Chapter 34
Lucy
Callum opened up to me. He lowered his guard.
He let me in.
My angst from this morning has dissipated altogether, and instead, I’m in the middle of the best afternoon I’ve ever had with a man.
After dragging him out of that park, I happily towed him to some of my favorite stores. I’ve never felt the urge to dress someone before, but I couldn’t stop myself from picking out clothes for Callum and pestering him to try things on.
Everything from designer motorcycle jackets to dark jeans and graphic t-shirts. I’m trying to loosen him up a little. Who knew the sight of Callum wandering in and out of dressing rooms with that blank expression on his face, wearing clothes I chose, would bring me such unbridled joy?
When he emerges for the final time in a formfitting dark gray suit, I don’t know how to read his expression, but I sense a strange sort of calm between us. I’m also impressed I’ve gotten this far without a single complaint. He hasn’t pushed back once. Not since I grabbed his hand in the park.
He’s not resisting me anymore.
I could stay drunk on this high forever.
He raises an eyebrow. “Hungry?”
“Starving.” My stomach perks up. “But we’re not going anywhere until we buy everything you’re wearing.”
Mesmerized by the sight of his gorgeous body wrapped in an Armani suit, I cross my legs a little tighter to prevent myself from squirming.
Callum glances down at the suit, then back up at me. “This is the one?”
I nod. “Hands down the best thing you’ve put on.”
“I wear suits all the time, Marlow.”
“Not ones I’ve chosen.”
Callum meets my eyes, and the ghost of a smile passes his lips.
My pulse leaps into my throat, and it’s not long before we’re entwining our fingers and striding down the avenue, this time with a dress bag over one of Callum’s shoulders.
Alone together like this, just walking around, we’re like a real couple.
That’s not something I’ve dared to be with anyone before, and my imagination has run wild all afternoon.
Callum doesn’t release my hand. Not when we’re sharing a humongous slice of pizza. Not when I’m feeding him ice cream out of a waffle cone. Not when we’re strolling through Central Park and stopping to rest on the stairs of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
We blend in with the scores of tourists and locals milling about in every direction. It’s so, so natural. Like breathing. I could float like this forever, reclining on a cloud of Callum’s attention.
My favorite part of our afternoon is the photos.
Every chance I get, I snap candid shots of him with my camera.
The delight of capturing moments when his guard’s down could sustain me for at least a month. I’m convinced. Who needs food or water when I’ve got this?
We wander the city like vagabonds. I don’t like crowds, but even Times Square has a certain magic to it with Callum’s hand in mine.
By the time four-thirty rolls around, we’ve ambled onto a dark side street. I thought we were still traveling aimlessly, but when Callum stops, gazing up at a white stone cathedral with stunning stained glass windows, I’m not so sure.
“Do you mind if we go in?” There’s a hint of sadness in his voice.
I smile. “Let’s go.”
He leads me into a dim, cavernous Catholic church with Gothic architecture and long shadows. Tea candles flicker in the echoing silence. The place is gorgeous. I itch to take photos, but I don’t want to be disrespectful.
Callum’s the only thing more stunning than the cathedral. His entire demeanor changes the second we step through the church doors. The tension in his tight body eases away to practically nothing.
Awe fills his usually intense, razor-sharp eyes as they flit around the nave. No one spotting him here would ever guess he’s a man who rejects vulnerability. He’s especially beautiful like this, and his wonderment wrenches something loose near my lungs.
I follow a step behind him as we wander through the middle aisle.
Halfway down, Callum pauses and turns to give me the warmest smile I’ve ever seen. “Shall we sit?”
I nod, sidestepping into the closest row and lowering myself down on the pew. We sit in comfortable quiet, the sole parishioners of this simultaneously haunting and lovely place.
Our legs align, and my hand settles on Callum’s thigh. He drops his own hand over mine. I expect him to interlace our fingers the way he’s been doing all day, but instead, he grazes over the Celtic knotwork on my bracelet.
He runs one long finger over the etchings. “You wear this a lot.”
I hum. “It’s one half of a matching set that belonged to our grandmother.” My voice is barely above a breath. Aren’t you supposed to whisper in churches? “Maya gave it to me when I graduated high school. She has the other half.”
This gorgeous man considers me for a beat before lifting one of his arms and draping it around my shoulders to slide me closer. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” My breath catches in my throat as I drop my eyes back to my lap. “It’s just that I almost lost it, not that long ago.”
“How?”
“During my captivity.” I swallow down bile. “One of the other girls tried to steal it from me. She probably thought it was valuable enough to be bartered for privileges or favor. I doubt it’s worth much money, but it’s priceless to me.”
“What did you do?” His voice softens to signal his understanding of how difficult this topic is for me.
“I fought her for it. And won.” The memory tugs at more moments from my past, all wound together in a vicious web.
“The others gave me more respect after that.” When I twist my wrist, the bracelet shifts, gleaming in the candlelight.
“Now, this old thing represents more than just my connection to my sister. It’s also a symbol of what I’ve survived. ”
Callum’s fingers graze my cheek. He brushes strands of hair behind my ear before his lips appear at my temple.
I lean into him, allowing myself to melt into his embrace. As I rest my head against his shoulder, his heady scent invades my senses. For a few seconds, perfect happiness suffuses me, and I press a kiss to his neck.
“Careful.” He pats my shoulder. “God’s watching.”
“That makes me want to give Him something to curse about.”
“Troublemaker.”
“Square.” I grin, and to my delight, he grins back before planting a kiss on my mouth. His lips linger against mine long enough that heat begins to invade my deepest, darkest corners.
When he pulls back, we’re both a little starved for oxygen. I’m tempted to grab his hand and drag him out of the church so we can find somewhere to continue this.
Callum strokes a massive palm through my hair. “Why purple anyway?”
My back stiffens. “You don’t like it.”
“I love it.”
I admit, the word “love” distracts me for a few seconds.
His hand slips down the back of my head and comes to rest on the nape of my neck. “But I know it’s not your natural color.” He offers me a warm, open smile.
“Not quite.” I hope he can’t tell how easily he thaws my frozen walls. “I cut it after Nika and Darren rescued me. I had a bad day, followed by a night of terrible nightmares and…” I shake my head in an effort to wipe away the more vivid memories.
Gasping for breath while cruel hands yank my hair like a leash…
“Anyway, I jumped out of bed like I was possessed and chopped most of it off in a fit of terror.” I exhale, calm returning to my mind.
“The next day, I found a hairstylist to help me make the best of it. We decided to dye it darker and add purple streaks for an edgier look. Thought it would suit me better. And we weren’t wrong. Social media loved it.”
Callum remains quiet through my explanation, nodding sometimes and occasionally squeezing my shoulder. Maybe it’s because we’re in a house of worship, but he regards me almost…reverently.
I’m drawn right back to that mouth of his.
When I lean in to kiss him again, his lips greet me, tender and yearning.
And when we part, it’s slower, warmer. Affectionate.
He brushes his nose against mine. “Wait here for me?”
I nod, wordless from the tenderness of this moment.
Callum gently extricates himself, rises from his place on the pew, and then floats all the way up to the altar. He folds several bills from his wallet, drops them into the offering tray, and lights three candles.
Once the flames are going strong, he steps back, head bowed in prayer.
And just like that, a new layer of affection settles over me.
I understand more about Callum Kavanagh than I did this morning.
I know that his life held little meaning for a long time. I’m sure he hasn’t felt any joy in years. After he left the military, he started protecting people through freelance work, but they weren’t the nicest clients in the world, and he only really did it for the money.
Until I met you.
My hand presses over my sternum to alleviate the sharp ache.
For Callum and that poor family that he couldn’t save.
When I rewind our interactions, the way he treated me at the beginning takes on an entirely new color.
My heart splinters a little for him.
I thought he was cold and calculating, but he was just shielding himself from more pain. And what about me? What have I been protecting myself from?
Once we’re back out on the street, he cups my cheek. “Thank you.”
I peer at him from beneath my lashes. “Somebody’s got to pray for the departed. I’m definitely no good at it—”
“Not for that.”
“Then what?”
“For surviving.” He kisses my forehead, right in front of the cathedral entrance. “Against all odds, you’re standing here with me. And I just wanted to say thank you.”