Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Luke
What the…? A soft body is molded against mine. A smooth leg hooked over mine. Somebody’s hand is resting on my chest, right over my heart.
Callie.
Awareness zings through me. I slept through the night. No nightmares. No waking up in a cold sweat, hearing Stu's voice the last time we spoke. Damn, does that mean I’m coming to peace with his loss? Already?
Callie’s curled against me, her breath warm as it flows over my skin, her hair spilling across the pillow like silk. Her lips tilt up in the faintest smile, without that stubborn wall she always hides behind. She looks vulnerable. Younger. Breakable.
My fingers twitch with the urge to trace the slope of her cheek, to memorize the softness there, but I don’t. She deserves her peace. Besides, I’m a coward, afraid that if I touch her, I won’t be able to stop.
Instead, I take in her world. Bookshelves line the far wall, filled with everything from dog-eared paperbacks to what appears to be leather-bound classics, neatly organized and probably alphabetized.
A framed photo of Callie and her mom catches my eye, arms around each other, smiles so alike it knocks the air from my lungs.
How did I never notice the resemblance before?
Carefully, I ease out of bed, moving slowly so I don't wake her. She stirs, murmuring something in her sleep, but doesn't open her eyes. Grabbing my boxers from the floor, I pull them on before heading for the bathroom.
The guy staring back at me in the mirror feels different today.
Lighter somehow, as though last night stripped something off his shoulders.
The shadows are gone, well, not completely gone, but they're not as dark.
I splash water on my face and run wet fingers through my hair to tame the chaos her hands left behind.
The guilt that's been my constant companion since Chicago threatens to surface.
It takes some mental effort, but I push it down, leaving its mark like always.
When I step back into the bedroom, Callie’s awake and sitting up with the sheet clutched to her breasts, hair a messy halo, lips still pink and swollen from my mouth. She’s a goddamn vision, and for a beat, all I can do is stand there and soak her in.
“Morning.” Her voice is husky from sleep.
“Morning.” Needing to be closer, I perch on the edge of the bed, hating the thought of even the smallest distance between us now.
“I thought you left.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and that small sign of insecurity twists something in my gut.
“Without saying goodbye?” I shake my head. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Not again.”
Her gaze meets mine, soft and searching, and something in my chest pulls tight.
“I should probably get up. Make coffee,” she says, though she doesn’t move.
“I can do it. Just tell me where everything is.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” Before I can talk myself out of it, I press a kiss to her forehead. Gentle. Almost reverent. It feels dangerous. Like a promise I’m not sure I can keep. “Stay in bed. I’ll be right back.”
After rummaging through a couple of kitchen cabinets, I find the coffee and filters, and soon a rich, nutty aroma fills the air as it brews. Hands braced on the edge of the counter, I try to make sense of what the hell happened over the last twenty-four hours.
This wasn’t part of the deal. This wasn’t supposed to matter. But last night? Last night felt real in a way nothing has in years. And that scares the shit out of me.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
Harper:
Where are you?
Mom’s worried.
Shit. I really need to find a place of my own. At thirty-six, I don’t need my mom checking up on me. Thumbing out a quick reply, I type:
Me:
At Callie’s.
Tell Mom I’m fine.
Be home later.
The dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. Then:
OMG!
Details!
I huff out a laugh and turn the damn thing upside down on the counter.
When the coffee’s ready, I pour two mugs, adding cream to hers the way I remember, then hunt through a cabinet until I find a tray.
I arrange the mugs and add a few pieces of fruit from the bowl on the counter.
It’s a small thing, but for some reason, I want it to be nice.
Maybe because this feels like more than a night I’ll forget.
And that realization? That’s what really terrifies me.
Callie's sitting cross-legged on the bed, when I return, wearing an oversized light pink t-shirt that falls off one shoulder. Beneath it, I can see the curve of her breasts and the darkness of her nipples poking through the fabric. She smiles when she sees the tray. I smile because… well…
“You didn't have to do all this.” Her pleased expression tells me she appreciates the gesture, nonetheless.
“Like I said, I wanted to.” I set the tray on the bed and sit beside her, handing her a mug, trying not to stare at her tits like a horny teenager. “Though I should warn you, my phone just blew up with texts from Harper.”
Callie nearly chokes on her first sip of coffee. “What? Why?”
“I told her I was here so she wouldn't worry. Now she wants details.”
A range of emotions crosses Callie's face: embarrassment, uncertainty, and something that might be hope. “What are you going to tell her?”
Good question. “The truth, I think. We had dinner. That things are,” I tip my head, searching for the right words, “evolving between us.”
“Evolving,” she repeats, testing the word. “That's one way to put it.”
“Would you prefer a different term?”
She looks down at her coffee, her fingers tracing the rim of the mug. “I don't know what to call this, Luke. Last night was incredible.” She grimaces. “But it complicates things.”
“It doesn't have to.” I know that's not entirely true. “We're both adults. We know what we want.”
“Do we?” Her gaze meets mine, challenging. “Because I'm not sure I do. This started as a pretend relationship to make Harper and Kirk jealous. To help your family's business. And now...”
“And now it feels real,” I finish for her.
She nods slowly. “Yes.”
I reach over and take her hand, lacing our fingers together. “Would that be so terrible?”
“It would be terrifying,” she admits. “I've been hurt before, Luke. By Kirk, by Harper, by you.”
The last two words land like a punch to the gut, but I can't deny their truth.
“I know. And I'm sorry for my part in that.
I can't change the past, Callie. But I'd like to think we could have a future.” Did I really say that?
And so easily, when that voice in the back of my mind constantly whispers I don't deserve any future or happiness.
Not when Stu will never get to go home to his wife.
Not when I should have been there to save him.
I try to ignore those thoughts, but they leave a bitter aftertaste.
Her eyes widen slightly, and I realize I might be moving too fast. Hell, we've only been back in each other's lives for a few weeks. In each other’s arms for hours. But there's something about her that makes me want to lay all my cards on the table.
“A future,” she echoes, her expression unreadable.
“Or at least a present,” I amend, not wanting to scare her off. “Let's just see where this goes. No pressure, no expectations.”
She seems to consider this, taking another sip of her coffee before popping a sweet strawberry into her mouth, chewing slowly, thoughtfully. “And what about Harper? Remember, the whole town is watching our every move.”
“Let them watch,” I say with a shrug. “That’s what you wanted after all. As for Harper, I think she'll be happy for us. She's been pushing me to reconnect with you since I got back.”
Callie's brow furrows. “She has?”
“Yeah. She keeps talking about second chances and how good we'd be together.”
“That doesn't make any sense,” Callie says, shaking her head. “If she wanted us together, why did she make me choose between you and her all those years ago?”
I blink, confused. “What are you talking about?”
Callie sets her coffee down, her expression serious.
“After you and I... after that night, Harper found out somehow. I didn’t tell her.
She figured it out, though I never confirmed or denied.
She confronted me at school a few days after you left and told me I had to choose between being her friend and being with you.
Said she couldn't handle her best friend dating her brother.”
This is news to me. “She never told me that.”
“Why would she? You were gone.” There's no accusation in her tone, just a statement of fact, but it still stings.
“I'm sorry, Callie. If I had known...” I trail off, not sure what I would have done differently. I was a mess, and my father's ultimatum left little room for negotiation.
“It doesn't matter now,” she says with a small smile. “We can't change the past, right?”
We sit in silence for a moment, sipping our coffee and stealing glances at each other. It feels domestic, intimate in a way that has nothing to do with the physical connection we shared last night. I could get used to mornings like this.
“I should probably get going.” It’s the last thing I want to do. “I'm supposed to be at the station by ten.”
“What time is it now?”
“After eight.”
She smiles, setting her empty mug on the tray. “So, we have time.”
The fire in her gaze is like an arrow straight to my groin. “Time for what, exactly?”
Instead of answering, she takes the tray and places it on the nightstand, then moves toward me with a very sultry gleam in her eyes.
My body responds immediately, hardening in anticipation as she straddles my lap.
“Callie.” My hands find her hips.
“Shh,” she whispers, leaning in to kiss me. Her lips are soft and taste like coffee, and I'm lost in her all over again.