Chapter 4 - Callahan
I knew the moment I saw her that I was in trouble.
She crossed the room with an ease that didn’t demand attention but drew it anyway, like gravity quietly doing its job.
I hadn’t been prepared for that. Hadn’t been prepared for the way my chest seized or how my thoughts scattered so completely I forgot, for half a second, why I was even standing here.
Then she smiled.
Not a polite smile. Not a careful one. A real one—wide and bright and so genuine it felt like it split something open inside my chest. A soul-shattering smile, aimed directly at my sister, as if the world had narrowed to just the two of them.
My hand came up instinctively, tugging the brim of my baseball cap lower over my face just as her gaze drifted outward, skimming the room. My pulse slammed against my ribs. I angled my body away, turning slightly, hoping shadows would do what my instincts demanded.
Don’t let her see you.
I had a valid reason for being here; even so, there was no excuse for the way my eyes followed her every movement, cataloging details I had no business remembering.
The soft sway of her hair. The relaxed confidence in her posture.
The way she laughed at something my sister said, her head tipping back just slightly as if joy came easily to her.
I stepped farther into the corner, letting the wall and a decorative column shield me. From here, I could see her clearly without being seen myself.
It felt wrong watching her like this, hiding in a corner. I probably looked like a stalker, which was so far from the truth. And yet, I couldn’t look away.
The only reason I was here was for my sister. I’d told myself that when she’d invited me. Told myself that when I’d grabbed my keys and left the house. I was here to show support. To make an appearance. To be the reliable older brother who showed up when asked.
I hadn’t expected to see her today, especially since she wasn't at the café. I'd wondered where she was, if she was with some guy who was lucky enough to bask in her presence. Never did I expect her to be here. At my sister's book signing.
Even so, it was too much to look at her. To see her smile. To know she existed somewhere outside the café and outside my thoughts.
My sanctuary became corrupted when I remembered the folder my mother sent to my office the day after they ambushed me.
It was a neatly organized list of women deemed “acceptable” for me to marry. As if marriage were a job and they were the most qualified. As if attraction, affection, and compatibility could be reduced to bullet points and pedigrees.
I’d scrolled through it once out of curiosity. That had been enough. They were annoyingly perfect. Perfect smiles. Perfect families. Perfect résumés. I could go as far as to say they were obvious marriage material, but I wasn't interested in any of them.
I’d felt nothing reading those profiles. Not curiosity. Not anticipation. Just a dull, heavy resistance that settled deep in my bones.
I shifted my weight, eyes flicking back to the woman in front of me now. The way she listened as my sister spoke, her expression open and engaged. To the warmth that radiated from her without effort.
I wondered—briefly, dangerously—if she would ever consider something like that. An arrangement. A marriage born of necessity and interest.
The thought barely formed before I crushed it. It was ridiculous. Disrespectful even. She wasn’t a solution to a problem or an escape route. And the fact that my mind even tried to frame her that way made my stomach twist.
I exhaled slowly through my nose, dragging my attention back to the present. I couldn't involve her in my mess, I just couldn't.
I looked up just in time to catch my sister giving me a strange look.
The one that said I know what you're thinking, paired with a smile sweet enough to pass as polite to anyone else. To me, it was a warning shot. She stood a few feet away, chatting easily with the woman I hadn’t stopped thinking about since the moment I’d walked into that café.
Her body language was relaxed, familiar in that way strangers get when conversation flows without effort.
She laughed at something my sister said, tipping her head back slightly, the lights catching in her hair.
I was doomed.
I lifted my hand in a small, helpless gesture and offered my sister a sheepish grin. She arched one perfectly shaped brow, lips twitching like she was holding back a grin of her own. Traitor.
I exhaled through my nose and quickly pulled out my phone.
Behave. I’ll be outside.
A second later, she replied:
Coward.
I didn’t bother responding.
Instead, I turned on my heel and headed for the parking lot before I did something reckless—like inserting myself into a conversation I had no right to be part of.
The evening air was cool, carrying the faint scent of roasted coffee beans and something floral from the planters lining the sidewalk.
I slid into my car and shut the door, the world instantly muted by tinted glass and quiet leather.
I leaned back against the headrest and stared through the windshield, letting the tension ease from my shoulders.
This was ridiculous. I was a grown man with responsibilities, a company breathing down my neck, and parents who thought my personal life was a problem to be solved rather than a choice to be respected.
And yet, here I was, heart beating just a little too fast because of a woman whose name I didn’t even know.
I closed my eyes briefly, her face flashing behind my eyelids—soft but striking, expressive in a way that felt unguarded. She hadn’t been trying to impress anyone. She’d just been… there. Existing. Laughing. Comfortable.
I think that's what undid me the most.
My eyes snapped open when there was a sudden burst of laughter and a door slamming shut.
The woman beside her nudged her shoulder as they talked, and she responded with a roll of her eyes that made something in my chest twist painfully. She hadn’t noticed me, not that I expected her to. Even so, I could see everything.
I wanted to know what made her laugh like that.
I wanted to know what her voice sounded like when she was serious. What she ordered when no one was watching. What books she loved, what songs she sang along to in the car, and whether she drank her coffee black or drowned it in sugar.
The urge to get out of the car hit me suddenly, sharply—an almost physical pull. My hand tightened on the door handle.
I could do it.
I could walk up to her, introduce myself like a normal man. Tell her I’d seen her inside and ask if she’d like to get a drink sometime. Simple. Direct. Honest.
But another voice cut in just as quickly.
Don’t.
The last thing I wanted was to be that guy. The stranger who’d been watching from his car. The creep lurking behind tinted windows. The idea made my stomach knot. So I stayed where I was.
I watched instead as she and her friend crossed the lot, the sound of their laughter muffled but visible in the easy way they moved together. Her friend said something that made her groan dramatically, tipping her head back as she laughed again.
I smiled without meaning to.
They reached their car, a modest sedan parked two rows over. Her friend unlocked it, but before getting in, she paused, glanced back toward the building, then leaned in to whisper something in her ear.
Her expression changed.
Her brows drew together slightly, lips parting as she looked back at the building, then around the lot. For one insane heartbeat, I thought she might look directly at me.
She didn’t.
She shook her head, smiling faintly, and slid into the passenger seat. A moment later, the engine started, and the car pulled out of the lot, disappearing down the street.
I stayed still long after she was gone, mulling over my options.
Thirty days.
That was all the time I had to make a decision that would define the rest of my life. I’d told myself I’d approach it logically. That I’d choose someone compatible. Sensible.
But logic went out the window when I saw her face. I didn’t know her yet, but I was going to.
Because I’d already made my decision. She would be my wife.