Chapter Nineteen #2
“We didn’t have a lot of money growing up,” he says, and I still.
“Mam was a shop assistant, Dad worked in construction. Jack wanted more. Even as a kid. You know he started a black market at school? He used to steal the multipacks of mini chocolate bars our parents bought us and sell them off at twice the price during Lent. Every year he did it until Dad found out and made him give all the money to charity. I think he was actually pretty impressed with it all, but he couldn’t tell Jack that.
He always wanted more. And he wanted it for me too. ”
“That’s why you work together?” I guess, and he nods.
“We both started in construction. Dad took us along on jobs when we were still teenagers. And I loved it, I did, but it wasn’t enough for Jack.
He went on to college, got his degrees, talked his way into internships and moved his way up from there.
He wants to run the company someday. Or start his own.
He used to always talk about the two of us starting new somewhere in a few years.
Building our own thing from the ground up. ”
“But that’s not what you want.”
“No.” He looks close to laughing. “No, I want… I don’t know.
Money would be nice, sure. The security that comes with that.
But I’m happiest working on my own projects.
Smaller ones. That’s my plan. Get a couple of guys together, keep it small.
My own hours, my own time.” He smiles then, like it makes him happy just thinking about it.
“I think the last few weeks was the push I needed to make me see that.”
“Well,” I say, crossing my arms against the bar. “I think that deserves a toast. Or at the very least, a shot.”
“A shot?”
“Why not? It’s a Saturday night.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
“Is it?” I ask innocently, and he laughs.
“Alright then.” He says it like he’s humoring me. “What you got?”
I gesture grandly to the series of bottles on the shelf behind me. He points to the vodka.
“Excellent choice.”
“You’re having one too?” he asks, as I set out two glasses.
“We closed thirty minutes ago,” I tell him. “I’m off the clock.” I pour our drinks, and slide Callum’s toward him before toasting it with mine.
“Cheers,” he mutters, and we knock them back.
I keep my eyes open and on him the entire time, enjoying the sight of him, the way his throat moves when he swallows, the sound of the empty glass when he sets it down, the swipe of his tongue when he licks his lips.
“Another?” I ask, and he laughs again.
“I feel like you’re trying to get me drunk.”
“I’m just really good at my job.” I hold up the bottle, and he shakes his head.
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. You go ahead though. You deserve it.”
I do, don’t I?
And though I’d have much preferred to watch him again, I still enjoy the warmth of the liquid moving through me as I set the bottle back on the shelf. When I turn back, it’s to find Callum watching me,
“Yes?” I ask, and he grins.
“I forgot. I’m not allowed to look at you.”
“You can look at me now,” I tease. “Men who make grand gestures can look at me all they want.”
“Good to know,” he murmurs, as I join him back at the bar. “You really love this place,” he says. “Don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, it’s hard work. Weird hours.
But I don’t want to do anything else. I rarely want to be anywhere else.
Even when I’m not on the clock, I’m here.
” I tense a bit as soon as I say the words, remembering the conversation I had with Gemma and Nush that first day at the barn.
Although, it felt more like an interrogation at the time.
“I guess that makes me kind of boring, huh?”
He gives me a strange look. “Why would that make you boring?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, feigning nonchalance, even as self-consciousness chips away at me. “Small town girl. Small town dreams. It’s not a lot, I know.”
“Being passionate about something doesn’t make you boring,” he says. “It makes you the complete opposite.”
He holds my gaze far too seriously for me not to believe him, and I fight the urge to squirm under his attention.
“What if I was passionate about laundry,” I hedge.
“Is this a ‘would you still love me if I was a worm’ conversation?” he asks, and before I can even begin to react to the casual L word drop, he continues on.
“Katie, you could tell me that your sole interest in life is snail migration, and I’d listen to every word you say so long as your eyes light up like that. ”
Okay, well, that’s weirdly sweet. “What are you passionate about?” I ask.
He doesn’t even think about it. “Concrete.”
“ Concrete ? As in the gray stuff?”
“The gray stuff that built the modern world? That was born in the bowels of volcanoes? Forged by the eruptions of earth? Used for thousands of years by—”
“Okay,” I interrupt, but I’m smiling as I say it. “You’re a concrete guy.”
“The biggest,” he says solemnly. “We exist and we matter.”
My smile widens, and his eyes drop to it, and all I can think about is how I basically mauled the guy in the forest the other day. And how much I want to do it again.
Danny was my last customer, and he left over an hour ago. Adam left soon after that when I told him I’d close up. And I need to close up. I need to mop and take the trash out and go home to my bed. I need to. But I don’t want to. Not yet.
“You done?” I ask, nodding to his empty glass.
“Yes.”
“Then come on.” I step back, feeling a little giddy as I gesture to the back door. “I want to show you something.”