28. Callum #2
The Drifted Spirit was quiet when we rolled up, the last stretch of evening painting the sky in hues of deep violet and burnt gold.
A few guests sat on the porch, rocking in chairs, murmuring in low voices as the cicadas hummed their summer song.
Scratch perked up from her favorite chair as we got closer, but she stayed put.
After she parked, I reached over to cut the engine. Elodie’s fingers flexed against the worn handlebars. She was still buzzing with energy from the drive, a live wire of adrenaline and something else—something thick and charged that neither of us acknowledged out loud.
I turned to her, my voice low. “Hungry?”
Her eyes darkened, lips parting slightly as she glanced at my mouth. “Starving.”
Fuck.
The way she said it—like she wasn’t just talking about food—sent a slow roll of heat through my bloodstream.
I got out before I did something impulsive, like haul her into my lap and take her right there on the seat with an audience. The 4-wheeler was silent, leaving only the sound of the wind off the lake and the crunch of gravel under our boots as we made our way inside.
Elodie followed me through the back entrance, where the kitchen was already dimly lit with warm light.
The space smelled like the remnants of whatever meal Helen had reheated earlier—garlic, roasted herbs, the faintest trace of something sweet.
I grabbed the pack of mushrooms we’d foraged and tossed them onto the counter, rolling my shoulders to shake off the tension crawling up my spine.
“Where’s my bestie?” she asked, referring to Levi.
Over the years plenty of women showed interest, but having Ellie so casually and fully embrace my son was entirely new.
It was clear she cared for him as a person, not just tolerated him to get to me.
Her care and genuine interest in my son made my heart crank into overdrive.
“Community service with Brody. It was part of his penance for the incident at the barn.” I moved around her, careful not to touch her. I knew once I started, it was going to be nearly impossible to control myself.
Elodie hummed acknowledgment as she looked around the kitchen.
Everything was cleaned and organized with military precision, just as I liked it.
She slid onto a high stool, watching me like she was trying to figure something out.
“You do this a lot?” she asked, voice lazy, teasing. “Cook for women after dark?”
I tried not to smile as I set a pan on the burner and turned on the flame. “Nope.”
She bit her lip, tapping a slow rhythm against the countertop with her fingers. “So I’m special then.”
My hands stilled for half a beat before I reached for the oil. “Seems that way.”
Her teeth caught her lower lip again, and for a long moment we just ... looked at each other.
That was how I knew I was in trouble—because this date wasn’t just about sex. This wasn’t just about wanting her. It was about the fact that she could read me too easily, crawl into my damn head and make herself comfortable.
And I was letting her.
Our teasing was still there, but underneath it, something heavier. Something neither of us had the energy to fight off anymore.
“I just want to make you dinner.” Really, I wanted to take care of her, and I didn’t know what the fuck to do with that.
So I did what I always did—I focused on the task in front of me. First I filled a pot and set it to boil before taking a damp paper towel to clean our foraged mushrooms. My face heated as her eyes clocked every movement, silently observing without judgment.
The steady scrape of my knife against the cutting board filled the quiet as I chopped the mushrooms, working fast, needing something to keep my hands busy. The scent of butter and garlic bloomed in the air as I added them to the pan, the sizzle breaking the silence like a gunshot .
Elodie let out a soft, pleased hum. “You know, a man who can cook is a dangerous thing.”
I glanced over my shoulder. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yes,” she said, watching the way my hands moved, the way my forearms flexed as I worked. “You make it look easy. Casual. Like you’re not over there looking entirely too good while doing it.”
I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head as I reached for the pasta, adding it to the water. “So now I’m dangerous because I can cook?”
She leaned forward, propping her chin on her fist. “It’s the fact that you can cook without a recipe and look so good doing it. That’s double homicide, really.”
The corner of my mouth twitched. “Sounds like you should be more careful, then.”
She exhaled a slow breath, dragging her fingers across the marble countertop. “You keep saying that, Callum, but here I am.”
Yeah. There she fucking was.
I looked at her— really looked . A curl slipped from the twist she’d put it in, framing her face and making her green eyes look impossibly large. She wasn’t just pretty, she was ...
“Stunning.” I hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but when her eyes whipped to mine, the blush on her cheeks had me biting back a smile.
A shy hand tucked the curl behind her ear. “Thank you.”
The room tightened. The air turned thick, charged with something molten and hot.
We stared at each other for a beat before I cleared my throat and gave the pasta a quick stir. “So do you miss it?” I asked. “The city. ”
Elodie kicked her feet as she considered my question.
“Honestly? Not even a little.” She let out a tiny laugh.
“I mean, sure. I miss a few things like this one little bakery that made the most divine oat milk lattes.” Her eyes went dreamy.
“You know the kind with the fluffy foam on top and a drizzle of caramel? Mmm ...”
The way her throat hummed had my stomach swooping. She mistook my awestruck silence for judgment because her nose crinkled. “It’s silly.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think life’s simple pleasures are silly.”
“Is that so, Mr. Blackwood?” Her eyebrow rose. “How do you enjoy your coffee?”
“Black,” I deadpanned, earning me her hearty, genuine laugh—my favorite one.
Elodie raised her shoulders and sighed. “Honestly, I don’t miss the life I had there. Being here, working on bringing Stan’s dream to life? It’s ...” Her hands motioned in front of her chest. “Changing me.”
My head tipped, eager to glean any insight into the complex woman in front of me. “How so?”
“I built my entire life around fun —events, planning, being effortlessly charming.” She batted her lashes.
“You know,” she said, her voice deepening as her brow furrowed, “damn the man and just have fun!” She laughed, eyes going soft.
“Now? I don’t know. I’ve never had to work for something.
Suddenly all the hard labor on the farm doesn’t feel so restrictive.
It’s freeing. I don’t think anyone ever used to think I was someone they could count on, and now it feels like I have an entire community waiting with bated breath to see me make something of the place. ”
I stepped forward, cupping her face in my palm. My thumb stroked across her high cheekbone. “As much as I hate to admit it, you don’t suck at this.”
Elodie gasped and flattened a hand to her chest. “Sir, your compliments make me blush.”
I bit back a smile as I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean—you’re talented. You have business mogul written all over you.”
Her grin widened. “You think so?”
I jerked my chin in a firm nod. While I didn’t like the fact Elodie was damn good at this and it made my dream infinitely harder to achieve, I couldn’t lie to her either.
Ellie smiled shyly. “Maybe one day.” She looked around the kitchen and hummed. “My very own place where people could stay, eat, hike, and play?” Her wistful sigh knotted in my chest. “Yeah ... maybe one day.”
Silence stretched between us. Finally, Elodie’s voice came out in a small whisper. “I guess we have to wait and see what happens with the Keepers—what they’ll decide with the farm.”
I hummed, drowning in my own thoughts about how my own dreams of running a kitchen were diluted down to morning muffins and strawberry scones.
My jaw tensed. Thinking about how close I had been only riled me up, so I shoved it down and focused on her instead.
Somehow I found myself making dinner for the one person whose dream was in direct competition with mine.
It was best not to think about it before I burst a blood vessel right in front of her.
I drained the pasta and finished plating the food, setting it in front of her, watching as she twirled a forkful of pasta and took her first bite.
The second the flavors hit her tongue, her lashes fluttered, and she let out a quiet, sinful little moan. “ Cal.”
Jesus Christ. My name on her lips.
I swallowed hard, my fingers curling against the counter, my voice thick with gravel. “That good?”
She swallowed and licked her lips, slow and deliberate. “I told you, you’re dangerous.”
I stepped forward, bracing my hands on the counter, caging her in. “You have no idea.”
She set down her fork, tilting her face up to mine. “Then show me.”
I didn’t hesitate.
One hand threaded through the curls at the nape of her neck, the other gripping her hip as I dragged her forward. Her breath hitched, her fingers fisting the fabric of my shirt as I dipped my head, hovering just above her lips.
“Is this what you want?” I murmured.
She exhaled, shaky but sure. “Yes.”
I claimed her mouth with mine, and there was nothing slow or tentative about it. It was a collision, all heat and teeth and breathless want, like we’d both been starving for too long and finally, finally, had something to sink our teeth into.
Her hands roamed, gripping my shoulders, my arms, pulling me closer like she wanted to climb inside my skin. I let her, let her take whatever she needed, because fuck , I needed it too.
I wasn’t sure how we were supposed to come back from this.
I wasn’t sure I cared.
Elodie broke the kiss first, barely, her breath uneven against my lips. “We should—” She swallowed, blinking like she was trying to clear the fog from her brain. “I mean, we can’t just?—”
I studied her, rubbing my thumb along her jaw, feeling the way her pulse jumped beneath my touch. “What? Have a full-blown health code violation in my kitchen?”
She let out a breathless laugh, her fingers still fisted in my shirt. “I was going to say ‘defile this countertop,’ but yeah, that too.”
“I guess we’ll have to find somewhere more suitable then.” I grabbed her hips, hoisting her off the stool and over my shoulder. I carried her toward the hallway, the lights dim and the inn quiet around us as she giggled.
Her grip tightened around mine, and when we reached my bedroom door, I placed her on her feet.
She arched a brow, eyes bright with mischief. “Are you sure this place is up to code, Mr. Blackwood?”
I turned the handle, pulling her inside, my voice a low rasp. “Let’s find out.”