Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Callum
It’s been four days since our first dog-walking date, and I’ve seen Angus every one of them since.
Every evening after work, I’ve found myself walking alongside him and the beagles like it’s the most natural part of my routine. It’s been easy. Unforced. Even the silences feel intentional, not awkward—like we’re still speaking, just without words.
And yeah, I’ve caught myself watching him when he isn’t looking.
The way he gently tugs Cookie back when she strays too far, or how he crouches down to tie his bootlaces and Mopey immediately rests his chin on his shoulder.
He talks to the dogs like they’re coworkers, mutters to himself like a sitcom character, and every time he laughs—really laughs—I feel something unclench inside me.
But tonight is different. Tonight, there are no dogs. No leashes. No frantic unspooling of poop bags or duck-related incidents.
Tonight is an actual date.
I get to the place he picked—somewhere downtown, tucked between a coffee shop and a vintage furniture store with an ironic neon sign in the window. The front of it is low-lit and charming, all reclaimed wood and hanging succulents. The sign just says Juniper & Smoke.
I blink at it. It’s… unexpectedly stylish. And surprisingly kind of romantic.
Angus appears a second later, stepping out of a cab with that big, solid frame and the kind of confidence that sneaks up on you. He’s wearing dark jeans with a navy button-up rolled at the sleeves, and that beard looks extra well-behaved tonight. Like maybe he actually tried.
My pulse spikes before he even gets to me.
He grins when he spots me—and then, before I can even say anything, he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek. It’s nothing, technically. Just a brush of lips. Warm and brief. But my body reacts like he whispered something filthy in my ear.
“Hey,” he says, voice low, casual.
“Hey,” I reply, trying to sound like a normal, functioning human and not like my brain just short-circuited. “You clean up well.”
“So do you.” His eyes flick over me for just a second too long. “Glad you could make it.”
“Like I’d say no to a date with you.”
His smile is instant, pink touching his cheeks at my words. And hell if it doesn’t make him even more attractive.
He holds the door open for me, and we head inside. The place smells like citrus and smoked herbs, the kind of scent that clings in the best way. We’re led to a cozy booth near the back, just far enough from everyone else that it feels private without being obvious.
I settle in across from him, watching the way the candlelight plays off his features—strong jaw, soft eyes, the faintest dimple when he smiles at something on the drink menu.
He looks up at me. “You okay?”
I nod, fingers curling loosely around my water glass. “Yeah. Just…” I grin. “We’ve been walking dogs together all week, and somehow this feels way more intense.”
“I know what you mean,” he says, chuckling. “The dogs were like a buffer. An adorable, chaotic buffer.”
“And now it’s just us.”
“Just us,” he echoes, and his foot brushes mine under the table.
It’s barely a touch, but the heat that zips up my spine is immediate. We both look at each other for a beat too long. Four days of little glances. Four days of brushing shoulders, shared snacks, warm laughs. Of leaning in, never quite closing the distance.
And now, here we are.
I know he’s into me. I feel it in every smile, every lingering pause. But now it’s not just theory. Now it’s happening. My chest tightens in a way that’s not unpleasant.
He reaches across the table, slow and unhurried, and brushes his fingers along mine. “I’m really glad you said yes to this.”
“Me too,” I say, smiling. “But just a warning—I’m terrible at dates. I ramble. I make too many bad jokes. And I’ll probably steal your fries.”
“Perfect,” he says. “I ramble too. And I order extra fries for exactly that reason.”
The server comes by, giving us a moment to exhale, to pretend like we’re not both seconds away from combusting in this cozy, dimly lit corner of Vegas.
And God, it feels good to want someone—and to know, without a doubt, they want you back.
The food arrives in a gentle clatter of plates and glasses. Burgers stacked high, fries dusted with rosemary, and a little basket of what look suspiciously like deep-fried pickles. Angus’s eyes light up like a kid’s on Christmas morning.
“Damn, there’s nothing quite as incredible as fried pickles,” I say, bouncing my brows as I grab one from the basket, still hot and perfectly crisp.
Across the table, Angus grins like he just scored major points. “Told you Juniper & Smoke didn’t mess around. I chose this place based solely on their pickle-to-burger ratio. Priorities.”
I pop the pickle into my mouth and hum in exaggerated appreciation. “Honestly? Flawless logic. Fried food math is the only math I trust.”
He laughs, that low, genuine kind of laugh that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Good. Because next time, we’re rating nachos by cheese distribution.”
“Be still my heart,” I murmur, reaching for another.
He laughs, biting into his burger. It’s easy, the conversation flowing as effortlessly as it always does between us.
We trade bad dating stories—him with a guy who wouldn’t stop referring to himself in third person (“‘Bryce needs more ketchup’ was the final straw”) and me with the time a date brought his mother along as a “character witness.”
We’re laughing, snorting into our drinks, stealing each other’s fries without even asking.
It’s perfect.
Until it isn’t.
Until something shifts—barely noticeable at first, but there.
I’m still chuckling when I glance up and catch Angus staring down at his plate, running his thumb in slow circles around the rim of his glass.
“What?” I ask, nudging his foot under the table.
He lifts his head, gives me a small, almost sheepish smile. “Got a heavier story if you want it.”
I shrug, heart beating a little faster without knowing why. “I’m game.”
He nods, setting his fork down carefully.
“I was engaged once,” he says, voice low, like he’s testing how it feels to say it out loud. “Five years ago.”
The noise of the restaurant fades a little, but I don’t say anything, just listen.
“We were together almost four years. Met through friends. She was funny, smart, tough as hell. I really thought….” He trails off, pressing his lips together for a moment before continuing.
“Long story short, about two months before the wedding, she realized she wasn’t in love with me anymore. Maybe hadn’t been for a while.”
I set my burger down, appetite forgotten, the way you do when you can feel someone handing you a piece of themselves.
“She was honest,” he says. “I’ll always respect her for that. But man, it leveled me. Made me doubt everything about myself for a long time. Like… if someone who knew me better than anyone could still wake up one day and not want me anymore… what did that say about me?”
His voice stays even, steady, but there’s a crack around the edges he doesn’t bother trying to hide. He meets my eyes then, open and unguarded in a way that makes my chest ache.
I don’t say anything clever. I don’t try to fix it. I just reach across the table and lay my hand over his.
He exhales slowly, like the air’s been trapped in his lungs for a long time.
“She did you a favor,” I say quietly.
Angus blinks, startled.
“Not because you weren’t worth loving,” I continue. “But because if she couldn’t see you for who you are—someone real and kind and stubbornly wonderful—then she didn’t deserve to be the person standing next to you anyway.”
For a beat, neither of us says anything. Just the low hum of the restaurant, the warmth of his hand under mine, the truth of it hanging between us.
“You’re kind of dangerous, you know that?” Angus says finally, voice rough.
“Dangerous?” I lift an eyebrow.
He grins, small and crooked. “Yeah. Saying all the right things. Looking at me like I’m worth something.”
“You are worth something.”
The air between us tightens, charged in a different way than before. Deeper. More permanent.
He squeezes my hand once before pulling back, clearing his throat, and reaches for a fry like he needs the distraction. “Okay, your turn,” he says, eyes dancing despite the weight of the moment. “Tell me your deep, dark secrets.”
I smile, letting the tension ease, but part of me knows something’s changed. Something’s settled into place. And more than anything, I want to get out of here early and show him exactly what I think he’s worth.