Thirty-Six
thirty-six
SUGAR - MAROON 5
OWEN - JULY 20, 2014
T he house smells like a combination of hemp and hot glue, a scent that’s somehow become comforting over the last couple of months as Callie pours herself into every detail of the wedding. She’s worked tirelessly, planning nearly everything on her own despite my repeated offers to help. She always gives me the same response: “I’ve got it under control, babe.”
Now, she’s at the dining table, her brow furrowed in concentration as she sprays a final layer of chalkboard paint onto a large poster board. She leans back, admiring her work before grabbing a piece of chalk to intricately write our names at the top, followed by the date of our wedding—less than a week away.
We decided on the Van Damme Hawkridge Estate for the venue, a place that holds so much sentimental value for Callie. It’s where she grew up, where so many of her happiest memories live. And, let’s be real, the price tag—or lack thereof—was a big selling point. You can’t beat free, especially when wedding budgets seem to evaporate faster than you can blink.
The vibe of the wedding is all Callie—rustic and charming with a touch of her quirky, alternative style. The centerpieces are scattered around the house in various stages of completion: mason jars wrapped in burlap and lace, each filled with wildflowers and eucalyptus. She’s even made the bouquets herself, crafting sunflowers out of burlap that somehow look better than the real thing. Every time I look at what she’s created, I’m amazed at her ability to take something simple and turn it into something extraordinary.
“That’s pretty impressive,” I say, leaning over her shoulder and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Are you sure there isn’t something I can do to help, Dollface?”
Callie looks up at me, her green eyes softening. A small smile tugs at her lips, and it’s the kind of smile that makes my chest feel like it might burst. “No, I’ve got it covered,” she says, her voice warm. “But what do you think of this one?”
She points to the poster she’s just finished, carefully setting it aside to let the paint dry. It tells our story—how we met, the twists and turns that brought us here. My eyes trace over the captions and photos, and my heart swells as I read the words she’s written:
It all started when he asked her what her five favorite bands were and promised to judge her for it. They talked for weeks and quickly became best friends until he lost his phone… but when they finally reconnected, his first words were, ‘What’s up, chick?’
“I see you’re leaving out the detail about what you were doing right before I texted you,” I say with a grin. She later confessed to me that she’d been testing out a new toy that day. A toy that we later played with together. I can’t help as my smile grows wider as the blush creeps up her neck.
She gasps, her cheeks flushing deep red, and she throws a playful backhand at my arm, hitting my bicep. “You hush!” she says, embarrassed but laughing.
“Just keeping it honest,” I tease, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
Callie rolls her eyes but softens as her gaze returns to the poster. “Do you think people will like it?”
“Are you kidding?” I say, resting my hand on the back of her chair. “They’re going to love it. It’s the perfect mix of funny and sweet, just like us.”
Her smile widens. She leans back into me, letting out a content sigh. I let myself just soak in the moment—the scent of glue, the hum of a nearby fan drying paint, and the woman I’m about to marry.
The thought of our wedding, our life together, and everything we’ve planned fills my chest with warmth. But underneath that, there’s still a flicker of uncertainty, a question I’ve been avoiding bringing up for weeks.
“So,” I say, keeping my tone light as I grab one of the mason jar centerpieces she’s just finished. “We’ve got two kids now… and you’re talking about two more someday. Where exactly are we going to be raising all these little monsters?”
Callie tilts her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, is this your subtle way of saying you’re rethinking the whole two-more-kids thing?”
“Not a chance,” I say, chuckling. “But I’ve been thinking about… logistics. You know, where we’re going to live long-term.”
Her expression shifts , her brow furrowing, and I brace myself for hesitation or even pushback. Instead, her face lights up unexpectedly.
“Oh, I’ve thought about it,” she says casually, setting her chalk down and turning to face me fully.
“You have?” I ask, caught off guard.
“Of course,” she replies. “I’ve always kind of hoped I’d end up leaving Hawkridge someday. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family, but this town… I don’t know. It feels small. Like I’ve outgrown it. And now that we’re building a life together, I think Cedar Bluff could be a really good place for us.”
Her words knock the wind out of me. I’m sure I heard her wrong. “Wait… really? You’d want to move to Cedar Bluff?”
Callie laughs softly, reaching for my hand. “Yes, Owen. I know how much Barrett means to you, and I want us to be close to him. Besides, you’ve seen how well the girls do when they’re all together. It just makes sense.”
Relief floods through me, washing away the tension that’s been gnawing at me for weeks. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d been dreading this conversation until now.
“I don’t even know what to say,” I admit, running a hand over my hair.
“Say you’ll keep building us a home wherever we end up,” she says simply, her voice warm and steady.
“I can do that,” I say, pulling her into my arms. “I can absolutely do that.”
The weight I’ve been carrying for weeks finally lifts, replaced with hope and excitement for the future we’re building. As Callie leans up to kiss me, her warmth anchors me to this moment. I know without a doubt no matter where we go, no matter what we face, we’ll make it ours. This life, messy and imperfect, is ours to mold and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
The next afternoon, the warm ambiance of Brooked & Brewed wraps around me as I step inside, the familiar bell jingling overhead. It’s quieter than usual and I just might use that to my advantage. “I’ll be right with you,” a familiar voice calls from the back room. A few empty mugs sit abandoned on the tables, and I start gathering them up before heading toward the kitchen of the coffee shop in hopes of helping Callie clean up early.
She doesn’t notice me at first, too lost in her task as she wipes down the kitchen counters, so I linger for a second, just watching her. She’s so beautiful like this–focused, calm, and completely unaware of the effect she has on me. She has her hair pulled up in a messy bun, a few escaping strands frame her face, and her black apron is dusted with flour from what I can only assume would have been a hilarious episode to witness earlier in the day.
“Excuse me,” I say, leaning against the doorframe and flashing her my best grin. “Is it too late to order a hot little snack to-go?”
Callie’s head snaps up, her eyes widening in surprise before a smile spreads across her face and her cheeks turn pink. “Owen,” she says, setting down the rag she was using to wipe the counters. Her voice is soft, but the happiness in it wraps around me like a warm blanket. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I’d surprise you,” I say, shrugging. “I got back in town early and wanted to steal some time from you before I pick up the girls from your sister. It seems quiet in here today.”
Callie shakes her head, a small laugh escaping her as she walks toward me. “It’s been dead all afternoon. I was just about to start cleaning up and calling it a day.”
“Perfect timing, then,” I say, stepping aside to let her pass and stealing a quick kiss from her. “I already started gathering the mugs from the tables. Need any more help?”
She raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Help from you here? Sounds like a recipe for disaster.”
“Hey, I’ve got skills,” I protest, sliding my hands into my pockets. “Besides, it can’t be any more disastrous than whatever led to you being covered in flour,” I say with a wink.
She laughs, shaking her head. “Alright, hero. Lock the door for me while I finish back in the kitchen.”
I do as she says, flipping the sign to Closed and turning the deadbolt. When I return, Callie’s already disappeared into the kitchen again, so I follow her, the smell of fresh coffee grounds stronger with every step.
She’s standing by the sink, rinsing out a few mugs, her back to me. The sight of her there, so small but so strong, makes my chest ache in the best way. I step closer, wrapping my arms around her waist, and she jumps slightly before leaning into me.
“You scared me,” she says, but no real annoyance in her voice.
“Sorry, Dollface,” I murmur against her neck, pressing a kiss just below her ear. “Couldn’t help myself.”
Callie turns in my arms, her hands finding my chest. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
“Only for you,” I say, my fingers trailing down her sides. “And you love it.”
Her lips curve into a slow, radiant smile, the kind that knocks the air from my lungs. “I do. So much.”
The words hit me like a wave, and I lean down to kiss her. Her lips are soft, her fingers curling into my shirt as she presses closer. Everything about her—the way she smells like vanilla and coffee, the quiet sigh she lets out against my mouth—pulls me under, and I don’t want to come up for air.
When we finally break apart, she’s breathless, her cheeks flushed. “I really should finish closing up,” she says, but her hands don’t move from my chest.
“Or,” I say, sliding my hands to her hips and pulling her closer, “you could let me distract you a little longer.”
She hesitates for half a second before pulling me deeper into the back room. Her arms make their way around my neck as I lift her onto the counter, her legs wrapping around my waist. She’s everywhere—her warmth, her scent, the way her lips move against mine.
“I can’t wait to call you my wife,” I whisper against her lips, my voice low and raw.
Her breath hitches, and she looks at me like I’ve just hung the stars for her. “Say it again,” she murmurs.
“My wife,” I repeat, brushing my thumb along her jaw. “I can’t wait.”
She smiles, and I forget everything but her. “I can’t wait either,” she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion. “You have no idea how much I love you, Owen.”
My forehead rests against hers as I let the moment settle around us, the noise of the coffee shop and the world outside fading to nothing. “I do, Callie,” I say, my voice steady. “Because I love you more than I ever thought possible.”
Her fingers grip the back of my neck, holding me close, and as I kiss her again, I know this—this life we’re building, this woman in my arms—is all I’ll ever need.
The heat between us hums like a live wire, sparking through every point where our bodies touch. I press another kiss to her lips, then her jaw, trailing lower until I reach the soft spot just beneath her ear. She shivers, her nails digging in slightly as I let my hands roam over her hips, her waist—memorizing every curve, every dip that’s mine to worship.
“You locked the door, right?” I murmur against her skin, my voice rough with want.
She nods, her breath coming in short, uneven pulls. “Deadbolt and everything.”
“Good,” I say, hands slipping beneath the hem of her shirt, fingers grazing the soft skin of her back. “Means I’ve got you all to myself for a little while.”
She arches into my touch, her body warm, pliant, inviting. “And what exactly do you plan to do with me, Mr. Klein?”
I grin, loving the way her voice turns teasing, breathless. “Oh, Dollface,” I whisper, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “I think you already know.”
Her fingers trail down my chest, toying with the buttons of my shirt before she tugs at the fabric, pulling me closer. “Maybe you should show me,” she challenges, her voice dipped in something sweet and sultry.
I don’t need to be told twice.
My hands move with purpose, sliding up her thighs as I step between them, feeling the way she trembles under my touch. She grips my shoulders, steadying herself as I tilt her chin up, my lips claiming hers in a slow, deep kiss that sends a rush of fire through my veins.
The world outside this coffee shop doesn’t exist—not when she sighs against my mouth, not when her hands wander beneath my shirt, nails grazing my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
I trail kisses down the column of her throat, tasting the faint hint of coffee and vanilla that clings to her skin. Her head tilts back, offering me more, and I take it, savoring every soft gasp, every little whimper that slips past her lips.
Her hands slide up my shoulders, gripping firmly as I let my hands explore, slipping beneath her apron, pulling her flush against me. The counter beneath her creaks slightly as she shifts, pressing even closer, and I groan at the delicious friction.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” I murmur against her skin.
She exhales a shaky laugh, her fingers tracing the lines of my jaw. “I have a pretty good idea,” she whispers, voice thick with want.
I chuckle, the sound low and rough as I lift her slightly, pressing her deeper into me. “We should stop,” I say, though my hands show no sign of obeying my words.
She hums, tilting her head so our lips are barely a breath apart. “Do you want to?”
“Not even a little,” I admit, capturing her mouth again.
Callie barely has time to react before I spin her around, pressing her against the cool stainless-steel counter. She gasps, her hands splaying against the surface for balance, her chest rising and falling with shallow, needy breaths.
“Owen,” she whispers, her voice shaky wih anticipation.
I step in behind her, my hands skimming down her back before gripping the curve of her hips, holding her in place. She shifts, pressing her ass against me, and I groan, grinding into her slowly, letting her feel exactly what she does to me.
“You know how long I’ve been thinking about this? About taking you wherever the fuck I want?” I murmur against her ear, my voice rough, my hands sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, fingers grazing the soft skin of her stomach.
She lets out a breathy moan, arching her back, pushing herself into me. “Tell me,” she whispers.
I slide her leggings down in one swift motion, revealing smooth, bare skin. My hand skims between her thighs, finding her already soaked for me.
“Fuck, Callie,” I groan, teasing her, sliding my fingers through her wetness. “You’re so ready for me.”
She shudders, pressing her forehead against the counter, her legs trembling as I stroke her slow, torturous.
“Owen—”
“I got you, Dollface,” I murmur, my free hand trailing up her back, gripping the base of her neck as I keep her in place. “I always do.”
She moans at that, and it fuels something dark and possessive inside me. I kick her legs further apart, gripping her hips as I press the thick head of my cock against her, teasing her entrance.
She gasps, pushing back against me, desperate, needy. “Please,” she whimpers. “I need you.”
That’s all it takes.
I thrust into her in one smooth motion, filling her completely. She cries out, her fingers gripping the counter so hard her knuckles turn white.
“Jesus, Callie,” I groan, burying myself to the hilt, giving her a second to adjust before pulling back and slamming into her again.
She moans loudly, her body arching, meeting me thrust for thrust. I grip her hips tighter, setting a deep, punishing rhythm, the sound of our bodies slapping together filling the kitchen.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” I rasp, dragging my hands up her stomach, cupping her breasts through the lace of her bra, squeezing just enough to make her whimper.
She tilts her head, giving me access to her throat, and I take it, biting down lightly before soothing the spot with my tongue.
“Owen, I—” She gasps, her whole body trembling, her walls tightening around me.
I slide a hand between her legs, finding her clit and stroking in tight, fast circles. “Come for me, Dollface,” I murmur, thrusting harder, deeper. “I want to feel you lose it.”
She shatters beneath me, crying out my name as she convulses around me, her body tightening like a vice. The feel of her clenching, pulsing around me sends me spiraling right after her. I groan, gripping her hips harder as I slam into her one last time, spilling inside her, my body shuddering with the force of it.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. The only sound in the kitchen is our heavy breathing, the quiet hum of the fridge somewhere in the background, and the occasional creak of the counter beneath us.
Finally, I press a slow, lingering kiss to her shoulder, my hands still lazily exploring, unwilling to pull away just yet.
“Well,” she finally whispers, a satisfied hum in her voice. “That was a first.”
I chuckle, still catching my breath. “Guess that means I’ll have to help you close up more often.”
She laughs, shaking her head as she straightens, her legs still a little wobbly. “We made a mess.”
I glance around at the clothes scattered across the floor, the counter slightly shifted out of place. “Yeah,” I murmur, smirking as I squeeze her ass before stepping back. “But you loved it.”
She bites her lip, a teasing glint in her eye. “I really did.”
I reach for her leggings, handing them to her with a grin. “Come on, Dollface. Let’s clean up before I bend you over this counter again.”
She raises a brow, smirking as she leans in, her breath warm against my lips. “What makes you think I wouldn’t want that?”
Fuck.
I grab her, pulling her back into me, and just like that, I know we’re not leaving this kitchen anytime soon.