Chapter Ten Callum #2
Paul had once been lucky enough to have loved Sophie and be loved by her. That sweet, beautiful girl who smiled with her whole face and bravely shared her soul with a room full of strangers—now her friends.
My hands tighten on the steering wheels as I remember her words.
The way she seemed to shrink in the seat next to mine. She looked so unsure, almost embarrassed, and I wanted to tell her—no, you don't feel shame. The only one who should be ashamed is Paul.
He cheated on her after she was diagnosed with cancer. He couldn't handle the fact that Sophie would lose her breasts in order to save her own life? What the hell is wrong with him?
My jaw tightens, my blood pressure spiking from the anger pulsing through me. Was Sophie not a person to him? Was she not the woman he was ready to marry? She would still be Sophie without her breasts—still sweet and soft and real.
If I had someone like Sophie...
If I had Sophie...
I picture her sweet face while smiling kindly at my mom, entrancing Plot the Beast, laughing so damn free and beautiful when I put my foot in my mouth, smiling at me even though she's been hurt. The respect and admiration for her runs deep, sharpening my irritation toward Paul.
I understood that Paul was a coward and would take the path of least resistance, the one that cost him nothing. I knew he was selfish—but this? Jesus. This is so much worse than I ever imagined.
Not just weakness, this is pathetic.
What kind of man looks the woman he claims to love in the eye as she's scared and tells her that he cheated because her body is going to change? What kind of man betrays the woman he loves so viciously when she needs him more than ever?
Cheating has never made sense to me.
Maybe I'm naive, or maybe I really am a hopeless romantic like Tonya says. I guess I can't help it, not after watching the way my dad used to look at my mom, like no one and nothing came close.
And he threw it all away for what? A fleeting comfort? A momentary escape? Lust?
I've had sex before, and it was... fine.
I guess the one thing I've wanted has always been a true connection. I've had sex without love. But I want sex with the woman I love.
I lost my virginity to a woman I dated when I was twenty, and I liked her.
We'd been seeing each other for a couple of months, and I thought maybe sex would be the bridge to deeper feelings.
By connecting with her in the most intimate way possible, maybe love would bloom naturally between us.
It didn't. Our relationship naturally fizzled out a couple of months later, and we parted amicably.
I’ve dated a few more women here and there, but after my dad passed, my focus shifted to the store.
The years passed, and I’m still seeking something real, but my mom had cautioned that love couldn't be hunted down.
That if I sprinted toward it, tried to force it, it would only slip further from reach.
Patience. My person is out there, somewhere in the world. I would find them when I least expected it, and that would make the timing right.
So, I focused on building—the business, the book club, and true friendships. I’ve never felt like something was missing from my life without romance. In fact, my life is quite whole, and I like who I am, and I know what I want.
I think it’s important for people to know themselves fully before they belong to someone else.
I have good friends, both in the book club and my best friends, Jack and Oliver, even though they moved from Starling Cove after high school.
Jack joined the military after graduation. His home life was rough, and his parents planned to kick him out when he turned eighteen. Mom offered him a room in our house, but he said he needed to make it on his own. He's stationed in North Carolina now, dating a woman named Samantha.
Oliver, on the other hand, is a true brainiac. Graduated Valedictorian of our class and went on to Harvard for medical school. He's in Houston completing his Emergency Medicine residency, but he's hoping to move back to Massachusetts when he's done.
We have weekly calls together to catch up, make sure we're all doing well, and see if we need anything. Their friendships are very valuable to me. They were there when I had no one, and I was there when they were new and alone. They flew right home for me after my dad died. No hesitation.
I have everything I could ever really need in my life. My mom is healthy and happy. I have a safe home, fulfilling work, hobbies I love, and a strong circle of friends.
So when I do enter a relationship, I want it to be the right one. I want to know in my bones that it's the woman I want to marry and have a family with. I just don't think I've ever met a woman who understood me to my core and accepted me as I am.
The women in the book club get me, but definitely not like that.
April is way too young.
Bailey is already dating a lawyer named Michael, who worships the ground she walks on, and is apparently looking to propose within the next year.
Jane and Atticus are clearly in love with each other.
Dating Tonya would be like dating my sister.
Not to mention the fact that she's a lesbian and still grieving for her wife.
Tonya puts on a brave front—abrasive, sarcastic, and tough as nails—but I know what's beneath the surface.
Her wife died a couple of years ago in a sudden and rather violent car accident, killed by a drunk driver.
From what she's told me, she didn't just grieve—she unraveled. For a year, she could barely function. It wasn't until a friend dragged her to a grief support group that she began to find a way forward.
That's where I met her. This blunt, tattooed woman spoke about her wife like she was the best part of her world and wore sarcasm like armor. She and her wife had been married for 10 years, and one careless man ended that love story in an instant.
I've seen firsthand what love can do—the joy it brings, and the devastation it leaves behind when it's ripped away. If I'm going to risk falling, I want it to be for something real and with the right person.
I want to fall in love with someone and cherish her the way my dad cherished my mom. I want to make sure she knows, every single day, that she's loved and that she's safe with me. I want to make her happy.
And I want her to understand me and what the store means to me. I want her to love reading so we can talk about books for hours. I want her to be kind to everyone, no matter who they are or where they come from.
I want her to accept my mom as she is—not to agree with everything, but to love her anyway. I want her to accept that I don't want to leave this town for bigger and better things.
That was the reason one of my last relationships ended. Heather thought I lacked ambition because I had no interest in turning Rivers & Rhodes into a chain. I just want to stay here, in my little corner of the world, with my mom, my store, and my friends.
I want to be accepted as I am. I want what my mom and dad had.
I want...
... dark hair, wide blue-green eyes, the most beautiful smile I've ever seen...
Pulling into my usual spot near the store, I turn the engine off and head back inside. Shutting off the lights and locking up, I head to the PRIVATE door and walk upstairs to the apartment.
It's a spacious three-bedroom, plenty of room for us, decorated by my mom and filled with some old furniture and trinkets from my childhood home.
After my dad died, my mom said she felt the house was too big and too empty, and wanted to sell it.
I had been living on my own in an apartment when he passed, but had been staying with her here and there after the funeral.
I didn't want her to be alone, so I broke my lease and started construction on our apartment.
For the house, we waited for the right buyers, and when a young family with two boys inquired, we sold it to them.
They loved the house that my dad had poured so much love into, making it my mom's dream home.
Mom had said things like that should be passed down to those who need them, not kept out of fear or sentimentality.
While it was bittersweet, it made me happy to think that those boys would be able to use the treehouse that my dad carefully constructed for me with love, creating their own memories.
When I step into the apartment, mom is sitting on her chair in the living room, a cup of tea in one hand and a copy of Garden Witchery in the other. She doesn't even look up when she asks, "How was the club?"
"Sophie came," I say, smiling without even thinking. Plot watches me from his perch on the cat tree in the corner, his yellow eyes narrowed in judgment.
Mom hums. "I like that little dove."
My chest warms and I whisper, "Me too."
"She's been hurt," she murmurs, turning another page. Her eyes stay on the book, but her voice is quiet.
There's a beat of silence. I force out the truth, though it sticks in my throat. "She has cancer, Mom."
Mom pauses for a second, then nods, knowing, not the specifics, probably, but Mom always had a way of just sensing and feeling things.
Dad used to say she was too empathetic for her own good.
She always said she'd rather feel too much than not enough, and he loved her for that sensitive heart of hers, even if he hated seeing it broken.
"Our dove is strong," Maeve murmurs now, closing her book with care and placing it gently on the coffee table like it's something sacred.
She rises from her chair, her long black cardigan swaying around her legs, and turns to me with a look far more serious than I've seen in a while. "You need to be sure, Callum."
The usual dreamlike lilt to her voice is gone, replaced by something more urgent.
"She has a tough road ahead—she's going to look different, she's going to feel different. She might try to pull away. She'll be tired. She might fall into depression. This journey won't be easy. Do you feel ready for that?"
Her words don't scare me.
Instead, I feel... resolved.
I remember being vulnerable about my feelings with Sophie, speaking about my dad in a way I haven't been able to in so long. Not afraid to sound odd, delusional, or naive.
And she didn't laugh or scoff or roll her eyes at me. She was open, smiled, and thanked me, as if she needed those words like she needed air. She made space for me, and I made space for her. Completely judgment-free and safe.
"Yes," I say simply, and I mean it. More than anything.
I know the feelings I have toward her are a crush. I'm old enough to acknowledge that, but I will be whatever she needs me to be. I will be her friend, a steady rock for her to lean on, a chauffeur if she needs it.
A cheerleader, a support system, a friend.
I will show up. I will stay.
And Sophie—in any capacity—is a gift I'd be lucky to hold.