Chapter Ten
The sunrise alarm clock eased Grace from a restless night.
She blinked, confused that she’d actually fallen asleep, and every part of her wished she’d turned off her alarm last night when she’d known sleep would be so elusive.
How was she expected to dream when Callum made promises like that when she’d been awake?
The heavenly scent of coffee pulled her eyelids open, beckoning her from bed like the coffeemaker was the Pied Piper. How was the coffee already brewed?
She tumbled out of bed and snagged the scrunchie from the nightstand, finger-combing her hair into a bun, then hazarded a glance in the mirror.
Not bad. Not great. She shouldn’t care. Callum was here to help.
Not to drool over. She could deal with him.
She’d done it for most of her life. But first, coffee.
She slid into her robe and shuffled downstairs. His pillow and blanket were folded at the end of the couch, sitting as if he’d never used them. His coffee mug waited on a hand-tatted coaster. Proof that she hadn’t imagined the day before.
She wandered into the kitchen. Callum was nowhere to be found, but he’d left her an almost full pot of coffee. “Callum?”
Not even Sherlock slinked about.
Grace doctored her mug with a hefty pour of milk and a spoonful of sugar, stirring and scanning out the kitchen window. He wasn’t in the backyard either.
The front door opened. Grace sucked down a fortifying gulp before she entered the living room again as he walked in, shoving his truck keys into his pocket. “You’re up early. Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No. I’m usually an early bird, though it was hard to wake up this morning. I couldn’t sleep.” She eyed the couch. It couldn’t have been comfortable, but he didn’t look sleep-deprived. “What were you doing?”
“I loaded my bag into my truck.”
Her stomach dropped. Her coffee accidentally sloshed over the lip of the mug. “You’re leaving?”
Grace wiped her hand against her hip and tried to wrangle her emotions.
It’d been less than twenty-four hours since he’d tumbled back into her life.
Her defenses had been high for almost every question and conversation—almost, because they had not been during their chat about promises and the future.
At the possibility of his leaving, her panic surged.
He had made promises. He said he could solve the Dominic problem. She didn’t realize she’d believed him.
And…she would miss him. That didn’t make sense. They’d barely spent time together. She barely knew him. Except this was Callum. Part of her life until she left. A dull ache of sadness surprised her, but who was she to talk? He’d grieved her death. At least, she supposed he had.
“No,” he said. “I’m not leaving.”
“But…” Her heartbeat thudded. He’d packed. He’d loaded his truck.
The corners of his eyes tightened, as if trying to read what she hadn’t said. “I didn’t want to junk up the living room.” He lifted a hand toward the living room. “Everything is so…pretty.”
She breathed easier.
He inched closer. “Everything okay?”
“Yes. Yeah. Of course. But, um, I don’t think Alicia would mind if you left your belongings stored.” She held the mug with both hands. The heat burned her palms. It was the kind of pain she understood and could control.
All she had to do was set the mug down and the pain would go away. She didn’t. The burning heat made sense. She knew her limit, and she wasn’t there yet. The heat was easier to handle than the possibility that Callum could take off.
Carefully, she blew into the coffee and hid behind the mug. If she gave the mug her complete attention, he wouldn’t be able to get a read on the bonkers thoughts ping-ponging through her sleep-deprived brain. Then again, Callum had never been able to read her thoughts when it came to him.
“What are we going to do today?” She sipped her coffee and studied the light brown liquid in her mug.
“What do you usually do?”
Work was always a safe subject, as long as her version of writer’s block didn’t come back.
She eased the mug away from her face. “My days are pretty boring. I usually sketch ideas in the morning. It’s quiet.
I like the morning light.” She perched on the edge of the couch next to his pillow and blanket.
“I’ve been working on a book cover commissioned by a children’s author—”
Callum reached for her coffee mug and set it on the coffee table.
“Hey—It’s rude to steal someone’s caffeine.”
“Don’t hide behind a mug, and maybe I won’t.”
She made a face but kept quiet. He wasn’t wrong.
“Seems to me,” he said, “you’ve been the queen of avoiding reality.”
“That’s a sweeping mischaracterization—” Grace held up her hand when his lips parted. “Nope. Do not make me defend myself before I’ve had more than a few sips of caffeine.”
His slow smile grew, and his bourbon eyes danced. “There’s the Grace I’ve always known.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Except she did. Once upon a time, bantering with him had been as natural as breathing.
“Think you do.” He winked and reached for his coffee. “Glad to see the girl I used to know again.”
“I’m still me. Just reserved with you.”
“Why? I’m not the bad guy.”
“No. Actually, I guess I am.” Grace slid onto the couch and snagged the pillow on top of the blanket. She wrapped her arms around it. If she couldn’t have the mug as a shield, the pillow would more than do. “At least between the two of us.”
Her chin dipped—and she caught the faint masculine hint of him.
Callum set down his coffee and sat next to her. “Hey—hey. Come on.” He put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “Everything will be okay.”
Her stomach tightened with instant recognition. His scent was startlingly familiar and intoxicating and inherently Callum Hale. It wasn’t cologne or shampoo or even generic man. It was just him.
“You’re not the bad guy, Grace. You’re the…” He pinched his eyes shut, as though he should have caught himself.
“I’m the what?”
He pulled his arm back, shrugging like he didn’t want to say it. “Victim.”
God, she hated that word. Victim was too generic, a catchall for all the wrongs, no matter how big or small.
Someone could be a victim of credit card fraud, or they could be a victim of a brutal attack.
“I don’t feel that way.” She could tell it made little sense to him.
“What you’re forgetting is that I’ve had years to process what happened to me, despite how I’ve chosen to live, and you’re living it like it’s fresh. ”
“Okay,” he said quietly. “You’re not a victim.”
“Not anymore.”
He nodded. They sat in silence, though it seemed like he had more to say. Still, Callum didn’t push it.
“I’m still the same person you’ve always known,” she said. “It’s just been hard to share everything with you. I’m angry at Dominic and frustrated with how Hayden brought you in without telling me.”
His face skewed, but he stopped himself from asking whatever was on the tip of his tongue.
“But I really am glad to see you.” She pinched her lips together. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything before.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I heard everything you said yesterday, and…I was coming at you from an angry place. I should have said I’m glad you’re here. I missed you, hon.”
The air in her lungs shimmered. He had no clue how much she’d missed him.
He squeezed her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Nope. Not even close.
Sherlock trotted into the living room with a meow. Thank God. A distraction. He hopped onto the coffee table, and Grace reached for him. He ducked out of reach and offered a disdainful feline glance over his shoulder before gracefully perching behind Callum.
He laughed.
“Traitor,” she told the cat.
“Come on, kitty. Be nice to Grace.”
Sherlock jumped between them. Callum held out his hand and let Sherlock cautiously inspect him. After a momentary standoff, Sherlock stretched closer to him.
“He might like me more than he likes you.” His large hand slid over Sherlock’s back.
“That’s impossible. I feed him the best treats.”
Sherlock purred, turning his head to nuzzle Callum’s hand.
“Oh, come on.”
Callum rotated his wrist and let Sherlock rub his face against his palm. “You were scared I was leaving?”
One hundred percent. “I was curious.”
“Your face said a lot more.”
“Since when can you read my face?” But just in case, she needed to avoid meeting his gaze. “I’m concerned about bringing trouble to Alicia.”
“But not yourself?”
“I’ve always known what I signed up for. Alicia would do anything for a friend, and I don’t want to take advantage.”
“I get that. We’re going to fix it. I promised, remember?”
She would never forget the promise of a house with a garden. In a neighborhood of friendly faces, where she might have a family one day. Last night, his promise was unfathomable. Today, the idea was the tiniest bit more plausible when he spoke to her with that low rumbling voice.
“Simple, huh?” She sipped her coffee and hid behind the mug again.
“It’s what I do.”
Her eyes met his. A swarm of butterflies circled and danced in her stomach. “I believe you.”
Sherlock tentatively pressed a paw onto Callum’s powerful thigh. He tested and placed his other paw, kneading as Callum continued to pet his back.
“Where do your folks think you’ve lived all this time?”
“I kept a low profile and didn’t stay anywhere long.”
“That’s not an answer. Where do they think you were?”
“Don’t ask, don’t tell?” She ignored the way his expression hardened and wished she had bottled up the way he’d just made her feel moments before.
“They think my home base is a place I purchased through a shell company. It’s one of the places I mentioned to your colleague.
Dad and Mari never asked questions because I asked them not to.
Knowing too much would be close to fraud.
” Or was fraud, if she was honest with herself.
“All right,” he muttered under his breath.
“What? I answered your laundry list of questions yesterday.”