Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lydia
I heard the door close softly, like a secret trying not to wake me.
I didn’t move.
Not right away.
I lay in bed, tangled in my sheet, my cheek still pressed to the warm pillow where his head had rested hours earlier. For a moment, I imagined I’d dreamed it all, how his hands had trembled just a little when they slid along my waist, how he kissed like he hadn’t in years and hated how much he needed to.
But the ache low in my body, the faint scent of cedar and whiskey on my skin—that was real.
He was real.
And now he was gone.
I rolled onto my back, staring at the slightly cracked ceiling like it might offer answers. I didn’t expect him to stay. That wasn’t the kind of man Callum Benedict was. He was the kind of man who left before the sun rose, probably feeling like he’d already overstayed.
And honestly, I didn’t blame him.
What we’d shared… It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t convenient. It was too raw to fit inside the neat little box I’d tried to build around him. Too vulnerable. Too open.
It was more than I’d ever expected to find in a quiet town with a man who scowled more than he spoke.
I sat up slowly, pulled the sheet around my shoulders, and stared at the space where he’d been. I didn’t know what I was supposed to feel—giddy? Gutted? Hopeful?
Instead, I felt stunned.
It was as if the tectonic plates of my life had shifted overnight, and now everything looked the same, but nothing was .
I padded across the floor, bare feet against cold wood, and grabbed a pair of leggings and a worn T-shirt. My body was still humming, the ghost of his touch pressed into my skin, but I forced myself into motion. Because if I stood still too long, I’d think too hard. Feel too much.
And right now, I just needed to move.
I entered the bathroom and turned on the shower, waiting until the steam fogged the mirror before stepping under the spray. The hot water hit my shoulders like a reset button, loosening muscles I hadn’t realized were clenched.
As I rinsed shampoo from my hair, I thought about the way Callum had whispered to me. Not sweet nothings, but real things. Honest things. Broken, messy truths he didn’t want to say out loud, but did anyway because we were in the dark, and the dark had a way of peeling layers off people.
He didn’t say he wanted more.
He didn’t make promises.
But he’d stayed.
Long enough for his breathing to settle beside mine. Long enough for me to wake up for half a second at dawn, see his bare chest rising and falling, and feel like something inside me had finally exhaled.
Time to trace the edges of his ink along his arm, along his chest, feel the meaning behind each stroke.
That was enough for now.
I toweled off, twisted my hair up, and went to make coffee, ignoring the way my chest tightened at the empty apartment. I didn’t expect him to leave a note or make breakfast or even say goodbye. That wasn’t how he operated.
Still, part of me had hoped.
As I sipped coffee and watched a blue jay land on the railing outside the window, I thought about what to do next. Not just with him, but with this life I was building here.
Reckless River had been a wild swing, a long shot at healing, at creating something new. And somehow, it had given him to me in the process.
Callum Benedict. stubborn, inked, guarded, and unknowingly beautiful in all the ways that mattered.
But it had also given me something else.
Purpose. Roots.
I glanced at the time. Just past nine.
I’d promised Riley I’d come by the coffee shop this morning to help her move some of the shelving she wanted replaced and take a look at a possible leak near the front window. My body wasn’t exactly screaming for manual labor after last night, but I wasn’t about to flake.
Especially not after she looked at me like she knew exactly what kind of storm I was walking into with Callum.
I grabbed my tool bag from under the kitchen sink, threw on my boots, and headed down the street. The breeze was sharper than yesterday, crisp and cool, with the scent of damp pine and distant chimney smoke. But that was the nice thing about spring in Washington. You never quite left the last season behind. Even in the summer, the temps could drop for a day and remind you of the coziness to come in the fall.
When I reached the shop, Riley was already inside, humming along to Fleetwood Mac and balancing on a step stool with a screwdriver in hand.
She looked up as I opened the door and grinned like she’d been waiting for this.
“Well, well,” she said, hopping down. “You’ve got a glow. Did you fall in love or sleep really, really well?”
I rolled my eyes and set the bag down. “I came for coffee, not to get grilled.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “I provide caffeine and charm.”
“Be gentle. I’m on edge.”
“Edge of what?”
I chuckled. “Let’s just get to work.”
We started repositioning the shelving along the back wall, which had warped over the years from too much weight and too little maintenance. As we worked, I felt my mind settle. Something about using my hands, about fixing what was crooked, made it easier to keep all the swirling thoughts from taking over.
But even as I hammered in new anchors and adjusted levels, Callum stayed with me.
The way he’d touched my face.
The way he’d held me, not possessive or desperate, but like he wasn’t used to being allowed to.
The way he’d left before sunrise, because maybe that was the only way he knew how to survive it.
I didn’t know what would happen next.
I didn’t know if he’d come back or shut the door and call it a mistake.
But I did know one thing…
Whatever that night had been?
It was real.
And I wasn’t about to pretend otherwise.
I told Riley I needed to grab something from the hardware store.
Technically, not a lie.
There was a flickering bulb in the laundry room I’d been meaning to fix. But that wasn’t why I headed down Main Street with my heart hammering like I’d just sprinted along the river.
No.
I walked past the hardware store.
Past the bakery.
And straight toward the Rusty Stag.
I didn’t know what I was doing. Not really. I just knew my hands were still trembling, and the air in my lungs hadn’t felt quite right since he’d slipped out of my apartment this morning without a word.
The sign on the bar door said CLOSED.
But I saw the light on in the back, warm and low like someone was trying not to wake a sleeping house.
My hand hovered over the handle.
This was dumb.
I should turn around.
But I didn’t.
The door creaked open, unlocked like always.
The moment I stepped inside, I heard it—low music, something slow and moody playing from the ancient jukebox in the corner.
I crept in quietly, heart thudding harder with every step, half-hoping I’d find it empty.
But it wasn’t.
Callum stood behind the bar, one arm braced on the wood, staring into a half-empty glass of something amber. He looked like he was trying to outrun his own thoughts. And failing.
His head turned the second the door clicked shut.
And the moment our eyes met, it was like being thrown back into the fire.
He didn’t speak.
Neither did I.
I just crossed the room slowly, letting the quiet swallow the space between us. My boots scuffed against the wood floor, and his gaze dropped for a second like he couldn’t look at me without losing whatever grip he still had on the moment.
When I reached the bar, I didn’t sit.
I just stood there, waiting.
He didn’t move.
But his voice was low and rough when it came. “Wasn’t sure if I’d see you again today.”
“Did you want to?”
His jaw clenched.
And that was answer enough.
I leaned on the bar, pulse racing, heart aching. “You left.”
“Yeah,” he said, not bothering with an excuse.
“I didn’t expect you to stay.”
“But you wanted me to.”
He wasn’t asking.
I didn’t lie. “Yeah.”
The silence that followed crackled.
Tense.
Frightening.
Hot.
“I shouldn’t have come,” I said, even as my body leaned forward.
“You keep saying that,” he murmured, “but here you are.”
His eyes met mine, green and unreadable.
And then his hand reached across the bar, fingers grazing mine.
Just that.
Just touch.
And my whole body reacted like he’d set a match to it.
“Lydia…” he warned.
I knew that tone. He was already unraveling.
So was I.
“I don’t want to fight it anymore,” I whispered. “Do you?”
His answer wasn’t words.
It was movement.
Callum came around the bar in two strides, grabbed my face in both hands, and kissed me like the ground beneath us might fall away.
There was no hesitation now.
No confusion.
Only yes.
Only now.
His mouth was hot and demanding, and I kissed him back like he was breath itself. His hands slipped to my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life.
We stumbled back together, barely breaking the kiss as we fumbled into the back hallway. Somewhere between kisses, my jacket came off. Then his shirt.
His hands were everywhere…my hips, my back, threading through my hair, and I couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t feel enough.
He pushed open the backroom door with his shoulder, pulling me inside with him.
This wasn’t careful.
This wasn’t delicate.
It was wildfire.
And we were both already burning.
His breath was ragged as he pressed me against the wall, one hand cupping the back of my head, the other trailing down to my thigh. I gasped into his mouth, legs shaking as the world fell away.
I didn’t think about the past.
Or the future.
Only the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in his entire broken world still worth holding onto.
And when he whispered my name like a promise, a warning, a prayer, I let go.
Of everything.
And let him catch me.