Chapter 23
Callum
I barely slept, my mind playing yesterday’s events on a loop.
Our walk around the lake, that stupid paparazzo, and that kiss…
I miss everything about her, even though it’s only been a few hours.
Is she okay? I wish I could see her now, but I’m the one who announced we should stop this fake dating thing—and for good reason—so I have no excuse to see her today.
It’s late morning, and I’m slouched on the couch with Fergie perched beside me. We’re watching the music channel, some synth-heavy dance track bouncing through the speakers. He’s tiptoeing along the back cushion in time with the beat, head bobbing like he’s the DJ, when my brother rings me.
“Looks like someone had a good Valentine’s Day.” Alec grins into the camera as soon as I answer.
“Hello to you too,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face.
“Seriously. It even made the news here.”
“Right.” I sink further into the couch, resting my head against the top. I steal a quick glance at Fergie, who’s now spinning in a lazy circle, still dancing like he’s on stage at Glastonbury.
“Wait. No way,” Alec exclaims suddenly, and my eyes snap back to the screen.
“What?”
His expression is brimming with disbelief. “You really like this girl, don’t you?”
My heart quickens. “Millie? No—”
He levels me with a pointed look borrowed from our mother.
“Millie pretty,” Fergie chimes in, tilting his head to look at me.
“It’s not her,” I tell Fergie, then focus back on Alec again, who’s still staring at me with that accusatory look, expecting an answer.
“Fine,” I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m doomed, mate. I should have never accepted this fake dating thing. Millie will be the death of me.”
“Admit it. You’re in love, bro,” he says, leaning back with the dramatic satisfaction of someone who’s been waiting to say it out loud.
“Callum in love,” Fergie repeats, right on cue, tapping his beak against the couch.
“Stop havering. I’m not,” I grumble to both of them before standing up to fetch myself some water.
“Oh, yeah. You’re in deep. I don’t know whether to be excited or terrified.”
I glare at the phone. “Thanks.”
“Hasn’t happened to you since Eleanor, right?”
I stop, thinking. If I’m being honest, it wasn’t even like this with Eleanor. Millie is different. I have this pull to be near her, to get to know her, to see her smile. I’m addicted to her laugh and the way her cheeks flush when she’s embarrassed.
“Earth to Callum,” Alec says, flashing his hands in front of the screen.
I groan, leaning my elbows on the kitchen island. “Is that why you called? To torment me? Or do you actually have something useful to say?”
“Door number one, mostly.” He grins. “But I’ve got to run anyway. This was fun.”
“Bye,” I mutter as the screen goes black.
Fergie flutters toward me, landing on the counter. I scratch his head absently, and he clicks his beak in bliss, then says, “Callum in love.”
“No, stop. I’m not.”
But Fergie being Fergie, the word has little weight to it. He takes off again, circling the room as he sings it louder—like a victory chant. “Callum in loooove.”
I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. Just then, something glints on the living room carpet, catching the late morning sunlight.
I walk over and crouch, brushing my fingers over the plush fibres until I find it—one of Millie’s heart-shaped earrings.
I hold the tiny piece in my palm like a precious treasure.
She must have lost it when she came here for Princess’s video.
A strange tightness grips my chest at the reminder of our pillow fight.
Looking down, I study the earring again.
She might need this. Or wonder where it is. Maybe it has sentimental value. Yeah. You know what? I think I should bring this to her. Just in case.
I take Fergie back to his cage. After tossing on a clean sweatshirt, I head down to the garage—Fergie still chanting “Callum in love” in the distance.
Millie
I’m freaking out here.
It’s been seventeen hours since I kissed Callum, and I’m still not over it. How tender his lips were, how warm his hands felt on my waist, how everything else vanished for a few blissful seconds.
I’ve been debating whether to call Roxy since I woke up. She’d absolutely say “I told you so,” which is always annoying, but she also went through the same thing. Well, her guy was actually interested in her, so maybe not exactly the same thing, but still… She might have some insight.
The doorbell rings, jerking me out of my spiraling thoughts. I shuffle to the door, and when I peer through the peephole, my shoulders drop in relief.
“Dad,” I say, opening the door wide. “What are you doing here?”
He gives me a bright smile, juggling two overstuffed grocery bags in his arms. “Thought a home-cooked Sunday lunch was long overdue.”
“Really? You know, I am capable of feeding myself.” I sigh, stepping back to let him in.
“Yeah,” he mutters as he walks past me. “Ice cream. I saw.”
Oh boy. So that’s why he’s here.
“Dad, it was nothing,” I say, trailing behind him into the kitchen. “I told you, we were just pretending. But you’ll be happy to hear we’ve stopped. Yesterday was the last, um, date.”
“Good to hea—Millie, what’s that on your cheek?” His eyes widen in alarm.
I slap my hand over the tender spot. “Nothing. Just a little cut.”
He narrows his eyes. “Millie Beatrice Templeton, tell me what happened.”
I groan and drag out a chair, dropping into it dramatically, like my limbs have given up. “We had a small encounter with the paparazzi yesterday. I got hit by a phone or a camera or something. But as you can tell, it’s extremely minor.”
His face flushes a deep red. “This is unacceptable. I’m going to your workplace tomorrow to speak to your boss. And that Callum Murray! What do they think they’re doing, putting you in danger like that?”
I spring to my feet. “Dad, I already told you, it’s nothing. My boss doesn’t even know about this. And it’s over, anyway. So let’s just move on.” I walk to the counter and grab the chopping board, softening my tone. “Can I help with the gravy?”
He shoots me a side glance, and I respond with my most innocent smile. His shoulders slump with a defeated sigh.
“You can cut the veggies.”
We ease back into less sensitive topics—his new flowers, his neighbour’s new car, a recent episode of his favourite detective show—and I can practically feel the tension draining from him minute by minute.
Cooking with my dad wasn’t how I pictured spending my Sunday morning, but honestly? There’s no better remedy to keep my mind from spiraling.
Before long, the whole apartment fills with the warm, comforting smell of roasted meat and buttery herbs, making both our stomachs growl in an unspoken competition.
Thankfully, the oven timer dings, and it’s finally time to eat.
I wave Dad to the table and grab the serving spoon. I’m just sitting down and forking my first piece of meat when the doorbell rings again.
“Are you expecting someone?” Dad asks, setting his fork down and glancing toward the door.
“No, maybe a neighbour,” I say, standing up. Although to be honest, my neighbours and I aren’t exactly on “borrowing sugar” terms. I don’t even know their names.
Glancing through the peephole, I freeze when I see him. He’s wearing dark jeans, a fitted black jumper, and that familiar black coat. And somehow, he looks even better than yesterday. Sucking in a deep breath, I open the door.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my fingers curling around the doorframe for support.
He rakes a hand through his hair, his gaze soft. “Found this on my carpet,” he says, holding up my heart-shaped earring between two fingers. It looks tiny in his hand.
“Oh.” I blink, my heart sinking faster than I care to admit. For one silly second, I thought maybe he came here because he couldn’t live without me and just had to see me today. I really have to get over him, stat. “Thanks. You could have given it to me tomorrow.”
“Right,” he says, shifting on his feet. “I thought you might need it or something.”
A chair scrapes behind me, and Callum’s eyes flick toward the sound, his brows tightening. “You have company. Sorry, I—”
“Who is—oh. Good afternoon.” Dad steps into view, his sharp gaze latching onto Callum like he’s scanning for weaknesses. “You’re Murray, right? I’m William Templeton, her dad.”
“Right, sir,” Callum says, straightening his back as he offers his hand. They shake in stiff silence.
“I just came to return Millie’s—”
“It’s not important,” I interrupt quickly, stepping between them. The last thing I need is my dad asking why Callum has my earring in the first place. “Have you eaten yet? We made Sunday roast.”
Callum shuffles his feet. “Um, no, but I don’t want to—”
“In that case, come on in,” I say brightly, swinging the door wider and stepping aside to gesture him in.
We meander back to the kitchen, and I grab a plate for Callum.
“It smells really good in here,” he says as I’m making up his plate.
“So, you’re the one responsible for my daughter’s new cheek?” Dad says, not missing a beat.
My shoulders stiffen, spoon still hovering over the roast. “Dad…”
“Yes,” Callum replies calmly, turning to face him. “I am.”
I spin around. “No, he’s not, Dad, stop it,” I say, my voice a shade lower than usual. Why doesn’t he listen to me? I’m not completely clueless. And besides, this is my life.
“I’m terribly sorry about what happened, sir.” Callum’s voice is measured and polite, but I can hear the tension lurking underneath.
I finish arranging the food on his plate, probably too quickly, and place it in front of him with a clink. “It’s not your fault, Callum.” I fix my dad in a glare. “Dad, I told you what happened. Now please—”
“And why were the paparazzi there in the first place?” Dad presses, narrowing his eyes.
“Exactly,” Callum mutters, nodding in agreement.
Dad frowns, then bobs his head, seemingly satisfied. “At least you take responsibility for your actions.”