3. Callum
CHAPTER 3
CALLUM
Two Weeks Later
I’ve spent the past two weeks coming up with every ass-backward excuse I can think of to see Maisie. I’ve been checking her schedule, asking about feed orders I already know the answer to, pretending I needed help with a horse I trained myself, and bringing Hunkleberry by to watch her swoon.
I’m not proud of it, but I’m not exactly ashamed either… This is my best attempt at taking things slow, and I hate it. But today is a new low. I take a deep breath before I knock on the door to Maisie’s apartment.
Showing up at an employee’s place isn’t exactly standard protocol at Kingridge Ranch. If my brothers find out, they’ll roast me alive, especially Bowen and Alex. Ever since those two settled down with Cassidy and Priya, they’ve gone straight-laced all of a sudden.
It wasn’t a huge shock with Alex, I guess. But I would’ve never thought that my twin would be by-the-book. It’s like Bowen forgot about how we used to sneak out to chase girls and trouble. Rules never meant much to us back then, and they sure as hell don’t now. Not when I can’t go a day without thinking about Maisie.
It isn’t just my brothers, there are about a million other reasons I should stay away from her. She’s too sweet for me. Too kind and innocent. Hell, she’s probably too young. Not young enough to keep me from knocking on her door.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I’ve got a bad habit of chasing women who’ll never want me the way I want them, and Maisie has my full attention.
But when the door to the apartment swings open, it’s her sister Rosalie who greets me, and she looks like hell. Her eyes are sunken, her skin pale, and her hair is piled up in a messy bun that looks like it hasn’t been brushed in days. She’s wrapped in a fuzzy bathrobe and holding a mug with something steaming inside. Rosalie works for me too, but she’s been out for a few days, and now I can see why.
“Hey,” I say, lifting a hand. “Feeling any better?”
Her eyes narrow. Then she glances down at her robe and makes a dramatic sweeping gesture like she’s about to take the stage.
“Oh yeah. Living my best life,” she deadpans.
I blink. “Right. Cool… Good luck with that. Is, uh… is Maisie around?”
“Yeah, she’s in the kitchen.” Rosalie pauses for a moment, staring at me with wide eyes.
We normally get along pretty well. But today, all she gives me is a final tortured look before disappearing down the hall like a wraith. She closes the door to her bedroom with a thud. All I can think is that Dawson, Rosalie’s boyfriend? Ex-husband? I can’t keep it straight. But whoever he is, the dude has his hands full with that one.
Inside, the place is small and warm. The faint scent of lavender and something sweet lingers in the air. I find Maisie at the tiny kitchen table. She isn’t cooking. Instead, she’s curled up with a book on the bench seat against the window. Her bare feet are tucked under her, and a half-drunk mug of something is forgotten beside her.
Maisie doesn’t notice me right away. She’s too lost in whatever world she’s reading, and I want to be there with her. She’s stunning in a way that makes it impossible to look away from her. I commit the sight to memory before I grin and slide into the bench seat beside her.
Callum.” Her eyes widen, surprise blooming across her face as her lips form a soft, pouty circle. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see what you’re reading.” I lean in, peeking over her shoulder, and it pulls a smile from her.
“No, you didn’t,” she laughs, and presses closer to me on the bench. “You came to bring me breakfast, but apparently forgot the food.” Her eyebrow raises in a flirty challenge.
“I came to take you down to the farm stand for breakfast. But now I’m intrigued.” Fire ignites in me at the feel of her soft thigh pressed against mine. “ Harry Potter ? And it’s a hardback, too. How old are you?”
I toss it out like a joke, letting the smirk play at the edge of my mouth. But a flicker of unease lingers underneath. Please be legal. Please.
She peers at me over the top of the book, nose scrunching like she’s mock-offended. “Only hardbacks, Callum. It’s either hardcover or ebook… nothing in between. I have standards. I’m twenty-five,” she says, snapping the book closed with a soft, definitive thud. “How old are you?”
Old enough to teach you what I like.
There it is... Another pervy thought about this woman. My own red flag waving bright in my face. She’s ten years younger. Fresh-faced and unscarred. Sweet in a way that feels too damn rare. Meanwhile, I’ve got enough baggage for both of us.
I push back my hesitation and decide to ignore her question altogether. “You're twenty-five and reading Harry Potter like it’s your first time. Fascinating,” I say, mostly to distract myself from how goddamn pretty she looks in the afternoon light.
“It is my first time,” she says, voice softening. “I grew up in what some might call a religious cult. We weren’t allowed to read anything that wasn’t approved. No magic. No fantasy. Definitely, no wizards. Not a lot of books in general, to be honest.”
I blink. “Wait… seriously?”
She nods with a shrug. “Yeah.” Her fingers trace the cover of the book like it’s something sacred. “I’m making up for lost time now. I want to experience everything this life has to offer and read every book. Right now, I’m letting myself live all things HP.”
“Ooh, a rebel, I like it.” I try to keep it light, but my chest tightens.
That explains so much about her. The way she looks at the world like it still holds wonder. The way she treats every moment like it matters.
“Your parents must be devastated, you've lost your way in the wizarding world.”
Before she can answer, Rosalie’s voice cuts through the hallway like a whip crack. “Actually, our parents are dead. But you know, thanks for bringing it up. I’m about to vomit again, and I’d love to do it without an audience.”
Maisie flinches as her sister shoots her a sharp, silent warning.
“I’m sorry, I know this is a never-ending sickness. Do you need anything?” Maisie asks, and Rosalie shakes her head.
I get to my feet and help Maisie up after me. “What do you say to some breakfast?”