22. Freddie
Freddie
“I still can’t believe you had sex with a hot Scottish man in a haunted house,” Stella says, popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth from the plastic bowl balanced on her knees, right after dousing the whole batch in Cholula.
She’s sprawled across my sofa in her oversized flannel, her brown ringlet curls pulled up into a messy high ponytail with a few stubborn stragglers framing her face. Her green eyes are gleaming.
“I mean, not that I blame you,” she continues, crunching loudly. “But aren’t you scared you’re, like, summoning the dark forces or something?”
I snort, dragging the flat side of a butter knife to spread smashed avocado over a thick slice of sourdough. “Stells, I am the dark forces.”
Stella lets out a loud laugh, patting the cushion next to her to beckon me over. “Tell me everything. I honestly can’t remember the last time you liked…well, anybody.”
I set my toast down on a small ceramic plate and walk over, sinking into the couch beside her. “That’s because I can’t remember either.” I reach down to grab the bottle of hot sauce off the coffee table and shake a few heavy drops onto my toast.
Stella spent the night last night for our monthly sleepover—a tradition we started back when we were twelve, back when we’d stay up whispering under tented blankets, and one we never bothered giving up even well into our twenties.
It was a desperately needed taste of normal after the chaotic whirlwind of the past week.
Callum and I had eventually called it quits at the Stardust Inn, packing our bags once Genevieve dropped that bombshell about people actually getting pulled into the Veil.
Neither one of us was keen on sticking around long enough to test those odds or become the next vanishing act.
Instead, we spent our remaining couple of days putting that cozy king bed to good use with a lot of Olympic-level sex, making up for lost time.
Thankfully, Jett and Twyla were blissfully oblivious to our marathon sessions, having been graciously entertained by the Inn’s sweet owners, who happily kept them busy with endless tea, storytime, and baked goods.
“It was really good sex,” I admit, staring down at my plate as a ridiculous blush creeps up my neck. “And my magic was…unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s hard to describe, but it felt like it was almost trying to pull us together or something. Like it recognized him.”
Stella’s eyes widen until they look like saucers. “Freddie! That’s serious. You like him. Like, like him like him.”
I groan, leaning my head all the way back against the couch cushions, staring up at the ceiling fan. “I know. It’s fucking awful.”
“It’s not awful, it’s amazing!” Stella cackles, elbowing my ribs. “Besides, Callum is insanely hot, so I don’t blame you at all.”
“He really is, isn’t he?” I mumble, a small, helpless smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.
“You did real good there, Fred.”
“And he knits,” I add, turning my head to look at her. “And he goes to therapy. Do you know how much of a unicorn that is? I’m never finding that again.”
“No woman on earth is finding that again,” Stella agrees, tossing another piece of popcorn into her mouth. She quietens down for a second, her green eyes softening as she studies my face. “You seem happier, Freddie. Really.”
“I think I am,” I say softly.
But saying it out loud feels dangerous, like putting a target on my own back. There’s a stubborn knot in my chest that keeps me from fully diving in. Years of expecting the shoe to drop make it terrifying to let myself attach to someone who feels this good, this safe.
“He’s leaving, though,” I say, voicing the hard, ugly reality I’ve been aggressively trying to avoid all morning. “His time here isn’t permanent.”
Stella sets the bowl of popcorn down on the table. “You don’t know that he won’t come back. Or that you won’t stay in touch. If Amberhollow let him through the Veil once, it’ll probably let him through again if he wants it bad enough.”
“There’s no guarantee, though,” I murmur, picking at the crust on my toast.
“There are no guarantees with anything,” Stella says gently, reaching over to squeeze my knee.
“Look at me. Stop protecting yourself from a heartbreak that hasn’t even happened yet.
You’ve spent so long building walls to keep yourself from feeling anything, Freddie, but you’re going to keep yourself from feeling the good stuff, too.
Don’t rob yourself of feeling this just because you’re scared of how it ends. ”
I stare at her for a second, chewing on the inside of my cheek before shaking my head. “Look at you, all wise and shit. Who gave you permission?”
Stella smirks, taking another handful of Cholula-drenched popcorn. “Someone in this apartment has to be. Besides, look on the bright side—at least Callum didn’t have a literal heart attack while you were having sex with him, like the last guy.”
I snort, taking a bite of my avocado toast. “God, don’t remind me. I literally had to find his defibrillator. Truly the peak of my sexual history.”
Stella cackles so hard a piece of popcorn flies off her lap, landing on the rug. “You gave that poor man the workout of his life, Freddie. Quite literally.”
“Hey, he survived,” I say, nudging her knee with mine as I swallow. “What about you, anyway? What’s going on with your love life?”
Stella snorts into her bowl. “What love life? I still hate ninety-nine percent of men, unfortunately. Unless they happen to be animated Hercules or the red Power Ranger from 1995.”
“Honestly? Entirely valid,” I say, nodding. “What about that guy you met in that cycling class last month? The one you said had nice shoulders?”
“Um, yeah, maybe that would’ve actually gone somewhere if I ever stepped foot in that studio again,” Stella says, rolling her eyes at herself. “I felt like they were trying to train me to be drafted into war so I never went back.”
“Fair enough.”
“Plus,” Stella adds, pointing a finger at me, “do you know how hard it is to flirt or build any sort of romantic chemistry with a guy when you’re dry-heaving over a bike with a river of sweat between your boobs and your ass?”
I burst out laughing, almost choking on my toast. “Okay, yeah, I can only imagine.”
Stella sighs, leaning her head back against the cushion. “I guess I’ll just continue being single forever.”
I nudge her shoulder with mine. “Well, it’s a good thing I have a very single younger brother who is completely obsessed with you and would literally worship the ground you walk on.”
Stella freezes mid-chew, her green eyes darting to me. “That’s not true.”
“Oh,” I scoff, rolling my eyes. “I know for a fact you’re not that dense, Stells.”
A faint pink flush creeps onto her cheeks, right over her freckles. She shrugs, deliberately avoiding my gaze as she takes a quiet, slow bite of popcorn.
“Come on,” I press, leaning into her space.
“You two are perfect together. You’re both nerdy as hell, you actually manage your finances like responsible adults, you both have the exact same terrible taste in those vintage sci-fi paperbacks, and he’s the only person who doesn’t get annoyed when you ramble about plant propagation for forty-five minutes straight. ”
Stella lets out a small laugh, brushing a kernel shell off her leg. “Alden’s never said anything about liking me.”
“Because he’s an idiot,” I say instantly. “I love the kid, truly, but he needs things spelled out for him in giant neon letters sometimes.”
Before Stella can open her mouth to reply, a sharp knock at the door echoes through the apartment.
We both freeze. Our eyes lock, going wide at the exact same time.
“Is that…?” I panic-whisper. “Do you think that’s Callum?”
Stella stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Who else would it be?”
“Well, that can’t be happening! Hello, look at me!” I whisper-yell, gesturing frantically to my general existence. “He cannot see me like this!”
I am currently sporting a chaotic knot of unwashed hair on top of my head, my bangs are visibly greasy, I have a hardening pore strip firmly stuck to the bridge of my nose, three bright pink star-shaped zit patches dotted across my forehead and chin, and I’m wearing an oversized, faded Fleetwood Mac T-shirt with literally nothing underneath.
Stella cackles, covering her mouth to muffle the noise. “Freddie, the man was literally inside of you all week and you’re worried about greasy bangs? There’s nothing on your body he hasn’t already seen at this point!”
Another knock hits the door.
I hiss, scrambling off the couch. “The men I’ve been with have never just shown up to my apartment!”
Stella’s laugh turns into full-blown wheezing. “Welcome to a normal relationship! This is brand new territory for you!”
Trying to ignore the deep ache in my thighs—and the very obvious soreness between my legs—I shuffle toward the front door, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
I pull open the heavy wooden door, and sure enough, there stands Callum McKinley.
He’s wearing a fitted charcoal crewneck sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his forearms, dark jeans, and his worn leather boots.
His auburn hair is still slightly damp from a shower, and he looks so stupidly, effortlessly handsome it should be illegal.
In one hand, he’s holding a paper tray with two cardboard coffee cups, and in the other, a wrapped bouquet of fresh flowers.
His dark eyes sweep over me—taking in my greasy bangs, the pore strip on my nose—and a grin spreads across his face.
Before he can open his mouth, I point a finger at him. “Do not say a single word. Shut up.”
Callum lets out a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I didn’t say anything! Can I come in?”
“Um. Sure,” I mutter, stepping back to let him pass.
He steps across the threshold, bringing the subtle scent of freshly washed clothes and cedar soap into the entryway. “Morning, Stella,” he calls out, waving toward the living room.
“Good morning!” Stella chirps back from the couch, her voice dripping with amusement.