Chapter 8 #2
I glance back at Callum, and suddenly, this whole situation feels a little too intimate.
Here I am at his place, in one of his rooms, cuddling his parrot when I’m supposed to be here for work.
Don’t get me wrong—this is way more fun.
But it’s not why he asked me over. No matter how adorable this bird is, I have to focus on my job.
Especially now that Callum is finally letting me do it.
As if reading my mind, he clears his throat and says, “So, should we get started, Millie? I am very eager to develop my social media accounts, as you know.” His lips twitch more than ever, but I’m not rewarded with a smile just yet.
I bite my lip, chuckling. “My my, how the tables have turned. I knew deep down you were a social media star in the making.”
He shakes his head, but a chuckle escapes him, and then I see it. His smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, and his whole face shifts, becoming less guarded, more open. It’s like seeing sunshine after a stretch of grey skies, and the moment catches me off-guard.
I drop my arm, and Fergie squawks loudly. He flaps wildly as he launches upward, smacking me in the face with a full-on wing slap.
“Och!” Callum calls, stepping forward and placing his hand on my elbow. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, swallowing hard at the sudden proximity. “I lowered my arm.”
Fergie is now standing on a perch affixed to the wall, looking betrayed.
“He doesn’t like to be taken by surprise,” Callum says, holding out his own arm. “Aye, right then. Time to get to work. Come here, you little monster.”
Fergie flies to his forearm, and Callum helps him back inside his cage.
After one last head scratch to make sure Fergie still loves me, I follow Callum downstairs.
My consultation with Callum went surprisingly well.
I showed him how to edit videos, and we recorded a couple shots of Fergie.
Callum was focused—which is more than I could say about myself.
I tried to concentrate, I really did, but sitting at the counter with his elbow touching mine was doing something to my brain.
Something deeply unproductive. Relax, Millie, I chide myself.
The guy looks like a Greek God and treats his sweet parrot like a treasure.
So what? He’s still my colleague. Well, something akin to it, at least. Not to mention he’s Callum Murray, pro footballer.
Definitely not the boyfriend type. What am I even thinking? I need to set myself straight here.
My thoughts carry me through my grocery shopping and all the way to my flat. As I approach the entrance to my building, I notice a warm light glowing behind my curtains. I frown in surprise—then smile. Pushing open the broken front door, I walk up to the second floor and enter my flat.
Kicking off my boots, I hang up my coat and let the faint, creamy smell of garlic pull me toward the kitchen.
“Millie, honey, there you are,” he says, drying his hands on a towel before enveloping me in a hug.
My dad’s hugs are the absolute best—steady, warm, familiar. The kind of embrace that makes the rest of the world fade away, just for a second. I melt into it, my voice muffled by his shoulder. “You know you don’t have to make me dinner, Dad. Look, I got groceries.”
He laughs, the booming sound filling the small kitchen like a kettle reaching a boil. “But it’s one of my favourite things to do. You work so hard—you deserve it.”
“Thanks, Dad. It smells amazing.”
He turns back to the stove, humming contentedly as he stirs while I unpack my groceries.
“So,” he says, tossing a pinch of salt into a saucepan. “How come you’re getting in so late? Looks like I picked the right night to show up.”
“I was working with one of the players on his social media accounts. It can be tricky when you’re just starting out.”
“Don’t I know it. I still barely know how to use Facebook,” he chuckles. “Which player? You haven’t told me much about your job, and, well—” He glances at me over his shoulder, his eyes twinkling. “As a Regents fan, I was hoping for some insider info.”
I burst out laughing, leaning casually against the counter. “Ah, so that’s why you came over to cook dinner, huh?”
He rubs his beard, clearly struggling to keep a straight face. “Am I that transparent?”
I shake my head, still smiling. My dad’s been using his key to pop in and cook for me at least once a week since I moved back to London after uni. Maybe now that I’m working for the Regents, I’ll get upgraded to twice a week. I knew taking this job was a smart move.
“To answer your question, I was at Callum Murray’s place. You know, the defender? He didn’t ha—”
“Wait.” Dad freezes mid-serve, spaghetti dangling over the plate. “His place? You went to his house?”
I pivot toward the fridge to hide the blush creeping over my cheeks. “Um, yeah. It’s just easier. Fewer distractions there.”
He continues dishing up the pasta in slow motion, obviously trying to mask his alarm. He places both plates on the table with unnecessary precision.
“Isn’t that what work is for, though?” he mutters, his tone a little too serious for my liking.
“It is,” I say, slipping into my chair, “but sometimes it’s too chaotic at the training centre. It was just Callum, though. The others already have social media accounts, so it was quicker to handle theirs.”
Dad wrinkles his nose, twirling his pasta around his fork. “Still don’t like the sound of that. Plus, out of all the players on the team, he’d be the last one I’d pick for my daughter to hang out with.”
“Dad, I’m not hanging out with him. We were just working. And you don’t even know the guy,” I add quickly, stabbing a slice of garlic bread. “Thought I was here to give you the inside scoop.”
“Well, I know enough to tell you that guy is trouble. Always in the press, bad reputation—”
“That’s how the media works, Dad. You can’t believe everything they say.”
He gives me a stern look. “The number of red cards he gets on the pitch doesn’t lie, honey. Trust me. Anyway,” he says, wiping his mouth. “Have you met Finn O’Leary? Brilliant guy, that one. How’s Wade?”
Taking his cue, I tell him all about the team members and the staff, and he drinks in my every word, only interrupting to ask questions.
These are the kinds of nights I love, spending time with my dad, catching up.
But still, I can’t stop thinking about Callum, wondering if he has close family too, or if it’s just Fergie and him.