Chapter Eight #2
“I never said that. He just cares.” Even though he likes to act like he doesn’t.
I jab the off switch for the book, frustrated all over again.
“I know you think it’s just a pub. And you’re right; to most people, it is.
But there’s history there. My history. Just like there is in every corner of the village.
My dad was from Ennisbawn. And my grandmother and her mother and I’m pretty sure some distant cousin of John F.
Kennedy, though we don’t have any proof.
And it may not look like much when it’s gray and gross outside, but it’s a lot nicer in the summer.
We’re usually far enough from the main roads that you can’t hear any traffic, and one Christmas we had snow and it looked like a movie, and there’s a whole acre of lavender fields ten minutes away that will be bright purple by July and it’s just…
” I trail off, swallowing at the thought.
“It’s my favorite place in the whole world.
It’s my favorite place and you’re bulldozing your way through it like it’s nothing.
And if I can’t pull off this festival, I’ll think of something else.
But I won’t stop. I love my home. I can’t imagine living anywhere else and I’m not going to see anyone take it away from me just because they want a nice view for their golf course. And I don’t even—”
My breath catches, instant panic making me choke on my words as the car jerks to a sudden halt. Lights flash behind the rain-soaked windshield, the world outside obscured from view as my heart slams in my chest, and my brain scrambles to tell the rest of me that we’re okay.
Callum just pulls up the handbrake.
“What are you doing?” I ask, outraged as the rain crashes against the roof of the car. It sounds much louder now that we’ve stopped, but not loud enough that I miss the unmistakable click of the locks opening. “Are you making me get out?”
“Yeah.”
“Seriously? Just because I—” I break off, only then recognizing where I am. He’s pulled up right beside my lane. “How do you even know where I live?”
“There’s only one house on this road. I made an educated guess.” He’s staring broodily out the windshield but glances my way when I don’t move, only then noticing my erratic breathing. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, fumbling to free my belt. Adrenaline still courses through me, making my fingers shake with a fine tremor. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Hey. Wait a second.”
Nope. “I’ve got to go.” I try the handle, but it doesn’t budge, which does not help things and when I try it again and still nothing happens, my panic creeps upward, tightening my throat. “Is there a trick to this thing or do you make a habit of trapping women in cars because—”
He grabs my elbow, pulling me firmly back into the seat.
“Breathe,” he orders, watching me closely. He exaggerates his own breath, his chest rising as his lungs expand, and I follow the movement until I’m managing on my own.
“You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”
I shake my head, even though the space in the car does seem to have shrunk in the last few seconds. But I think that’s more from the effect of having his full attention on me than anything else. “I’m not great in cars,” I admit finally, and he nods.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t tell you.”
I force myself to meet his gaze, a little embarrassed that he’s witnessing what I try so hard to keep from everyone else. But he doesn’t look judgy, or concerned, or anything that would humiliate me further. He just looks. He looks at me.
The rain cloud above is a dark, swollen gray, dimming the world around us, but that only makes the glow from the temporary traffic lights all the more noticeable.
One up the road switches to orange, and I get distracted by the way it falls across him, catching the sharp angle of his face.
He obviously shaved for his date, the skin around his jaw smooth and showing off his full lips. I think I prefer the stubble.
And I almost tell him this, my brain so addled that any sense of social preservation has flown out the window.
But then his eyes drop to my mouth, and I realize I couldn’t speak even if I tried.
It’s like I’ve forgotten how to, and when he suddenly moves my way, I think he’s going to kiss me, and for one wild moment, I think I’m going to let him, but he just leans across to grab the handle instead, setting me free with a flick of his wrist.
“There’s a knack to it,” he says, his breath tickling my cheek. He sits back, waiting, and I take the hint, scrambling out before I do something stupid.
“Katie?”
“Yeah?” I turn around so fast my vision spins, not caring that my hood is down, not caring that I’m getting soaked. But Callum does. He stares at the sight of me, abandoning whatever he was going to say as he reaches into the back and grabs the umbrella.
“At least get a better coat,” he says, tossing it to me, and then he pulls the door closed with a thump and drives off into the rain.