23. Callum
Callum
It’s not ideal to meet your—whatever Winifred is to me—parents for the first time when you’re still half-tangled in a kiss in the middle of a record shop.
Winifred stands frozen for a second, staring at the doorway like her brain is buffering.
Then her whole face splits into a grin so wide the dimple on her left cheek pops out deep, and she makes this soft, delighted sound I’ve never heard from her before.
She bolts across the shop and throws her arms around both of them at once.
It’s the most childlike I’ve ever seen her look—shoulders up, face buried between them, almost bouncing on her toes.
I glance up and catch her dad’s eyes locked on me. He’s narrowing them just enough to make the tips of my ears go hot. Brilliant. Perfect first impression. Caught red-handed with my hands on his daughter.
“Mom. Dad. What—when did you get back?” Winifred’s voice is muffled against her mother’s shoulder.
“Look at you!” Her mom laughs, pulling back to hold Winifred’s face in both hands for a second like she’s checking she’s real.
She’s a striking woman—porcelain skin, a head of vibrant violet hair, and striking silver eyes sitting behind thick tortoiseshell glasses.
She’s wearing flared denim jeans, a velvet duster, and enough silver jewelry to sink a small boat.
She looks like she walked straight out of the seventies, or the ridiculously cool art teacher from high school—the one whose class everyone tried to get into and whose quiet praise meant everything.
Her silver eyes flick over Freddie’s shoulder, landing right on me with a delighted spark.
“We go out of town for a few months, Freddie,” her mom says, a sarcastic lilt in her voice, “and you go off and find yourself a whole boyfriend.”
My cheeks flush even hotter.
She steps forward, extending a hand decorated with a delicate gold chain that wraps from her wrist to her middle finger.
“I’m Cassandra Rowley,” she says, her smile warm.
She has that exact same dimple in her left cheek as Winifred.
“It’s nice to meet you. There’s not many people in this town I have the pleasure of introducing myself to for the first time. ”
I take her hand, offering the most polite smile I can muster. “Callum McKinley. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Rowley.”
“Oh, Cass is fine,” she says, waving a hand dismissively before dropping a tattooed arm over Freddie’s shoulders, pulling her close. “And a Scot, no less. I knew I raised my girl to have exceptional taste.”
Freddie lets out a breathless laugh, her cheeks rosy. “Mom, please.”
Next to Cass, Winifred’s dad steps up. He’s tall, lean, and distinctly well-built—someone who clearly spends his weekends hiking or running or chopping wood and hasn’t let himself go in the slightest. He has dark, thick hair silvering slightly at the temples, and sharp hazel eyes.
They aren’t quite as warm as Cass’s, but they aren’t hostile either. Just careful. Protecting his girl.
He extends a large hand toward me. “Atticus.”
I step into his space, taking his grip firmly—matching his pressure without making a weird dick-measuring contest out of it—and give his hand a solid shake.
“Callum,” I say smoothly. “It’s really good to meet you, sir.”
“Same here, son,” Atticus says, letting go of my hand and shoving both of his into his dark denim pockets.
Cass tilts her head, her glasses catching the morning light filtering through the storefront window. “So, you must be the straggler the entire town’s been gossiping about. Word travels fast around here.”
I let out a low chuckle, scratching the back of my neck. “Guilty as charged, ma’am. That’d be me.”
“Well,” Cass says, leaning in with a conspiratorial wink, “nobody failed to mention how handsome you were, but you’re even more pretty in person. How have you been adjusting to our little corner of the world so far?”
“It’s definitely been…wild,” I say, glancing sideways at Winifred. “A steep learning curve, to say the least.”
Cass throws her head back and laughs, a sweet, melodic sound. “Oh, I can only imagine. Amberhollow isn’t exactly gentle on outsiders.”
“Okay, hello?!” Winifred cuts in, throwing her hands up in the air. “Remember me, your daughter? The one you birthed? When did you guys even get back?”
“Just now, sweet pea,” Atticus says, his expression softening as he looks at her. “We just flew back into this side of town. Wanted to surprise you, and we figured you’d be here hiding among the vinyl.”
“Plus,” Cass adds with a wicked little snicker, adjusting the silver cuffs on her wrists, “we’re on our way to completely embarrass Alden at the university next. I brought embarrassing childhood photos.”
I bite back a smirk, watching the mischievous glint in her silver eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out where Winifred gets her wild streak from.
Atticus checks the vintage leather watch on his wrist before looking back at us. “I told Delphi we’d all get together for dinner at the Inn tonight. Seven o’clock. You’ll join us, won’t you, Callum?”
Winifred crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Gosh, Dad, I don’t know. We’ll have to check our incredibly busy, jam-packed social schedule—”
Atticus laughs, stepping forward to pull her into a tight bear hug that lifts her an inch off the floor. “You’re still a smart ass, you know that?”
“Learned from the best,” she murmurs against his shoulder, though she grips the back of his jacket tight before he lets her down.
Before anyone else can speak, a patter-patter-patter of claws on hardwood can be heard from the back hallway. Jett comes sprinting around the corner, his tail puffed up like a bottle brush. He skids to a halt, his yellow eyes going wide.
“Grandma?!” Jett’s shrieks, high-pitched with frantic joy.
He darts straight past my legs—nearly tripping me—and launches himself up onto his hind legs against Cass’s velvet duster.
I stare at the cat in stunned disbelief. In all the time I’ve been in this town, I have never seen that sarcastic, arrogant animal act happy to see a single living soul.
“Oh, there’s my grandbaby!” Cass squeals, bending down to scoop the black cat right into her arms. She buries her face straight into his fur, and Jett immediately starts purring so loud he sounds like a small lawnmower engine, rubbing his cheeks aggressively against hers.
Cass digs into the deep pocket of her velvet coat and pulls out a small, crinkly plastic pouch. “Did you think your favorite person forgot your salmon bites? Never.”
Jett lets out a pathetic, high-pitched mew—a complete lie compared to his usual raspy, cynical grumbles—and greedily gobbles the treat right out of her palm.
I look over at Winifred, pointing a finger toward the purring black fur-ball in her mother’s arms. “Is that…is that the same cat?” I whisper to her. “The one who threatened to piss in my boots yesterday?”
Winifred snorts, her eyes dancing with amusement. “He’s a kiss-ass when it comes to my mom. Don’t take it personally.”
“We’re going to get going so we can catch Alden before his afternoon lecture,” Atticus says, checking his watch again before looking up at the two of us.
“We’ll see you both at the Everfall at seven.
” He pauses, his eyes falling on Winifred with a sudden seriousness. “We have a few things to discuss.”
Winifred’s smile falters just a fraction, her brow furrowing. “Well, that’s not cryptic at all. What things?”
Cass and Atticus exchange a quick, silent look—the kind of unspoken married communication that only comes after twenty-plus years together.
“It’ll be best discussed over dinner, honey,” Cass says gently, smoothing down the front of her velvet duster. She turns toward the door, turning back to flash us a wicked wink. “We’re off now. Don’t have too much fun down here, you two.”
“Um, Mom?” Winifred calls out, stepping forward as they head for the exit.
Cass stops, turning on her heel with Jett still snuggled securely against her chest like a newborn. “Yes?”
“I think you’ve forgotten something,” Winifred says, crossing her arms over her chest and gesturing to the furry traitor currently drooling on her mother’s vintage velvet jacket. “My cat?”
“Oh, I didn’t forget,” Cass says casually, shifting Jett into the crook of her elbow. “I’m taking him with me for a few hours.”
Winifred raises an eyebrow. “Says who?”
“Says me,” Cass replies without missing a beat, adjusting her thick glasses. “The best grandmother in the world. It’s not a crime to want to spend quality time with my grandchild, Freddie, and I know you wouldn’t be cruel enough to deprive me of it.”
“Yeah, Winifred,” Jett says smugly from Cass’s arms. “Don’t be cruel.”
Winifred lets out a disbelieving laugh, pointing at him. “You’re pathetic, you know that?”
“He’s right where he wants to be,” Cass declares cheerfully.
She turns and pushes open the brass-tinkling door, stepping out onto the cobblestone street. Atticus gives us a quick nod, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he follows closely behind his wife.
Winifred turns back around to face me, leaning her lower back against the counter while the door bell lets out its final, faint chime.
“Well,” she says, letting out a breath that blows a stray curl away from her forehead. “I hope you didn’t have dinner plans tonight.”
I laugh, stepping closer to her until the toes of my leather boots bump against hers. “Luckily, my schedule is wide open.” Then I nod toward the glass door where her parents just vanished down the street. “They seem really cool, Win. Honestly.”
A genuine smile breaks across her face. “They are. They’re the coolest. Sappy as it sounds.”
I reach out, giving her shoulder a gentle nudge with mine. “Explains you, then.”
She steps into my space, wrapping her arms around my neck and lacing her fingers behind my head, looking up at me with that signature mischievous tilt to her mouth. “Sounds like somebody has a crush.”
I smirk, my hands instinctively settling onto the soft cotton at her waist.