Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
GAVIN
The first thing I want to do is verify Mum means she wants to stay here in this house for Christmas.
That she means she wants a bedroom, to join us.
You never do know with her, of course. Ever since Dad admitted he’d lost his job and they’d run out of money, asking if I’d buy the house off of them, they hadn’t returned for long.
Aye, they’d come to town to visit, but sleeping under this roof?
Sharing cooking responsibilities and lounging on the sofa? Inhabiting the space?
Anxiety is already creeping through me. Will they expect the primary bedroom? How will they get on with Callie’s parents? What will they think of the Winters’ Christmas traditions? Our families could not be more different.
“If it’s a bother—”
“Of course it’s not, Mum,” I say quickly, searching for some way to explain my hesitation. Evidently she does mean to stay here. “Maths have never been my strong suit, you know. I was counting the beds, but we have plenty, right enough.”
Her smile is wide but hollow. So Granny was right about them sleeping here. Was this the plan all along? Or has something happened to change their minds?
Callie nudges me aside gently, and I glance over to find her crouching on the floor, picking up the large pieces of the broken plate. I should be down there helping her but my brain won’t divide properly. It’s focused on one thing, and that is how to balance my parents with Hamish’s guests.
She puts the pieces in the bin and pulls out the broom.
Mum and Dad take their plates to the table and sit with Hamish.
He talks with them while they eat, so they’re properly distracted.
It will give me an opportunity to move some things out of the primary bedroom and change the sheets on the bed.
It’s been a while since I did counseling sessions about this with Rhona, but she had told me giving my hands something to do was a good idea when I felt myself on the verge of spiraling.
Right now, I’m sitting on the edge of a cliff, peering down in the abyss and trying not to fall.
Callie sweeps the shards into the dustpan and tips them into the bin. She puts the broom away and looks at me with concern. Is this a counselor thing? Do they all have a sixth sense, capable of knowing when a man is barely holding it together?
“I’m going to prepare their room,” I tell her.
“I’ll help.” It’s not an offer, a mere suggestion. She’s telling me.
So when I leave the kitchen, she follows, and I don’t argue.
Familiar cases are sitting near the door, which is odd.
They carried their things inside before finding out if I had space for them?
I peek through the window in the front room and find Grandad’s truck parked in front of the house.
They didn’t even drive their campervan here.
“Should we carry these suitcases up for them?” Callie asks, correctly surmising who they belong to.
“Aye, that’ll be grand.” I take the larger of the two, not at all surprised to find it heavy.
Callie picks up the second one and follows me up the stairs. I stop at the bureau that once belonged to my great grandmother, pull out a fresh sheet and duvet, then push open the door to my room.
It took a while after I bought the house before I felt comfortable enough to consider this place my home.
I didn’t move out of my childhood bedroom entirely, ever.
I just turned it into my office. But I liked the convenience of this room, the size of it, and the attached bathroom. No other room in the house has one.
“This is your room.” Callie drops the case on the floor, looking around.
“It’s the only other bed large enough for them.”
She glances at me. “It was their room once, I’m guessing.”
“Aye.” I take the laundry basket toward my chest of drawers and pull out clothes, things I think I might need over the next week or so. It’s hard to know how long they’ll choose to inhabit this space, but I’m sure I can come back if I don’t take enough, so I’m not overly worried about what I take.
Callie strips the bed and removes the pillow cases. “It smells like you.”
If I wasn’t already looking at my basket and considering what else I’d need, I’d be embarrassed by my reaction, because I certainly don’t hide it well. I school my face into a neutral expression and pick up a pillow case to slide over a pillow. “Like me? What is that?”
“A tree, I think. Cedar or sandalwood or…no, not pine. It’s one of those, and something earthy and warm. I’m not a connoisseur of cologne, so I’m guessing.”
“Neither am I.” My heart is racing. This is something she’s put thought into. Something she has previously noticed, that has enticed her enough to think about it. “That’s probably my soap and aftershave. Hints of amber and sandalwood.”
She grins. “I knew it.”
I lift the fitted sheet and shake it out over the bed. “Didn’t realize you’d been sniffing me, lass.”
“When someone forces you to ride in the car with them repeatedly, you can’t help but smell them. It’s not my fault you over-apply.”
“Would you rather I lathered less?” I hold her gaze.
Her cheeks bloom with color. “That’s not advisable, no.”
“Then you’ll have to put up with the smell a little longer.”
“Rats.” She doesn’t look as disappointed as she’s pretending to be.
We fit the sheet on, place the pillows, and change out the duvet cover. Once the bed is sorted, I take out the dirty laundry and leave it in a pile to take downstairs and wash later, then head up to the final room to put sheets on the last bed.
“Where are you going?” Callie asks, standing at the bottom of the stairs.
“To put a sheet on my bed.”
“But my room is up there.”
I look at her over my shoulder. “Aye. We’re going to be neighbors.”
It’s one thing to keep my distance from Callie physically during the day.
Yes, I am attracted to her and there is a wee bit of flirtation between us, but it’s all innocent.
Now it’s late, the entire house is settled in their rooms, and I’m in bed.
Only a thin wall separates our rooms, and I can’t sleep knowing she’s mere feet from me, not sleeping either.
How do I know? She won’t stop moving. First it was the bed shifting. Then it was the floor boards creaking. Then it was the window opening, yet closing again after a few minutes. I can hear everything through this wall, and she’s restless.
Has she been this way every night? At what point is it appropriate to check on her?
My guess is never.
I sit against my headboard in a T-shirt and tartan flannel pajama pants, the blanket pulled up my legs and my head leaning against the wall.
A light knock comes from behind my head and I whip toward it so fast my neck spasms.
“Gavin?” comes her muffled voice.
I push the blanket from my legs and swing them off the bed to face the wall better. “Callie?” I say back.
“You’re awake?” she asks. She’s hard to hear but I can make out what she’s saying.
I’m up and out of my room immediately. When I reach her door, I hesitate again. These boundaries are weird, and I don’t want to cross any, but what if something’s wrong? There’s definitely something keeping her awake right now, and she did ask for me.
Callie doesn’t leave me time to make a decision, though.
She opens the door. Despite the late hour and darkness surrounding us, I can see her expression clearly.
Moonlight bouncing off the snow and coming through the windows lights the hallway well enough, and I’m instantly relieved to see a lack of utter devastation in her expression.
“You’re not hurt?” I say for confirmation.
She’s in a loose T-shirt and leggings, her hair thrown up in a messy bun. “I’m not. My career might be over though.”
“What happened?”
“It’s not important, and it’s late. But I heard you awake and my internet is being weird. Is that a night thing? I’m not usually awake now.”
That answered that. This is a special circumstance, some sort of emergency keeping her up. I fold my arms over my chest and lean one shoulder against her door frame. “Career-ending problem sounds important to me.”
Callie rubs her eyes. “Bekah—my best friend—just had dinner with some of the department faculty tonight and overheard them talking about an internship I didn’t apply for.”
“What are you talking about, Callie?”
She sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
“We have internships that let us work with certain agencies and get experience. Sometimes those turn into real jobs, other times it’s just hours toward licensure.
Either way, they’re important. Bekah’s dating one of my professors, so it’s not weird she would be at this dinner.
She heard someone mention they were surprised I hadn’t applied for this internship to work with at-risk youth, because it’s kind of what I want to do. The thing is, I hadn’t learned of it.”
“I see.”
“Kayla is my…liaison, I guess you could call it. She’s supposed to inform me when opportunities arise.”
“She kept it from you.”
“Probably.” Callie sits on the edge of her bed, beside her computer, and drops her face in her hands.
“There’s nothing in my junk folder, at least. I don’t want to believe she’d sabotage me.
Women supporting women is so much more appealing, and I’d like to believe she’s just forgetful or something.
Alex dumped me for her, so her jealousy makes no sense at all.
But this isn’t the first time this has happened. ”
“That’s enormously frustrating.”
“It’s slowing down my schooling, which makes me want to pull my teeth out. It’s slow enough already. Sometimes I wonder if she’s gaslighting me. Am I making it all up or is she really trying to make things harder for me?”
Callie looks so small and defeated. Her long-sleeved sweater is tugged over her palms, and my wool socks are pulled up over the end of her leggings, so she seems cozy but defeated.
I move slowly to give her a chance to tell me to stop, then sit on the edge of the bed beside her. “When was the deadline?”
“Midnight.”
“Yesterday?”
“California time. Which is in three hours. I’ve found the application, so I can bypass Kayla and send it directly to the dean of psychology. But I have to write a paper and submit everything within the next three hours, and I can’t get the internet to connect.”
“It’s spotty at night,” I tell her.
She fights a yawn. “I tried to open the window, but that didn’t seem to help.”
“The router is in my office.”
“Rooter?”
“Router,” I repeat, but she doesn’t look less confused. “Where the internet comes from.”
“Oh, yeah. We pronounce it differently. Is it stronger in the office? Maybe I should head down there.”
My stomach clenches. Usually that door is locked, my safe space, a place no one is allowed to infiltrate. I have storyboards and ideas and rough rough drafts in there.
But Callie also feels like a safe person, and I can’t leave her without a good internet source.
“Come on. You can use my computer if yours won’t connect. It’s wired in.”
The relief on her face is palpable, even with how dark it is. “You beautiful man,” she breathes as she hops up and finds a crewneck sweatshirt to pull on over her longsleeved T-shirt.
We creep down the stairs together. Something about moving through the house in the dark, only using the torch on my phone to light the way, feels like I’m a teenager breaking rules. But this is my house, Callie is just a friend, and we’re doing nothing wrong.
I turn on the light and give my eyes a minute to adjust, then close the office door.
Callie puts her laptop on the desk in front of my computer and starts around the room, looking at the framed drawings.
Leo and Johnnie in their earliest forms dot the walls, as well as a few awards I received in the beginning for both the books and my illustrations, and the email from my agent telling me the BBC wanted the rights to create a television show for children. It was the moment my life changed.
When Callie reaches that framed letter, I have to physically restrain myself from redirecting her to her task.
“Katie and Nat told me about your books,” she says. “So I know you’re not just a handyman.”
At least she still believes the handyman gig is a real job. “Can’t believe they sold me out.”
She glances at me over her shoulder, and even in this makeup-free tousled-hair state, she’s gorgeous. “They adore you.”
“We’re pretty close.”
Callie looks at the letter again, then moves on. “You should be proud. This is amazing, Gavin.”
I shrug, even though she’s not looking. “I never set out to make it what it was.”
“What did you set out to do?”
Literally no one has ever asked me that.
Callie turns, her arms loosely clasped in front of her, expression interested.
For the first time, I feel like I can trust someone with this.
The guarded secret I’ve held close to my chest, the thing I’ve believed Granny probably guessed at but never overtly said aloud.
I don’t know if it’s the schooling and counselor training she’s had or the innate goodness in her soul, but Callie feels easy to confide in. Trustworthy. Safe.
I give her an easy half-smile. “How much time do you have?”