31. Callum
THIRTY-ONE
CALLUM
I woke before sunrise.
The Drifted Spirit was quiet, the kind of stillness that only existed in those fragile moments before the rest of the world woke up.
I moved through the inn on instinct—bare feet against worn hardwood, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath my weight, the faint scent of coffee beans filling the air as I started a fresh pot.
It was muscle memory at this point. My routine. Brew the coffee. Look out over the land. Pretend like I wasn’t aching for something more.
The air was cool against my skin as I poured a travel mug for myself. And then, without thinking, I grabbed a second one.
For her.
I stared at it for a long beat, watching the steam curl into the air. It was ridiculous. She could pour her own damn coffee, but I set it on the counter anyway. In a paper bag, I gathered a few baked items that I had made, just in case anyone got hungry.
Steam curled from the mugs as I leaned against the counter, staring out the kitchen window toward Star Harbor Farm. The sky was just beginning to shift, navy giving way to shades of deep purple and dusky pink, streaks of gold breaking over the horizon.
It would be a good day for barn raising.
I exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over my jaw. The land was still now, but in a few hours, it would be crawling with people. The Amish. The Keepers. The whole damn town.
Elodie.
She consumed my thoughts. I glanced toward the counter. Our two mugs sat there, both filled to the brim. One black, the way I always drank it. The other fixed just the way she liked—oat milk, a thick layer of foam, and a drizzle of caramel over the top.
In the quiet of the kitchen, I allowed myself to smile. A new, hopeful feeling settled between my ribs.
I hadn’t stopped to consider why I was making two cups of coffee like it was pure instinct—like she was an inevitable part of my morning now.
I ran a hand over my face, shaking my head as I popped the tops on the mugs to keep them warm.
I grabbed both coffees and made my way out onto the porch.
The air was cool, thick with the scent of earth and damp grass.
A mist curled low over the fields, a quiet hush over everything as if the land itself was holding its breath, waiting for the day to begin.
And I stood there, waiting with it.
Outside, the land stretched before me in muted shades of blue and gray, waiting for the sun. In a few hours, it would be crawling with workers, the quiet replaced with hammering, shouting, the rhythmic hum of a town coming together to build something permanent.
The farm was changing .
She was changing it.
And hell, she was changing me.
I ran a hand over my jaw, exhaling. I should be worried about that, and maybe I was.
The fate of the farmland rested in the Keepers’ hands.
With every improvement, I could feel my dream slip further and further away.
It was a strange sensation––to be sad about something but also vaguely okay with it.
I settled onto the porch steps just as the first golden streaks cut across the sky.
The first to arrive were the Amish. They moved quietly, efficiently, their horse-drawn buggies rolling in just as the sky began to warm from deep navy to soft pink.
They worked without preamble, unloading tools, stacking wood, making their preparations without a single wasted movement.
There was something steadying about their presence, their deep-rooted tradition turning what could have been chaos into something structured and precise.
There was no wasted movement, no hesitation.
It was like watching a well-practiced team fall into place, lifting beams, lining up supports, an entire framework taking shape before my eyes.
Then the rest of Star Harbor started rolling in.
Trucks and SUVs pulled into the drive, kicking up dust, doors slamming as people spilled out—neighbors, friends, old-timers with more opinions than muscle, young families eager to be part of something bigger than themselves. The quiet hum of work was joined by a familiar mix of voices and laughter.
There was an easy camaraderie as they all greeted one another, laughter mixing with the sounds of shifting lumber and rolling toolboxes. The kind of small-town unity that didn’t need to be spoken aloud to be understood.
And in the thick of it all was Elodie .
She moved through the crowd like she was born for this, all bright eyes and easy smiles, her hair twisted into some kind of messy knot on top of her head, the loose tendrils catching the golden morning light.
She wore jeans that clung to the curves of her hips and a faded blue T-shirt that had probably been soft since the day it was made.
She wasn’t directing—Elodie never seemed to do that—but she was everywhere at once, delegating with ease, checking in on the workers, making sure people had what they needed, capturing pictures with her phone and laughing.
It suited her.
All of it. The way she threw herself into things. The way she built a community around her without even trying. The way she’d turned that broken-down farm into something that people wanted to rally behind.
I tried to look away. I needed to focus on the work, the logistics, on the fact that they were about to build an entire barn in a single day.
Instead, I watched her.
She must have felt it because, in the middle of whatever she was saying to Selene, she turned, catching my gaze across the crowd. A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her lips. I lifted her coffee mug, and her grin widened as her head bobbed in an enthusiastic nod.
I smiled and looked away first.
“Jesus,” a voice beside me drawled. “You are down bad .”
I scowled, turning to find Wes standing there, arms crossed, watching me with a smirk that was way too pleased with itself. Unease rolled through me, as though I’d been caught cheating on his beloved sister.
“It looks good on you,” he finally said, and the knot in my chest loosened. “For a while there, I was worried your dick was broken. ”
I shot him a droll look as Hayes, Brody, and his younger brother Austin walked up.
“His dick is fine,” Brody chimed in. “He’s just been busy becoming a less-handsome equivalent to Julia Child.” He looked past me at the porch. “Speaking of ... I need a sweet treat.”
I laughed, reaching behind me for the bag. I tossed it at him, and he caught it midair before tearing it open.
“See,” I said to Wes, “I’m multitalented, unlike you uncultured cavemen.”
Hayes chuckled, glancing around and shaking his head. “Hell of a turnout.”
It really was.
Austin’s gaze flicked across the gathering crowd, and I caught the subtle way his eyes lingered when they landed on Elodie’s sister Selene. The flicker of something unreadable before he masked it with an easy grin.
Interesting.
I filed that away to ask Elodie about it later and focused on the task in front of us.
I slapped my hands on my knees as I stood. “Well, that barn isn’t going to build itself.”
“Helping the enemy?” Brody asked with a raised eyebrow.
My molars clenched as I fought a sly smile. “We’ve come to an understanding.”
Namely, not talking about the fact the fate of the farm was still in the air while I fucked her senseless.
Together we walked toward the fray, each of the men splintering off to make themselves useful.
Elodie was right in the middle of it, bright and buzzing, short sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, a smudge already streaked across her cheek.
She was pure light and energy, and I didn’t think she even realized how everyone gravitated toward her.
She caught me looking and reached for the coffee mug I offered her. “Thank you.” When she saw the foam and caramel swirl on top, her eyes flew to mine. “You remembered?”
I winked at her, and her cheeks flamed a pretty shade of pink.
Without another word, we got to work.
Lumber moved like clockwork, hands gripping beams, steadying posts, securing frames.
The morning air filled with the rhythmic thunk of hammers and the steady murmur of voices.
It was an old way of doing things, but an honest way.
No heavy machinery. Just sweat, skill, and the knowledge passed down from one generation to the next.
I found my rhythm in the work, the solid weight of wood beneath my palms, the satisfying scrape of nails biting into grain. It was grounding, losing myself in something that required precision but not thought.
Levi worked beside one of the Amish men, his face set in quiet concentration as he listened to the instructions given to him. His movements were careful, his posture straighter than usual, like he was trying to prove himself.
Something in my chest tightened.
My kid belongs here.
I wasn’t sure when it had happened—when the sullen, angry boy who had been adrift in Star Harbor had started settling in, but it was finally happening.
I could see it in the way he worked, in the way he bantered with the guys, in the way he bumped fists with Austin like they’d known each other for longer than a few weeks.
And I had no idea what the fuck to do with that. Any lingering thoughts of moving on, or dumping the inn to work in a restaurant, evaporated. Levi needed to be here, even if that meant me fully letting go of the last thread of my own dreams.
For him, I would do anything.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
I turned to see Elodie. She was standing on the outskirts of the barn, hands on her hips, calling out for a break. “If I don’t force you people to eat, you’ll drop before the barn is even finished,” she called out with a grin. “And I am not explaining that to your wives or mothers.”
A rumble of laughter rippled through the crowd.
All morning, the Amish women had been working just as steadily. In partnership with the Keepers, they had set up long wooden tables covered with linen. The spread was simple but rich—warm bread, roasted chicken, fresh preserves, and thick slabs of pie.
I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I smelled it.
Apparently I also hadn’t realized how determined Elodie was to make me eat until she was dragging me toward one of the tables. I sat, more to appease her than anything else, but the second she set a plate in front of me, my stomach twisted in protest.
She rolled her eyes, settling beside me on the bench. “Don’t make that face.”
I frowned. “What face?”
Her smile widened. “The one that says you think sitting down and having lunch is some kind of personal weakness.”
I huffed a laugh, shaking my head.
She nudged my knee with hers. “Eat, Callum. Please. You’ve been working hard.”
I picked up a piece of bread, tearing it absently. The food was warm in my hands, the scent curling into my senses, but my attention wasn’t on the meal .
It was on her.
I focused on the way she looked out at the half-built barn with something like awe. Her attention wandered, like this moment, this day, was so much bigger than her.
The frame of the barn stood tall, its bones solid, its presence undeniable.
“You’re really doing this,” I murmured, watching pleasure wash over her features.
She smiled, but it wasn’t just pride—it was something warmer. Softer. “ We are doing this.”
I knew that by we , she likely meant the community, but I looked away before she could see what that word did to me. Something tightened low in my gut. I took a bite of the bread just to keep from blurting in front of everyone that I was falling in love with her.
Before I could face the reality of it—the way watching her in this place was shifting things inside me—I focused on the food.
After lunch, work began again, and we didn’t stop until exhaustion started to set in.
By the time the sun had started its slow descent, the entirety of the barn was up, standing strong against the sky, ready for paint and windows.
The town was still buzzing with a low hum of laughter and conversation, kids running through the grass, people lingering like they weren’t ready to go home yet.
The Amish women and the Keepers moved in tandem, setting out what remained of the food, tidying up, making sure everything was in order before calling the day a resounding success.
Elodie stood in the middle of it all, soaking it in.
I watched her. I watched the way she took a deep breath, eyes skimming over the barn, the people, the land— like she was trying to memorize it. Like she knew, deep down, that this was something special.
Something rare.
Something worth holding on to.
I had spent years convincing myself I didn’t truly belong anywhere. That the inn was a quiet existence I could slip into in order to keep Mary’s dream alive.
I had never allowed my own dreams to come to fruition.
That was my penance for not loving her in the way she had deserved.
Resentment soured my stomach. It was rare to allow myself to sulk with the resentment that I was truly unsatisfied with the inn.
Expanding would have allowed my dream of a restaurant to live in tandem with Mary’s.
It was within reach. I knew in my gut that the Keepers were going to sell—it would be foolish not to. All I had to do was sign the paperwork and I would have more than enough money to purchase the land, but it would completely fuck Elodie over in the process.
It would mean I had to sacrifice her dream for my own.
When Elodie’s gaze caught mine again, something fell into place. For the first time in my life, I thought about what it would mean to choose something else.
To choose someone. To choose her .
The thought burrowed deep, settling low in my ribs, the weight of everything shifting around me.
I started to wonder what it would mean if I did.