20. Callum
TWENTY
CALLUM
I should have kissed her, sitting side by side with her on the porch steps, both of us covered in smoke and ash.
I should have turned my head, pressed my mouth to hers, and tasted the exhaustion and quiet relief that had settled between us.
I should have traced the soot-smudged curve of her jaw with my thumb, let her breath ghost against my lips, let myself believe—for just a second—that she would have let me.
But I didn’t.
I just sat there like a fucking idiot, letting the moment slip through my fingers, letting the warmth of her body fade as the night deepened.
The walk back to the Drifted Spirit felt longer than usual, my boots dragging against the dirt path.
The air was thick, sticky with the last traces of summer heat, cicadas droning in the distance.
All I wanted was a hot shower and a cold beer, but when I saw Elodie, looking so small and fragile, sitting on those porch steps alone, I found myself walking right up to her and sitting down without a word.
When she sighed and rested her head on my shoulder, I nearly broke. A part of me wanted to scoop her in my arms, clean her up, and hold her. I wanted to press my mouth against hers and do whatever it took to erase the sad, defeated look from her face.
That would be thinking with my dick, and she deserved more than that.
I hated to admit it, but there was no denying that Elodie Darling had grown far more attached to the idea of Star Harbor Farm than I ever had. She ached from the loss of the barn.
A ripple of annoyance rolled through me. The problem was, I wasn’t sure whether I was annoyed at her—or at myself. For not keeping my distance. For letting her get under my skin.
I needed to concentrate on the restaurant, on Stan, and Levi. But instead all I could think about was the way she had felt against me, warm and soft, like she belonged there.
Now, almost twenty-four hours after sitting on her porch steps, I could still pull from memory the soft sound of her sighs, her sweet vanilla scent, and the weight of her exhausted body sagging against me.
“Blackwood, snap out of it.” Pulled from my thoughts, I glanced up to see Wes grinning at me, his hands spread open. “We’ve got a game to win, old man.”
I shot him a dirty look. “I’m younger than you, asshole.”
He jogged past me, slapping me on the ass before assuming his position at second base.
Despite the evening hour, July’s oppressive heat and humidity clung to the air. The WarDogs were a bunch of hot shots from a few towns over, and most of them looked barely old enough to be in the adult league.
They may have an undefeated record, but us Star Harbor Phantoms were scrappy and ready to fight. I massaged the leather of my mitt, thumping my fist into it as I shifted on my feet.
Those kids liked to shit talk from the bench, but we were about to give them a lesson in not underestimating your elders. On the backs of their T-shirts, instead of last names, were cheeky, slightly inappropriate names like Swalls, Switties, and Swuts.
When Swalls—a play on Sweaty Balls , I assumed—stood and stepped up to the plate, Brody’s intense stare glanced around at our team before winding up for the first pitch.
“All right, place your bets,” Wes called out, adjusting his cap. “Does Swalls knock it out of the park, or does Brody humble him?”
“Depends,” I said, shifting on my feet. “Are we counting Hayes as part of our defense, or is he just here for moral support?”
Hayes scoffed from third base. “The game hasn’t even started.”
“Yet,” Brody called from the mound.
“Yeah, man,” Wes added, shaking his head. “I swear your bad luck is rubbing off on us. We were winning games before you showed up.”
“Oh, come on,” Hayes groaned. “You seriously believe that bullshit?”
“I don’t know,” I mused, stretching out my shoulder. “This season has been in the shitter. Kinda makes you think.”
Hayes flipped us off without firing back.
Brody grinned and readied his first pitch. “All right, let’s show these kids how it’s done.” His throw was steady and even, hurtling toward the batter.
The kid swung, the bat cracking against the ball .
My head whipped as I followed the movement of the ball flying high into the outfield, sailing over the home run wall without stopping.
I shook my head. “Fuck me.”
So much for respecting their elders. The WarDogs dominated, beating us in a pathetic 12–2 game.
Nursing our sore muscles and wounded pride at the Lantern was our only option.
In the dugout, I slipped off my dusty cleats, wiggling my toes and stretching out the muscles in my legs before they had the opportunity to cramp. As I leaned forward and tried desperately to reach my toes, I flipped my phone over to see if Levi had called to check in.
After the incident with the barn, he was grounded indefinitely. So far he was accepting the consequences like a champ.
As I stretched, I held the phone to my ear, listening to a voicemail from an unknown number. “Good evening, Mr. Blackwood. This is JP King from Tower Business Ventures.”
My jaw clenched as the voicemail continued: “I’m calling in regard to the Drifted Spirit Inn.
I understand you’re seeking a partnership to expand the Drifted Spirit to the neighboring farm property.
I have to say, a farm-to-table restaurant with on-site accommodations and views like that are highly intriguing.
That little farm is already generating some buzz on social media.
My office is only a short drive away. Let’s meet. ”
I flipped my phone into my duffel bag, not bothering to listen to him rattle off his telephone number. A slow coil twisted in my gut, though I wasn’t exactly sure why.
All the attention Star Harbor was getting thanks to Ellie’s recent popularity on social media was only helping my cause.
As far as I knew, Elodie was helping Stan revitalize the farm and would return to her glitzy life in the city.
I wasn’t sure how long Stan planned to continue operating the farm by himself, but when the time came for him to officially retire— again —I’d be ready.
Maybe the unease in my gut was a latent worry that Elodie Darling was the new face of Star Harbor Farm.
Maybe she had plans I wasn’t aware of—plans that included her operating the farm herself.
Or maybe my unease was because I could perfectly picture the hurt on her face when I purchased the farm and upended her plans entirely.
But the reality was, my restaurant wasn’t just a shot in the dark. With a partner like JP King, it was entirely possible. The only thing that stood in my way was Elodie Darling and the gnawing guilt that even thinking about it made me a total asshole.
When Brody whistled to get my attention, I shook off the guilt, packaging it into a little box and shoving it into the recesses of my mind. We were sore, sweaty, and more than a little humiliated.
Someone had brought a cooler, so we cracked it open in the dugout, passing around water bottles while we licked our wounds.
The mood was lighter than it should have been for a team that just got their asses handed to them, but that was the thing about these guys—no one took themselves too seriously.
Brody ribbed Hayes about his curse, Wes made a case that we should start recruiting under-twenty-five players, and I mostly just listened, stretching out my leg as I sipped my water.
“Lantern?” Brody finally asked, already knowing the answer.
“Hell. Yes,” I muttered, tossing the empty plastic bottle into the bed of my truck.
The Lantern was only a few blocks from the park, so we fell into step, our sneakers scuffing against pavement as we walked toward the bar.
“You were off today,” Hayes said, falling into step beside me. “That bad mood got a name?”
“It’s called getting my ass kicked by a bunch of twenty-year-olds,” I muttered.
Hayes snorted. “Nah. That’s just old age.”
I flipped him off, but he wasn’t done. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?”
“No.” Absolutely yes.
As I opened the front door of the Lantern, I saw her. Elodie was there, because of course she was. I couldn’t catch a break in this small town.
As we filed into the Lantern, Brody slowed his pace just enough to glance at the bar in the back, his expression shifting—just for a second—before he covered it up with a brooding scowl.
I followed his line of sight and spotted Kit Darling behind the wooden bar top, moving fast, her curly ponytail swinging as she poured drinks.
She hadn’t even looked our way, but Brody ran a hand over the back of his neck anyway, like something about her presence got under his damn skin.
Elodie was sitting at the bar, laughing at something Kit said, her own chestnut waves spilling over one shoulder, her fingers wrapped around a sweating glass of something that looked too sweet.
The place was packed for a Wednesday, the usual crowd a little rowdier than normal. A cluster of older women near the jukebox were cackling over something, waving what looked like neon-colored bingo cards in the air.
Elodie hadn’t noticed me yet, but that didn’t stop the familiar punch to the gut, the same one I’d been trying—and failing—to ignore since the second she blew into town like a hurricane.
Her jeans hugged the curves of her hips and ass—an ass I could too easily recall sinking my fingertips into. I ignored the uncomfortable swell behind my zipper as we crossed the room.
I nodded as we walked up to the bar. “Kit. I didn’t know you worked here.”
“Hey, fellas,” Kit greeted with a grin. “I don’t.
Rusty was flailing behind here so I hopped over the bar to help.
” Her head bounced toward Rusty, the Lantern’s resident crab-ass behind the bar who only grumbled at her.
Kit cleared away some glasses as our group huddled around the barstools.
“Heard the WarDogs didn’t go easy on you. ”
Beside me, Brody scoffed. “More like bent us over the table and made us call them Daddy.”