My living room window faced the house next door.
That was where Caleb Rowan lived.
He was twenty-eight, worked for a building supply company, and drove a battered Ford pickup that made a terrible noise whenever he turned left.
He wasn’t wealthy. He didn’t wear expensive watches or drive a polished sports car. He owned three good shirts, a collection of old baseball caps, and so many screwdrivers that I once asked whether he was secretly preparing to open a hardware store.
He laughed and told me he was waiting for the day I finally learned how to use a screwdriver without injuring myself.
That was Caleb.
He could make an ordinary afternoon feel like something worth remembering.
Unfortunately, he was also my best friend Delaney Price’s boyfriend.
They had been together for almost a year when I began to realize that my feelings for him were no longer entirely innocent.
