Chapter Six
Lydia
I waited until Melanie was distracted with her burger and sweet potato fries before I slipped out of the booth.
“Where are you going?” she whispered with her mouth full.
“I’m going to fix this before your new boyfriend declares war on me.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, dabbing ketchup off her chin. “He’s just emotionally unavailable and built like a lumberjack. Totally different.”
I rolled my eyes and took a slow, deep breath.
Callum was behind the bar again, wiping down a spot that was already spotless. He didn’t look up as I approached. He kept wiping over and over, as if he was scrubbing me off his bar top.
“Hey,” I said softly when I was within speaking distance.
He paused, then looked up, finally meeting my gaze.
And yep.
There it was. That face.
Up close and under the warm amber light of the bar, it was unfair how handsome he was. Not polished or pristine. He looked like he belonged here…like whiskey, pine, and hard-earned scruff. Strong jaw, stormy green eyes, the faintest crease in his brow that said he didn’t have time for nonsense.
Or people like me, apparently.
I forgot my words for half a second.
His expression didn’t change.
Not even a flicker of curiosity or amusement.
Just cool, hard, unreadable.
I straightened my spine and wrapped my fingers around the edge of the bar.
“I wanted to clear the air,” I began. “I didn’t mean to ambush you with the whole owner revelation. It wasn’t intentional.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You mean you didn’t think it was important to mention when we first met?”
“Honestly, I didn’t expect to be dragged to a booth and flirted into oblivion by your very charming bartender.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. Just barely.
I took that as a small win.
“I just want to say,” I continued, “I’m not here to destroy your bar. Or this town. I bought the building because I saw potential…not something to tear down, but something to build up. Carefully. Respectfully.”
He leaned forward, both palms flat on the bar, and gave me a look like he could see straight through me.
“That so?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“You mean you’re not here to turn this place into some modern gastropub with Edison bulbs, five-dollar pickles, and drinks that come with edible flowers?”
I blinked. “Okay… that’s oddly specific.”
“I’ve seen it happen,” he said. “Seattle types come in, talk about ‘potential,’ and before you know it, they’ve steamrolled everything that made the place special in the first place. They want to make it marketable. Aesthetic. Glossy. It happened the town over.”
“I’m not here to make Reckless River glossy.”
“Then what are you here to do, Lydia?”
His voice wasn’t raised, but it was firm.
Challenging. Like he was waiting for me to crack under the pressure of his gaze.
“I’m here to live,” I said, surprising even myself. “To try. To make something of myself. This town feels like the first breath I’ve taken in months. Maybe longer.”
I hadn’t meant to get personal. It just slipped out, like the truth had been sitting there this whole time waiting for the right crack to leak through.
His jaw tightened without a word.
I took a steadying breath. “So yeah. I might fix some things. Paint. Patch. Update plumbing where the pipes are about to combust. But I’m not going to rip out the soul of this building. And I’m certainly not trying to put you out of business.”
“You say that now,” he said quietly. “But what happens when you realize this town doesn’t run like Seattle? That it’s slower, rougher around the edges, and not always pretty? You gonna stick it out, or take your clipboard and investment plans and run?”
I frowned. “Do you always assume the worst of people? Or just women with fresh ideas and a toolbelt in her car?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You have a toolbelt?”
“Figuratively. But I could get a real one.”
I didn’t need to mention I had no car.
He narrowed his eyes on me. “You probably shouldn’t. You don’t look like you know what to do with it.”
I glared at him. “Is that your charming way of calling me incompetent?”
“Nope,” he said, straightening. “Just honest.”
I folded my arms. “Well, honestly, I’d rather not be judged based on the city I moved from, the fact that I wear boots without steel toes, or that I dare to want a functioning faucet in my apartment.”
His eyes locked on mine. Still unreadable. But something was flickering behind them. Something like… curiosity.
“You done?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “But I’m pacing myself.”
He huffed something that almost resembled a laugh. Then he reached beneath the bar, grabbed a coaster, and placed it in front of me.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“Thought you might want a drink while you continue proving me wrong.”
I stared at the coaster. Then up at him.
And even though I wanted to smack him with the nearest barstool, I also… kind of wanted to keep talking to him.
Which was infuriating.
“I’ll take a gin and tonic,” I said, sliding the coaster an inch closer to him.
“With or without edible flowers?”
I gave him a tight smile. “Surprise me.”
He walked away to make the drink, and I sighed.
This man was impossible.
Tall, impossible, and annoyingly magnetic.
But I didn’t come to Reckless River to back down from hard things. And if he thought I would be the kind of girl who wilted under a little scrutiny and walked away with her tail tucked between her bootcut jeans, he had another thing coming.
This town wasn’t the only one with roots worth protecting.
Mine were growing, too.
Right here. Right now.
Even if I had to plant them next to a grumpy, handsome man who thought I was here to sell the town’s soul to the highest bidder.
Fine.
Let him underestimate me.
He’d find out soon enough that quiet didn’t mean weak.
And kind didn’t mean soft.
Not where it counted.
Callum didn’t say anything. He just stared at me for a beat longer than necessary, then turned and stalked off through the swinging door leading to the bar's back.
He didn’t grab a bottle or mix my drink.
He just… left.
I blinked at the space where he’d been and glanced down at the lonely coaster still sitting in front of me. For someone who just told me I might want a drink, he sure had a dramatic way of following through.
Behind me, the low murmur of conversation continued as if nothing had happened. Someone dropped coins into the jukebox, and the twangy opening of a Johnny Cash song floated through the bar. Melanie was still back at our booth, tearing into her burger like it was her last meal, and occasionally glanced my way with the world’s most obvious what’s going on?
I offered her a small shrug that said hell if I know.
What was he doing back there? Cooling off? Avoiding me? Reconsidering whether it was worth poisoning the new landlady in front of witnesses?
I leaned against the bar and waited, watching the door like it might answer for him.
Two minutes. That’s how long he was gone. Long enough for my irritation to spike into low-level anxiety. Just when I started to convince myself he’d gone out back to scream into the night or punch something wooden, the door swung open again.
And there he was.
Callum Benedict, stormy expression intact, walking with that confident, deliberate stride like the floor dared him to trip. His sleeves were shoved to his elbows, and sawdust was on his forearm. He looked like he’d just wrestled a bear and then offered to bartend out of spite.
But what caught my eye was his right hand.
He was holding something behind his back.
I straightened, curious, but he didn’t look at me.
Not right away.
He went straight to the shelves, pulled down a gin bottle with practiced ease, then added tonic to a highball glass. He squeezed in a wedge of lime, stirred it once, then looked at the glass like it had personally wronged him.
He placed something carefully on top of the drink, and it took a second for my brain to register what I saw.
Two dandelions.
Their bright yellow petals looked completely out of place in this dim, dusty bar, like someone dropped sunshine into a drink.
He slid the glass toward me.
“There you go,” he said, not quite smiling. “Thought maybe it’d remind you of the city. Y’know, fancy drinks with garnish and all.”
I stared at him.
Then the drink.
Then back at him.
“You picked me dandelions?” I asked, trying not to sound as blindsided as I felt.
He shrugged. “They’re weeds. They felt… appropriate.”
“You see me as a weed?”
“At least I picked one with a flower.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out of me. “Wow. That’s both rude and charming. Impressive.”
He finally looked me in the eye, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something that wasn’t irritation. Or maybe it was , but it had softened into something more… bemused.
“You said, Surprise me . You didn’t say the surprise had to be pleasant.”
“Well, you nailed it,” I said, picking up the drink. “Congratulations. It’s both adorable and mildly insulting.”
“You’re welcome.”
I took a sip and raised a brow. “It’s good.”
“I know.”
We fell into silence, but it didn’t feel heavy this time. It felt like a break between sparring rounds.
He leaned a hip against the bar and folded his arms, watching me like I was some puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve.
“Why’d you come here?” he asked again after a second or two.
I set the glass down and looked at him. “I told you. I needed a change.”
“People say that when they’re running from something.”
“I’m not running. I’m… rebuilding.”
“Same difference.”
“Not quite.”
He looked skeptical.
So I met him head-on. “I’m not here to roll over and let this town tell me what I can and can’t do. But I’m not here to ruin it, either.”
He said nothing.
“I get that you don’t like me,” I added. “But I’m not going anywhere, Callum. You can glower all you want, but I won’t be intimidated into keeping everything frozen in time just to avoid your bad mood.”
His jaw ticked.
Good.
Because I meant it.
Before bailing, I wasn’t some flighty rich girl here to play interior decorator for a month. I had no husband bankrolling a pet project or a corporate team behind me. I had a degree, a dream, and a little leftover savings.
“People around here don’t like change,” he said finally.
“Well, lucky for them, I’m not asking them to change. Just… update. Refresh.”
“They’ll take it personally.”
“Then I’ll let them.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “And what if you fail?”
I smiled, calm and steady. “Then I fail trying.”
He blinked, just once, and I swore something shifted in the air between us. Maybe he was trying to figure out if I meant it. Maybe he already knew.
Whatever it was, I didn’t look away.
Finally, he pushed off the bar and shook his head, muttering, “You’re trouble.”
I took another sip and smiled into the glass. “You have no idea.”
He walked away without another word, but I caught the corner of his mouth twitching as he turned his back.
And I sat there, sipping my dandelion gin and tonic, feeling equal parts triumphant and unsettled.
Because no matter how delicious the drink was, how casually handsome he looked, or how much that little twitch of a smile felt like a win…I wasn’t dumb.
Callum didn’t like me.
Not really.
And no amount of weeds in a cocktail would make me feel better.
But that didn’t mean I would let him, or anyone else, steamroll me. I might’ve arrived here raw and a little broken, still finding my footing, but I wasn’t spineless.
This building was mine.
My future was mine.
And Reckless River?
Well… it might not know what hit it.
But it was going to love what I had in store for it.