Chapter 12
Twelve
CALLUM
“ P ass us the wrench, will ya?” Em mumbles, head hidden inside the deck opening, face-first into the engine space. His hand reaches for the tool, and I drop it into his grease-stained palm. Tinkering, he huffs before saying something I don’t catch.
“You’re gonna have to speak up, bud. Can’t hear you over all that hard work.”
He jerks up, rocking back onto his heels. The wrench points at me as he says, “Don’t start something you can’t finish, Cal.”
I chuckle at him. It’s just too easy.
We’ve known each other for longer than most friendships will ever last, and I know his mind like it’s my own. And this man is so damn easy to rile.
My gaze drops to the wrench as he starts reciting every task he’s done today and some he’s yet to get to, before rattling off everything he’s missed over the years because of his job. Mainly his family.
I gotta admit, his family life can get a little hectic. But at least he has that.
Iris and I are all that’s left of our family. In the States, at any rate. Save one cousin in the city, there’s nobody else to speak of.
I’m sure I have uncles and aunts, maybe more cousins, in Scotland.
But I’ve never met them. My parents broke off all ties when they left in the middle of the night after both families forbade their relationship.
Ended up here, bought the café, and maintained the lighthouse.
They must have been happy, because that’s the only way I remember them.
“. . . You coming?”
“Hey, what?”
Em shakes his head and leans back into the engine bay, disappearing from the shoulder and up again.
“I said”—he sits back up and shuts the small door, securing the latch—“Wednesday night. Iris wants you at the café.”
“What for?”
But I already know.
Emmett’s birthday.
I don’t miss the way he won’t look at me as he scrubs a hand behind his neck. He’s always been coy around Iris. Like she makes him nervous or something. I wouldn’t put it past her. My little sister is as fiery as a woman comes.
“Yeah, sure, birthday boy.” I pack up the tools and leave Em to his humiliation.
He groans and shoves his cap back onto his head. The Coast Guard standard-issue cap has been replaced by his old faithful Yankees cap. God, that thing has seen better days.
“Bringing Eve?”
“I don’t know,” I say, sighing.
“Fuck. What did you do, McCreary?”
I slide the toolbox back onto his boat and take my time squaring it away. When I turn back, Em stands with his arms crossed over his chest. “I know that damn look. Spill it, Cal.”
Words fly up my throat and slam into the stone that formed while I was ignoring the question.
My mind flies back to the old Scots words from earlier.
The look on Evie’s face. Like, on some level, she understood them.
The same ones my father used to croon to my mother.
The way she always softened with them. If I’m honest, I never thought I’d ever use them.
Would never have the chance to use them. ..
Em takes a step forward but glances back at the lighthouse.
“Not everyone in this place thinks you’re a monster.
” His words are soft, like they’re meant to placate an injured animal.
Maybe in a way, I am. Was. It took me years to recover from what happened.
Even more to look myself in the mirror without loathing every single thing I am.
“I’ll take your word for it,” I finally breathe out.
“I mean it, Cal. It wasn’t your fault. How many times do we have to tell you this? How many years is it going to take for you to let someone else in?”
If only he knew.
We —him and Iris. The rest of this small coastal town wishes she was the one to survive, not me.
For a long time, I wholeheartedly agreed with them. Not that it made them think any better of me. If it wasn’t for Iris and Em, I’d be long gone. Besides, this island is the last connection to my parents. Our family. The last thing I have of my father.
“So . . . what happened?” Em prompts.
“We—I—I kissed her.” My throat works with the act of saying it out loud.
Em tugs the cap from his head and shoves his hand through his hair, blowing out a low whistle. “I don’t know if I’m so happy you finally let someone in or annoyed at you for jeopardizing our last hope to save the lighthouse.”
My face falls, and a shit-eating grin splits his face. He thumps a fist into my shoulder.
“Not even a choice. I’m happy for you, man. About damn time,” he says with a chuckle.
“Don’t get excited, it was a mistake. It won’t be happening again.”
No matter how desperate she had me with one kiss. Touching her. Holding her close...
My gaze is stuck on the house, and all of a sudden, I only want to be there.
“What did she say about it?” Em breaks my daydream.
“What?”
“What does Evie think about this?” Em waves a hand at me, like I’m the goddamn merchandise.
“Very funny.” I scoff. “She—actually, you know what, I don’t want to talk about it, Em.” I clap him on the shoulder and disembark the boat. He follows me.
“You can’t stay held up on this island by yourself for your entire life. Iris worries about you. She doesn’t want you to end up alone.” He’s calling out to me now as I make my way back up the dock, heading for the house.
And I’m not alone.
Not anymore.
At least for a little while.
When the Coast Guard boat fires up and the throttles purr as it chugs away, I glance back at my best friend. I know he’s right. Until I have no reason to stay, I’ll be here. If that ever changes, I might try my luck across the ocean in my homeland. Maybe track down my parents’ families...
A yearning to visit the fishing hut, to be close to my dad, flares like an old memory. Tomorrow. I’ll take off and spend the day there. I could use a day to myself.
Reaching the house, I pull my cap from my head and hesitate. I should knock.
On my own damn front door.
Fuck, Em’s right. I’ve let her in. This feels more like a date than eating my own food in my own house. I resist the urge to drop my forehead on the wooden door. Instead, I take the handle in one hand and press it down, pushing through the door.
It’s when I see Evie, flustered and looking as out of her depth as I feel, that I realize things have changed between us. They shouldn’t have. I should have been smarter about this.
I’m good at denying myself the things I want, usually.
Usually.
Until this woman.
Until Evie took over my spa?—
“Oh hey, almost ready. I think?” she pants.
I offer her a soft smile and wander to the living room. This little dinner is going to have to be two friends enjoying a meal. Nothing more.
We can’t be anything more.
Evie is rushing around the small kitchen like it’s on fire. Give it a minute and it might be, by the smell of whatever she is trying to cook in the pan. I would step in, but the girl is determined to whip up some sort of apology meal. Who am I to interfere?
The frypan sizzles violently.
She whips back, giving whatever’s in there a stir, and spins back around to resume chopping furiously.
Pieces of cucumber from the garden fly across the counter.
The house looks different. Then I see why.
Small jars of flowers are dotted around the place.
A few on the windowsills. One placed on top of the fireplace. A handful spaced out on the bookshelf.
The bright colors strike me as too familiar.
They’re from the greenhouse.
Stolen flowers for an apology dinner.
I tamp down the chuckle wanting out with that little irony. This girl is all irony. Her being here with me—ironic. For years I have lived with others’ collective opinion that no woman should be left in my care. Now, for some godforsaken reason, this one has been dropped on my island. Literally.
The spatula clatters to the floor.
Evie jumps sideways. “Shit.”
I wander around, taking in the tiny ways my house has changed since she moved in. The coffee table is turned ninety degrees to run parallel between the two sofas. I think I actually like it more. The bookshelf is... organized alphabetically. To that, I raise an eyebrow. I had a fucking system.
Geez, is nothing sacred?
The hats and coats are hung in groups; nothing tossed on the wall any old how.
Grunting, I drop onto the sofa. Three books are stacked in a neat-ass pile in the center of the coffee table.
My books.
I pluck up the first one as Evie wipes her brow with the back of her forearm.
The apron she’s wearing is pulled tight around her curves as she stands in my kitchen.
The damn sight shouldn’t raze me to the ground the way it does.
She leans over, reading something on her phone, which I’m guessing is screenshot of a recipe or something.
Her cleavage pushes against the deep V of her top, the apron doing nothing to cover her.
Fighting the boner off that’s sprung at the sight of her, I force my attention back to the book in my hands. My just friends plan is coming along brilliantly.
Fuck me.
“Ow!” A spoon clangs onto the counter.
I’m on my feet and marching for the kitchen before the next heartbeat passes.
“It’s okay, I’ve got it.” Her pleading brown eyes find mine. “Please, let me do this for you?”
Christ, this begging is going to be the undoing of me.
I fold a hand over hers and raise it between us. As I turn it over, her eyes drop to my mouth before making it to her burned hand.
What is it with this girl and burning herself?
Ushering her to the sink, I run the cold tap and guide her hand into the cool stream of water. She hisses as the water meets the sensitive area.
“No apology meal is worth this much pain,” I say.
Evie huffs a breathy laugh and her body rocks into mine as I hold her hand in the water. She’s so close.
Too damn close.
“You make a pretty good book boyfriend for a recluse, Callum McCreary.” Her words are no more than a whisper.