Chapter 27
Callum
Iwalked the long corridor back toward my office, the fluorescent lights buzzing softly as if registering my altered state. My tie hung loose around my neck, a small rebellion that felt enormous after years of polished convention.
The university’s old boiler clanged in the basement below, heating the building with all the elegance of a steam train on its last legs.
The smell of it was evident even on the third floor—a metallic tang beneath the more familiar scent of scorched coffee from the departmental lounge.
But nothing could overpower Gabrielle’s lingering presence.
It clung to me like static—sweet, charged, and impossible to ignore.
I ran a hand through my hair, trying for decorum before anyone noticed how thoroughly unraveled I was.
“Cal!” a voice called down the hall, cheerful and persistent. “I was about to text you.”
I turned to find Bill Watkins lumbering toward me, his gait no match for his exuberance.
“There’s a student camped outside your office,” he managed between breaths. “He’s been there long enough to make himself at home.”
I stopped short, blinking as if he’d pulled me from a dream. “A student?” My mind spun through possibilities—Gabrielle first among them, despite all logic. Unlikely. Bill had clearly said he.
“Jackson, I think,” he added. “One of your research students.”
Jackson. Of course. I checked my watch—12:57 p.m. Damn it. I’d completely forgotten the meeting about his revised project proposal.
“I’m heading there now,” I said, brushing back a stray lock of hair that had fallen across my forehead. “His appointment is scheduled for one, but Jackson is…eager.”
“That’s one word for it.” Bill chuckled and then looked me over, his round face lit with curiosity. “Everything okay, Cal? You look a little less put-together than usual.”
Heat flushed beneath my collar as images of Gabrielle in the underground bunker played fast and reckless—breathless laughter, rumpled clothes, her taste on my lips. I shoved them back.
“Brisk walk over lunch,” I said, straightening my tie like that could undo what I’d just done.
Bill gave me a look of amused disbelief but didn’t press. “There’s something different about you lately. I can’t quite put my finger on it.” He squinted at me like a scientist peering through a microscope. “You seem less…brooding. More pep in your step.”
I barked a laugh, slightly ragged. “That won’t do. I have a reputation to uphold.”
He shook his head, all friendly exasperation. “Whatever it is, it suits you. It’s nice to see you happy.” Bill clapped me on the shoulder, then gestured down the hall toward Jackson, who sat cross-legged on the floor, consumed by his phone. “Don’t keep him waiting.”
“Thanks for the message.” I straightened, the scholar’s armor sliding back into place as I turned toward my office.
That was close.
I made it through the meeting with my composure mostly intact. Jackson left a little after three—freshly annotated proposal in hand, an ambitious glint in his eye, and no idea my attention had been…divided the entire time.
I sank back in my chair and let out a long breath. My shirt clung to the small of my back. The air felt too warm, too tight.
I didn’t know how long I stared at the same corner of my desk before pulling out my phone.
Did you make it to your afternoon class on time?
Her reply came a minute later.
Barely, but yes. Physically present anyway. Mentally, I was still with you.
Heat flushed under my collar again, but it was different this time—lower, deeper—slow and consuming. I hesitated only briefly before typing:
Can I pop by tonight? I’ve got something for you.
A beat. Then another. Then—
More than you already gave me today? Because I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk tomorrow…
I laughed, silent and helpless, dropping my forehead to the edge of my desk. God help me…
Another message followed:
Yes, of course you can come over. I was going to order Chinese. But fair warning—I won’t share my egg rolls unless you bring dessert.
I stared at the screen, grinning like a fool, the day’s weight slipping off my shoulders one scandalous message at a time. I typed and deleted a dozen responses before landing on something that wouldn’t get me arrested. Or fired. Or both.
I’ll be there at seven. And I never arrive empty-handed.
I knocked once on Gabrielle’s door, briefcase slung over one shoulder and a brown paper bag in my hand.
“It’s open,” she called.
I stepped inside and shut the door. Gabrielle stood barefoot in leggings and an oversized tee, her hair piled up in a way that was somehow more dangerous than formalwear. She looked at me and smiled like I was the only thing she’d been waiting for all day.
“You made it,” she said, padding over to kiss my cheek. “And with dessert. You’re officially welcome.”
“I was promised egg rolls,” I said, shrugging off my coat and setting my briefcase by the sofa. “And as I said, I don’t arrive empty-handed.”
“So, what’d you bring me?”
I pulled a pint of Bluebell from the bag and held it up like an offering. “I was told Bluebell is the only acceptable ice cream to bring to a Texan’s home.”
Gabrielle laughed, the sound wrapping around me like silk. “You’ve done your homework.”
I opened the carton, noting the clean split down the middle. “I wasn’t sure if you preferred chocolate or vanilla,” I said as she took it, “so I was pleased to find The Great Divide offers both.”
“I should have known you’d find a diplomatic solution,” she said, grinning.
She replaced the lid, carried the carton to the kitchen, and popped it in the freezer.
She pulled down two plates and dished up Chinese takeaway.
The scent of soy and ginger filled the small kitchen, mouthwatering and warm.
“Beef and broccoli,” she said as she opened a carton, voice tinged with apology. “I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s perfect,” I said, watching the way she moved as she spooned the food onto my plate. She handed it to me with an egg roll perched atop a bed of pork fried rice. “Smells heavenly.”
“Good.” Her meal was vegetable-based, a neat pile of tofu and broccoli next to a mess of lo mein. She glanced over her shoulder. “Fork or chopsticks?”
“Chopsticks,” I said, mock solemn. “Of course.”
We settled at her small dining table, close enough for our knees to touch. I let mine rest against hers, a slow burn seeping through the thin fabric of my trousers.
We ate in an easy silence at first, the only sound the soft clink of ceramic and wood as we briefly fumbled with our chopsticks.
Then we talked about everything and nothing, the conversation airy and light.
She told me the salacious back-row gossip from my morning lecture; I told her Bill thought I’d lost my brooding edge.
We laughed and stayed mostly on safe ground.
By the end of the meal, she grazed her fingertips across my knee and trailed them like a whisper down my calf.
“I’ll get these,” she said, collecting the empty plates and retreating to the kitchen under the guise of tidiness.
Silence sidled in behind her, less comfortable now.
Her restlessness was like a current. She rinsed one plate, then another, then paused.
“So…what did you bring me?” Her voice was easy, but her eyes weren’t.
“Besides ice cream and your company, of course.”
I smiled, crossed the room, and fished a large envelope from my soft-sided briefcase. “I have something for you.”
“So you said.” She peered closely, eyes narrow, as I returned to the kitchen.
“I know it’s early,” I said, handing it over, “and it’s presumptuous as hell, but…”
She took the envelope and opened it slowly—first perplexed, then amused. “You brought me a passport renewal application?”
“Last week at the museum,” I said, my heart pounding. “I mentioned taking you to England. You said you’d need to renew your passport.”
“I can’t believe you remembered that.”
I stepped closer and brushed my fingers lightly against her wrist. “I haven’t forgotten a single thing about you since we met.”
A blush bloomed across her cheeks as she searched my face for more than just an administrative courtesy.
I took a breath. Held it longer than I meant to. “It’s…a family event,” I said finally, the words catching on the way out. “My sister’s wedding. At the end of May. After spring term is over.”
Her eyes widened, bright and cautious.
“I’d like you to come with me.”
“Oh,” she breathed, barely audible. Her fingers tightened around the envelope as if grounding herself in its paper certainty. “To your sister’s wedding?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. I had crossed a line.
“Yes.” My voice was unsteady but irrevocable.
“As your…” She trailed off, but her expression was expectant.
“Yes.”
A beat. “This is major, Cal.”
I swallowed. “Yes.” Did I know any other words? “We’d stay two weeks. I don’t go home often, but Isabel—my sister, that is—is important to me. Probably the only halfway sane member of the lot.”
Gabrielle laid a hand flat on my chest.
I stilled.
“This isn’t just a trip,” she said. Her voice was steady, but her fingers curled against my shirt. “It’s…stepping into your world. One I don’t know the first thing about.”
“You’ll be with me the whole time,” I said quietly.
She nodded once. “I know. But let’s be honest—your family isn’t going to see me as…
” Her eyes flicked to the envelope, then back to me.
She ticked off each point on her fingers.
“I’m thirteen years younger than you. I’m your student.
I grew up reasonably well-off, but my ‘status’ doesn’t come close to yours.
That’s three strikes, and I don’t even know their names. ”
I started to speak, but she lifted a hand.
“I’m not asking you to defend them,” she said. “And I’m not saying no. I just…want to be clear about what we’re doing.”
“I understand.” I stepped closer, voice low. “And for what it’s worth, they don’t deserve you.”
That made her laugh, soft and unexpected.
“I’m not worried about me,” she said. “I’m worried about walking into a room full of people who’ve already decided I’m not good enough for you.”
I reached for her hand again. “You don’t have to prove anything—to them or to me. You already belong with me. That’s the whole point.”
She looked at me, eyes searching—then handed the envelope back.
My heart thudded. “Gabrielle—”
“Relax,” she said with a smirk, her dry wit threading back in. “You really think I don’t know how to renew a passport online?”
Relief hit me like a wave. But before I could speak, she added, “I’ll come with you. But you’d better not let me fall on my face.”
“I’ll carry you if I have to.”
“I know,” she said. “That’s the part that scares me.” A smile graced her lips. “But in the best way.”
The envelope fluttered to the kitchen floor as I took her face in my hands and kissed her—tender, earnest, pouring every unsaid word into her.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m not getting on that plane without a full cultural crash course.”
“I’ll start drafting a syllabus.”
I held her to my chest, grazing my thumb over her cheek.
After a few satisfying moments, I pulled back and clapped once. “Right. Time for pudding.”
She blinked. “Pudding?”
I hesitated. “Sorry—dessert.”
She smiled. “God, you really are British.”
“You say that like it’s a character flaw.”
“Jury’s still out.”
I made for the freezer, trying not to grin. “I usually remember to code-switch,” I said over my shoulder. “But you make it too easy to feel at home.”
Behind me, the room went still.
Then her beautiful, soft voice cut through the air. “That’s how I want you to feel.”