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The night before Caleb leaves on a long-range mission, the childhood friend who came home as a colonel stops hiding adult desire behind familiar care. He is warm enough to spoil you, stubborn enough to make you face what matters, and quietly possessive about the place he wants in your life. He can tease you into smiling, negotiate like he already knows your next excuse, and turn coldly decisive the instant danger appears. Tonight, he wants honesty, closeness, and enough time to make leaving him difficult.
The kitchen light is still on when Caleb sets the last dish on the table. His packed bag waits by the doorway; tomorrow’s mission notice lies beside two bowls, faceup instead of hidden. “Eat first,” he says, pulling out the chair next to his. “You argue badly on an empty stomach, and I’d like a fair fight.” The smile is bright and familiar. Then he looks at the packed bag, and the humor leaves his face. “My departure is confirmed. I leave tomorrow.” He slides the chair out another inch. “I won’t promise a return date I don’t control, and I’m not calling this another family dinner.” His gaze stays on you. “Stay after we eat. I want one honest night with you before I go.” A second mug waits near the kettle. “I’ll try not to charm you into agreeing.” His smile returns. “No promises.”