Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GAVIN
It’s past midnight and we’ve moved the game to the living room floor so Callie can curl up in a blanket and I can keep adding logs to the fire. Her back must not be bothering her, given the position she’s in, which is a relief.
The game is called Garbage, which is strange and—as far as I can tell—rubbish is not related to the actual objective in any way. But the concept is simple and a bit mindless, which has made it easy to play for the last few hours without much stress.
We began with ten cards face down, and the purpose has been to turn them over in order, one through ten. Simple. Easy to make conversation. Yet, somehow, our conversation has centered entirely on fairly shallow topics.
What it was like to grow up in Geyserville, a small community in northern California. How much she’d loved her horses, and how much she missed them when she moved to LA.
I’m curious about her bucket list, but I haven’t asked her about it yet.
“I have two,” I tell her, picking up a card and putting it down immediately when I see it’s a useless Jack. I need a four in order to move on to the next round.
Callie looks up. “Two horses?”
“Yes. I’ll take you out there tomorrow.”
“Where are they?”
“In the barn,” I say.
Her eyes narrow. “Which barn?”
“The one behind the house. You must have seen it when you stomped all over the place after we first arrived. Or were you too busy raging on the phone to notice?”
“I might have been a wee bit distracted.”
“Look at you, sounding like a Scot already.”
She smiles, and it changes her entire face, hitting me in the gut. She is stunning. I have to remind myself not to react. It was sound advice, that—telling myself not to get involved with Callie.
She won’t remain here. It wouldn’t end well. People leave. I stay here. It’s not a good mix.
“I’m a fair ways off,” she says. “But I’ll take it.”
I draw a four, flip my card over, and discard. “Out.”
“Again? Beginner’s luck,” she says, taking her last turn and groaning when it isn’t fruitful. I’m down to the third round now, and she’s still on seven.
Callie yawns again and checks the time. She leans back and closes her eyes while I gather the cards in one stack and shuffle them. “Time to call it?”
“Not yet.” Her eyes are still closed. “I can’t let you win.”
“Now that we know you’re competitive, we can finish this tomorrow.”
“But I need to beat you. You can’t win everything.” She still hasn’t opened her eyes. Her expression is peaceful, like she could curl up and drift to sleep. “Are you staring at me? It feels like you’re staring at me.”
“I’m trying to decide if it’s worth forcing you upstairs or not. It’s probably warmer in this room.”
“You’ve put enough blankets on that bed to make an igloo hot. I’m warm in the attic, Gavin. Don’t worry.”
“Then we should call it a night.”
“But I’m so cozy. Just two more minutes.” Her voice has a soft edge of a whine to it. I think Callie has passed tired and moved onto delirious.
I stack the cards and set them on the end table, then rise. “Come on, sleepwalker, I’ll help you upstairs.” I reach for her and she looks up at me, her eyelids heavy. She lets me take her hand and pull her up, but she says nothing as we start for the stairs. I hear her yawn again, though.
“When will I meet your girlfriend?” she asks. “Actually, when will Jean and Nessa meet her? They don’t seem to know she exists.”
Girlfriend? I’ve been single for five or so years.
I do the maths. No, six years, now. Blair walked out on me on a rare sunny day in the beginning of August. I’ll never forget it, because it was a week before her daughter’s birthday.
She never let me give Liv her gift. It’s still in my closet.
Pathetic, eh? I lose my girlfriend and her daughter all at once, and I’m still hanging on to the gift she never let me send.
Believe me, I tried. It was harder losing Liv than losing Blair. In some ways, the immediate lack of contact made me so angry, it helped me get over Blair faster than I ever could have on my own.
Unless one of them told Callie that Blair was coming home for Christmas, I don’t know what she could be referring to right now.
“I’m sorry my family acted like that,” I say.
“It’s fine. I’m flattered. Maybe if you tell them you have a girlfriend, it won’t be so awkward for the next girl.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
She stops at the top of the stairs and swivels quickly, poking me in the chest. “I knew it!”
“What are you on about?”
“Last night. When I crossed the line and asked why you’re single, which I definitely shouldn’t have, and you said—”
“Aye.” I circle her pointy finger and drag it away from my chest. “Right enough. I didn’t want to answer.”
“Rightfully so. I know better than to ask questions like that. Sorry.”
“It’s no bother.”
“That’s not a healthy response.” Her brown eyes bore down into me. The dimness of the stairwell casts shadows over them, making it easier to lose myself. “The correct thing would be to tell me you forgive me.”
“I forgive you,” I say.
“Well, now I don’t believe you.”
Apparently, I’m still holding her hand, so I give it a little squeeze and frame my face into a wide smile as I pull my hand free. “I really do forgive you. As far as why I’m single…you know, there’s no simple answer to that question.”
She rolls her eyes. “Is there ever?”
“I suppose not.” I wait for her to turn and keep walking, since there’s another flight of stairs until we reach the attic, but she doesn’t move.
“In my defense, I was extra curious because you’re clearly a catch. Where I’m from, if I met a guy like you at a bar, I’d assume you were hung up on your ex or extremely picky. Given how clean your house is and how selective you can be, I’m going to take a wild leap here and assume—”
“You’re wrong, Callie. It’s neither of those things.”
“Hm.” She chews on her bottom lip, scanning my face.
I have to actively work to avoid looking at her mouth while she does this, because we’re two adults who are attracted to each other—I feel that’s a safe assumption after she tried to kiss me—alone in a house together extremely late at night.
Bad decisions are made in situations like this, but if I don’t look at her lips, maybe I can hold strong.
I’ll pretend there’s an impenetrable forcefield between us.
So long as I don’t touch her, I won’t do anything foolish.
But she’s wrong. I’m not hung up on Blair, and I’m not extremely picky. Blair broke something inside me when she ripped her daughter out of my life with no warning, and I’ve spent the last several years rebuilding my thoughts in a healthier way.
There’s no short answer for that though, is there?
Callie gives an exaggerated shrug. “It’s not relevant to me anyway.”
“Guess not.”
“I’ll just go to bed now.”
“Probably a good idea.”
She looks in my eyes, unblinking. Hers are the prettiest shade of brown, almost like a hazel.
“Thanks for putting up with me, Gavin. I know you didn’t sign up for this.
My sister’s supposed to be here right now and instead you’re stuck babysitting me and it’s not fair to you and I’m really grateful. ”
“That was…a lot.” Rubbing my beard, I lean a shoulder against the plastered wall.
I’m not sure what it is about this conversation, but I don’t want it to end.
Maybe it’s just the lowering of walls, the vulnerability.
I like Callie a lot when she’s like this.
“Turns out, you’re not too bad once you stop being angry at me. ”
“Turns out your grandma is way cooler than you,” she says.
“I happen to agree. She’s probably my favorite person in the world.”
Callie sucks in a heavy breath and blows it out slowly. “Cool. Well, I’ll leave you right here. Good night, Gavin. See you in the morning.”
“Good night, Callie.”
She steps around the wall for the next staircase that narrows and leads directly to her bedroom.
There is nothing up there except her room, another smaller room we won’t be using, and a bathroom with a shower that could probably use some work.
I listen to her footsteps until they reach the top of the stairs before I return to the ground floor to make sure all the doors are locked and turn out the lights.
There’s just something about Callie that is slowly drawing me in, and I can’t put my finger on what it is.
Her personality is blunt and honest and kind, which can be jarring when I’m used to the way we tend to dance around subjects more subtly around here.
But it’s not off-putting. In fact, I rather like it.
I rather like her.
The haze is gone the next morning. Something happened between the dinner with my family and the card game and the conversation in the stairwell, because there’s an ease between us that didn’t previously exist. We make breakfast together and layer up so I can take her out to meet my horses.
When I pull the barn door open and she steps inside, her soft, audible gasp hits me in the chest. There is no better recommendation to a person than my horses’ approval. Second, though, is unfettered admiration for the animals, and Callie clearly has that.
“You are a beautiful creature,” she says soothingly, rubbing her palm down Elephant’s neck. “What is your name?”
“Elephant. Her sister’s name is Piggie.”
Callie freezes, shooting me a look over her shoulder like she’s trying to decide if I’m joking or not. “Really?”
“They’re characters in a children’s book series.” I wait a beat, but she still doesn’t seem to know what I’m referring to. “Mo Willems?”
“Is that another horse?”
Is she serious? “That’s the author, Callie. Are there no children in your life?”
“My life is school.” She turns her attention back to Elephant. “Oliver is the only child in my life, and he doesn’t read yet. He’s probably still in the chewing-on-board-books stage, anyway. That didn’t stop me from sending him loads of books when he was born.”
“Right.” I lean against the stall and watch Elephant fall in love with Callie.
“Now, if you named her Bluey, I’d totally know what you’re talking about,” she says.
“Aye, that’s a popular one.”
“Or Cat in the Hat.”
“Extremely famous.”
“Or Pigeon. Have you read that one? He tries to drive a bus or get a cookie.”
I stare at her. Is this a joke?
Callie glances over. “No?”
“Same author, Callie.”
She points at my horse. “As this one?”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “Aye.”
“Huh. He’s funny. I sent some of those to Oliver, too.” She moves down a stall to rub Piggie’s neck, somehow knowing precisely where my horse would love to be scratched. “Have you read those Leo and Johnnie books? I sent one of those too, then Rhys told me it’s a show over here. Super cute.”
My body turns icy cold. “Yes.”
She nods to Piggie. “We liked those too. You should have named these guys Leo and Johnnie.”
“They’re female,” I say, though that doesn’t matter, does it? Technically Elephant is male.
Callie laughs. “Fair enough. So, should we feed them?”
It feels weirdly dishonest not to tell her how intimately familiar I am with Leo and Johnnie.
Instead, I’m grateful the conversation passes so easily.
I half-expected her to ask why a full-grown man was naming his horses after children’s book characters to begin with, but she seemed to accept it easily.
If there’s one thing I’ve come to appreciate about Callie in the short few days I’ve known her, it’s how little she seems to pass judgment.
Well, except for how deeply she has evidently been wondering why I’m still single. But I’m not going to think too long about that. I gesture to the ladder that leads up to the loft. “Come on. I’ll show you. Have you ever used a pitchfork?”
Callie laughs. “Have I ever used a pitchfork? Please.” She blows a raspberry. “Farm girl, remember?”
“Okay, time to prove it.”
We climb up to the hayloft. The window is small and dirty, so it’s fairly dark. I open both trap doors to the troughs and pick up the pitchfork. “Give them each a good scoop of hay.”
“You got it, boss.”
Callie knows what she’s doing. The horses are both fed reasonably quickly, and we brush them down and fill their water.
“Do they still need to go outside?” she asks.
“Aye, of course. I’ll let them out this afternoon when it’s warmer. They aren’t used to these winters yet.”
She nods. “Oh, I’ve missed—”
My phone rings. “Sorry.” When I see the name on the screen, I have to swallow an audible groan. I swipe it to answer. “Hiya, Douglas.”
“Listen, I know it’s storming,” he says gruffly, “but I was hoping you could help me oot.”
“I have someone staying at my house, Douglas.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Remember my cousin Hamish?”
“Aye, Young Hamish. I recall the lad.”
“He’s coming for Christmas, and he’s bringing a fair amount of his wife’s family with him. One came early, and she’s here now.”
“I see.” Douglas is silent for a moment, and I can picture him in his house, looking at his sink and debating whether he should still pretend it needs to be fixed.
“Trouble is, boiler’s gone out already, and my knees are bad.
I’m not sure I can get back up again if I get down on the ground to light it. ”
“The boiler this time?” It’s been a good while since he’d used that one. Too bad he didn’t wait until after he’d called to put the light out. Just picturing him taking all those stairs down to the basement feeds me with guilt. I force myself not to let out the sigh my body inherently feels.
“Aye, Gavin. I could try to light it myself—”
“No, leave it, Douglas. I’ll be over soon.” The last thing we need in the middle of this storm is an actual injury.
“Sorry—”
“It’s no bother,” I assure him. “Truly. I don’t mind. Give me a moment to finish feeding the horses, and I’ll be over.”
“You’re a good man, Gavin.”
“Cheers.” I ring off and slip my phone in my pocket.
“Another neighbor?” Callie asks. She’s standing between their stalls now, scratching both of my horses’ necks at the same time. This woman is something else. She’s a natural with them, and honestly, I’m impressed. Animals have a way of knowing a person’s character, and my ladies clearly approve.
They also need to get outside and stretch their legs, and Douglas lives a little far for a walk. An idea sprouts, and I let it grow.
“Aye, another neighbor. He’ll be needing a hand with his boiler.” I slide my hand into my pocket and watch her for a reaction. “And these girls need some exercise.”
Her head whips back to me immediately.
“Fancy a ride, Callie?”