Chapter 22
Callum
Millie looks stunning today, and for the first time in my life, I wish I was on a real date.
I nearly lost my breath when she stepped out of her building in a red jumper with pink hearts, a pleated skirt that swishes with every step, and thick tights tucked into her heeled ankle boots.
Her cheeks are slightly flushed, complementing her outfit.
“Verdict on the ice cream?” I ask, scooping another spoonful. We’re standing in a corner of the packed ice cream shop, where couples and families alike are lingering with their cones and cups. Everyone in London seems eager to try this new place. Apparently, cold on cold does work.
She moans, the spoon still in her mouth. “It’s delicious, and I’m a hard sell. You can really tell it’s homemade with proper ingredients, not the usual chain stuff. I hope they have a loyalty program.”
I chuckle, tasting mine again. She’s right. It’s creamy, not overly sweet, with just the right balance of flavour. “I see what you me—”
Someone bumps into me, jostling my arm.
“Sorry,” the girl mumbles. She glances over her shoulder with a wince before disappearing into the crowd.
“Maybe we should just walk outside?” Millie suggests, nudging her head toward the door. “It’s not that cold, and Hyde Park is just around the corner.”
I nod, grateful for the chance to escape the crowd. We squeeze our way through the sea of people and slip back out through the double doors. The winter sun greets us outside, weak but present, its rays bringing a touch of warmth to the crisp air. Our breath puffs out in soft clouds as we walk.
Millie pauses, carefully balancing her cup of ice cream in one hand. “Can you hold this for a sec?”
I take it from her, the cold seeping into my fingers as she tightens her scarf and buttons up.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I ask. “We could always go back to my car. I’m used to being outside regardless of the weather, but you’re not.”
“Oh, absolutely,” she chirps, her eyes gleaming. “It’s a beautiful day. Might as well enjoy it.”
We continue our stroll toward Hyde Park, and the scenery opens up around us. The path winds between clusters of bare trees and patches of brittle grass, but the space is alive with people—couples meandering hand in hand, kids playing tag with flushed cheeks, dogs tugging on their leads.
“I love Hyde Park,” Millie sighs. “I used to come here to feed the ducks and geese every Sunday with my dad.”
“I’ve never been here before,” I admit, adjusting my grip on my cup.
Her eyes snap to mine. “You’re kidding. How long have you lived in London?”
“Eight years.”
“Stop it,” she says, shoving my arm. “How is that possible?”
I shrug, giving her a half-smile. “Do I look like a park guy? Besides, the paparazzi follow me everywhere. Parks aren’t that peaceful when there’s a lens pointed at your face.”
She releases a long breath. “Yup. I see them.”
I frown and glance around. “Where? I didn’t even realise they’d found us.” Which is alarming, because I can usually feel them before I see them. Either my paparazzi radar’s broken… or I’m just too focused on Millie to care.
“Over there,” she murmurs, nodding toward a fountain further ahead. “But we knew they’d be here. That’s why we came out in the first place, right?”
A surge of heat shoots through me. “Yes, of course,” I mutter. But the truth is, even if this wasn’t for show, I’d still want to be here. With her.
Millie offers me a faint smile and adjusts her scarf again. “Just ignore them. Should we walk around the lake?”
“Okay,” I say, falling into step beside her.
“How’s your ice cream?” she asks after a while, her voice soft and playful.
“Tasty.” I glance at her. “Is that your way of asking if you can try it?”
Her eyes glint with mischief. “Maybe.”
I chuckle and slow my steps, holding my cup toward her. She dips her spoon into it, her fingers brushing mine briefly, and takes a bite.
“Oh my gosh,” she moans. “It’s even better than mine. Why didn’t I pick this one?”
I laugh, delighted by her reaction. “Can I?”
She nods and extends her cup to me. I taste hers—strawberries and cream with a drizzle of chocolate sauce, sweet and tangy all at once.
“Not bad. But mine’s better,” I say with a smug grin.
“Yeah it is.”
We start walking again, the gravel of the pathway crunching under our shoes, and I glance at her just in time to see her stealing a spoonful from my cup.
“Hey!” I scold her playfully. “Thief.”
An older couple walking ahead of us glance back with matching reproachful scowls, clearly unimpressed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Millie says, feigning innocence.
But seconds later, she does it again.
This time I’m prepared. I catch her wrist and make her twirl.
She stumbles slightly, and before I know it, she’s pressed against my chest, caught in a loose hold that feels suspiciously like an embrace.
My breath catches, and I drop my guard for a second.
She uses it against me. In the blink of an eye, she turns around and smears a cold streak of ice cream across my cheek.
She’s slightly out of breath as she steps back, her eyes glinting with an unspoken challenge.
I narrow mine and fight a smile. “I hope you can run fast.”
Her eyes fly wide, as though she just realised what she’s done. “Oh no,” she mutters—then she bolts.
Giggles pour from her lips as she runs, cradling her cup of ice cream like a sought-after prize.
She zigzags between people on the path, the hem of her coat flapping, her laughter trailing behind her like bursts of confetti.
When she veers onto the grass, her boots skid on the damp earth, and she yelps.
I take another slow bite of ice cream, savouring the taste before finally jogging after her.
It doesn’t take me long to catch up. I grab her around the waist with one arm, lifting her off the ground for a second. She kicks gently, her laughter breathless. Her perfume fills the air between us again—soft and warm. But this time, I keep my focus.
“Sorry, I’ll stop,” she pants through fits of giggles. “Please, I have no cardio.”
I chuckle as I set her back down with care. She stays close, her chest brushing mine, then places a hand on my chest like she needs the support to stay upright.
“If you have no cardio, then you’d better stop challenging me,” I say, shaking my head.
“I don’t know why I did that,” she says between breaths. “You’re a freaking footballer.”
“Aye, not the smartest move,” I tease. “Especially since you could have just asked.”
Our gazes lock, and once again, every cell in my body is overwhelmed by the need to kiss her. Her lips part slightly, still pink from the cold, and the urge to press my lips to hers becomes unbearable. All I’d have to do is lean forward, close the distance between us, tilt her chin and—
A kid screams in the distance, and I compose myself, taking a step back.
“But that wouldn’t have been nearly as fun,” she says with a mischievous grin.
“Says the girl who can barely speak after running a hundred feet.”
“Fair point.” She bats her lashes. “So… can I have more of your ice cream? Please?”
I rub a hand over my beard, pretending to consider it. “After that stunt you pulled? I don’t think so.”
Her jaw drops. “But you said—”
“I’m kidding, Templeton.” I hold my cup toward her. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“See? I knew you were a softy,” she says, beaming as she dips her spoon into my ice cream.
I shake my head, watching her enjoy another spoonful. But she’s probably right.
We finish our circuit around the lake without further incident—meaning I let Millie finish the entire cup of ice cream—and my heart sinks when we reach our starting point.
I’m tempted to suggest we keep walking, just one more loop, but her nose and cheeks are rosier than ever, and I don’t want her catching a cold.
“Callum! You enjoying Valentine’s Day with your girlfriend?” a paparazzo calls, seemingly springing from out of nowhere. He’s followed by at least ten of his colleagues, who spill onto the path like a wave of flashing cameras and noise.
“What’s her name?” one demands.
“How long have you been together?” asks another.
They crowd around us, phones and cameras flashing in our faces. I instinctively wrap an arm around Millie’s shoulders, pulling her close. She doesn’t look frazzled, but I can feel the tension in her body.
“Leave us alone,” I growl while attempting to guide us through the chaos.
“Are you taking her somewhere special tonight?”
“Is it serious?”
They keep peppering us with questions, even as I give them the silent treatment, and my entire body goes rigid. Why can’t they just leave us alone?
“Are you in love with Callum?” a bearded guy asks, shoving his camera into Millie’s face.
“Out of the way,” I snap. “Don’t talk to her.”
“I’ll talk to her if I want to,” the guy retorts, still filming. “Just answer, miss. Then we’ll leave you alone.”
I grab Millie’s hand, and we pick up our pace, weaving between the pushy paparazzi. The sooner we reach my car, the better.
“Are you in love with Callum?” the bearded guy repeats. He shoves the camera forward, but this time, he misjudges the distance and hits her face.
All I see is red.
I knock his hand away, sending his camera flying to the pavement with a sharp crack. “You stupid—”
“Callum, it’s okay,” Millie says quickly, tugging my arm. “Let’s just keep going.”
“Ah, you’re still here, Callum,” someone else calls. “Thought we lost you for a minute.”
“Do you like bad boys, Millie?”
“Yeah, Callum. You play the nice guy, but the real you’s still hiding underneath, innit?”
Millie squeezes my hand again, but I barely feel her touch. All my senses are drowned out by their stupid faces and how much better they’d look smashed on the ground.
“You broke my camera,” the bearded guy snarls, lunging forward again. “Why do you always feel the need to resort to violence? Were you messed up as a child?”
I stop dead in my tracks, my rage boiling over. “I’m—”
My words die in my throat when I notice the red spot on Millie’s cheek. “You’re bleeding.” I ball my fists. “I’m going to k—”
Millie’s hands are now cradling my face, forcing me to look at her.
Then, without a word, she leans toward me.
The second her lips touch mine, my world tilts, and everything else fades to nothing.
The noise, the paparazzi’s faces, the flashing cameras.
It all vanishes, replaced by the comfort and warmth of her kiss as all my tension melts away.
She wraps her arms around my neck, and I hold her tight.
This kiss is everything I dreamed of and more.
It’s joy, it’s relief, it’s comfort. It’s peace.
But soon, too soon, she breaks away and looks at me with a knowing smile. That’s when I realise the paparazzi have stopped harassing us, too focused on filming the moment and snapping pictures.
The bearded guy pipes up again. “You broke my camera.”
Millie snaps at him before I can. “Back off, or I’m pressing charges. You’re going to let us leave—now.”
Still holding my hand, she hurries down the sidewalk. The paparazzi follow, of course, but the jeering stops.
“Sorry about that,” she says once we slide into the car. She exhales sharply, her hands trembling. “I really didn’t want you to break one of those guys in two. And we’ve already established that I don’t think well under pressure.”
“Right,” I murmur, starting up the engine. As it roars to life, my hands tighten on the wheel. Here, I’d given into the tiny hope that she kissed me because she wanted to. Not because she was worried about the press or my temper. “It’s fine.”
“Good. I didn’t want you to think I was assaulting you or anything,” she says, her laugh a little too high-pitched.
I pull into traffic, forcing myself to focus. “Yeah. Are you okay? I should take you to the hospital.”
“Don’t be silly,” she says, examining her cheek in the vanity mirror. “It’s just a little cut. I’ll clean it out at home.”
“Still…” I glance at her. “It might be better if we put an end to this fake dating thing. It’s not worth all this. Told you it could get nasty. You have no idea how far they went with my ex-girlfriend. That’s why I didn’t—” I cut myself off, my jaw clenched.
“You had a girlfriend?” she asks.
“Yeah. A long time ago, but the press were awful to her. Followed her home, showed up at her job, printed things from her private life she didn’t want surfacing,” I say, swallowing hard. “She eventually left me—and London. I don’t want that to happen to you, Millie.”
She’s quiet for a moment, then bobs her head slowly. “You’re right. It’s probably safer to stop.”
I grip the wheel until my knuckles turn white. If only I’d had the sense to end this before it got this far. Or better yet, never started it at all.
Because now that I know what Millie’s lips feel like on mine. Now that I’ve held her in my arms…
I have no idea how I’m supposed to walk away from her.