Chapter Twenty
Lydia
I woke up to birds’ tweeting and the sun bleeding through the edges of the curtain I hadn’t remembered closing.
The air was crisp, the kind of spring morning that makes your lungs feel scrubbed clean with sweetness when you inhale.
It was the first time in a while I didn’t feel like my bones were made of concrete.
I’d cried.
I’d grieved.
And now… I was still here.
My mom wasn’t.
But I was.
And she’d want me to live like I meant it.
I sat up slowly, every muscle sore from too much painting and far too many unprocessed feelings. The paint roller was still in the tray by the door, and the wall was officially ready for color.
But it could wait.
Because something had shifted overnight.
I was tired of hovering in this halfway state—part grieving daughter, part guilt-ridden landlord, part woman kissing men who clearly didn’t know what to do with her.
No more half-versions.
I was going to make Reckless River mine .
One project at a time.
I showered and pulled on my favorite hoodie. It was soft and oversized, a hand-me-down from my mom’s old college sweatshirt stash. I tossed my hair into a messy bun and grabbed my notebook from the kitchen counter. It was time for a new list. One that wasn’t just full of maintenance tasks or budgeting notes.
This one would be about making this place feel like home. I scribbled the title at the top, then started a list.
Operation: Reckless Root Down.
Talk to June about hosting a building-wide event (maybe tulip themed?)
Replace the hallway runner between tenants with something bright and not tragic
Check on bookstore lighting. Seems too dim
Bring baked goods to tenants?
Riley needs ceiling tiles…move up contractor on schedule
Organize a mural day? Public art = public love
I paused, pen tapping. Just to irk the grumpy guy. And then I added one more, in smaller letters:
Apologize to myself for making Callum Benedict matter more than he should.
I stared at it for a second, then nodded.
Okay.
I didn’t need him.
I didn’t need the way he looked at me like I’d cracked some code he didn’t want anyone to solve.
I didn’t need his brooding or sarcasm or the quiet way he said my name like he wanted to memorize its shape in his mouth.
Nope.
I slapped the notebook closed and marched out of my apartment with fresh purpose in my step and a mental game plan already forming.
First stop! The shared garden patio behind the building.
It had potential. So much potential.
The little paved space out back was wedged between the bar’s rear door and the first-floor units for the coffee shop and bakery. It also happened to be overgrown and underutilized. A few cracked planters. One broken bench. And a half-hearted string of lights someone had hung and never replaced when they burned out.
I pulled on gloves and got to work.
I hauled out a broom and swept away dead leaves. Pulled weeds from between bricks. Even rearranged the benches into a more inviting setup, dragging them into a half-circle around the old fire pit that hadn’t been used in years.
A sound caught my ear as I stood there, brushing dirt off my hands and imagining potted petunias and BBQ dinners rolling off the grill.
I turned.
And blinked.
The hallway utility door was ajar.
Curious, I stepped inside and stopped short.
The light.
It was on.
Not buzzing.
Warm. Soft. New.
My eyes widened as I looked around.
The outlet had been replaced.
The overhead fixture, too. No longer was it just a spare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. There was an official utility light fixture, durable enough if it got bumped and cute enough not to make me cringe.
The rickety hinges that used to squeal like banshees? Oiled and silent.
I hadn’t done this.
And I hadn’t hired anyone yet.
Which meant…
Oh no.
I straightened slowly, heart thudding.
There was only one person who had access to the old keys. One person who knew how much I hated that damn buzzing light. One person who might fix things as a way to say what he couldn’t bring himself to say with actual words.
Callum.
My brain scrambled.
Angry? No.
Surprised? A little.
But mostly, I was confused.
Why now?
Why this?
Was it guilt?
Regret?
Or was it a peace offering…quiet, subtle, and so very him ?
I stepped out of the utility room and back into the garden, the sun catching the fresh glint of the glass bulb as I shut the door behind me.
And then I heard it.
The back door to the bar creaked open.
Footsteps. Familiar. Measured.
My pulse jumped like a startled deer.
Callum stepped out, toolbox in hand, zippered hoodie pushed back from his face.
He froze when he saw me.
Just for a second.
Then his jaw tightened, and he gave me a nod like we were just two neighbors passing on the sidewalk and not two people who’d kissed like the world was ending and then imploded over it.
“Morning,” he said, voice low.
“Morning,” I echoed, just as quietly.
We stared at each other.
Neither of us moved.
The silence stretched, full of things we weren’t saying.
I could’ve asked him why he fixed the light.
He could’ve asked why I looked like I’d seen a ghost.
But neither of us did.
Instead, I said, “I was thinking about turning this patio into a real garden space. Something people could use. Maybe a spring gathering out here. flowers. BBQ. A table or two.”
He looked around. Nodded once.
“Wouldn’t be the worst idea.”
And just like that, something between us cracked open again.
Not fixed.
Not even close.
But no longer broken beyond repair.
When I stepped outside with a bag of potting soil, the last thing I expected was for Callum Benedict to still be standing there.
But he was.
Leaning against the back railing of the bar, arms crossed, the early morning sun caught the edges of his dark hair and lit up the faint stubble on his jaw.
He wasn’t doing anything in particular. Just watching me.
And that made my pulse do a whole lot of things it had no business doing.
“You sticking around?” I asked, hoisting the bag onto the nearest bench.
He shrugged. “You mentioned BBQs and tables. Hard to ignore a vision like that.”
I smirked. “You here for the aesthetic or the snacks?”
He gave me a look. “I’m here because I can dig a post hole straighter than anyone in this town. And because someone before you apparently thought rusted benches and dead ferns counted as charm.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is that your way of offering help?”
“I’m saying your garden patio has potential,” he said, pushing off the railing and walking toward me. “But you could use a hand.”
I opened my mouth to shoot something back, probably something clever and biting, but then he bent down to lift the other bag of soil I hadn’t touched yet, and I lost all access to language.
Because, of course, he made lifting forty pounds look effortless. Of course, his forearms flexed, and his shirt tugged across his back just right. And of course that was the moment my traitorous brain whispered, This is a terrible idea… but maybe just once, let it be a beautiful one, too.
“Fine,” I said, recovering. “You can help. But no unsolicited design advice.”
He smirked. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“It is now.”
“I don’t like not giving my two cents.”
I chuckled. “You don’t say.”
We worked in silence for a bit, side by side in the warm hush of the morning. I pulled old weeds from the brick path while Callum pried up warped planks on the garden bench, using a crowbar he’d apparently had tucked away in his truck.
Every once in a while, our arms would brush. Just barely.
And every time, I felt it all the way down to my toes.
We didn’t talk much—not about us , anyway. Not about the kiss, or the words that followed, or the awkward emotional landmine I’d exploded all over the last night.
But there was something different in the way we moved around each other now. Not tentative exactly, but… aware.
He handed me a trowel without being asked. I passed him a water bottle without a word.
We were orbiting.
And I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to crash into him or push him back into space.
“You’ve got good instincts,” he said after a while, standing back to look at the new bench placement. “About the flow of the space. People’ll want to sit here.”
I blinked. “Are you… complimenting my design sensibilities?”
“I’m tolerating them.”
“That sounds dangerously close to praise.”
He smirked again. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Too late.
Because of that smirk? The kind that tugged just one corner of his mouth while his eyes stayed serious? Yeah, that one had already burned itself into my brain.
I turned away quickly, pretending to fuss with a pot that didn’t need fussing.
“You know,” I said after a minute, my voice casual, “you’re not the only one who cares about this building.”
“I know.”
“You treated me like I was here to gut it.”
“You walked in with big ideas and confidence. And I—” He stopped. Exhaled. “I didn’t know how to handle that.”
I looked over at him. “And now?”
He met my eyes. “Still figuring it out.”
The air between us shifted. Dense and heavy and thrumming with something unspoken.
I took a step closer.
So did he.
“I never planned on any of this,” I said quietly. “Not Reckless River. Not buying the building. Not you.”
Callum’s jaw clenched, but not in anger. It was restraint. Pure, beautiful, frustrating restraint.
“I know,” he said. “Same.”
Another step.
The heat between us spiked.
“You kiss like you mean it,” I whispered.
His gaze dropped to my mouth. “I don’t do anything halfway.”
My breath hitched. “Then why did you push me away?”
He didn’t answer.
But his hand reached up, slowly, and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. His knuckles skimmed my jaw, and I felt the touch all the way down my spine.
“Because I didn’t know how to want you without unraveling everything else,” he said finally.
And then, because I couldn’t stop myself, I said, “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
He exhaled, low and shaky.
And that’s when the moment tipped.
He reached for me.
I leaned in.
And then…
A loud metallic clatter echoed from the alley behind the bar.
We both jolted apart like teenagers caught making out behind the gym.
Callum turned toward the sound, his body immediately tense, scanning for the source. I laughed nervously, stepping back, brushing imaginary dirt from my sweatshirt.
“That was… uh, maybe a raccoon?”
He grunted, still watching the alley. “Yeah. Hopefully just that.”
But the spell was broken.
Not in a bad way.
Just… postponed.
We went back to working, quieter now, both of us flushed and pretending we weren’t seconds from kissing again.
But something was different.
For all our bickering, the stubbornness, the emotional landmines, we were building something.
And maybe, just maybe… it wasn’t just the garden.