Chapter Forty-Two Sophie #3
"You showed up to every appointment. You endured treatment after treatment. And you won, Sophie. Go celebrate this day."
◆◆◆
Callum and I haven't let go of each other since we walked out of the office. We stand near the passenger side of his truck, my arms locked around my neck and his around my waist.
Cancer-free, the words roll around my head, filling me with this buzzy, giddy feeling that makes me want to scream out in excitement. No cancer. No evidence of cancer. All of the pain, the nausea, the loss of my hair, the total disruption of my life—it was all worth it in the end.
"I love you, I love you, I love you..." Callum repeats against my hair like a vow, a promise, his voice thick with emotion.
"I love you, Callum," I laugh through tears, pressing kisses to any bit of his skin I can—his cheeks, his jaw, his warm throat. "I'm so happy."
He pulls back only enough to kiss me, deep and unashamed in the middle of this parking lot.
I can vaguely hear people walking into the building, walking to their cars, life going on, and I don't even care who sees us.
I kiss Callum back, my hands cupping his jaw, and I pour all of my love and gratitude into it.
Callum squeezes my waist once before he murmurs against my lips. "Can I show you something, baby?"
"Of course," I reply immediately.
He opens my door, lifts me like I weigh nothing, and settles me into the passenger seat. He even buckles me in with quick hands and an excited, childlike smile stretched across his face, which makes me laugh. He practically sprints around to his side before pulling out onto the road.
Twenty minutes later, we pull into a quiet neighborhood in Starling Cove that I've never been to before. He stops the truck in front of an absolutely beautiful, modest two-story Victorian house with a SOLD sign on the front lawn.
It's painted a dark mossy green and definitely needs a fresh coat, with weathered white shutters and crescent moons carved into it, giving it an almost mystical feel.
A porch with dark wooden railings and thick posts wraps around to the back.
From here, I can see a tall Maple tree with wide, lush green foliage, vibrant against the summer sun.
It looks like a fairy tale house.
I turn to Callum with a questioning look, but he just gazes at the house with a soft, nostalgic smile.
"This is my childhood home."
"Oh, Callum," I gasp, glancing back to the home I've heard so much about from Callum and Maeve. The house his father practically crafted by hand to fulfill his wife's dreams. I should have known from the moons and the unused flowerbeds in the front yard. "It's beautiful."
"I contacted the new owner and asked if I could take a walk-through.
I wanted to show it to you," Callum says, already stepping out of the truck and walking around to my side.
He holds my hand all the way up onto the porch, the wood creaking beneath our feet, and I see Callum take a deep breath before he opens the front door.
"Oh, wow..." I murmur once we step inside. Even with the low tone of my voice, it still echoes through the empty house.
While I know Callum hasn't lived in this house for almost a decade, I can still see the touches William Rhodes put in this place for his family.
As soon as you walk in, the living room is to the left.
My eyes immediately go to the large brick fireplace, bracketed by stunning built-in dark-wood shelving to fill with books and knick-knacks.
The flooring is the same hardwood, with a couple of dents and divots here and there, making it feel wonderfully lived in.
Callum guides us further into the house, showing me the dining room, where they had family dinners filled with laughter, and where his mom would read his and his dad's tarot.
The kitchen is an absolute dream, with wooden counters and cabinets painted robin's-egg blue, a huge stove, and a farmhouse sink.
"I used to press flowers for essential oils with my mom there," Callum says, pointing to the island.
He smiles as if lost in the memory, and I squeeze his hand, laying my head on his shoulder.
He laughs, "I swear the rose and lavender seeped into my pores, I was the best-smelling twelve-year-old in class. "
I laugh as I walk around the kitchen, stepping toward the door leading to the backyard.
My smile only grows when I finally see the treehouse in the Maple tree, the one he used to escape into and read for hours.
I can't help but picture Callum as a child scurrying up the ladder, weighed down by all the stories he held in his backpack.
He guides us up the staircase and points to the first bedroom on the left. It's bright and peaceful, with huge windows facing the backyard that let sunlight filter in softly.
"This was my parents' room," he says. He brings me over to the door by the window, and I inhale sharply at the bathroom.
"He designed the bathroom for my mom. The clawfoot at the Salvatore reminded me of theirs.
He had to get one that was big enough to fit him.
.. and my mom," he grimaces, making me laugh.
"I seem to remember you liking our bath," I tease, poking his stomach, and he grabs my hand, pressing a kiss to my finger.
"That's different. I don't want to think about my parents like that," he gags, and I laugh, the sound echoing as I walk further into the bathroom, spinning in a circle to see everything.
There's a walk-in shower, two sinks on green painted cabinets, and, facing the window, a beautiful marble vanity. I can picture Maeve sitting there, applying her homemade lotions and perfumes, William gazing at her from the doorway.
"He designed this whole place for her," Callum murmurs, gesturing to the bathroom and then the house itself. "He wanted to give her everything he could."
"Callum, it's gorgeous," I tell him, my voice breathless, and his smile widens, brown eyes twinkling.
He extends his hand toward me, and I take it without hesitation, letting him guide me into the bedroom directly across the hall.
It's quite a decent-sized bedroom, with a closet to the right when you walk in and huge windows facing the street.
"This was mine," his voice is low, cracking a little around the edges, and I gently squeeze his hand before I step further into the room.
It has sports-themed wallpaper, obviously, from the family who bought the house.
It's peeling at the edges, but I can't see what's underneath.
It makes me curious, wanting to envision just how he had it as a little boy.
"What color was it when you were a kid?"
"It was... a blueish green," he says, his cheeks darkening and his face turning a little shy. "Kind of like your eyes... I always loved that color."
"Flatterer."
"Truth-teller," he counters, as always.
I smile at him, glancing around and trying to picture the room as he had it. I can almost see it—the color of the walls, books scattered throughout the room, Callum doing homework on a desk in the corner.
The whole house is peaceful, and from Callum's face, I can see how much it means for him to be back here, and how tough it must have been for him and Maeve to let this place go.
A pang of envy strikes my chest as I glance around the space, already feeling so warm and cozy. My own thoughts, spurred by today's good news, prompt me to think more deeply about the future. A home with Callum, potential for kids, settling down in this town I've grown to call home.
Callum takes out his cellphone and types something on it before sliding it back in his pocket. I reach my hand out and touch the walls. I can practically feel the love William put into this house for his family seeping from them, from every crevice of this house.
I sigh wistfully, "Whoever lives in this house now is going to love it..."
His expression shifts, twitching in what looks like amusement, which immediately makes me suspicious. His eyes are bright and warm as he gazes at me from the doorway, trailing over me with pure affection.
"The new owners were really okay with us just walking through. What if we were squatters?"
"I don't think we have to worry about that," Callum says, reaching into his back pocket and producing two gold colored keys. "Because we're the owners."
I freeze, all the air leaving my lungs at once.
"You... what?"
"I bought the house," he repeats, his voice a mix of nervousness and hope that makes my heart clench. His voice is quiet when he says, "for us, Sophie."
"You... you bought the house... for us..." I repeat dumbly. I stare at the keys, then at him, then at the room, then back at him.
"Yeah," Callum says, his smile dropping a bit, and he shifts a little uncomfortably on his feet. "The family that bought the house from us is moving—their youngest son is going away to college, and they're going to follow him."
I can't do anything but stare at this man of mine.
"The realtor we worked with is friends with my mom.
When she told us they were selling, I reached out.
I made a cash offer, and they said it felt right to give it back to me.
.." he looks a little panicked now, his words stumbling over each other as he tries to explain.
"I made a cash offer and well... it's ours—if you wanted to live here. "
"You bought this house for us," seems to be the only thing I'm capable of saying right now.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, baby—I just... it's selfish, but I didn't want anyone else to buy it before I could. I promise, I'll add your name to the deed, I just didn't want to assume—"