lifted his head and turned to look at her. His eyes were red-rimmed and his nose more than a little pink, but no tear trails stained his cheeks.

"You had the same idea I had," she told him with a slight smile as she headed towards the kettle. She poured herself a mug and dropped a few sugar cubes in before turning at the sink. Should she leave?

Caleb made the decision for her. "Stay," he grit out, his voice gruff.

Peyton sat in the same spot she had for supper, nursing her tea as she did so.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked him, breaking the silence between them even as her conscience told her to shut up.

Caleb shook his head once, sniffing before lifting his eyes up to hers. "Tomorrow is going to be a bad day," he said quietly, clearing his throat afterwards to rid it of the gruffness. "I may miss work," he finished ominously.

The look in his eyes gave her the chills and for a moment, Peyton was too surprised to speak. "When is your shift?" Peyton asked hesitantly, changing the direction of the conversation. If Caleb was surprised, he didn't show it.

"Eight, the usual."

Peyton pondered this for a moment. "If you want, I can take you into work. I'll drop your bike off at Camden's afterwards so it'll be ready when you get off." Camden's was the only auto repair shop in town – thankfully she could work with gears as well as motors.

Caleb sat back in his chair, his eyes dropping to the steaming, still full, mug. For a few moments he studied his drink before nodding. "Okay."

"No trouble," she told him, saving him from having to say the two words that he struggled with the most.

Caleb met her eyes and inclined his head. The action was almost noble.

After draining her cup, she rinsed it out and set it in the sink, bidding him goodnight. She ascended the stairs, feeling his eyes on her back as she walked to her room, but was too shaken up by his warning to look back.

Peyton settled into bed and closed her eyes, allowing herself to ponder over his obvious warning, but failed to put the pieces together. Would he be in trouble for not coming home? Would he be punished for Mother Nature's power versus his thirty-year-old bicycle?

She had offered him the ride because she would hate for him to miss work – it was obviously the only time he felt good about himself and she didn't want to deprive him of that. At work he smiled, and Peyton wanted to see him smile again.

Peyton tossed and turned for a while longer before drifting off uneasily, her dreams more like nightmares. When she woke up again, this time at four in the morning, it was because there was a knock on her bedroom door.

Fearing the worst, Peyton had rushed up to open it, not surprised to see Caleb standing in her doorway. But she was surprised to see the dark circles and bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his nose was still pinkish-red in hue. Clearly when she had left him, he had not stopped crying.

"Can I come in?" he asked hoarsely, his green eyes practically glowing in the dim light of her bedside lamp. Peyton hesitated only briefly, backing away so he could step through. Leaving the door open, she watched as he walked slowly to her large king-sized bed and sat on the edge before putting his face in his hands.

Peyton was torn then. One part of her was sensing that the next few minutes were going to be rough on Caleb and that he needed her support and guidance. The other part of her was remembering all the fantasies she had of Caleb whilst in this bed. It was an embarrassing contradiction that left her momentarily on the fence.

While the naughty dreams had a harder time in backing off, Peyton approached the bed and sat down beside Caleb and focused solely on helping him through this.

For a while, he was silent, never moving from his perch at the edge of her mattress. When he did speak, he didn't lift his face from his hands.

"There is so much I want to say, but I have a difficulty putting it into words," Caleb said in his low, patient tone. "I don't really know where to begin."

"Just talk to me. Don't worry about making it tidy."

Caleb's shoulders shook slightly, and it took her a second before she realized he was laughing.

Caleb straightened up then, turning his reddened eyes to her. "You say the weirdest things," he told her, a smile playing on his lips.

Peyton tugged at the end of her braid self-consciously, giving him a wan smile. "So I've been told," she lied, feeling a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Truthfully, she was always capable of making complete, clear, and concise sentences. Just not when she was in Caleb's presence, unfortunately.

She gave him an encouraging smile, wanting the spotlight off of her for the moment. "Only tell me what you're comfortable with."

"That would be basically nothing," Caleb said instantly, his eyes tightening around the edges. He swallowed hard and then turned his body so he could lean against the headboard, his arms going around his knees. Instantly he looked more like a frightened boy and less like the cold, calm-as-they-come Caleb.

"You're not the first person I've told this...stuff...to. That would be Chelsea."

Peyton turned and sat cross-legged on the bed, fiddling with the hem of her sweater. "Is that the blonde who comes in every morning the same time I do?"

Caleb's lips twitched and briefly the fear left his eyes. "Yes, that's her. She's my best friend."

Peyton nodded, filing that factoid down in her head for later. "Did she ask you about what was going on or did you just needed to tell someone and she was there to help?" asked slowly, trying to channel Dr. Phil and then cringing at the idea she had even gone there.

Caleb swallowed and the fear came back into his eyes. "Chelsea and I grew up neighbors in the Creek Hollow RV Park. We've been friends since we could walk. She is the only one who..." He trailed off, shaking his head as though to clear it. "She is the only one who knows everything. Without her I don't think I would be talking to you right now."

Peyton made a note to find out more about this Chelsea and to ask around about Creek Hollow. She grew up with the rumors about the RV park and none of them had been good. People had joked that the RVs were nothing but meth labs and the children were all addicted to crack from the womb. Peyton knew they were just rumors, but all rumors had a grain of truth in them, didn't they?

"I grew up without my mother," Caleb continued. "Dad isn't an easy man to get along with and she got fed up with it. I've been alone with him since I was three. My first memories were of him and his liquor breath." Caleb's voice had adopted this hollow, dry tone that sent shivers down Peyton's spine. Without thinking, she caressed his sock-encased left foot, the touch eradicating the dead look in his eyes instantly.

"Go on," Peyton told him, making him focus on his story.

Caleb inhaled deeply before nodding. "In elementary school, my teachers noticed I was wearing clothes that didn't fit and that I never had lunch money. They rallied up funds to buy me clothes, got me a bike to get to school, and I had free breakfast and lunches." Caleb cleared his throat before going on. "Dad found the clothes hidden beneath my mattress...and he sold them for more booze. Chelsea let me hide the bike at her house so he wouldn't sell that too. Her parents had to buy my clothes back from the charity store he sold them to."

Caleb shook his head slowly. "On Fridays, the teachers would pack me meals and Chelsea's parents would let me eat with them for dinner. They didn't have shit either but they would gladly shell out what they had because they knew my dad was only going to get worse. And honestly, they were right. My childhood years were the best. Can you believe that? I smelt like a bar, dressed in hand-me-downs, and had teachers break rules for me so I didn't starve to death during the week, but I could handle that." Caleb laughed bitterly, rubbing his face to sort himself out.

Peyton didn't know how to respond to that, so she just smiled encouragingly to keep him talking. How therapists can go through sessions like this day in and day out she didn't understand. Instantly her respect of those in the medical field shot up.

"I got my first job delivering newspapers throughout the park. I earned a few bucks a day and I saved every cent of that money. I was going to pay back those teachers and start getting my own meals." He chuckled humorlessly. "But good ole Dad found my stash." Caleb lifted up his hand and tugged at the collar of Peyton's father's sweater, pulling aside the fabric to reveal a perfect cylindrical scar just below his left collarbone.

A cigarette burn.

"That was my first warning," Caleb whispered, releasing the collar. "I was to give him half of everything I brought in. When I tried to argue, he got out his Bowie knife." Caleb's eyes glazed over with the memory and she watched as his pale fingers fold down the hem of the sweatpants she let him borrow and lift the hem of the sweater up. A three-inch long silvery-pink scar curved like a waning crescent just to the left of his belly button. More cigarette burns, smaller scars, and pure muscle filled up the rest of his skin; and Peyton was sure each one had its own story.

"I wear t-shirts and jeans because I don't have any other choice," he muttered darkly, righting the sweats. He dropped the shirt hem and resumed his position with his arms around his knees. "I couldn't play sports in school or they would've asked questions when I was in the locker room. I can't take my shirt off when I go to the beach and when I'm with a girl..." he shook his head, leaning it back against the headboard. "Chelsea can't even look at them without grimacing. It makes her sick to look at me. I don't blame her. I'm sick of looking at me too."

"I told you that tomorrow – later today – was going to be a bad one. The storm got me when I was bringing home groceries to dad. When I go home, without the groceries..." he trailed off again, not having to say a word.

But he did.

"I minus well have jumped off that cliff and saved me the trouble," Caleb finished.

Peyton shook her head slowly, swallowing down bile. "Does he know about the job at Side Street?" Caleb shook his head.

"He thinks the groceries come from the food banks. He thinks the welfare checks pay his bills. He thinks he's God, Peyton," Caleb clarified, a dark edge coming to his voice.

"If you hate him so much, why haven't you left the park?" Peyton whispered, tensing up when his face went dark with rage.

"Haven't you been listening?!" he roared, jumping up suddenly. "I couldn't leave, Peyton! If I had gone to the police the moment he dug that knife into my skin, I would've been sent to a fucking foster home! Do you know what they do to children in those kinds of places? The people who take them in? I've been stuck in that fucking hell hole waiting for the moment when I had the means to leave that asshole!" 

Caleb loomed down into Peyton's face, revealing his pain, unleashing it fully upon her. "Yesterday was my eighteenth birthday. If I go back after work and get my stuff...where I'm going to live and what I'm going to do once I leave are the least of my worries," he said in a careful and dangerously low tone. It set Peyton's teeth on edge to hear it.

"He will kill me," Caleb hissed, each word like a hammer on Peyton's self-control.

"Then don't go back," Peyton heard herself say. Caleb's eyes narrowed. "I mean, surely you have thought something like this would happen? Hopefully you even planned for it?"

Caleb glared down at her, his large hands gripping her shoulders tightly. "I didn't think I'd live to see my tenth birthday, Peyton," he hissed. "I live each day, one at a time. My only plan was to get the fuck out of Hamish. That's it. Live to see the next morning and then get out."

Peyton tried not to shiver under that icy glare of his, but she felt her hands shaking in her lap and knew her fear wasn't as well hidden as his. "Then make a long-term plan, Caleb. Stay here if you need to, until you can find your own place, at least. Don't go back if he scares you that badly."

That had been the wrong thing to say. Peyton could feel the last hold of Caleb's patience break. It was as though her body had attuned to his, his wavelength of emotions somehow became hers. One second, she was sitting on the bed, under the pressure of his glacial gaze and strong hands, the next she was pressed against the headboard with Caleb's hands around her neck.

"I AM NOT AFRAID OF HIM! DO YOU HEAR ME?! I – AM – NOT – AFRAID – OF – HIM! I HATE HIM! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? I HATE HIM!" Caleb screamed, his voice tapering off as Peyton's blood roared in her ears. Under pressure, they popped until it sounded like fireworks were being set off in her bedroom. Soon the room began trembling. Caleb's violence had escalated past strangulation to shaking. Peyton wondered idly if there was such a thing as Shaken Woman Syndrome.

Caleb, however, did not stop screaming. He did not stop shaking her. Soon Peyton couldn't feel her fingers, or her arms, or her toes...or anything, really. Seconds from passing out to lack of oxygen, Caleb released her, throwing himself off the mattress and away from her. She watched soundlessly as he paced the end of the bed, a little surprised that his mouth had still not stopped moving. And here she had pegged him for the silent type?

She closed her eyes briefly to blink back moisture into them. When she opened them again, Caleb was gone. Before she her rational mind could catch up, Peyton was sitting up off the mattress, her legs swinging to the floor. She blinked once and found herself in the hallway, searching for that crop of silky, messy black hair. There it was, racing down the stairs. She blinked again, now in the kitchen, and reached out to touch the frantic boy that was quickly digging around the medicine cabinet, the lock laying in a broken mess of parts on the counter.

Caleb whirled on her, green eyes wild. He was crying again, thick tears wetting his cheeks like a waterfall and dripping down onto the borrowed sweater. Upon seeing her, he choked and the emergency kit became forgotten.

Caleb fell to his knees and hugged her tightly around the waist, his body shaking similarly to how he had been rattling her. Peyton watched the display as though she wasn't really in her own skin, as though she was a stranger looking on.

The poetic justice of this violent, angry, and scarred creature down on his knees begging for her forgiveness was uncanny. The feel of his wet, warm face pressed against her belly ignited a kaleidoscope of emotions within Peyton, one of which quickly jumped to the forefront and immediately brought her back down to earth.

Peyton gripped Caleb's thick hair and pulled his head back. The movement was sudden, and Caleb's quick catch of breath told her it definitely had hurt.

"Listen very carefully to me, Caleb," Peyton said hoarsely, watching his chin tremble and shame cross his face. "Never, for any reason, do you raise your hand to a woman. Never, for any reason, do you strike anyone unless it is in defense. Is that in any way unclear?"

Caleb shook his head. "No, it isn't," he whispered, his voice catching with emotion. "Peyton, I'm-"

"I'm not finished," she hissed, turning away to cough into her sweater. When she turned back, she released Caleb's hair and smoothed it away from his handsome face, swallowing rocks. "After work today, you will come here and we'll make plans to get your things from your father's. Do not by any means of the imagination do something stupid like jumping off the Overlook. Is any of that unclear to you?"

"No, Peyton," Caleb whispered thickly.

Peyton looked over his face before grabbing at the napkins on the breakfast table. She handed one to him and grabbed a hold of his elbow with her other hand, lifting him up to his feet.

Caleb wiped his face and blew his nose, his head bowed so deeply that his chin nearly grazed his chest. Peyton began to understand what Theodore Roosevelt meant by "speak softly and carry a big stick."

Peyton on impulse burrowed herself between his arms and gave his waist a hug. The surprise of the action was not lost on either of them, mainly Caleb because she was certain he had never been hugged before.

Caleb's arms slowly came around her body and tenderly – so tenderly – he held her back, his chin resting on top of her head. "I've never hurt anyone before," he whispered gravelly into her hair. "I'm sorry that it had to be you when I did," Caleb finished, his hold tightening ever-so-slightly. "May I ask for your forgiveness, Peyton?" he asked, adopting the formal tone once again.




The Coffee Shop Ch. 03



Peyton smiled against his stomach. "You already have," she replied, noting that their gravelly tones were one of the same. Caleb did as well and he pulled away, his hand reaching inside the refrigerator for...

"Milk?" Peyton asked hoarsely, watching as he went to the kitchen cabinets to pull out a mug. Caleb worked his way around the kitchen as though he had memorized the layout by heart. Only after he popped the mug into the microwave did he answer her.

"Warm milk. It'll help you sleep." Reaching for the emergency kit he pulled out the spare bottle of aspirin and shook out two pills, handing them to her. "And that will be for your migraine when you wake up."

Peyton gave him a curious look. "How do you know I'll have a migraine when I wake up?"

Caleb hesitated by the microwave, his back to her. "You aren't the only person in this room who has been strangled to near unconsciousness," he replied bitterly.

The microwave chimed long seconds later and no sooner had he skimmed the top off the milk did he thrust the mug into her hands and escape out of the kitchen. The bedroom door slammed shut and Peyton winced at the sound. She eyed the kitchen counter and smiled at the bottle of honey he had set out, a small silver teaspoon beside it.

With a heavy sigh, she stirred in the honey, her ears trained for any disturbance. Hearing none, she put away the kit, honey, and the broken medicine cabinet lock before stiffly moving towards the stairs.

Changing her route last second, Peyton ambled to the bedroom door and gently knocked on the wood. "Remember to set your alarm for work tomorrow," she croaked.

Caleb said nothing, but she hadn't expected him to. "Goodnight!" she called as she walked back down the hall, popping the two aspirin into her mouth as Caleb's prediction became true.

++++

Peyton squeezed the bike frame into the back of her car, shivering at the chilly wind that kicked up off the sea. Eying the light from the kitchen, she checked her watch. Caleb had woken up precisely on time, like she assumed he would. Quickly she made her way back to the house, not surprised to see Caleb already dressed and lingering over the stove, bowl in hand.

"What is it?" Caleb asked without preamble the moment she entered the kitchen.

"Cream of wheat," Peyton prompted, clearing her throat as she came to stand beside him. She stirred the pot and rubbed her stomach when it grumbled. "I have plenty of brown sugar, and if you want yours thinner, I'll add milk."

Peyton chuckled when he eyed the concoction warily. "It'll heat you up and keep you full. Just don't add too much sugar or you'll be running to the bathroom."

"Nice," Caleb snorted, filling up his bowl.

"Coffee?" she asked before turning to the machine to find two mugs already out.

"I'll put out the sugar, then," Peyton murmured in surprise.

Breakfast wasn't a talkative affair. Caleb had three bowls of breakfast, and had accepted her offer for eggs and bacon. While he went to get dressed, Peyton tried to think of ways to get Caleb to open up. Maybe she should let him take over the guest bedroom and make it his? That way he would feel less like a guest and come to think of this place as home.

Peyton sighed as she washed out the dishes. What if that's not what Caleb wanted? What if he had plans to save up money and jump on the next bus out of town and start over somewhere fresh? Caleb was eighteen now, he had little obligation to tell her what he had planned for his future.

She needed help, Peyton realized as she picked up the pan she had used to make the cream-o-wheat, which was fast becoming like concrete glued to the stainless steel since it had been left out for a while. Scrubbing hard, she thought about calling her parents, a friend, anyone. Someone had to have an idea on what she should do. The room makeover idea was a good one, but this wasn't her house. Her parents needed to know what she was doing.

After rinsing and drying the dishes, she put them away and started to reach for the kitchen phone to find Caleb sitting at the breakfast table, his eyes on her. For a long pause, Peyton sought to control her heartbeat and Caleb watched her in what looked akin to idle amusement.

"Ready?" she asked him, putting away the phone. Caleb nodded and stood up slowly. Suddenly, like a snake, his hand reached out and caught her elbow before she passed. Every muscle in her body tightened deliciously on contact, her pulse rising high and coloring her face and the area below her belly button began to tingle. Caleb's smell, a combination of fresh linen and the scent of his leather jacket, created a heady brew that Peyton had to fight against taking a deep whiff of.

"Thanks for breakfast," Caleb said simply, giving her arm a soft squeeze before stepping back and releasing her. Peyton met his eyes briefly and nodded, swallowing the remnants of her coffee.

"Let me get my things," she told him, practically bolting from the kitchen. Even as fast as she moved, she heard Caleb's soft chuckle as she ascended the stairs.

After dressing and gathering up a scarf to cover up the bruising on her neck, Peyton and Caleb made their way into town, once again lost in silence. Peyton couldn't help but sneak glances in his direction as they drove. What in the hell was he thinking so deeply about? Was he plotting how to leave town? Was he thinking about school? Was he missing Chelsea?

Peyton closed her eyes briefly and gave a soft shake of her head. Caleb would talk when he was ready. Probing into his life already gave her a strangled neck. Did she really want to risk the rest of Caleb's temper?

Peyton regretted that last thought almost immediately. Caleb had lashed out, but who wouldn't in his situation? Idly she remembered reading somewhere that if he had had a subdued reaction to her questioning, that meant he would have given up already. His lashing out was preferable to nothing. Anger was the first step.

She smothered a snort. Oh who was she kidding? A therapist she was not.

Peyton pulled into a parking spot on the side of the street, blocking the small Honda vehicle that had been trying to get in to the same small slot as well. The driver honked irritably and Peyton waved, chuckling slightly. Driving in Los Angeles had definitely prepared Peyton for quick maneuvering and the ability to park in whatever spot was available, no matter how small.

Peyton turned to Caleb to see he was giving her a closed smile. "I've been driving for six years in one of the biggest cities in the United States. I think I can handle small-town Maine traffic," she joked. She then gestured to the coffee shop halfway down the block. "Call me when you get off work. I'll come pick you up if the bike isn't ready, or if you just rather not ride it."

Caleb nodded slightly, saying nothing.

Well, Peyton thought, so much for conversation.

"Have a good day at work," she told him, smiling a little and hoping vainly he would smile back. Caleb didn't disappoint. He even one upped her and squeezed her right knee gently, releasing her before he could feel the muscles in her lower body tighten.

"Thank you, Peyton," he told her softly. He got out of the car and shut the door, quickly jumping onto the sidewalk before a paper delivery boy could clip him with his bike. Peyton watched as he shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets and walked in his graceful, long-legged lope down the street, never once looking back.

"You're welcome," Peyton sighed, putting the car into gear. She checked her mirrors and the road before pulling out into early morning traffic, easily making the few blocks to Camden's. Both women agreed that a new bike would be in order. Camden was positive she'd have something ready before the end of the day, and Peyton left feeling a bit more lighthearted. 

After running a few more errands, including grocery shopping, Peyton was on her way back to the Outlook, a tension coiling in her belly as she drove slowly up the winding hill. Stagnation had always driven her a bit mad, and today's idleness probably wasn't doing her any good. It also didn't help that every thought was clouded with that of Caleb, a guy she couldn't have but wanted in a way that made her heart – and body – clench.

"You're here to help him," she told herself for the hundredth time as she put away the groceries before moving into the wash room to start a load of clothes. "Not seduce him."

The phone line in the kitchen began to ring, disturbing Peyton from her thoughts. Turning away from her morning chores that had lain neglected due to her schedule change, she hurried down the hall from the washing room and into the kitchen, catching the call on the last ring.

"Gray Residence?" she quipped, her voice still hoarse from Caleb's ministrations.

There was an audible swallow. "Peyton, it's me. Caleb."

Peyton had not known Caleb long, but even she could tell when someone sounded scared and Caleb, her Caleb, was exuding the emotion with astounding clarity.

A white hot bolt of fear shot straight through her as to the reasons behind the phone call, and the morning chores were quickly forgotten. "Caleb? What is it?" she asked, clutching the phone with both hands tightly enough to hear the plastic creak.

"I'm at Creek Hollow." He swallowed hard again. "Do...do you think you can pick me up?"

Peyton read between the lines easily. "Caleb, tell me what happened," she said as firmly as she could. Seconds later she had to pull her mouth away from the phone as she succumbed to a coughing fit, missing what Caleb had said completely.

"Caleb, slow down," she gasped, fumbling for a drink in the fridge. "S-Start over," she commanded, spluttering on an ice cold drink.

"I-I know we said we'd make a plan after I came home from work, but I finished early and I know dad stays at the Cowboy Bar until at least one, so I thought I would be okay." Peyton closed her eyes at his nervous rambling, reminding herself that he was a teenager, and at one point she had been as naïve, ridiculous, and impulsive as he was.

"Go on," she croaked.

"I had everything packed and I was just about to leave when he drove up. H-He ran over my bike and came barreling at m-me and...I hit him," he explained, his voice shaky and nervous.

Peyton tensed, her eyes searching for her car keys. "What happened then?"

"H-He was shocked, a bit. I've never hit him before and once he got over the shock of it, he came at me. When dad is drunk, his hits don't always connect b-but they hurt." He hesitated, his voice quivering. "H-He wasn't drunk. At all. He had been out, looking for me, completely sober. I thought he was going to kill me, Peyton. He's never been this mad before and—" Caleb cut off, sounding nothing like the calm, cool, and collected Caleb she knew.

Peyton found her car keys by her phone charger in the living room and struggled quickly to put on her coat. "What did you do, Caleb? Just tell me, get it all out."

"I found his baseball bat behind his armchair a-and I hit him," he bit out. "It was just one hit, but he went down – hard. P-Peyton, he won't wake up."

Peyton stopped short at the back door, her heart pounding in her ears.

Seconds ticked past before she said the first order that came to mind. "Caleb, stay where you are. I'm coming to get you."

++++

Readers: To some of you, Caleb's story may sound like pure fiction. I assure you, there are many "Caleb's" out there, and sadly, I was able to use some of their experiences for this chapter. If any of you know people around you who live in abusive homes or are the victims of an abusive spouse, parent, or caregiver, do not hesitate to help or to ask for it.

You might also be wondering why I chose to take this direction for Caleb's story. This *is* a romance, I promise you, but a difficult one. Caleb's past is much darker than many of our own, and I am determined to give him the story and love he deserves. 

I appreciate any comments, messages, or votes, for they only serve to help me become a better writer and to give voice to those like "Caleb" who have found their own to be ineffective.



The Coffee Shop Ch. 04



AUTHOR'S NOTE: Some of you might be wondering why this story is posting again. I accidentally submitted the unedited version of this chapter to Lit a few days ago. This is the EDITED version, the one that was supposed to have been posted the first time around. If you read the unedited chapter...I'm so sorry, LOL. Anyway, I apologize for this chapter's delay, and I hope y'all like the story so far. As always, this story copyrighted, and all feedback and comments are appreciated. Enjoy!

+ + + + + +

When Peyton arrived at Creek Hollow, she reached for her cell as she slowly drove down the gravel road through the park. On either side of her were rows upon rows of RVs and mobile homes, the upkeep varying by yard. As she studied the last names on the row of mailboxes at the end of each gravel drive, Peyton searched for "Vaughn", but couldn't read a single one of the tiny stamped names. Braking briefly, she looked around and sighed before going forward again. 

Just call him, she chastised. You don't know where you are.

Her fingers were hovering over the phone's touch pad when she saw a large white Ford pickup flushed against the side of a fairly clean golden yellow mobile home, Caleb's newly restored red Schwinn braided within the front grill.

Peyton parked her car behind the Ford, just briefly wondering if she should have brought her father's shotgun for protection.

She stepped out of the car and glanced around the neighborhood, finding the silence unnerving. All windows that she could see had the blinds drawn shut and every door was closed. The place was an absolute ghost town, like a seaside city boarded up before a hurricane.

Shaking off those thoughts, Peyton walked to the mobile home, her ears aware of every crunch of her feet on the gravel drive and how her heart was in her ears. A chill went down her spine when the mobile home's front door opened to the lightest touch and she took a step back, eyeballing the ground at her feet for a good size stick. She found a large rock instead -- better than nothing.

Following the concrete steps up, she ducked through the doorway and looked around at the mess, shaking her head. Overturned furniture, broken glasses and random cooking pans littered the space, making a trail of debris from the den on her right to the small kitchen and dining area to her left. Taking another step forward, her shoes crunched on a plate. The next thing she knew, a sweaty, bleeding pale body flung itself at her, strong arms gripping her tight in their hold.

"You came," a hot breath whispered at her ear, the following exhale a ragged sigh of relief. Recognizing the voice, Peyton pulled back and found a pair of ice green eyes gleaming down at her with unshed tears.

"You look terrible," Peyton whispered, her chest tightening at the sight of the new layer of bruises and scratches across Caleb's face and neck.

Caleb tangled his shaking fingers through her loose hair, a weak smile playing on his cut and bleeding lips. "Not for long. I never do," he sighed, dropping his forehead to rest against hers. Peyton swallowed hard at the sight of the cuts on his neck and arms where it looked like fingernails had clawed into his skin and the numerous rapidly darkening splotches on his jaw. Closing her eyes briefly, she told herself to put a barrier between her emotions and what had to be done, knowing she couldn't handle it any other way.

"Your ability to make a joke at a time like this worries me, but right now we have more pressing matters to deal with," Peyton responded as evenly as she could. "Get your stuff and park it in my front seat. Now where's your father?"

At the mention of his father, Caleb straightened and a cloudy expression crossed his face. His eyes went over her head and he pointed one finger in the direction of a hallway. "I put him in there. He has a pulse, but he isn't moving. Which is fine by me," he tagged on, his expression darkening into something that made Peyton shiver a little.

"What happens when he wakes up?" she pressed, a little torn between figuring out the problem and just getting Caleb the hell out of here. "If he was looking for you yesterday, he will come looking for you again."

Caleb's face hardened and his jaw muscles bunched. "I don't know, Peyton. All I know is that you were right yesterday. I can't stay in this fucking trailer."

"I didn't say that explicitly," she corrected automatically, shutting her mouth when his eyes turned back to hers.

Peyton's breath caught with an audible gasp in her throat as Caleb's fingertips brushed over the bruising at her neck. "You asked me to never raise a hand to someone," he said quietly, his eyes going distant. "I broke that promise."

"You did it in defense," she reminded him, placing her hand over his. Worry filled Peyton as his touch grew bolder. As much as she wanted it -- and him -- she didn't want him doing this for the wrong reasons. And as she stood in a destroyed kitchenette surrounded by pots, broken cups, and a shattered table set, she guessed idly that his physical touch was made for a many number of wrong reasons.

"I struck first," he countered, his rough thumb brushing over the dip of her throat. "I shoved him down the front steps. When he fell, he broke our birdbath."

Their eyes met and Peyton couldn't help but smile a little. "Let's get you out of here, please?" she pressed softly, catching his hands in her own before he could continue a torture he hadn't realized he had even elicited.

Caleb nodded once before taking her by the wrist and leading her down to the opposite end of the trailer. The farther they went away from the den, the cleaner the trailer seemed to smell. Peyton smothered a sigh and told herself screaming in frustration wouldn't help. She found herself recanting that thought when they reached his room.

Caleb's room was bare of anything apart from the four-drawer chest that had seen better days and a small cot shoved into the far right corner. No posters of his favorite bands or idols hung on the walls, there were no bookshelves or telescopes or anything of value in his entire room. It was as though no one had even been in this room, let alone lived here.

Caleb retrieved two navy blue duffel bags from his bed and turned to her, ready to go.

For a second, Peyton couldn't breathe. In her move from Los Angeles to Maine she had taken at least two large suitcases and a duffel carry-on alone, not coming anywhere remotely close to the rest of the clothes back at her apartment. But Caleb could fit his entire life, his entire eighteen years of existence, into two duffel bags.

Instantly, and without needing to rethink her actions, she crossed the space to squeeze him to her.

Caleb must've known where her thoughts had headed, because his hold on her back was gentle as he reciprocated the touch. He stroked his long fingers through her hair before resting a scruffy, battle-worn cheek on top of her head and inhaling deeply.

"Let me take you home, Caleb," she whispered against his stomach, trying to fight the sting of tears in her eyes.

Caleb said nothing, just pulled away and took her hand in his, leading her out of the bedroom and back into the chaotic remnants of the bloody and messy battle with his father.

Peyton did not stop at the door and did not mention going to check up on his father. Caleb didn't ask her to either. The man could rot away on that bed for all she cared.

Peyton unlocked the car and Caleb scrambled in, clutching the bags to his chest. A few trailers over, the screen door opened and she saw Chelsea standing at the stairs. For a second, they locked gazes and Chelsea gave the tiniest of nods.

She knew this day had been coming. She knew that one day Caleb would have to leave.

Peyton got into the driver's seat and hesitated before turning on the car.

"Do you want to speak with her?" Peyton asked. She was a little surprised Caleb had not waved back, or even acknowledged Chelsea was there. He must've seen her.

Caleb glanced out the window again, catching Chelsea's frantic wave and tear-stained face. He lifted his hand in acknowledgment, his face completely expressionless.

Peyton suddenly didn't know what to think of the situation anymore. And for a fleeting moment she couldn't help but wonder that maybe taking in a complete stranger, no matter his situation, was a bad idea, even if the decision was made with good intentions.

Caleb shook his head to answer Peyton's question, catching her surprised look before it slipped away. "Chelsea knew this would happen one day," he said in his usual aloof but polite tone. "I just wish she wasn't so close to him. That she was in a better place." A safer place, she knew he meant.

"She has her family," Peyton reasoned. 

Caleb said nothing, leaving the moment awkward.

Peyton smothered a sigh as she put the car into gear before reversing out of the drive. Taking a brief moment to collect her thoughts, she eyed Chelsea in the side mirror. The girl was still standing on the steps, though her parents were standing at her shoulder now.

"Caleb," Peyton began, her voice as gentle as she could make it through her tidal wave of emotions, "I know that what I suggest next you won't like one bit, but you need to consider going to the police about this," Peyton said slowly as she drove them away from the RV and mobile home park. "You're eighteen now, so you don't need to worry about being sent off to a home. You can press charges against your father and he can be taken into court. Maybe even prison."

Peyton watched Caleb nod slowly, his eyes distant. She had a gut feeling though that he wasn't thinking about her suggestions, but in fact the blonde girl she was driving him away from.

Peyton smothered a sigh, turning back to the road in front of her.

Caleb was in love with Chelsea, she told herself, ignoring the harsh pinch in her chest as she did so. Caleb was not hers, and she had no claim over him whatsoever. And besides, Chelsea was his age, his best friend, from his side of the tracks. What right did she, a complete stranger, have to a boy who just needed a way out? She had gotten into this mess of sorts to help Caleb, not seduce him. He needed to be shown that there were people in the world who wanted to help without any form of reciprocation.

Peyton told herself she would have to sincerely be one of those people.

As the car turned out of the stifling forest and into the openness of the cliffs, Peyton felt herself relax. Being out on the cliff edge had its definite disadvantages, especially during shoddy weather like yesterday, but as she drove up to the Barn Peyton couldn't help but look over all the good things about the spot. Being able to see the town in the distance, the fishing boats pulling into the docks, and the lack of trees bearing down at her back gave Peyton a sense of freedom that the forest simply took away. Even as a child she had dreaded trips into the forest, eventually making it a part of the scenery as she grew up and focused more on the town and those who dwelled within it.

Peyton pulled the car into the garage and cut the engine before looking over at Caleb.

"You okay?" she asked quietly, not wanting to shatter the illusion of peace between the two of them, but her voice ruined it anyway.

Caleb blinked, the ice fading from his distant green eyes as he contemplated her words. He looked around as though confused as to how he got there before looking over at her.

"I'm fine," he vowed. He gave her a crooked smile and unlocked his seatbelt before grabbing his bags and stepping out of the car. Peyton followed suit, unsure if he was being sincere or not, but knew that only time would tell with Caleb.

The two walked to the backdoor of the Barn, side by side, and more than once she noticed Caleb glancing over at her, as though he was worried at any moment she would take the offer back. 

Determined to prove him wrong, she opened the door and stopped him. He watched her in confusion as she pulled on her key ring and held out a small silver key to him.

"It's the spare house key," she told him when he didn't move. "If you decide you want to stay here, you probably don't want to have to worry about being locked out of the house, hmm?"

Caleb reached out slowly, revealing again his cut and bruised knuckles as he took the key from her fingers. Peyton watched as he bit down on his bleeding bottom lip with his front teeth, his eyes not leaving the key.

"Come on, let's put your things in your room," she told him, picking up one of his duffel bags and slinging it over her shoulder. The hesitant plodding of footsteps a few seconds later told her Caleb was following.

Peyton opened the door of the guest room and inhaled deeply, smiling at a job well done. The spare bedroom had smelt a little musty, so she had gone to the trouble to clean up after he had left for work. The room now smelt of lemon-scented Pine-Sol and fresh linen. Peyton knew Caleb didn't really care, but to make the room feel homier, she had placed a large baby blue vase of sunflowers on one of the large paned windows, the bottom sill pushed up to let in the fresh scent of the ocean. The room was picture-perfect, like something out of the home and garden magazines her mother always liked to flip through.

"If you don't like it, there are plenty of other rooms in the Barn to pick from," Peyton told him as she set the duffel beside the bed. "Don't be afraid to add your own stuff either. It's your room until you find your own place."

Caleb walked in further, his green eyes flickering over the room. He wordlessly set the duffel bag down beside his feet and took off his jacket stiffly, reminding Peyton that he was bleeding and bruised and was going to need more than band aids this go-around.

"I like it, Peyton," he told her finally in a thick voice, looking over at her with a soft smile.

Peyton sighed in relief and took a step forward, examining the cuts on his knuckles and the swelling joints. The examination continued with her amber gold eyes looking over his chest, neck and then his face. Caleb suddenly turned to her and took her hands in his before lifting them to his cracked and dry lips to run them over her knuckles. Even that soft contact sent her pulse rampant and her toes curled up in her sandals as heat tingled softly down her body.

"Thank you," he murmured as the pads of his thumbs ran softly over the backs of her hands.

She swallowed hard and gestured to his chest. "You're bleeding through your shirt. Did he...?"

Caleb's face tightened but he shook his head in the negative. "I ran into a few things, but no big deal."

"It is a big deal," she corrected, her voice like a whip. "Shirt off, I want to look."

Caleb sighed but lifted up the hem of his borrowed shirt, swallowing as he tugged it over his head. Peyton noticed he kept his eyes down on her toes and was surprised when he started smiling a little.

"What are you smiling at?" she asked him curiously. Caleb chuckled and gently nudged her sandal with one booted foot.

"Your toenails are Barbie pink. And I had thought you were a bit of a tomboy."

Peyton snorted and took his dirty shirt from him, her throat thickening as she got her first look at his chest in its entirety.

"Most of it would be on my back," he told her, flinching when her fingertips just barely grazed over the ripening bruise on his shoulder.

Peyton said nothing. She couldn't. All she could focus on was her fingertips as she traced over every cut and burn on Caleb's chest against her will, the appendages running over raised scars that had required stitching, the discolored and wrinkled cylindrical marks that dotted his torso, and the evident cut of his muscles beneath the pale skin. Most of the scars looked old, the marks silvery and thin, almost invisible. Some, though, weren't; a few appeared only weeks old.

Peyton couldn't believe it. A lifetime of abuse was mapped out on Caleb's skin, the visible evidence of a monster that should have been locked up years ago for his crimes. It made Peyton almost sick with anger, and she fought to keep herself under control as she turned Caleb to see his back.

Bruises marred his shoulder blades and lower rib cage where he had been shoved, his sharp intake of breath as she ran her fingertips over them telling her that the ribs were especially tender.

"I'll go get the kit," Peyton whispered.

Caleb turned slowly with a sharp nod, exposing his scarred chest to her again. She didn't meet his eyes just yet, her fingers touching the one scar she missed: a scar starting from the center of his chest and ended at the hollow his throat. Caleb caught her hand when she reached the bumpy start at his chest.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Peyton said quietly as she met his eyes, misreading his tension for discomfort. "You probably didn't want me to see you, I didn't even think—"

"Peyton," Caleb cut her off gently. "If I hadn't wanted you to see me, you wouldn't have. I can be far more stubborn than you."

Her eyebrow quirked up in response and she started to retort with something snarky but saw that his eyes were slowly swelling.

"Come on," she sighed. "You need ice for those eyes. I have some ice compresses in the freezer downstairs."

Caleb squeezed her hands tighter, refusing to let them go. Peyton swallowed hard, reminding herself of the promise she had made on the car ride over. No matter how badly she wanted to touch him, she couldn't. Hugs were the closest contact she could make, she thought firmly.

"Caleb..."

"You aren't grossed out by the scars," he said quietly. "But you're afraid of touching me. Actually, you're afraid of being touched by anyone."

Peyton stiffened, feeling a chill run down her spine. What was this? Was he lashing out at her now?

"For nearly four months I've watched you at the coffee shop," Caleb continued. "You speak to no one, except Margaret and only because she makes you. You sit in the corner and hunch over like you're scared that someone will want to come up to you. You even flinch when I give back your change, and now you always give me the exact count. You hate to be touched."

Peyton shook her head slowly, her eyes not rising above his chin as she fought to keep her emotions in check. 

When she continued to say nothing, Caleb took the final plunge.

"You don't have a problem with scars, because you have some of your own, don't you Peyton?" he asked softly, his green eyes softening as he looked over her face. Too taken aback to argue, she shook her head, astonished how this conversation was going.

And this conversation was going downhill. Peyton shook her head, sharper this time, refusing to let his words get to her. He was just fishing. Caleb just needed to take out the anger and cause someone else pain. Unfortunately, he was doing a very good job at it.

"Someone hurt you, didn't they?" Caleb murmured. "They didn't leave a mark, not in any place I could see."

"No," Peyton croaked, jerking her hands from his grip and dodging his hand when it went to catch her. Chin trembling and knees shaking, she stared defiantly up at him; ready to give him a piece of her mind when she realized in that moment that she was just confirming every single thing he was saying.

Caleb pulled her to him suddenly, her body turning stiff in his grip out of habit. Clearly they were opposites in this regard: where he wanted touch, she repelled it. Caleb gathered her up tighter into his arms, as though to reassure himself that she would not move away. Peyton struggled for a second, both panic and confusion getting the best of her, but Caleb surprised her with his strength and kept her close to him, their proximity both surprising her while melting her insides.

"When people have been scarred as badly as we have, we can recognize another's pain," Caleb said quietly, drawing her attention back to the conversation he was forcing them to have. "That's what drew you to me and that's how I noticed you." Peyton's breath caught in her throat at hearing him say he knew of her attraction to him aloud and for a long moment she was too astonished to speak. After gripping at straws for a few minutes, she thought of something to counter back with.




The Coffee Shop Ch. 04



"Let me get the kit," Peyton whispered hoarsely against his neck, realizing then how lame and repetitive she sounded. With her hands she gently pushed away his hips from hers, cringing internally at the intimacy of that gesture.

Instantly Caleb reacted, tightening his grip around her almost painfully, his swelling eyes pinning her with a look torn between anger and panic. "I'll be fine," he growled. "I want you to stay."

Peyton closed her eyes and swallowed hard before opening them again. "Please," she whispered, taking a gentler stance. It was obvious that Caleb reacted badly to aggression in any shape or form, so maybe babying him would make him react differently. "Your ribs could be bruised. I may need to get you to the doctor. I won't know unless you let me look." Gently Peyton tucked back his hair, revealing that once upon a time Caleb had worn earrings. Tell-tale scars on his lobes told her why he didn't any longer.

Caleb looked like he had half a mind to reprimand her, but when she carefully patted the concave between his shoulders he tensed up and went rigid, his grip on her instantly slacking. Three seconds later she was moving towards the door. 

"Come back," Caleb demanded, pulling her to him hard. Peyton caught his hand in her attempt to dispel it and cursed when he pulled her back to him anyway, their bodies colliding harshly together.

"Did I hurt you?" they asked in unison, both of their eyes pleadingly looking over the other person before meeting glances and laughing sheepishly.

Caleb dropped his forehead to hers, caressing her small back through her sweater. "Caleb, let me take care of you," Peyton tried again. "I want to. It'll make you feel even better if you got up, took a shower, and got into your jammies—"

Caleb put a finger to her full lips, chuckling. "My 'jammies'?" he repeated, a smile playing over his lips. "Peyton, I'm eighteen, not eight."

"I've noticed," Peyton murmured as her eyes focused on his lips. A second later her breath caught in realization and she felt her face heat up in astonishment. Sheepishly she met his eyes and he laughed softly.

"I didn't mean...I was just saying..." she stammered, trying to rectify her slipup. Caleb smiled down at her, his green eyes twinkling. In that exact moment, the reality of the situation hit her square in the face.

Peyton was in Caleb's arms, her palms resting against his bare chest, her face just inches from his. Everything about him teased her in that moment: the lingering aroma of coffee and baked bread that clung to his skin, the natural musk of male and sweat combining to create a scent specifically Caleb's. His hair fell like a curtain around their faces, framing them in a world all their own, barring the outside from getting in. A hint of scruff on his cheeks and chin told her that he hadn't shaved in a while, the observation more distracting than it needed to be.

What got Peyton, though, were his eyes. They were two polished emeralds, glowing against his pale unblemished skin thanks to the dim lighting and shadows his hair cast upon his face. She had never seen eyes like that.

Caleb suddenly smiled and gently stroked over the globes of her cheeks with a single finger, tracing the faint splatter of freckles as he did so. Heat crept up Peyton's neck and into her face before she turned away from his touch, a nervous giggle escaping her throat.

Caleb's eyes looked down to her lips, the look in his eyes sending a spike of icy cold fear into her heart.

No. This wasn't right.

Opening her mouth to say something -- anything -- she started to push Caleb away, but he easily tightened his grip again and shook his head slightly. Gently Caleb turned her chin with his fingertips, his rapidly darkening green eyes looking over her face before returning back to his main attraction, her mouth. Peyton fought a moan as Caleb leaned down and did what she had longed for him to do since the moment she set her eyes on him.

Caleb softly brushed his lips against hers, teasing the swells a second or two more before deepening into a kiss that was unlike any she had ever experienced. Like a levy breaking, her need and longing burst through, dragging her down under its strength. At first, she resisted, her stubborn nature warring with her weaker, romantic one until she realized it was useless; futile. Peyton felt Caleb relax the moment she did, his lips not leaving hers until she was a limp mess in his arms. When Caleb finally pulled away, her thoughts were scrambled and her body was a torrent of emotions. She closed her eyes when Caleb's soft exhale against her tender lips sent tingles all the way to her toes.

All that, she thought, from a kiss?

Something nagged at her then, something sharp and cold. This was Caleb. Injured Caleb. The younger Caleb.

Peyton pressed against his chest and finally succeeded in pushing him away. "Caleb," she whispered thickly, swallowing hard to clear the huskiness from her voice. "We need to talk."

"Okay," he murmured in a husky voice that sent a thrill of excitement racing through her. He brushed his lips over her left cheekbone before trailing down to her ear, the teasing touch sending her mind in a tailspin. "Talk to me, Peyton."

Peyton shivered at the soft but hungry tone in his voice. Taking a deep breath, she swallowed hard again and met his amused gaze.

"I want to help you, Caleb," Peyton reiterated carefully. "And I don't want you doing this," she gestured back and forth between them, "for the wrong reasons. You were scared to death when I picked you up from the park. Right now, you want to feel better because it helps you forget, but you can't run from your past." Her eyes ran over his scars, his muscles tightening under her gaze as though it had been a physical touch on her part. "You don't need to reciprocate my helping you by...by..."

Caleb snorted and pushed her back slightly with his hands on her shoulders, a single eyebrow arched down at her. "By what?" he asked, his tone clinical. "Whoring myself to you? Is that what you think I'm doing?"

Peyton's eyes grew big and she shook her head rapidly. "Nononono, Caleb, that's not what I-"

"I appreciate you wanting to take care of me," he interrupted, his tone biting. "I know you're trying to do the right thing, okay? Both of us are trying to say we don't want the other to feel indebted to them. I know that. I have nothing to give you, Peyton. We both know that." He laughed bitterly and took a step back, releasing her from his grip. "But if we pretend that for nearly four months we weren't thinking of what the other looked like naked, we'll be in serious denial." He shushed her by clamping a hand over her mouth, his expression torn between amusement and something else that she couldn't read.

"You want to heal the pain in here," he tapped his heart with the pointer finger of his other hand. "I want to do the same for you." He smiled and removed his hand before lowering himself down and kissing her forehead softly. "I know you prepared a pretty speech for me, but I don't buy a word of it."

Peyton coughed out a laugh, unable to believe how the conversation -- or her day -- had gone this crazy. She shook her head slowly before letting out a sigh. "Get a shower," she instructed, giving up for now. "I want you clean before I put on the bandages. Don't think I didn't notice you favoring your left arm."

Caleb rolled his eyes but nodded, backing off the bed to reach for his duffel bags. Peyton escaped to the kitchen, quickly gathering up the medical kit and gauze before placing them out on the kitchen table with a soft sigh.

Would everyday with Caleb end with the medical kit? She wondered idly.

Then her thoughts turned to the bedroom and a cold stone lodged itself in the pit of her stomach. With a stifled gasp, she fumbled to sit down, her heart pounding hard in her chest.

"Christ," she whispered to the open room, flinching at the sound of the water going in the guest bathroom. Peyton straightened out her shaking hands on the table, her chin trembling as the full force of what she had done crept up slowly into her aching heart.

"What have I done?" she asked the empty air, silently pleading that someone would have an answer to give her.

+ + + + +

When Caleb entered the kitchen, Peyton was struck with a sudden sense of déjà vu. Hovering next to the stove with her back to him, Peyton tried to gather up her courage to face him, to tell him that the kiss had been a mistake. But each reason, each framed argument sounded like a pathetic excuse to cover up how she really felt.

And she felt scared.

Caleb terrified her, and him shedding light on his curiosity of her didn't help matters any. It made her hands shake when he came near. It made her breathing quicken and her bones melt. She couldn't focus, she couldn't function...she felt like the naïve girl she had been back in high school, when she had fumbled for words around her biggest crush and blushed at every compliment or smile he had thrown her away. Granted, her crush had been a complete sleaze with more girlfriends than his IQ, but that hadn't mattered.

Now, everything mattered.

Now, everything had changed.

A pale masculine hand rested on one of her bunched fists, his grip dwarfing her own, the heat of his chest pressed softly against her back in a way that was too intimate. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to draw on the reserves of anger and pain that were lurking somewhere deep inside her. She needed all she could in order to put Caleb -- and herself -- firmly in place. There was a line they had crossed in the bedroom that could not be crossed again.

"You're upset," Caleb murmured, breaking the silent tension between them. Peyton opened her eyes and watched as Caleb's fingers coaxed her clenched fists to open, his palms warm from the shower. The lingering scent of sunflowers filled her nose and she bit back a sob, coaching herself to be strong. To be the caregiver and maybe, possibly, Caleb's friend.

Letting out a slow breath, Peyton gently patted his hand and moved away. Caleb let her, his green eyes curious but wary when she turned to face him.

"I'm fine," she said clinically, taking a page from his book. Then she got down to business. "I'll only cover the worst of the cuts," she promised him, motioning for him to sit. "And take a compress for your eyes. That left one looks...well it's pretty awful."

Caleb managed to smile as he sat in his usual spot, though he sat on the chair sideways so Peyton could reach his back. She sighed heavily when he sat there, unmoving, before reaching out and placing the cool compress under his chin.

"Spare me your stubbornness and take the compress," Peyton said firmly.

An eyebrow went up, but he took the bag, smacking it to his left eye. She rolled her eyes as she got out the Neosporin and antiseptic, muttering an appropriate swear word under her breath.

Caleb nudged her moccasin-incased foot with one of his boots. "Language, Peyton," he murmured, fighting a smile when she shot him another dirty look.

For the remaining few minutes Peyton played nurse, they were silent. Caleb seemed to know that the bedroom incident was bothering her, because every touch she made on him he shifted away from, as though he didn't want her to touch him more than necessary. She closed her eyes as she put the final touch of Neosporin to the cuts on his neck, feeling his pulse race beneath her fingertips, the pounding matching the time of her own.

Peyton felt his fingers wrap snugly around that wrist, the rough pad of his thumb pressing firmly against her pulsing vein. She opened her eyes and hesitantly met his gaze to find it unreadable.

Peyton scrambled for something to say, but Caleb beat her to it.

"You mentioned earlier about going to the police," Caleb said quietly as he lowered the compress from his face. Already the swelling had gone down and Peyton subconsciously nodded her approval, also answering his not-question.

"I can't go to them," Caleb whispered.

Peyton took the compress and gently pulled her hand from his grip before putting the compress back in the freezer. Quickly she made him some tea, earning a snort of disbelief and a soft laugh from Caleb. He thanked her and wrapped his fingers around the cup.

"Did you get in trouble?" she asked slowly as she sat down in a chair across from him.

Caleb nodded. "Ever since I was kid, basically. Any time I was in trouble, cops got called." Peyton stared at him in surprise, waiting for him to elaborate. "I got bullied up until the day I left high school. If it wasn't because I didn't play sports, it was about my ratty clothes, or how I smelt like I had crawled inside a cigarette..." He eyed her hesitantly. "It was never ending." He took a sip of tea, his eyes not leaving her golden ones.

"I fought," he stated, confirming her initial thoughts. "If they pushed, I pushed back. If they stole my jacket from my locker, I dumped my milk carton on their heads. In elementary, it didn't matter...I got a few talking-to's and notes home to dad, but..." he shrugged. "Nothing ever came of it."

"It changed in middle school," Peyton prompted when he went silent, watching how his lips went into thin bloodless strips. His fingers tightened on the mug before relaxing again.

"Yes," he breathed. "It was...torture. I was already a freak enough, being from the creek. It was worse because my dad's a fucking alcoholic deadbeat who is barely lucid enough half the time to remember his own name. Everyone knew my dad," he laughed bitterly, his head lowering slightly. "The first time I got in trouble -- real trouble - these guys from eighth-grade stole my bike and hid it in the girl's locker room. One of the guys who did it -- Brett -- had been nice and helped me find it. Turns out he wanted me to get caught walking in on twenty girls stripping down to nothing -- and I did." He eyed her. "I was suspended. When dad found out, he laughed -- he laughed and then threw me into my closet, so I wouldn't be 'tempted' to see anyone. Stayed in there for a week."

Swallowing hard, he took a sip of tea, his green eyes looking down at the table again. By now, Peyton's temper was back, and so was her fear. Her hands had been shaking so badly that she had hidden them underneath the table halfway through the first part of his tale.

"Go on," she croaked, swallowing hard when their eyes met.

"After the suspension, it just grew worse. Since I didn't play sports, I wasn't one of the bigger guys. I got shoved into lockers, my lunch would get stolen, my textbooks and homework would end up in a toilet somewhere..." He sighed heavily again and put down the mug, flexing his fists a little in his usual angry tick gesture. "Chelsea is the only person I've ever had. I mean, the teachers helped, but when you have a history attached to your name like I did...teachers can only help so much. In high school those coaches and teachers didn't give a shit. I was told to toughen up, to find ways to not attract attention to myself, I was sent to counselors, the whole charade. Not once did the school do anything to stop the problem. Not once did the principal or a teacher or anyone for that matter stand up for me -- or any of the other kids that got their lives turned into a living nightmare."

Caleb sat back in his chair, clearly riled up. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy exhale again, shaking his head. "Kids go through shit like this every day. A lot of guys had it worse than me. A lot of girls did too. One girl, Katie Hart, even shot herself." He eyed Peyton and shrugged. "Despite all that, nothing changed. A girl committed suicide, and no one did a damn thing about the bullying."

Peyton swallowed hard, knowing where this conversation was headed. "So what did you do?" she asked him. "It must've been something, since you can't even go to the police to defend yourself."

Caleb gave a ghost of a smile, one that chilled her to the core. "I set the school on fire."

She blinked, acknowledgment hitting her square in the face.

Peyton remembered that fire. Her dad had still been working as a police captain when it happened. The entire compound had gone up in flames, but...it had been ruled as an accident, not arson.

She told him that much and he nodded. "It was. I got stuck with like this 1920s version of a Bunsen burner with a ridiculously long cord. I tripped over it while going to get compounds for a color flame test and it fell on top of an old stack of textbooks. It caught the other wires and plugs on fire..." He shrugged. "Everyone thought I did it on purpose, police included. I was questioned for months afterwards about that fire."

"Some kids got badly burned," Peyton murmured, watching his face tighten a little. He nodded and looked down at his fingers. "My dad worked that fire," she said quietly.

Caleb winced and hesitantly her eyes. "Was he with the police?" he asked, watching her face closely.

Peyton nodded. "He was the captain."

"Daniel?" he asked in disbelief, his face lighting up. "Is that your dad?"

Peyton blinked. "Um...yea. You knew him?"

Caleb nodded, laughing a little. "Yea, he had been called to my dad's place a few times for public disturbance. He knew my dad pretty well...I think they went to high school together."

"Small world," Peyton murmured, her eyes drifting to the framed photo of her dad posing in front of his old cruiser, dressed to the nines in a crisp black suit with his honorary pins and medals pressed to his breast, his hat glossy and sharp.

Now Peyton was certain that she needed to talk to her parents. It wasn't pertinent before, but it entirely was now.

"Anyway, he uh..." Caleb chuckled a little, drawing her eyes back to him. "He knew about the bullying and I think he guessed that my dad was...you know."

Peyton honed in on that, her eyes narrowing when he avoided her gaze. "That your dad was what?" she asked quietly, not accusing him of cowardice in her tone, but definitely asking him to cop up.

Caleb's brow furrowed. "Your dad knew mine was beating me. He had to." His eyes met Peyton's again. "He would sometimes ask, but...I couldn't tell him. I didn't want to disappoint him and I was always worried about what dad would do." Caleb swallowed then suddenly smirked. "After I told Daniel how the fire started, he told the head of the fire department it was 'accidental anarchy'. I had burnt down the place I hated the most...by accident. I think he was just relieved I really didn't mean to set the school on fire."

Not like Peyton would say it aloud, but so was she. Hating to assume the worst, she squirmed in her chair before refocusing the conversation.

"Caleb, I know you think you can't go to the police, but you have evidence," she said as gently as possible. "For your sake, have the story on file at least. Even if they do nothing at least you can say you tried."

Caleb's brow furrowed deeper and he dropped her gaze. "What happens after?" he murmured, enunciating every syllable. "What if they don't do anything, Peyton?" His jaw tightened and his eyes swiftly locked onto hers, the ice green darkening to almost black as anger crossed his features. It was both breathtaking and frightening and Peyton fought hard to keep herself in check.

"I can't let anything happen to you, Peyton," he said quietly. His eyes dropped briefly, to her neck, before wandering back up. "I've already hurt you enough."

"Caleb-" she began, thinking now would be a great time to talk about the kiss, but Caleb put up his hand, tilting his head slightly.

"I hear the phone," he said slowly.

Peyton paused and sure enough, a muted ringing filled the air. She jumped up and hurried to the living room where she had tossed the kitchen phone in her hurry to help Caleb, managing to catch it on the last ring.




The Coffee Shop Ch. 04



The sound of crashing surf and glass drinks clinking together greeted her ears split seconds before "PEYTON?! IS THAT YOU?" did. Peyton cringed and held the phone away from her as she lowered the volume.

"Hey mom," she replied, hoping she sounded cheerful.

But her mother wasn't fooled.

"Hey mom," her mother repeated in a droll tone. "What kind of greeting is that?" she asked, sounding like her usual flighty self. "This is your mother speaking, Peyton Danielle Grey, try to act like you are excited to hear from me!"

"I am excited!" Peyton laughed, shaking her head. "I just have a lot on my mind that's all."

Her mom paused and regrouped, the sound of a young male asking Mr. Grey if he wanted another rum and coke cutting through the silence. "Sweetie, you know that Aiden wouldn't want you to mourn him forever. Please tell me you aren't going to stow away at that briny old Barn until your father and I return from our cruise?"

Suddenly a warm hand on Peyton's elbow drew her attention. She looked up at Caleb to find his eyes curious as he sat on the couch edge facing her.

"A couple of things have come up," she said honestly, not leaving Caleb's eyes.

Her mother hesitated only a moment before she burst out laughing. "You met a boy!" she cheered before succumbing to another fit of laughter. "So tell me, what's he like? Is he Abercrombie or Ralph Lauren?" she asked, causing Caleb to chuckle and Peyton to cringe.

"Is there even a difference?" Peyton asked, shaking her head at how ridiculous the conversation was. "Mom, he's neither. Can you focus for a second, please?"

Her mom wasn't perturbed by her tone, as usual. "Peyton. Good gracious, you're twenty-something not thirteen. What is so complicated about falling in love?"

Peyton snorted and blushed, surprisingly, at the same time. "Everything."

Her mother sighed. "This is what I get for calling after taking body shots. I can't focus to save my life. Daniel, did I pack my juice? No, no, dear. The juice without the alcohol in it. No?" Her mother swore under her breath, but still loud enough for the single syllable to be heard by Caleb, who was laughing as silently as he could.

Peyton felt her face heat up in embarrassment. How could she have forgotten how ditzy her mother was? "Mom, I'm glad you're enjoying retirement, but I definitely don't need to hear what you do to pass time," she said adamantly, nudging at Caleb to shut him up. "Look, I'm glad you called actually. He needs a place to stay and I offered him the guest bedroom."

"He? Are you talking about this boy of yours?"

Peyton huffed. "Yes, Mother."

"Hmm. Does this boy have a name?" her mother asked playfully, giggling at something Peyton's father said in the background.

"Everyone has a name," Peyton quipped dryly, getting a returning nudge from Caleb as well as a look that undoubtedly meant 'Behave.' "His name is Caleb," she recanted slowly, looking at Caleb for approval. He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest in response.

In that moment, Peyton became aware of her mother's silence.

"Mom? Are you there?"

"Yes, sweetie, I am," she answered in a quiet tone. "This boy is named Caleb? As in Caleb, Jeremiah Vaughn's son?" she asked quietly. For the first time since Peyton's "dark period" six years ago, her mother sounded serious -- and a little frightened.

Peyton eyed Caleb and watched as he nodded slowly, his jaw tightening a little.

"That's the one," Peyton answered.

Suddenly the line went quiet and Peyton had a sinking feeling beginning to form in her stomach. "Peyton, your father and I will be on the next plane to Maine," her mother piped up a few seconds later, sounding forcibly cheery. "Tell Caleb he is more than welcome to take the guest bedroom. We love you."

"I love you guys too," Peyton responded automatically, surprised by the abrupt click as the connection went dead.

That was weird, Peyton thought to herself as she ended the call on her end. Caleb looked at her expectantly, his green eyes curious.

"Do I need to call Chelsea?" he asked slowly.

Peyton shook her head quickly, suddenly aware of how her day had just gone from violent to strange to confusing all in a span of a few hours. Rubbing her temples where a tension headache was beginning to set in, she sighed. "The guest bedroom is officially yours."

"And?"

Peyton opened one eye and cringed a little. "And my parents are on the next flight out of Mexico. They'll be here soon."

+ + + + + +



The Coffee Shop Ch. 05



Sorry about the wait, guys. This story is about quality, not quantity. ;) Just in case y'all missed the notice, I submitted the wrong version of TCS CH04. The right one is posted now, so y'all might want to take a look at it before you jumping into this chapter.

This chapter is devoted almost entirely to Peyton's back story and addresses the future of the (possible) couple, so sorry if things seem slow to you guys. I promise it'll pick up in the upcoming chapters. Also, this story takes place immediately after where the last chapter left off.

Finally, if any of you have stories or ideas you would like to share, I'd like to hear them. I need to introduce Jeremiah Vaughn (Caleb's father) into the story and as someone who was fortunate enough to have two stable parents in her life, I don't know where to begin with an abusive, alcoholic father. I accept anonymous emails, but I prefer to be able to chat back with you. You can also leave ideas in the comments if you don't want to bother with emailing me.

Anyway, I appreciate everyone's patience and those of you who continue to follow this story. Without further ado...

+ + + + +

Caleb smirked, a soft laugh escaping his lips. "I suppose they're worried I'll make off with the silver," he joked dryly, swallowing hard afterwards.

Peyton caught his shoulders in her hands, forcing him back down onto the couch. "That is not why they're coming back. You said it yourself – my dad was worried about you even as a kid. Now that you need a place to stay and you're older...my guess is that they want to make sure you're still all in one piece," Peyton said honestly, relaxing her grip on him a little. "Caleb, I can call them back and tell them to stay. If you want me to, say it."

Caleb smiled then, his expression whimsical. "Your mother doesn't strike me as the kind of woman you say 'no' to often."

Peyton came up short with that one. "Perhaps you're right," she agreed reluctantly. "But, what she wants doesn't matter right now. Caleb, this is all about you."

Caleb cringed openly and shook his head, dropping her gaze briefly. "Not entirely," he said quietly, adopting that irritatingly neutral tone again. His eyes darkened a little when they met hers. "This is about the both of us, since you sort of opened a home that wasn't yours to me and let your parents think we're together," Caleb finished bitterly.

Wait, what?

Peyton shook her head quickly, trying to process what she just heard.

"Are...are you mad at me now?" she asked him finally, trying to understand what in the hell was going on.

Caleb set his jaw and swallowed, obviously taking his time in answering. When he finally did, his voice was gruff with anger. "This whole thing is a mess. It would've been easier if you had just left me there."

Peyton felt the air in her lungs leave with a resounding whoosh. Ice filled her veins before fear and adrenaline took over.

"Leave you there...to die?" Peyton choked out. "C-Caleb, you..." Her mind scrambled for something to say, something that made sense, and something that wouldn't completely hurt his feelings.

"Caleb, you called out for help," Peyton coughed up finally. "If you had really wanted to die, you wouldn't have tried to hang on to the side of cliff. You would've dove in headfirst."

She gripped his shoulders tightly then, shaking him a little. "Don't ever say something like that again. You understand?" she demanded, finally consumed with fury. "What happened in your past has already happened, Caleb. If you continue to live wishing every day was your last, you'll be stuck in this...limbo you're in. You'll never be happy."

Caleb's jaw tightened. "I'm carrying my past with me every day, Peyton," he murmured, his voice too even. Too cold. "You've seen the scars. I'll never get past what my father did to me. What this community did to me. All I will ever be able to do is live with what happened. It's not moving on, Peyton. It's coming to terms with my shitty upbringing. Huge difference."

Peyton relaxed her grip on him, suddenly remembering the bruises there. Caleb didn't even wince when she pulled away, but Peyton did it for him.

Not for the first time, Peyton couldn't help but wonder if she had gotten in over her head. Yes, it was in the human nature – and Peyton's nature – to want to help; to give aid when it was needed. Yes, she was concerned about Caleb's welfare to a certain level that was mildly embarrassing to 

admit.

But maybe it wasn't just her help that Caleb needed. Maybe he needed someone more qualified to handle his situation. Someone professional.

Immediately she balked at the idea. Caleb wouldn't give a shrink a time of day. If she even offered him that sort of help he might get insulted.

No, she thought resignedly. I agreed to this as Caleb so helpfully pointed out, so I have to see it through to whatever end.

Peyton squared her shoulders and met Caleb's inquiring gaze, making her aware of her prolonged silence.

"Do you want my help, Caleb Vaughn?" she asked him point blank, not leaving his icy green eyes as they bore into hers. "Or would you rather I get you a plane ticket to a place of your choice so you can start over, where no one knows Jeremiah Vaughn or that you burnt down a school building?"

"Are you bullying me into staying here with you?" Caleb asked, cutting to the point.

"Staying here means facing your past," Peyton relented. "It means going to the police. It means going back to school and getting your education." She steeled herself for what she was going to say next. "It means facing your dad. I can give you a home and whatever else you'll need to succeed, but the rest is up to you."

Caleb shook his head and laughed depreciatively. 

"More charity?" he asked hoarsely. "More therapist bullshit? Am I social project to you Peyton?"

Peyton grounded her teeth together and tried to breathe. Throttling him wouldn't do any good. Berating him was just as pointless. Everywhere she turned with Caleb she came up to a brick wall. It was frustrating to say the least.

"Then tell me what you want Caleb," Peyton said finally in an even tone, lifting her eyes to meet his. "If you don't want my help, then tell me what you need."

"Want and need are two different things," Caleb murmured.

Peyton threw her hands up in the air and walked into the kitchen, shaking her head in irritation. 

"I can't help you if you can't tell me what you're thinking, Caleb!" she shot at him, her irritation slipping through. She poured out her lukewarm tea into the sink then leaned against the ledge, her eyes drifting to the Overlook. If Caleb kept spinning this conversation around and around in circles, she might just throw herself off the cliff.

"I want to not be a freak," Caleb said suddenly. Peyton looked over her shoulder and found Caleb's sweatshirt in her view. She looked up and studied the expressionless way Caleb stared down at her.

"I want to be able to take my shirt off at the beach and not have everyone stare at my scars. I want to go to a place where no one thinks I'm trailer trash. I want to be someone, Peyton. Not the kid who has to keep accepting charity from strangers because without it he can't survive. I want to give for once."

The ice in Caleb's eyes broke. "I don't want pity anymore. I need respect and I can't get that here. I need to start over." He hesitated for a second. "I'll...I'll do whatever it takes. I'll go to the police, I'll face my dad, I'll finish school. But..." Caleb took a step forward. "But I need you to be there."

He shook his head slightly when Peyton went to speak. "It won't be easy," he warned her, his voice thick with emotion. "I won't want to get out of bed some mornings. Some days I'll hate you just because I can. I'll argue with you just to see you in a rage. I have a habit of sleeping with my shoes on. I check the windows to see if they pop open easily for quick escape, I lock the doors of the rooms I'm in behind me so you can't follow... Do you understand me, Peyton? Do you understand what helping me really means?"

Peyton gently took his hand in both of hers, swallowing down her doubt. "It means we both have a lot of work to do, and we'll have to trust one another in order to make things work," she said carefully. "Can you trust me, Caleb?"

"Will you be there for me, Peyton?" Caleb countered in a voice raw with pain.

"For as long as you need me," Peyton murmured honestly, her eyes not leaving his. Caleb nodded and swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Then I can trust you," Caleb replied as Peyton released his hand.

The silence between them was tense, but Peyton was sure that was because Caleb had a lot to think about. Giving him some space he gestured back towards his new room.

"I guess I need to unpack," Caleb said nervously, biting on his bottom lip before sticking his bruised hands into his jean pockets. "And...thank you."

Peyton nodded and hesitated before just going with the flow. She put her arms around him gently and barely squeezed, not wanting to hurt him too much.

"Everything gets better, Caleb. Especially if you want it bad enough."

Surprisingly, Caleb hugged her back. "Thank you, Dr. Maury," he murmured. The teasing came out forced, but to Peyton that just meant he was trying. With a sigh she released him and looked up into his face.

"Go unpack," she told him, "then get some rest. You look exhausted."

Caleb nodded and walked to his room, hesitating as he went to close the door. With a shake of his head, he kept it open and Peyton watched for a second as he pulled the two duffel bags out from underneath the bed, still unpacked, and tossed them on the mattress. 

Like Peyton had told herself earlier: time will only tell with Caleb.

As she listened to the sounds of Caleb unpacking, her mind drifted to her own sort of Hell, where at one time she and Caleb's personalities would've been one of the same. Closing her eyes with a sigh, the suppressed memories came back to her, the darkness threatening to spill over and snuff out the only bit of light she had left. Peyton let them come.

+ + + +

Six months earlier...

Peyton wanted to hurt somebody. That was the bottom line. She was pissed, horrified, confused, hurt, betrayed, and whatever negative adjective she could think of. She wanted to rip out throats, stab hearts, break necks, and curl up in a corner and bawl.

But yet, she could do nothing.

That was the joy and wonder of working for Amelie St. Clair, the most formidable magazine editor-in-chief this side of the Atlantic. "Her" magazine reached its tendrils all across North America and beyond, if a reader was willing to pay the dues, and it was Amelie's duty to produce a magazine of flawless caliber. The articles, book reviews, political cartoons, and further foray into satire and news had to be tip-top. No misspellings, no factual errors, not a single page layout out of uniform, and no shoddy photos; you may keep your job. The pressure to produce such an exquisite example of publication greatness fourteen times a year was bound to make even the most congenial soul turn into a complete soul-sucking wrench.

And Amelie St. Clair had been a soul-sucker to begin with. Ten years since her ascension to editor, she had managed to perfect her wraith-like skills to absolute perfection, sucking the souls of her interns and contributors with a crocodilian smile on her pale, flawless face.

Peyton hated her with a passion, to say the least.

Immediately, the whiny high-pitched voice of her old roommate and, by said roommate's own definition, best friend, filled Peyton's thoughts: "But, oh my Gawd, PayPay! You're working for Amelie St. Clair! She is solely responsible for making Tristan Fellheart a commodity. I mean, hello, have you seen this year's spring catalogue? I'd murder for those yellow pumps..."

Amelie St. Clair was also the co-founder of Edge, a magazine solely devoted to the elite of the elite of couture, and rumor has it that despite her fulltime ride at The Pacific Review or "The Pace" as the critics had nicknamed it, St. Clair did not allow Edge to publish its monthly without her complete approval.

Talk about someone glutton for punishment.

That being said, Peyton was hard-pressed to leave the magazine. As much as she wished she could blow off St. Clair – and Missy Paxton, her whiny ex-roommate – Peyton couldn't. Thanks to her debt of college loans and her own pride, Peyton was firmly fixated here in this large, restless city far from her friends and family wedged up in the foggy fishing village of Hamish, Maine.

Peyton plopped herself down into her uncomfortable rolling chair in her tiny, boring cubicle and let out a long-winded sigh.

No, Peyton told herself, she couldn't leave. She was stuck.

But maybe Peyton wouldn't have to worry about leaving. It was quite possible that "The Ice Queen" St. Clair would do the job for her – or, at the very least, get one of her strutting soul-suckers-in-training sycophants to tell her in the most nasally tone possible to pack up her cubicle and go.

Peyton dug her hands into her hair, panic beginning to swell up within her.

This could not be happening. Her career could not go down the toilet, not when it had just begun nearly two years to the day. Christ, after the endless years of perfecting her portfolio, of acquiring letters of recommendation, of graduating with the highest honors possible for her degree at the university then rehashing the torture all over again for grad school, and of basically devoting every iota of her being to literary prowess...it could not end like this.

Not because of a mistake, a simple email error.

That's all this was, a simple error, but the instantaneous effect had been like the massive aftershock of a nuclear bomb. The stone cold anger that had radiated off of 58-year-old Amelie St. Clair's body when Peyton had gotten called into her office this morning had told her that her simple error would cost her everything.

And St. Clair had proceeded to tell her just exactly what "everything" really entailed.

The email, or "an unprecedented piece of whiny childish crap touted as the shittiest example of the First Amendment ever penned" had been an ongoing tirade of Peyton's personal, private thoughts on how "The Pace" was run since the day Peyton had been "invited" into the fold. The email, a detailed 33-page Word Document describing how bloated the "management of operations" was and her very descriptive views of Miss Amelie St. Clair personally had been for Peyton's eyes only, but somehow, someway, it had managed to end up in St. Clair's inbox complete with a cover letter comprising of a picture of a bare milky white female bum with the words: "Powering Pace: the Truth Behind the Literary Giant" printed neatly in the center directly over the dark space of a butthole.

Peyton was surprised that Amelie hadn't fired her on spot.

But now, fifteen minutes after the fact, she caught onto the editor's game. Amelie was going to make Peyton sweat it out, maybe even allow her to work the full day so Peyton could stew in her miserable, panicked thoughts about how badly she had just fucked up. Then, when Peyton would come into the Ice Queen's office at the end of the day, ready to grovel and apologize, St. Clair's world-renowned temper would be unleashed and Peyton would return back to her cramped apartment, unemployed and reeling from the aftereffect of losing everything she had worked so hard for.

Peyton would get screwed over, just like clockwork.

Except...she wasn't going to go down without a fight.

Peyton picked up her head as the idea of her next course of action hit her smack in the face.

It was all too obvious who had sent the Word document, for only two other people in the entire framework of the magazine had access to her computer. Erik Mann, the extremely cute but unfortunately gay tech whiz, was one; but he was currently on vacation at his cowboy boyfriend's ranch in Colorado and had been for a week. The only other culprit, and up until this point, the only person Peyton had trusted, was Hilary Cabot, whose pale, flabby butt could easily have been the flesh responsible for gracing the cover of Peyton's private treatise.

And, much to Peyton's fortune, Hilary was out making her rounds and wouldn't be back until lunch.

Turning to her computer, Peyton got down to work.



By lunchtime, Peyton was exhausted. She had spent the past five hours staring at her computer screen, searching for any angles she could take. Sure, she could have easily marched to St. Clair's office and done one of the following: 1) quit and save face, but she wasn't a quitter so the point was moot; or 2) she could plead her innocence to Amelie and hope to be given a bone, or at the very least scraps.

Peyton had instead taken option three.

And so had Simon & Schuster.

Just as Peyton had finished signing off her computer, a shadow cast over her desk. Peyton turned in her uncomfortable swivel chair and stared up into the narrow, pinched face of Roderick Graff, the leader of the St. Clair sycophant echelon. He crossed his pencil-thin arms over his pencil-thin chest and proceeded to glare down at her through designer glasses frames, his cherry-chap stick coated lips pursed.

Well, she had expected Amelie to give her the boot. But Peyton hadn't expected it to be done by a sycophant.

"You look very scholarly today," Peyton noted as she stood up. Roderick, or "I-Prefer-Rick-Actually", gave her a look of loathing before casting off her words with a twitch of his extremely gelled hair, not one strand moving with the action.

"You'll need to have your cubicle cleaned out before lock up today," he responded prissily. "There should be boxes in the copy room," he tagged on, waving a hand limply in the copy room's direction.

The copy room, Peyton thought with a barely veiled smile. Perfect.

"Sure, but Rick, do you mind helping me?" she asked wearily, not having to feign her exhaustion entirely. "The boxes are only at the top shelf and well..." She eyed her ten dollar flats and so did Rick, his upper lip curling with distaste.

"I guess that won't be a problem. You're not expecting me to actually help you pack, right?" he asked, since his schedule of fawning over Amelie St. Clair was pretty much booked full.

"Of course not," Peyton replied smoothly as Rick exhaled heavily in exasperation and twitched through the cubicle maze towards their ultimate destination. Peyton watched as Rick rolled his eyes at anyone who caught his gaze as they passed by the busy hive of workers.

Everyone must know then, Peyton realized. So Peyton did what she had to do: she kept her chin up and reminded herself there is always light at the end of the tunnel.

When Roderick and Peyton reached the copy room, it was only too obvious it was occupied. If the sounds of a table scraping along the tiled floor or soft thuds weren't any indication, the muffled moans had to be. Rick's doe brown eyes, large behind his Dolce & Gabbana glasses, met hers and Peyton easily feigned shock.

Rick didn't even think to reconsider his next move. He pushed down the door handle to the copy room and swung it wide open, revealing a half-naked redhead sprawled on her tummy across the table in the center of the room, a tattooed Adonis banging away at the junction of her thighs. Papers littered the floor and the copier kept beeping, demanding to be fed more paper.

Peyton and Rick and the entire staff of fact checkers watched as Griffin Tuck, the editor for the music scene of Pace's art section, sent Hilary Cabot into a screeching frenzy on the copy room table. No one missed her strangled pleas and no one missed the money shot Griffin made on Hilary's ample backside when he pulled out a minute or so later.




The Coffee Shop Ch. 05



And no one missed the look of horror when Hilary's eyes opened to see that she had an audience, Amelie's main sycophant heading the pack.

"You!" she glowered at Peyton, shoving Griffin away as she hurried to wipe the mess off her lower back with her discarded underwear. Classy.

Griffin caught Peyton's gaze and winked, a smirk playing on his lips. Peyton fought hard to keep her smile from showing. Obviously Griffin had gotten her email and hadn't minded playing along.

Rick then gasped and fled in a flurry of spindly limbs, pushing through the gathered crowd as he headed for the nearest elevator – and undoubtedly towards Amelie, the Ice Queen.

"That kid can move," Griffin said in his husky British murmur, chuckling afterwards when Hilary huffed in indignation. He blew Hilary a kiss after adjusting his pants, waving his black-painted fingernails in her direction as he left the copy room.

"Do great things," he murmured in Peyton's ear, slapping her rear playfully as he passed her at the doorway. Hilary, finally through with her clean up, marched over to Peyton and pushed her flamed face into Peyton's, ready to launch her verbal attack.

"Better go catch Rick before he gets to Amelie," Peyton interrupted. She then paused. "You missed a little," she stage-whispered as she tapped the right corner of her mouth with her pointer finger. Hilary's face burned an even deeper red as she wiped furiously at her face before racing from the copy room in the direction Rick had taken, her dress shirt still all askew.

Peyton had left The Pacific Review with her head held high and the meager earnings of her month's pay in her pocket. All she had to sacrifice was a little bit of dignity and allow her ego to suffer a bit of battering, but she had made it out alive. Thanks to Griffin's cooperation and Broadway acting skills, Peyton wasn't the only person at the Pace to get deleted off the payroll that day.

Peyton's moods were in a constant turmoil the entire drive back to house she shared with her boyfriend, but she finally managed to maintain a bit of positivity as she pulled into the parking lot. But clearly the Gods were against her today – for the sight that greeted her eyes when she unlocked the front door and followed the curious noises up to the bedroom sent her entire day – and mood – straight to Hell.



Efraim Scott had been born in Cairo, Egypt; to the British fashion model Isabelle Blair and her nameless security guard that had been picked from the local 'police force' to help crowd control at a fashion expose. Isabelle had planned accordingly – her father was the manager of Duncan Lawrie Limited, one of "the" banks to go to when you had more money than sense, and had managed to set her up with a respectable match through his ties. Robert Patrick Simeon Scott the fifth had consummated the marriage almost instantly as the match had been arranged, eager to claim the model as his bride.

The marriage ended when Efraim had been four years of age, but by then his dubious origins wasn't any matter. Robert had never questioned Efraim's paternity as Efraim had; there simply hadn't been any reason to. Their resemblance was uncanny – each man was tall and of darker olive-toned skin, their hair unruly dark waves that refused to lie flat no matter what hair product was used, their eyes the same almond shape. But it was there the similarities ended. Thanks to his blonde, pale model of a mother, Efraim's eyes were the most brilliant shade of blue and his lips on any other man would look womanly.

Efraim had followed in his mother's footsteps in almost every way imaginable. He had refused to obtain his higher levels in pursuit of a "more artsy" career. After one photo shoot for Valentino, Efraim had become a modeling commodity, using his quick thinking, acting skills acquired from years of watching his parents masterfully manipulate one another, and his demigod beautiful looks to acquire whatever he wanted. And Efraim wanted. Underneath Efraim's façade of calm, cool, and collected, he was a cruel, brooding man who once he set his mind to any task, carried it out ruthlessly. Mercilessly. Efraim was as cold and cunning as his conception; he just hid it beneath Versace and aloofness.

Six years Peyton's senior, Efraim was at the peak of his life physically and financially. Following in Robert Scott's footsteps, he invested his inheritance wisely and had profited considerably from his risks. His active modeling career demanded that his body be a temple; Efraim willingly complied.

It was due to Efraim's persistence and, if the rumors were true, his considerable finances that brought him to Los Angeles for the weeklong fashion show held in October. The show demanded attention of not only aspiring fashion designers, but of celebrities who wore the names...and of course The Pacific Review. Peyton had been "asked" to help cover the event by Amelie herself, hinting at future benefits at the magazine if Peyton did well.

So of course, Peyton freaking went.

Sometime after losing Bridget White, the Pace's fashionista contributor, for the fifth time in the first hour, Peyton wound up backstage among the designers themselves. She watched rail thin models scramble to their racks and rush into their clothes, not caring for modesty as they were stripped to nothing in front of dozens upon dozens of eyes so they could hurry into the next dress, business attire, whatever. Not that those dozens of eyes were paying any attention, they were too busy yelling about makeup, stains or rips on the dresses, of models gaining an ounce or two since they had come off the walk...it was madness.

And somehow, Efraim had seen her through all of that. Peyton hadn't been able to shake him ever since.

Efraim's attentions of her instantly became tabloid news. Peyton wasn't a fool – she may have been a little overwhelmed with the media's eyes being drawn to her, the other models both male and female giving her dirty looks or even disrespecting her outright, but Peyton hadn't gotten caught up in the whirlwind of it all. Maybe that was why she became friends with everyone so easily. Peyton, quite simply, had not cared for the attention and brushed it off as easily as it fell to her, remaining her down-to-earth nature despite the many excuses not to.

And Efraim...he had been a dream. He respected Peyton's wishes down to a T. He didn't shower her with expensive gifts or lavish weekend retreats, though he did try. More than once he would slip beneath her defenses and she would end up toting around some expensive watch or shoes that to her had looked nothing more than normal. Her picture would be found the next day on daily gossip shows under "the next trend." Efraim respected Peyton's job as a journalist and didn't exploit it for his own name, not like he needed to anyway. He was good to her parents, he was sweet and thoughtful, he was a driving force for her creativity, he respected her space, and he took her quirks in stride.

At least, he had in the beginning. Soon, Efraim's true colors began to show.

It started with the way Peyton dressed. Slowly her jeans and Converse became designer pencil skirts, heels, and blouses discarded from the runway. Her t-shirt bras and boyshorts underwear became custom-made lingerie sets and eventually, she was commando under her dresses.

After the invasion of the designer wardrobe, Efraim's "suggestions" began to take over every aspect of her life. She wore what he laid out for her and accessorized accordingly, with his approval. Her hair was curled, highlighted, and cut to reflect the latest hair trends. Peyton was expected to accompany him to galas, fashion shows, photo shoots, and while there aid him in any perceivable way possible – even recording what he ate and counting up the calories he had consumed. On nights that they were out to dinner with friends, she would end up with a Wikipedia entry of who's who so she would know every detail of the couples' lives, everything from ex-lovers to if they were allergic to shellfish or dairy. When Efraim was in town, but not in the mood to entertain, they would order in food – his vegan, healthy food of course.

Peyton went on his diets, ran five miles every morning, and even accepted his criticism on her articles in the Pace. Efraim was good to her, and honestly, Peyton had never been more fit or better dressed in her life. She had friends, money, a demanding job that would pay off soon, and a boyfriend who loved her and expressed it to her shamelessly. It hadn't occurred to her that Efraim was taking complete control of her life. He was just being a considerate boyfriend and besides, she was bettering herself and moving up in the world, what was wrong with that?

It wasn't until she walked in on Efraim that awful Tuesday afternoon taking his pleasure from "that Spanish sleaze" lingerie model, Sofie Fey, on their Swedish foam bed that Peyton knew just how badly her day was going to end.



Peyton watched in absolute horror as the two bodies collided in frantic, wild beats; oblivious to her arrival. The procession continued for a minute or so more before Efraim grunted his pleasure as he came inside the model, the woman beneath him having already reached her climax seconds previous. The couple stewed in post-coitus, nuzzling and kissing each other's skin; an act that just hours earlier Efraim had granted Peyton before she skipped off to work.

That thought broke her silence. Peyton reached out blindly for one of the stupid fluted crystal Tiffany candlestick holders Efraim had insisted last Christmas they shell out money for, her heart in her throat as her slim fingers wrapped around the cold accessory. With a screech of pain, a yell that came from her very soul, Peyton threw the holder, candlestick and all, at Efraim's muscled, sweaty, sexually-sated frame. At the same time, Efraim shifted his weight to stand by the bed and the holder collided into the headboard with a resounding crack, shattering shards of glass over the model and that stupid Swedish foam mattress.

Efraim turned quickly, his lust-burnt eyes darkening to calm aloofness. It was a look he wore when he spoke to someone he loathed, a look that Peyton had once been certain she would never elicit. Efraim straightened up slowly, looking unapologetic, like everything was normal, like nothing was wrong with this sick picture that he had made.

Peyton wanted to scream at him. Kick him. Tear at his face with her stupid French-tipped manicured nails. Dig the heels of her uncomfortable Steve Madden Myley leopard pumps into his shriveling ball sack.

Instead, she mimicked his chilly expression and murmured in the patient, emotionless tone Efraim used when he was most displeased with her, "You're filth, Efraim. Absolute trash."

Then, without a single glance in Sofie's direction, Peyton left the room, satisfied with the look of ice cold shock on Efraim's face. Peyton tossed her house key as she walked down the stairs to the first floor of the house Efraim owned, making sure to take the key for storage from his keyset before leaving the home completely.

After that, Peyton cashed her paycheck, hired movers to pick up her things from storage, took a cab to Santa Monica and splurged on a hotel with an ocean view. Only after Peyton raided the "honor bar" did she let the world come crashing down around her.

+ + + + +

The sound of a door shutting drew Peyton back to the present. She retreated to her bedroom, kitchen phone still in hand, and shut the bedroom door before leaning wearily against it. She rubbed her face, trying to force the memories back to no avail.

In the first few weeks following the very well-documented break up with Efraim, Peyton had lived her life in a cloudy haze of denial. She thought that just because she was free to wear her old tattered pj's around the house, drink all the rum-and-coke she could stomach, or eat as much Ben and Jerry's as she could bodily consume, that she was free. As long as those long-buried Led Zeppelin records filled the empty air of her apartment, Peyton had basically lived her life as though Efraim Scott and the diva world of fashion had not come and fucked it all up.

And it had worked too, until a few weeks later when her only friend in the city, Dany McCoy, had showed up with a tabloid of Efraim Scott and his four-month-pregnant fiancée Sofie Fey gracing the front page, and had told her to "Don't let this get to you, because he deserves to get run over by a city bus."

Peyton hadn't known whether to laugh or cry at the news, so she threw up instead and drowned her feelings in the bottom of Tennessee Honey despite Dany's speech to not drink her problems away. The next day, while still nursing the aftereffects of too much Jack, Peyton's mother had hit her with the double whammy of Aiden's death. Aiden, who had meant more to her than any of the people she had "befriended" like a Facebook status in Los Angeles, was gone. Peyton had forced herself to deal by buying another bottle of Honey, throwing that up, taking a shower, and packing her bags for the airplane to Maine, using the excuse of his death and her downtime to nurse her wounds.

It was pathetic and sickening. Never had she felt so low, so defeated, and so disgusted with her own reflection. It was here in the small fishing town of Hamish, Maine that Peyton and her family had felt she could recharge, and after her parents had sobered her up and removed all the liquor in the Barn, they had taken a prolonged vacation in locations through South America, leaving Peyton here to fend for herself.

Peyton sighed when she heard Caleb's footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs, his hesitation obvious. He didn't want to be alone. Well, neither did she.

Opening her eyes, Peyton looked around her room. When she had first come back from L.A., she had been certain that staying here would be temporary, just long enough for her to get her life back in the order it had been, the craziness all sorted out. She had been stagnant, surprisingly, until the moment she entered Sidestreet Coffee and gazed upon the loneliest green eyes she had ever seen. Everything after that had been a convenient detour from the own Hell of her life and into the nine circles of Hell of someone else's.

"When people have been scarred as badly as we have, we can recognize another's pain."

Is that what had attracted Peyton to Caleb? Did that really explain his attraction to her? Granted, her abuse had not been as deadly or illegal as Caleb's had been, but the end result had been the same. They trusted no one, confided in few, viewed the world with cynicism that bordered obtuse...

But there, the similarities ended. She preached of optimism, yet held none herself. Peyton was willing to help aid a broken soul, but had yet to piece back together her own. That was hypocrisy of the highest order. Caleb knew he needed help and asked for it. Demanded it, actually. Peyton was too ashamed to even admit she had a problem.

"Someone hurt you, didn't they? They didn't leave a mark, not in any place I could see."

Caleb was right. Peyton had to give him that. The scars were beneath the surface – they were in her head and had hardened her heart.

Peyton closed her eyes tightly shut when the sounds of Caleb's footsteps receding reached her ears. Quickly she shook her head until the tiny voice was gone, her ears ringing with the movement.

Peyton knew then what her biggest obstacle would be. Where she craved freedom and wanted to answer only to herself and her work, Caleb craved stability and the presence of another. He did not know stagnation. He had not had a single constant presence in his life besides his drunken excuse of a father.

Peyton sighed and opened her eyes, drawing up her strength as she turned to face Caleb and their future. As she opened the bedroom door and took the steps down to the first floor, Peyton hoped that giving Caleb what he needed most wouldn't turn her into the monster that had once loved and promised her everything, and so much more.

The thought of disappointing Caleb, of seeing his face crumple in pain and knowing that she had caused it, touched a part of her that not even Efraim had been capable of reaching and scarring. Peyton promised herself then that she would do anything to help Caleb win his life back. Even if it meant risking her own soul.

Because Caleb Vaughn was worth it.

+ + + + +

By the way, Duncan Lawrie Limited is an actual bank used to catering to high-income clientele with numerous branches across the world. I obviously do not promote the bank or am affiliated with its personnel. "The Pace" is a made up magazine based on The New Yorker and "Edge" takes cues from Vogue. Amelie St. Clair is not based on Anna Wintour of Vogue, since I have never met the woman nor have I ever worked for her.

Comments/votes/feedback are welcome and appreciated! Xo, LilyArc



The Coffee Shop Ch. 06



Author's Note: I want to apologize for taking so long to post this story. In my defense, I rewrote it at least 10 times in an effort to make it presentable for reading. Also, life got in the way, which hindered my writing further.

In this chapter, life moves forward for Caleb and Peyton, faster than they would in real life. The side effects of abuse takes a lifetime to overcome. Obviously, I have no intention of writing Caleb and Peyton's entire life, so suspend belief a little at the pace I'm taking things. They are a couple very much in love, and that is all, in the end, that truly matters to me.

Thank you for your patience and badgering - I hope you won't be disappointed in this next chapter of Caleb and Peyton's tale. As always, comments, votes, and feedback (especially feedback!) are most welcome. Even the bad kind. =)

Thanks for reading! 





The Coffee Shop Ch. 06



"I'm not going anywhere, Caleb," she replied as she cupped his face in her hands. "I'm here for you as long as you need me."

Then, she kissed him back, her first time doing so. Caleb responded with a deep moan, his arms tightening around her as he cradled her even closer to his body. The kiss started out gentle and tender but soon grew deep and dark with repressed passion. It was Caleb who broke the kiss, a growl escaping from deep within his chest.

"Take me home, Peyton," he grumbled, capturing her bottom lip and nibbling softly before releasing it. Peyton blinked away the fog that had consumed her, trying to focus on something other than the swollen swells of Caleb's lips.

"Huh?" she said intelligently when she realized he had spoken.

Caleb's eyes, now a deep, forest green, sparkled with amusement. "I said take me home." Peyton flushed and backed away from him with a nod, a little embarrassed about the display she and Caleb had made, in front of the police station no less.

She giggled to herself as she unlocked the car, shaking her head slightly as she lowered herself on shaky legs into the driver seat. Her lips felt swollen and bruised from Caleb's kisses, and her heart had yet to slow down its rampant pace. When Caleb stepped into the car, the smell of him assaulted her senses. She turned the air conditioning on in the car, needing the cold air to snap her out of her daze.

When Peyton and Caleb arrived at the Barn, her car was missing and the porch lights were on. Puffy storm clouds had moved in while they had been in the police station, tell-tale signs of a storm brewing. Peyton parked the car in the garage and walked side by side with Caleb into the Barn, her forefinger intertwined with his. Peyton knew it was ridiculous to feel as giddy as she did, for she had been in a relationship before, but with Caleb, everything was so different. She only had Efraim to compare him to, and so far Caleb was the complete opposite of the man who had almost singlehandedly destroyed her heart.

He cared about her feelings and he actually regarded her as a person and not a plaything to dress up. Caleb wasn't a drama queen, prone to dramatic episodes and rants about people and events that didn't go his way. He didn't expect her to do anything for him, in fact he almost expected her to do nothing. He didn't judge, he didn't push, and he didn't make her feel like she was lucky to have him.

"Penny for your thoughts," Caleb murmured quietly in her ear when he opened the back door for her. Peyton flushed and met his gaze to find his head tilted slightly, his eyes open and filled with curiosity.

That was another key difference between Caleb and Efraim. Caleb genuinely wanted to know her, the real Peyton, not mold her into someone else.

"It's a little cheesy," she warned him as she stepped inside the house, breathing in the warm air tainted with the remnant smells of breakfast. "And we both know how much you hate mushy stuff."

Caleb chuckled as he took off her coat, his strong fingers brushing intimately down her shoulders as he helped her shrug out of the sleeves. "I believe you are the one who can't stand romance," he reminded her. "I'm rather partial to it."

Peyton turned to face him, shaking her head with a smile. "No one talks like that anymore."

"In case you've forgotten, I work with a seventy-five year old woman eight hours out of the day. She says 'jinkies' when she drops something or points out what girls have a 'classy chassis'." Peyton giggled against her will.

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Peyton asked.

Caleb nodded after hanging up his coat and purposefully put his hands low on her waist. "She pointed out that you are in fact 'super classy'." Peyton swallowed hard when he pulled her into his body, the moisture from her mouth suddenly evaporating at the heat that radiated off Caleb's chest. "I have to agree with her," Caleb murmured.

Peyton's eyes closed as his lips descended down upon her neck, brushing softly over the skin. He found the vein at her throat pulsing and he neatly bit down, his fingers tightening around her belt loops to keep her in place when she jerked in his arms.

"Caleb..." she murmured, putting her arms around his neck, giving in completely.

Clearly Caleb hadn't expected her to yield like she had -- his surprise was evident in his stiffening frame and the soft catch of his breath in his throat. Peyton smiled against his shoulder, fighting a laugh that was threatening to escape.

"Peyton," he said thickly, his swallow audible, "we have to talk."

Peyton's smile faded a little and she pulled back so she could see his face. His eyes, dark with hunger and other emotions she couldn't identify locked onto hers, sending pleasant shivers down her spine. Never before had a single look made her react so powerfully.

It was exciting.

It was terrifying.

"Talk about what?" Peyton asked, remembering that he had spoken.

"About us," Caleb chuckled darkly as he backed away from her and ran a hand through his hair. "And we should probably talk before..." His eyes went over Peyton's head in the direction of his bedroom door and she flushed at the implications. She was supposed to be the level-headed one in this relationship, but a few kisses from Caleb had her turning back into the hormonal teenager.

Peyton nodded and took Caleb's hand before following him to the living room. They both sat on the couch, a sudden awkwardness taking over.

"Well?" Peyton couldn't help but tease when Caleb remained silent.

Caleb's cheekbones flushed with color briefly before he cleared his throat and met her gaze. "I've never been in a relationship before," he said quietly, the laughter fading from his eyes as he stared into hers. "And I know we're a few years apart and you have more experience with relationships than I do." Peyton tried not to snort at that. Her 'experiences' had been proven failures in the dating ring. The one that had actually lasted just about destroyed her.

"But I don't see why we can't be together," Caleb said firmly, his tone pulling her out of her dark thoughts. "I really want to be with you. Not as your roommate or your social project or just friends -- I want to be your boyfriend."

Peyton tried not to smile, but it was hard. He sounded so young and earnest, and was completely sincere. With Efraim, she had been surprised to learn that they were together. He had simply told her that they were an item. Never before had she been propositioned or asked.

Was she truly ready to be with Caleb? Granted it'd been months since her relationship with Efraim ended, and he had certainly moved on after she left. But had Peyton really moved on though? Would she be able to give her all in this relationship with Caleb?

Only one way to find out.

Peyton turned to face Caleb on the couch before speaking. "Caleb, I want to be with you."

"As my girl," Caleb clarified, his hands resting on each of her thighs as he leaned closer to her.

A smile slowly crossed his face as Peyton wove her fingers into the collar of his shirt to counteract his touch. "As your girl," she agreed, grinning back at him. Caleb's eyes burned brilliant green and he lowered his mouth to hers, as though the kiss finalized the pact.

Peyton pulled him closer to her, her hunger weeks suppressed dying to surge forward. Patiently she held it back, knowing that now was not the time to jump Caleb like a cat in heat, no matter how badly she wanted him.

Caleb deepened the kiss in response to her tug on his shirt, his tongue pressing against her lips for entry. She opened beneath his onslaught and gasped as he deftly pulled her beneath him by her thighs so he could lower his body on top of hers.

Instantly her conscience tried to kick in, reminding her to take it slow. Vainly Peyton tried to push her worries into the back of her mind, not wanting to analyze the situation, not when her body needed this -- him -- but it wasn't working.

"Stop thinking," Caleb growled against her neck.

"I-I'm..." Peyton shuddered as he bit down on her neck again. "I'm not thinking."

Caleb chuckled darkly against her skin before rising above her. "I know you better than you think." He smothered her response with his lips and tongue, dipping into her mouth as though scooping the words right out of her. "And I can tell when your mind is somewhere else," he murmured huskily as he broke the kiss.

His hands moved up from her thighs to the flare of her waist and in a quick move he rolled her above him. Peyton's hands tightened on Caleb's firm chest as she sought for balance and she rose above him to catch her breath.

Caleb bit on his bottom lip as he studied her with heavy lidded eyes. Part of Peyton wanted to claim that bottom lip as her own because dammit they had been skirting one another for over a month now and she didn't want to wait. The other half reminded her that she needed to take their relationship slow and make sure Caleb wanted this for the right reasons.

Caleb sat up slowly. "Stop it. I can see it all over your face," he whispered, his forehead resting on hers. "You're worried that you're going too fast. If you should stop and put in a movie and tiptoe around how badly you want to kiss me right now." Caleb cupped her face in his hands, his fingers gliding into the strands of her hair as he held her close to him. "I'll let you know if I'm not ready, Peyton, I swear. But right now, you can't stop. I need this -- I need you."

Peyton smiled softly and pressed her lips to his, not needing further encouragement. Caleb groaned as her palms raked down his chest and he obeyed her push on his shoulders to lie down on the couch once more. Peyton looked over Caleb briefly, not needing to look below his belt at the generous lump that was filling up the space in his jeans. She could feel it against her thighs as she straddled him and like the rest of Caleb, it radiated heat that affected her to the core.

Peyton trailed her fingers down the thermal shirt he wore, pausing over his nipples and gently pinching them until they were small nubs. Caleb's Adam's apple bobbed frantically as she traced the outline of his stomach muscles, his breath quickening with every brush of her fingertips. When her hands fiddled with the hem of his shirt, Caleb caught her wrists.

"Kiss me," he murmured.

With a smile she ran her hands back up his torso to his shoulders, stretching out her body along his like a cat. Caleb grinned and took her mouth as his, teasing her lips with soft bites and his questing tongue. Each nibble and every kiss only directed her attention to the growing ache that was building in between her thighs. As Caleb's hands ran over her back and the curve of her ass, the touch sensual but gentle all in one, Peyton couldn't help but rock her hips against his.

Caleb broke their kiss, his gaze wild as he looked at her. Peyton instantly recanted. Had she pushed him too far? Was he not ready?

Caleb ran his hands up to her shoulders and pulled her down hard on top of him. His breathing was ragged as he lowered one hand down her back to the apex of her jeans, finding the core of her through the denim. Peyton's eyes fluttered close and her breathing faltered as his strong fingers slowly massaged her.

She moved with his fingers unbidden, her face burying itself in the curve of Caleb's neck as they began to rock together. Peyton was dying for more friction, for the tool inside Caleb's jeans, but knew better than to even suggest it. But his slow circular pats were doing nothing more than adding fuel to the fire and soon the ache there was so intense, each motion of Caleb's fingers made her wince with pleasure-pain.

"Ssh, babe," Caleb whispered. Peyton blinked her eyes open in surprise. Had she been making noises?

"You were whimpering," Caleb chuckled in her ear as his hand slid to the front of her jeans and easily undid the catch with two fingers. "Do you want me to take care of you?"

The question was frank, but it so sensual the way it was murmured, husky and deep with want. It spoke volumes of how much Caleb was enjoying this. Peyton gasped as he slid his fingers past her zipper and cupped her mound, surprised at how wet she was. Caleb was too.

"Christ, Peyton," he growled as his fingers swept over the damp fabric of her underwear. Her labia was swollen, puffy, and wet; the cotton clinging to her skin enough to where Caleb had to peel it away. His fingers began to map the area slowly, tracing over the curves and testing the hot, slick center, deftly avoiding the sensitive bump. Peyton buried her face in his shoulder when just the very tip of his middle finger slid inside her, his teasing just about driving her crazy.

"Caleb," she whispered against his collarbone. "Please you're killing me here."

Caleb chuckled against her hair and patted her folds, the wet audible slap causing a flush to rise to her face from how lewd the noise sounded. "Surely you've heard of delayed gratification? It has a bigger payoff in the end," Caleb teased.

Peyton bit his collarbone in recant. "Stop teasing."

Caleb chuckled, but Peyton couldn't register anything beyond what he was doing to her -- or in this case, what he wasn't doing.

"Caleb, please touch me," she practically growled at him.

Caleb smirked. "I don't think you're in any position to boss me," he chuckled. Peyton opened her mouth to retort -- and at the same time Caleb angled two fingers inside her and plunged deep. A gasp escaped her lips instead and Peyton's forehead fell forward to rest on his shoulder as his fingers stretched her and plunged in a rhythm that had her catching her breath with each thrust.

At first, Caleb's technique was merely plunging thrusts that aided only in making her body ache more for him. Soon, though, his fingertips began to search. Peyton whimpered as he made his explorations -- Efraim had often tried this with her when she wasn't being responsive enough or when he was trying to get her off quickly to get the main event. But Caleb's slow, torturous perusal told her that he cared little about finding that special part of her wall -- he merely wanted to drive her insane with want for him.

It was working.

In a fog, Peyton blindly reached for Caleb's mouth, kissing wetly across his cheek and nose until she found those soft, talented lips that fell open the moment their mouths brushed. Caleb's fingers then stopped dancing around the treasure he found and pressed -- hard. Peyton shivered and gasped above him, breaking the kiss as a white hot burst of pleasure radiated from the touch. Her eyes fluttered open as she blinked away the film to stare down into Caleb's face, awe filling her at the intense expression that sharpened his features.

Caleb thrust and pressed again, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to build up a powerful, effective rhythm that had her squirming and gasping in little time at all. Peyton's eyes squeezed shut as the current raging within her began to build and build, each shimmering wave of heat only aiding in her destruction.

Peyton was torn between getting away from the torture and ending it, her entire body shaking above Caleb's as his talented fingers brought her to the brink. But it wasn't his fingers that ended her. It was the mouth that latched to the curve of her neck, right below her ear. Caleb's teeth roughly bit into the tender flesh and Peyton discovered that it was, without a doubt, one of her major weak spots, if not the weakest spot she had.

Her inner thighs clenched around his fingers as her entire body rippled with the effect of his manipulations. "Caleb!" she gasped in surprise, a series of noises escaping her mouth as she exploded and shattered above him, her hot release flooding her jeans as she came.

Caleb thrust into her slowly and forcefully, dragging out her orgasm until she had to reach down and grip his wrist to pause him. But Caleb didn't let up. His thumbnail, slickened by her release masochistically flicked over the hard, sensitive bud, touching it for the first time since he had placed his fingers inside her jeans.

Peyton moaned and shivered in response, her arms shaking to hold her up until finally she couldn't anymore.

"C-Caleb, no more," she gasped into his ear, unable to push him away she was so weak. "I don't think...I don't think..."

Caleb chuckled darkly against her temple and pulled out his fingers slowly before pressing the pads of them against her clit. Peyton jumped at the electric shock that snapped its way up her spine.

With one tight pinch to her clit, Peyton was gone again.

The second orgasm wasn't as strong as the first, but it was close. Another tidal wave of release coated the inside of her jeans and Caleb's hand, and the twitches inside her were so strong that every muscle below her belly button was jumping in response. Peyton couldn't even speak as the orgasm rode through her, but she was sure her screams made it perfectly clear how she felt.

Breathing hard against Caleb's neck, Peyton lay weak-limbed against him, dragging in air as though she had been denied the right to breathe. No man had ever made her come that hard, not with just their fingers. Peyton dazedly wondered what would happen to her when Caleb made love to her. She'd probably self-combust.

Caleb slipped his fingers from her and readjusted her underwear and jeans before holding her to him.

Peyton regained her ability to speak minutes later, her ability to move still hindered by the vague spasms still shaking her thighs. She shakily put her hands out on the couch and rose up only to have Caleb pull her back down.

"Caleb‒" she began to protest.

"I-I have to admit I won't last long," he stammered shakily into her hair. Peyton finally registered how taut his body was beneath her and mentally shook her head in disbelief. "Seeing you come twice was the hottest thing I've ever seen," Caleb grumbled.

"Let me make you feel as good as you made me," Peyton murmured, stroking over his chest gently as she waited for his grip to loosen. Caleb opened his eyes and finally nodded quickly, obviously on the edge of his resistance. Peyton realized in that moment how much she liked that.

Kissing his lips softly to soothe him, Peyton slowly lifted the hem of his thermal just enough to where she could reach the belt, knowing he didn't want his scars so openly on display just yet. She pulled away from his mouth and kissed a direct path down his chest, lowering her body down his. Caleb's breath caught in response. He hadn't expected her to use her mouth and to be honest, neither had Peyton. But the overwhelming desire to touch him, to taste him, and to possess Caleb completely had Peyton throwing all her reservations and questions out the window.

She gently licked and nipped at the skin above his jeans as she undid the belt, listening to Caleb's soft gasps for air as she did so. A smile crossed her lips when one of his hands caressed the back of her head, his fingers slipping deeply into the strands.

Peyton noted a wet spot off to the right side of his jean-clad thigh and felt her mouth go dry. The length of him was trapped within the confines of his left pant leg, telling Peyton two things: one, Caleb was going commando; and two, he was more than just large -- he was hung.

Peyton pulled down the zipper slowly but with purpose -- it was too late for her to back out now and she had no intention of leaving Caleb unfulfilled. Peyton gently pulled Caleb's jeans down over his hips, her breath catching at the heady musk that filled her nose. Suddenly, Caleb's other hand came to his base and squeezed hard, the movement catching her by surprise.

Peyton glanced up into Caleb's face and saw the strain there, his brows furrowed as he fought for control. The idea that she had him wound up so tight amazed her a little. No guy had never almost lost control just from seeing her lose control. It was a heady feeling to have.




The Coffee Shop Ch. 06



Peyton tugged his jeans down a bit farther and watched as Caleb's powerful erection rose above her, throbbing with each and every heartbeat, the large swollen head almost purple from his arousal. Caleb's erection was pale like the rest of him and surprisingly, he was shaven. Peyton's mouth watered unexpectedly at the sight of the clear ooze that trickled down his generous length and without even thinking, she grasped his veined base in both hands before slipping her mouth over his tip.

Instantly Caleb grunted and jerked his hips upward, pushing more of his length into her mouth. Peyton pulled back a little, knowing that she needed to take her time. Efraim had not been anywhere this size, merely average in length and girth, and this was her first cock in months. She wanted to enjoy it and she wanted Caleb to as well.

Fortifying herself with a deep breath, Peyton took Caleb in her mouth and met his gaze as she swept her tongue over Caleb's slit. The moment his taste registered, Peyton groaned. He was salty, for sure, but smoky flavored, woodsy. It took Peyton by surprise at how much she enjoyed it. Caleb let out a strangled moan as the tip of her tongue circled the bulbous head and soon more of the woodsy flavor began to fill her mouth. Aided by her spit and Caleb's pre cum, she began to firmly stroke his length from base to tip, using her tongue to trace the largest vein along the underside and occasionally she flicked out to brush the clear fluid away from his slit.

Over and over again Peyton repeated the gesture, never hurrying to bring him to finish. He had teased her earlier about delayed gratification, and that was exactly what he was going to get.

Caleb caught onto her game a minute or so later after she had tugged on his sac to halt his release. His hand in her hair tightened a little roughly around the strands and Peyton was surprised at the spasm in her thighs the gesture caused. Peyton responded to Caleb's roughness and nibbled on the skin under his sac, never ceasing her slow pumps on his length. Caleb cried out softly and Peyton rose up quickly to tease his pulsing, hungry length with her lips and tongue.

She watched Caleb's face as she increased her speed and saw his jaw muscles twitch as he fought to keep control.

"Let go, Caleb," she whispered softly after pulling off his length. "Just let it come."

Caleb's eyes shone brightly down at her and suddenly his entire body arched, his hips bucking up into her hands. "Peyton," he breathed. She slipped her mouth over his tip when he increased the pressure on the back of her head and she watched beads of sweat trickle down his flushed face as he began to thrust up into her mouth.

Peyton marveled at the strength of the body beneath her, unable to believe at how each muscle flowed and tightened under her palms as she brought Caleb to his peak. Caleb tensed beautifully and threw back his head as he exclaimed her name loudly into the air. A split second later, hot, thick spunk filled Peyton's mouth and throat, the smell of fallen leaves and earth filling her nose as Caleb released one spurt after another, his cock twitching with each pulse. Peyton had to use her hands around his tip to seal the liquid inside her mouth and pulled away when his fingers gently tugged on her hair again a few seconds later.

Caleb's lids were heavy when they looked at one another, his face glowing and flushed from his release. Peyton kissed the tip of his softening member until Caleb's hands reached down for her shoulders and pulled her up to him, his lips parted for a kiss.

"But I just..." she trailed off as she turned her head.

Caleb smirked. "A real man shouldn't be afraid of his own cum, babe. It doesn't bother me." His lips sealed over hers to prove his point, even going as far as to dip his tongue into her mouth to ensure she understood. When he pulled away Peyton was breathless and gasping, her body aching for him again.

Caleb's eyes were swirling emeralds as he pulled her mouth to his again, and to her amazement, Peyton felt Caleb's not-so-little Caleb stiffen once more.

Caleb opened his mouth, probably to say something sarcastic, but the sound of tires on gravel caught their attention. Caleb pulled Peyton into a final, bruising kiss, possessing her mouth completely before pulling away, their breathing ragged.

Without having to say a word, both of them scrambled off the couch. Peyton grabbed the Febreze spray from the kitchen and began to fill the living room with the smell of lavender as Caleb straightened into his jeans. Both of them then went to their rooms to clean up, smiling coyly at one another as they parted.

Peyton closed her bedroom door and leaned against it with a sigh, giggling as she tasted Caleb still on her tongue and lips.

"Peyton?" her mother called from downstairs. "Caleb?"

Peyton hurriedly changed out of her underwear and jeans, having to use a damp wash cloth to clean herself before redressing. After looking over her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she then opted for pulling her hair out of its ponytail thanks to the darkening bite marks just below her ear and the oblong shaped bruises on her neck.

After quickly gargling and spritzing herself with perfume, Peyton walked down the stairs and into the kitchen where her parents and Caleb were sitting at the kitchen table, accompanied by a tall, handsome man she knew well.

Oskar Janssen stood as she entered, beaming a brilliant smile in her direction as he adjusted the fastenings of his business suit. Where Daniel was stocky and muscled, Oskar was lithe and lean. His white blonde hair was slicked back in its usual style, a small wayward section of his bangs spilling over his forehead and falling dangerously close to his startling light blue eyes. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, as was his usual greeting, and winked at her.

"It's good to see you again, Peyton," he replied with a smile.

"And you," Peyton returned, unable to stop the smile that crossed her face.

Oskar dropped her hand and gestured for her to take a seat. Peyton sat in the chair beside Caleb, who instantly took her hand in his own. The pad of his thumb began to slowly but firmly rub over her knuckles as though he was trying to rub off the presence of Oskar's lips on her skin. Peyton fought a smile as Oskar and Caleb made eye contact. Clearly these two didn't like each other and Peyton didn't even have to guess why.

Oskar may be her father's age, but he was a notorious flirt. Single, handsome, and wealthy he had a lifestyle that even sometimes her father envied. He was never without some fashion model on his arm and usually he dropped by the Barn in his Bentley or another expensive, economically wasteful car. Peyton was familiar with Oskar's antics, and she knew they were entirely meaningless as Oskar would have his cojones handed to him by her father if the flirting became something else entirely. Caleb, however, was not.

This was going to make one hell of a meeting that was for certain.

"Your parents requested that I come in from the city for a rather personal matter," Oskar began, his business persona instantly taking over. His eyes drifted to Caleb briefly. "Daniel mentioned that it involves pressing charges." He eyed Peyton for confirmation. When she nodded, he then spoke to Caleb. "I am going to assume that you are the client I am to be representing."

Caleb's scowl dissipated as he realized what was happening. His eyes turned to Daniel who nodded once before he looked to Peyton. She squeezed his hand gently and put her other hand over his. Caleb eyed Oskar again. "Yes."

Oskar leaned forward in his seat and clasped his hands on the table in front of him, all the laughter gone from his face. "And what are the charges?" he asked quietly.

Caleb's icy green gaze never wavered from Oskar's. "My father abused and neglected me for eighteen years. I want that son of a bitch to pay."

~+~ 



The Coffee Shop Ch. 07



Alright, we're on the home stretch! Three more chapters and I think these two are about finished! As always, this is a copyrighted work and I appreciate all feedback, comments, and words of wisdom (the good kind, please!). Votes are appreciated as well! Enjoy! XO, Lily





The Coffee Shop Ch. 07



"I'll do?" she repeated in mock dismay.

Caleb's eyes lit up when she put her hands over his and he caught them, holding onto her fingers gently. "She liked you," he clarified. "She told me you know Othello, which has to mean we're perfect for one another."

They laughed at that and Caleb shook his head slowly, his eyes resting briefly on their hands. "She did point out something though." Peyton eyed him warily, the metal weight in her stomach building back up again.

"What's that?" she managed to whisper, suddenly nervous for a reason she couldn't give.

"That we don't know very much about one another, but we're already living together." Peyton smirked at the last bit, knowing it was supposed to be a joke. But the first part of the sentence Chelsea had hit the nail on the head.

"Perhaps we should fix that," she said quietly, gaining her confidence back now that her out-of-nowhere nervousness had dissipated. Caleb's eyes met hers again and he smirked.

"Meet me here when my shift's over," Caleb replied. "We'll grab a bite to eat." He squeezed her hands and started to stand as the doors swung open again to admit another haggle of teenagers.

"Sounds good," Peyton told him, smiling up into his face. Caleb's eyes darkened and a nervous hand lifted up to her cheek, stroking over the curve with the pad of his thumb. Peyton held her breath as he leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips, the scruff of his chin gently scraping hers in the process. It made her entire skin tingle with the sensation and she was surprised at how breathless she was when Caleb pulled away.

"See you later," Caleb murmured, his warm breath filtering over her cheek as he gave her another soft peck and moved away, striding back towards the counter with a confidence that drew the attention of the few girls in the pack.

Peyton smiled as she stood up and tossed her trash into the recycle bin. Her eyes strayed to the mounted clock on the far shop wall and felt her good mood dissipate as she mentally swore at the time. Her editor expected her newly revised draft before three and it was already well after twelve. Gathering up her book bag and satchel, Peyton threw both over her shoulder and hurriedly tucked in her chair.

"See you tomorrow!" Margaret called to her as she passed the glass counter of baked goods and treats. Peyton waved absently over her shoulder at her, catching Caleb's eye once again as she left.

She winked at him and heard as she pushed open one of the glass doors to the shop one of the teenage boys ask, "Dude, do you know her?" Peyton looked over her shoulder and was unable to fight a smile as Caleb pushed a coffee across the counter towards them.

"She's my girlfriend," Caleb admitted, his tone friendly but underneath the warning in his voice could not be missed.

Peyton walked out of the shop with a new bounce in her step, laughing under her breath at the ridiculousness of it all. Never had she felt so giggly and girly in her entire life. Hearing him state his claim to her didn't rub her the wrong way, not like it had with Efraim, who had made her status as a girlfriend sound like a privilege needed to be continuously earned, or an honor.

Her heart beat faster as she replayed his words over and over in her head, a smile growing on her face as she walked to her car.

She had been kidding herself when she thought only Caleb was coming out of his shell, changing and molting into the person she knew he could be. As she jammed her keys into the ignition and let her car roar to life, Peyton knew that it wasn't just Caleb changing and molting -- she was transforming just the same.





The Coffee Shop Ch. 07



Caleb rose his hips up against hers, grinding his trapped erection against her center. Each circular grind rubbed against her sensitive little bud, sending heated sparks through her with every circuit. His hands caught her upper arms when she went to lower herself and he pulled her back up over his chest.

"Caleb?" she asked questionably when she felt his body shake.

"I need a second or else this will be over too soon," he whispered hoarsely into her temple, his breath hot and ragged-sounding against her ear. Peyton found herself on her back staring up at Caleb's dark, glittering eyes a split second later.

Peyton gasped when Caleb's warm hands adjusted her legs, exposing her wet inner thighs to the cooler air. Caleb disappeared out of her vision and she sat up on her elbows to watch his descent.

Caleb winked at her when their gazes met and pressed a soft kiss to her swollen outer lips, teasing them with gentle brushes of his mouth. Over and over he ran his lips over hers, kissing the gathering juices away. After her third whispered "Fuck!" in a row, Caleb parted her outer lips with his fingers and swept his long tongue up the slit, directly attacking her bud afterwards.

With a soft cry, Peyton fell back on the pillows, her arms shaking already as Caleb made love to her neglected inner thighs with his mouth, tongue, and fingers. When Caleb began to suck and nibble on her clit, she blindly grabbed for a pillow to cover her face to smother her swearing and pleas.

But just as quickly as Caleb had attacked her -- he was gone.

Peyton gasped for air when the pillow was ripped off her face. Through her tears of pleasure Peyton saw Caleb's stark gaze, hungry and intensely locked on her own. She shuddered when Caleb's fingers slipped inside her, the three digits spurring over and over inside her in a slow, teasing rhythm.

"I want to see your face when you come," Caleb murmured lowly to her, his voice thick and rough with desire. "I want you to see my face and know that I am the one who made you shatter like this. I want you to realize that no other man can make you come like I can."

"Caleb..." Peyton breathed out, her eyes widening as she realized that his possessive dirty talk was really working. With a shaky breath, her eyes started to roll back into her head, her body shaking as his fingers slipped against her sensitive inner wall.

"Eyes on me!" Caleb growled. Peyton tried to keep her eyes open, but her will was shattering, just like she was. She tried to tell him that, to apologize even, but she could only mumble and mutter incoherently, her words coming out garbled and random trails of thought.

Caleb suddenly pressed his fingers firmly against the sensitive tissue on her wall and that was all it took. Peyton's eyes whipped open and her entire back arched as the bubbling expansive heat inside her burst with enough power to rob her off her breath, her sanity, and of all thoughts other than the man above her who had brought her to madness so easily. Caleb clamped his mouth down over hers as a scream bubbled from her throat and used his own thighs to keep hers from clamping shut on his questing fingers as he drew out her orgasm for as long as he could.

Desperate for an anchor to keep her grounded in the tidal wave of her emotions, Peyton clung tightly to Caleb's strong frame, her nails catching his skin as she shuddered and writhed like a snake beneath him. When Caleb felt her body go limp, he withdrew his wet fingers and brought them to his mouth. He licked one finger clean and used the other two to coat her cum over her swollen lips before his mouth came down to lick them clean as well.

"Caleb," she murmured after he pulled away. Caleb ignored her and pushed down his boxers, hissing as the erection sprung free from the dampened fabric. Peyton watched with foggy eyes as Caleb stroked himself to completion as he stared deep into her eyes. Peyton lifted up the hem of her shirt and exposed her belly to him but Caleb jerkily shook his head and rose up over her body, reaching out for her. His fingers wove into the strands of her hair and Peyton sat up a little with her chin tilted back, watching Caleb as he watched her.

"Open your mouth," he commanded shakily, his stomach concaving when she did so. A split second later, Caleb put his spongy, hot tip on her tongue and she watched his entire body ripple. "Peyton!" he grit out in warning. Peyton sealed her lips around him as he shot, the tip of her tongue teasing the sensitive underside of his head to coax more out of him. It worked. Ten shots later, Caleb slowly pulled out of her mouth and fell to his knees, using her headboard for balance. He let out a shaky exhale and met her gaze.

"Was that your original idea?" Peyton asked hoarsely, giving him a shaky smile.

Caleb broke out into a crooked smile and shook his head. "Actually, I really did just want to sleep in the same bed as you," he chuckled. "But when you flashed those red panties at me, sleeping easily became the last thing on my mind."

Caleb rolled off Peyton and stiffly stood at the bedside, revealing his flushed neck and chest. He pushed his damp boxers down his legs and kicked them aside. "Stay there and I'll clean us up," he told her as he walked around her bed to the bathroom. He returned a minute later with a damp wash cloth and knelt in between her legs. His flagging erection began to stiffen when Peyton held her legs farther apart for him and Peyton watched Caleb's pupils dilate before he closed them.

"Something wrong?" she asked, somehow able to keep the teasing tone out of her voice.

Caleb's eyes flickered open and he narrowed them when he caught her gaze. "You really will be the death of me, Peyton," he grumbled, shaking his head as he gently began to clean between her legs. Peyton fought from gasping at his purposeful touch, but when his thumb grazed over her clit, she couldn't stop the moan that escaped her mouth.

Peyton watched the muscles in Caleb's jaw bunch sporadically before he pushed off the bed and swiped his soiled boxers off the floor. Blinking away the fog enough to where she could focus, Peyton sat up on her elbows and watched Caleb dress with his back to her.

"Where are you going?" she whispered in surprise as he started to walk to her bedroom door.

Caleb hesitated at the threshold, his fists tightening at his sides. "Back to my room," he answered stiffly, his voice thick and low with lack of control.

Peyton swallowed her next question and pulled the covers up over her body. Caleb let out a noise torn between a growl and a moan before jerking open the door and propelling himself out of her room. He shut the door a little bit harder than he probably intended and she heard him swear on the other side of the door before the sound of his quick, heavy footsteps on the stairs greeted her ears.

A minute passed and the pipes in the old house began to creak and groan as water rushed through them.

Peyton couldn't help but chuckle at the implications before she too got out of bed and searched around for her night clothes. It didn't take her but two seconds to realize what was missing.

"That bastard took my favorite underwear!"





The Coffee Shop Ch. 08



The next morning, breakfast was tense.

Peyton could practically feel Caleb's heat from across the table, the hunger in his body reflected openly in his gaze. Getting through breakfast was a challenge, and her mother's moody behavior didn't help things either. Something had put Lola in a mood, which only added to Peyton's worry.

"Do you work today, Caleb?" her father asked as they started putting away dishes.

"Yes, sir," Caleb replied, hesitating at the sink when Peyton held out her soapy hand for his breakfast plate. Their eyes met and Peyton felt her right knee wiggle as it began to give out like something out of a cheesy romance movie.

Then, suddenly, the heat in his eyes was gone in a flash and replaced with a cool aloofness that had her head spinning.

Caleb dropped the plate in the sink and his eyes from hers, backing away like he had been set on fire. "I have the brunch shift -- I'll be back by three."

Daniel and Lola seemed oblivious to Caleb's change in behavior. Daniel dug in his coat pocket, not even lifting his eyes up from his paper as he pulled out car keys and held them up for Caleb to take.

Caleb had the keys in his hands and his coat halfway on by the time it registered to Peyton that Caleb was leaving for work an hour earlier than he needed to. The sound of gravel kicking up and the mad dash down the drive told Peyton that he clearly needed to be somewhere -- far, far away from here.

"Peyton," Daniel said quietly.

Peyton looked away from the kitchen window to find her parents sitting at the kitchen table, staring up at her expectantly. Lola eased out Peyton's chair with her foot, her smile polite but not quite reaching her eyes.

A cold shiver went down her spine as tension rose between the three of them, again. Peyton wiped off her hands and took a seat before clasping her hands in her lap so her parents wouldn't see them shake.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

For a brief moment the three of them were lost in a tense silence.

It was Lola who finally had the nerve to break it. "Peyton, we know you aren't a little girl anymore, but we have been treating you like one," Lola began slowly, as though she was feeling her way through the conversation. Peyton knew for certain then that this was serious. "The only reason why we let you stay at the Barn so long was so our little girl could get better -- and you are, we can see that now."

Lola reached out and picked up Peyton's shaking hands from her lap so she could hold them in her own. "Your father and I understand how much you needed this place to get back on your feet, and how it helped you finish your book." Understanding flickered through Peyton then.

"But it's time for me to get back to L.A.," she finished for her mother.

Tears swelled in Lola's eyes and she rolled them over to Daniel. "I knew I'd cry like a little baby," she told him, laughing a little as she shook her head and tried to gather up her control again.

"You can't run away from your problems, Peyton," Lola sniffed, patting her hands. "It's time for you to go back and face them head on and move forward with your life." Daniel nodded in agreement with his wife, his blue eyes both sad and comforting in turns.

Peyton nodded and pulled her hands from her mother's so she could wipe at the silly tears that had formed in her eyes. She understood where her parents were coming from completely. She was twenty-five for Pete's sake, an adult now. Hiding away at sleepy little Hamish wasn't going to solve her problems or make them go away. It was time for her to head back.

Peyton eyed her father reproachfully. "But what about Caleb?" she whispered. "I can't leave him here."

Daniel and Lola exchanged telling glances that told Peyton that they must've had this conversation before.

"Well," Daniel began tentatively, "Caleb won't likely be able to get into a university somewhere this late in the game, not unless he goes to a technical school or community college. If he decides to take that route that would keep him here in Hamish, which is fine by us." Daniel shifted in his chair and shrugged his shoulders. "But your mother and I were thinking that maybe you should take him to Los Angeles with you. Let him see UCLA or the other campuses if he wants. Let him see a life outside of Hamish. If he likes it -- great. If not, well..."

Lola took Peyton's hands again. "If not," she continued, "then he will always have a place here."

"But..." Peyton squirmed in her seat, hating to sound like a little kid, but knew there was no other way around it. "But what if he doesn't like L.A.?" she asked them. "The people, the crowds, the city...Caleb may have a meltdown. What do I do then? I can't...I can't just leave him here."

Lola smiled sympathetically. "That's something you and Caleb will have to work out with one another if it comes to that."

"Don't sell that boy short," Daniel piped up. "He is full of surprises. He may bend over backwards to get his butt out to L.A. But you won't know until you go."

Peyton sniffed and nodded. "I'll talk to him about it tonight."

"We'll talk about it together," Lola said firmly as she straightened up in her seat. "I don't want Caleb to think we're kicking him out of this house. This is his home, and we're his family."

Peyton smiled a little at her mother's firm resolve. "Mom, you've already convinced Caleb of that," she said softly, laughing a little. "You two have been great with him -- he's opened up a lot more than he would have with just me. I can't thank you two enough for being here to help. Caleb will tell you the same thing."

Daniel opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of his emergency cell interrupted him. Peyton and Lola waited on edge as he scrambled to answer it, both of them unabashedly eavesdropping on the short conversation as Daniel paced the room. They watched him recede down the hall moments later before he went silent. 

Daniel came back from the bedroom with his City of Hamish jacket and matching baseball cap, the look on his face grave. "Someone set a fire on the reservation. They need some extra hands."

"Call me," Lola said with a sigh as she watched him don his uniform with a look akin to pride and sadness, the lines of her face etched with worry. When Peyton had been younger, her mother's expression had been more urgent, more worrisome. Now Lola watched Daniel with almost a resigned expression, because she knew that this was Daniel's life. Nothing would change that, not even her.

"I will," Daniel promised, kissing his wife softly before moving to Peyton.

"Be safe, dad," Peyton told him, voicing the familiar mantra that she had since...well...forever.

"Always," he replied with a Cheshire cat grin. He tugged on the end of her braid before setting off, the house feeling abruptly cold with his absence. Peyton closed her eyes at the sound of a diesel engine cranking up. Her dad always used the truck whenever he went out as a volunteer, because it had the dual uses of towing cars off the bridge over the Narrows or carrying equipment for road crews or just anything really. It was a familiar sound in the Gray household, and a sobering one. Peyton knew neither she nor her mother would feel normal again until that same diesel truck pulled into the drive.

The rest of the day was a blur. Peyton's nerves were frazzled by her father's absence and Caleb's abrupt leave, so she spent most of the day fighting with her mother over chores to do around the Barn. Without her book to distract her, Peyton realized she had nothing truly constructive to do. Perhaps leaving for Los Angeles wasn't such a bad idea after all -- if nothing else, it'd keep her from getting cabin fever. Or is it Barn fever?

Shaking her head at the terrible joke, Peyton finished folding clothes away into the laundry basket she used to carry clothes in, separating her pile from Caleb's. Normally she let him wash his own clothes, but boredom had prompted her to take over the job before her mother had. That and it grossed her out to know her mother was touching Caleb's underwear.

With a shiver, Peyton picked up the basket and walked out of the washing room and down the hall to Caleb's, pushing open his door with the basket before taking the first step inside.

Caleb's room was as neat as a pen. His bed was neatly made -- with perfect square corners, too -- and not a single article of clothing littered his floor space. He had finally added a few personal touches to the room: dinky frames with pictures of him and Chelsea, medals from cross country events, a framed article cut-out of him placing first at a robotics event hosted by MIT, and a lone frame on his bedside table holding an aged and sun-bleached photo.

Peyton put down the basket of clothes on the bed and picked up the frame gently to take a closer look. The instant photo was of a couple and their newborn baby, all three fresh from the hospital by the looks of it. The male was tall and pale-haired, his dark eyes shining with unshed tears of joy up at the camera as he held his tanned arms around his family. The woman, pale and tired looking, smiled wanly up at the camera as well, her large green eyes happy and teary, her black hair tucked back in a messy bun. In her arms was a tiny blue bundle turned white by the sun exposure. A crop of black hair peeked out from the blanket, the face beneath the hair squishy and pink.

Written in clear, beautiful cursive on the white stock at the bottom were three simple lines:





The Coffee Shop Ch. 08



"Long day at the reservation?" Peyton asked her father, unable to take the silence anymore.

Daniel put his napkin in his lap and nodded slowly. "Longer than it should have been," he responded cryptically. Peyton and Caleb exchanged glances before Peyton turned her attention back to her father.

"Nobody was hurt, right?"

Daniel picked up his fork and shook his head. "No casualties, just...a lot of people are without homes right now. Just because a couple of kids thought arson was some kind of joke," he tagged on bitterly, stabbing at a cherry tomato in his salad with gusto. "Kids these days," he grumbled. "Mindless violence seems to be their answer to everything, including having a good time."

The dinner lapsed into silence then, the awkwardness so palpable it put Peyton off her appetite. Lola did not say one word, not even when she passed out chocolate pie for dinner. The silence made Peyton's skin itch.

Peyton let out a soft sigh and took matters into her own hands. "Caleb, my parents and I were talking this morning." Caleb paused from cutting into his pie, his green eyes flickering between wariness and curiosity.

"I think I'm going to head back to Los Angeles for awhile, and well, I thought maybe you would want to come with me. We can check out schools, I can show you around...I just thought it would be good for us to get away for awhile." She eyed him then. "What do you think?"

For the first time since her parents sat down, they perked up. Both Lola and Daniel watched Caleb, giving him tentative smiles when he glanced in their directions.

"It's not permanent," Peyton said slowly when it became clear Caleb didn't know what to say. "If you don't like it there or you're just ready to leave, we can always come back."

Caleb turned his eyes back to her and gave her an uncharacteristically broad smile. "Yea, I'd like that. Actually...that'd be great." He cut his pie and started to laugh when he noticed Lola and Daniel were braced tensely on their seats watching him. "I know you aren't kicking me out," he told them with a smile. "You just want me out of Hamish for a bit, I understand."

"We just want you to realize there is more to the world than Hamish, Maine, son," Daniel said quietly, light flickering in his blue eyes. "Take your time there, it's a beautiful place. And like Peyton said, if you don't like it, you can always come back. Lola and I aren't going anywhere."

Caleb nodded and winked in Lola's direction. "You want some alone time, I get it. So," he addressed Peyton after Lola let out a strangled laugh of relief, "when were you planning on leaving?"

Peyton eyed her parents briefly before dutifully cutting her pie. "This weekend," she said softly, biting her bottom lip before meeting Caleb's eyes.

Caleb looked ecstatic, and that surprised her immensely. "Really? We can leave that soon?"

Peyton nodded, a smile playing on her lips. If she had known Caleb would react this well, she would've mentioned it earlier. Her dad was right -- she shouldn't have underestimated Caleb.

Caleb reached out and squeezed her hand gently. "I can't wait," he said with a sincere smile. After she gave him a warm smile in return, he turned back to his pie and released her hand, the smile never quite leaving his face.

After they cleaned up dinner and dessert, Peyton's parents retired to the living room, passing out fifteen minutes into the new season of Breaking Bad, her dad's snores somehow outpacing the gunshots and yelling that filtered through the Bose speakers.

"Hey."

Peyton looked over her shoulder and up at Caleb who gestured his chin back towards the kitchen. Biting her lip, she nodded and stood up slowly from the couch as to not wake her parents. Like two teenagers, they snuck away upstairs, giggling nervously at every little sound their footsteps made, pausing on each stair to make sure her parents hadn't woken up.

When they reached the bedroom, Caleb instantly took over, his mouth running over the bare skin that his hands helped expose. Caleb gently pushed her back onto her bed and covered her almost-naked body with his completely nude one, his kisses driving her into a delirious frenzy.

"Caleb..." Peyton murmured into his ear minutes later, her body humming with need.

"I've got you." He kissed the side of her neck gently before making a pathway down her body to her inner thighs. Peyton should've known when his first move was to spear his tongue inside of her that tonight was going to be a long one, but she was more than happy to learn her lesson. Over and over and over again.





The Coffee Shop Ch. 08



Caleb pulled out Dany's chair first before Peyton, winking at her when he took his own seat. The maitre d' practically beamed a smile at Caleb for his obvious manners and it took Caleb's foot on hers to keep Peyton from laughing outright.

"Sake, wine, or cocktails this evening? I could recommend something if you are unsure..."

The rest of the night went this way. Clearly the maitre d' wasn't the maitre d' at all, but a very efficient man named Edward on the waiting staff who had taken over for the maitre d' as it was the other man's night off. He recommended a lot of things, which Dany was more than happy to try, and Peyton and Caleb were more than happy to play along. Edward really liked their table, probably because he knew he was going to be packing a generous tip at the end.

Unsurprisingly, Edward didn't question Caleb's age when he poured the wine or the sake. The waiter had made it pretty clear that he was interested in garnering Caleb's after-hour attention and went the entire dinner doing everything he could to catch Caleb's eye. If Peyton hadn't been so loose from the wine, she might've been offended by how openly Edward made his advances.

Many wine glasses, starters, sushi selections, specialty rolls and entrees later; the group called for the bill and stumbled to the valet. Caleb took the keys, which was probably best, and after Peyton input the information back to her house into the Lexus' GPS system, the three of them headed back to Ogden Drive.

Peyton rested her hand on Caleb's knee, as Caleb swore he needed both hands to drive, smiling to herself as she hummed to nonsensical tune that Dany had started up sometime during dinner. Peyton glanced into the backseat and smiled at Dany, who was currently passed out across the trash of her backseat, snoring.

When they arrived at the house, Caleb carried a still passed out Dany to the spare bedroom, setting aspirin, a glass of water and the small bathroom trash can out beside the bed for when she woke up.

Peyton smiled sleepily at him when he came back into her bedroom. "You are such a sweetheart," she told him, holding out her arms for him to join her on the bed. "Not many people would've done that. Shoot -- I wouldn't have done that, and I'm her bestie."

Caleb took off Peyton's shoes with a smile before letting his eyes linger on hers. "She's your friend. If you were a little more sober, you would've done the same thing," he chuckled as he shucked off his shoes and crawled up into bed beside her.

Peyton greedily snuck into his embrace, her eyes heavy with sleep and wine and unseeing of the smile on Caleb's face. "I'm glad you're here with me," Peyton mumbled into his sweater. "It feels right."

Caleb didn't respond, just held her closer. His embrace was the last thing she remembered before she drifted off to sleep.