Chapter Thirty-Two
Lydia
There was nothing quite like the smell of a fresh coat of paint and lemon cleaner.
Callum went back to the bar for the dinner crowd, and I felt like my life was starting to spin in the right direction.
I stood in the center of my tiny studio apartment, hands on my hips, grinning like a kid who just nailed her school project. After weeks of sanding, painting, cursing at crooked cabinet hinges, and digging through thrift store bins for just the right set of chairs, the place finally looked like me.
Warm.
Whimsical.
Hopeful.
The kind of space my mom would’ve walked into and said, “Yep. That’s my girl.”
The walls were now a soft ivory with a hint of blush when the sun hit just right. I’d reupholstered the loveseat with a rich teal velvet that was way more luxurious than anything I had a right to own, but I got it secondhand and repaired it myself, so that felt like a victory.
In the center of the floor lay the find of the century—a floral rug with warm pinks, soft oranges, and delicate green vines that made the whole room feel like a secret garden. I’d found it rolled up in the back of the antique store, and after three days of sunning it out on the lot out back and attacking it with baking soda and hope, it was perfect.
The new curtains swayed lightly in the breeze from the open window. I’d hung them myself with a power drill, two wobbly chairs, and zero upper body strength. I almost died, but they were beautiful.
The kitchen was still tiny, but I’d laid peel-and-stick backsplash in white scalloped tile until I could get the real stuff. My tiny fridge still hummed like it had something to prove, but now it sat beneath open wooden shelves with matching jars of flour, sugar, coffee, and tea—all labeled with hand-drawn tags. The effect? Straight out of a Pinterest board I used to only dream about making come true.
The bed area was cozier now, too. I’d added string lights above the headboard, swapped out the faded quilt for one in rose and cream patchwork, and added an old trunk at the foot of the bed that I painted blush and now used to store extra blankets and the sentimental things I wasn’t quite ready to unpack.
I’d made a home.
One filled with light, character, and exactly the kind of quirky charm that made Reckless River feel less like an escape plan and more like a fresh beginning.
I flopped down on the loveseat, heart full in a way I didn’t expect. The rug was soft under my bare feet, and for the first time since arriving, I let myself exhale without feeling like the other shoe was about to drop.
And that’s when I heard the knock.
Or rather, the voice just outside my door.
“Oh, good, you’re not dead. That’s always reassuring,” I mumbled to myself.
I sat up, a slow smile tugging at my lips as I got to my feet.
But surprise met me when I swung open the door.
“Melanie,” I said, already grinning as I padded over and opened the door. “What a surprise. Still here, huh? You haven’t been staying at my place, so…”
She stood outside with a tote bag slung over one shoulder, her sunglasses propped on top of her head like a crown, and a suspiciously smug expression on her face. She took one look at the apartment and stopped in her tracks.
“Whoa.”
I watched her spin slowly in a circle, taking in all the little touches.
“This is… incredible,” she breathed. “It looks like a Parisian flower shop and a cottagecore witch’s dream had a baby.”
“Thank you,” I said, unable to keep the pride from my voice.
“You did all this yourself?”
“Yep. Every inch. Except for the crooked shelf over the stove. I still haven’t won that battle.”
She dropped her bag by the door and turned to me with raised brows. “So, this is it, huh?”
“What is?”
“The moment,” she said, gesturing around the room. “The one where you realize you actually did it. You moved. You rebuilt. You made something beautiful out of something terrifying.”
I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Yeah. I guess it is.”
She stepped forward and pulled me into a hug, and I let myself sink into it.
“Your mom would be proud,” she whispered against my hair.
That undid me.
I pulled back with wet lashes and nodded, pressing a hand to my heart. “I hope so.”
Melanie sniffled once, then cleared her throat like she’d just snapped herself back to her usual bossy self. “Okay. Emotional moment over. Where’s the wine?”
I laughed. “In the fridge. Obviously.”
She headed to the kitchen and popped the bottle open with the opener she had bought me as a housewarming gift—one shaped like a flamingo wearing sunglasses, naturally.
As she poured, I leaned against the counter and watched her carefully.
“So,” I said casually, “you still haven’t told me why you’re really still in town.”
She shrugged, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Maybe I just like it here.”
“You hate small towns.”
“Not all of them. This one’s got potential. Cute shops. Charming locals. Tall, rugged bartenders with biceps that defy science…”
I groaned. “Oh no. You’re staying for Drew.”
She waggled her eyebrows. “I plead the fifth.”
I laughed, cheeks warming. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And you’re in denial.”
“About what?”
She handed me a glass of wine. “About how gone you are for your tall, rugged bartender.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t deny it.
Not this time.
I heard the engine before I saw it.
A deep, throaty rumble, obnoxious in a way that said, look at me , echoed off the brick buildings of Main Street like we were suddenly in the middle of a high school parking lot instead of a quiet mountain town.
Melanie looked up from her wine glass and squinted toward the window. “Is someone drag racing outside your building?”
I frowned and crossed the room, curiosity already turning sour in my gut. I pushed the curtain aside and looked down at the street.
Then I gasped.
“No.”
Melanie was right behind me in an instant. “What? Who is it?”
I pointed, mouth hanging open as I watched a familiar black Dodge Challenger roll to a stop directly in front of the building. “That’s Trevor.”
Melanie blinked. “ Trevor Trevor ? The startup bro with the emotional maturity of a baked potato?”
“Unfortunately,” I muttered.
And there he was, climbing out of the driver’s seat in head-to-toe black, aviators, smug grin, and the same leather jacket he’d been wearing when he broke up with me, like he was offering me a golden opportunity to be free.
Melanie crossed her arms. “Why is he here? And more importantly, why is he here like that ?”
“I have no idea.” My voice was tight. “But I think we’re about to find out.”
We went downstairs, Melanie muttering battle strategies under her breath like she was ready to go full Secret Service if things got weird.
Trevor spotted me immediately and smiled like we were long-lost lovers instead of a bad decision I barely survived.
“Hey, babe,” he said, stepping away from the car like he expected me to leap into his arms.
I stopped on the sidewalk, Melanie a step behind me, and narrowed my eyes. “Trevor, what are you doing here?”
He opened his arms, as if that answered the question. “I missed you.”
Melanie scoffed. “Try harder.”
“I heard you moved out here. Figured I’d come see how you’re doing. You always liked small towns. Thought maybe you’d be glad to see a familiar face.”
“Actually,” I said, folding my arms, “I moved out here to get away from familiar faces. Especially ones that told me I was too sentimental to make it in the real world.”
He winced a little at that. “Okay, I said some things I didn’t mean. But come on, Lyd…this town? You can’t tell me this place is enough for you.”
“I can , and I am .”
His smile dropped a notch. “Alright, fine. But look, I was thinking… maybe I could stick around for a bit. Help you settle in. You’ve never been great at fixing things on your own.”
Melanie made a sound like she was physically holding back a string of expletives.
I stepped back half a pace, heart thudding with that old familiar unease. “I don’t need your help. I’m doing just fine on my own.”
“You don’t have to prove anything, Lydia.” He reached out to touch my arm, and that was it.
A deep, gravel-lined voice rumbled across the sidewalk, low and dangerous.
“Everything okay here?”
I turned.
And there he was.
Callum.
Towering. Broad-shouldered. Storm-eyed. Walking toward us like he’d just stepped out of a wildfire and hadn’t quite cooled off yet.
His hands were at his sides, but his posture was all coiled energy and territorial warning.
Trevor dropped his hand and took an instinctive step back.
Melanie, ever the opportunist, whispered, “Oh, this is about to get interesting.”
“This is my ex,” I said quickly, though my pulse was racing in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the man currently glaring holes into my ex-boyfriend. “Not sure why he’s here.”
Callum stopped a few feet away from us, eyes fixed on Trevor like he was a roach that wandered somewhere it didn’t belong.
“I could’ve sworn I saw someone being really pushy from across the street.” His voice was edged with steel.
Trevor straightened his spine and laughed, but it came out brittle. “Whoa, okay. You the local sheriff or something?”
Callum didn’t smile. “Nope. Just someone who doesn’t like seeing jerks bothering women who clearly want them to leave.”
I saw Trevor bristle at that, but his ego was outmatched.
Callum looked like the kind of man who didn’t bluff. The kind of man who’d broken in wild horses or wrangled bears for funsies.
Trevor cleared his throat and took another step back toward his car. “Right. Well. Lydia, if you ever change your mind—”
“I won’t,” I said, loud enough to cut him off.
He paused.
Callum crossed his arms slowly, like he had all the time in the world to stare Trevor into submission.
Trevor got the hint.
“Okay then. I’ll, uh… get going.”
We stood in silence as his engine roared back to life and his ridiculous car peeled off like it had something to prove.
When the sound faded, I let out a breath.
Callum turned to me, brows lowered. “You alright?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m good. Thanks.”
Melanie looked between the two of us and let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Well. That was hot.”
Callum gave her a wary look, and I laughed, nerves still buzzing through me.
“I didn’t think you’d be—” I started.
“Walking by?” he finished. “Yeah. Lucky timing, I guess.”
Our eyes locked.
And something clicked.
Or maybe just simmered.
Because whatever had been building between us was still there. Still thrumming beneath the surface like electricity waiting for permission to spark.