16. Cala
I’m so comfortable in this bed.
The sheets are soft, the pillow feels like it’s hugging me back with real love.
You know that look a woman gives a slice of chocolate cake? That’s exactly how this pillow makes me feel—completely adored.
I’m relaxed, rested, and… oddly happy.
Bad omens.
I check the clock.
“Oh no!”
I jump up, but my legs are way slower than my brain.
He stirs beside me, startled.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s seven o’clock!”
“Cala,” he groans, half-asleep, tugging gently on my hand, “you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“It’s late, Oliver, seriously—my dad’s gonna kill me.”
He catches my wrists, pinning them playfully against the pillow, his grin full of mischief.
“Who’s the boss on this ranch—Lucien or me?”
“You, but—”
“No buts,” he says, voice low and teasing. “Let me thank you properly for last night.”
His lips brush my neck, and a rush of adrenaline shoots straight down my spine.
Someone’s in a very good mood this morning.
“Oliver…” I gasp, though what I really mean to say is let me go. “If my mom comes upstairs and doesn’t find me in my room, we’re both in big trouble.”
That does it.
He pauses, then presses a quick kiss to my lips.
“You’re right.”
We jump out of bed like two guilty teenagers, scrambling for clothes and sanity.
Without another word, I bolt down the hall to my own room, throw on my work clothes, and race down the stairs.
By the time I reach the kitchen—out of breath and probably looking like a mess—Eliza’s the only one there.
She’s humming some old ’80s tune while staring into the fridge, already planning out the day’s meals.
“Where are my parents?” After months of following the same routine, it feels strange not to see them here. “Morning,” I add quickly, so I don’t sound rude.
“Oh, your father had an appointment with the surgeon,” Eliza says, still humming. “They left early, a fancy van came to pick them up. Real first-class treatment.”
Right. With everything that happened last night, I completely forgot about the appointment.
Oliver appears behind me.
“What’s going on?”
His cologne drifts straight up my nose, and I have to close my eyes for a second—to calm both my thoughts and the very unholy reaction my body’s having to his proximity.
“I forgot my parents had a doctor’s appointment this morning.”
“Mmm,” he hums, face unreadable. Then… “Your jacket’s buttoned wrong.”
He passes behind me, his hand grazing my waist as he fixes it. A slow, knowing smile curves on his lips, equal parts wicked and promising.
He’s dressed in his suit again, which means he’s heading back to Dallas for the day.
Eliza sets a cup of coffee in front of each of us. Her cheeks are puffed out from smiling so wide as she looks between Oliver and me.
“Did you sleep well?” she asks him. “You look rested.”
“Yeah,” Oliver says, lifting his cup. “Think it’s the first time I’ve ignored my alarm in years.”
I down my coffee like it’s a tequila shot while feeling both of their eyes drilling into me.
Too much staring. Way too much.
“This coffee’s amazing, Eli, thanks!”
And before anyone can say another word, I bolt out of the kitchen, away from whatever’s happening in my stomach.
Some people might call it butterflies. I’m pretty sure it’s something way more aggressive, like an alien trying to claw its way out. Or maybe a rhino.
When I reach the stables, the horses greet me with obvious irritation.
“I know! I know! I’m sorry!” I mutter, opening each stall one by one so they can go out to graze. “It was a long night. I’ll tell you everything later—it’s actually a pretty interesting story.”
Then I hear it, the low hum of the SUV.
I mutter a curse under my breath as I see him step out with that effortless grandeur only rich men seem to have.
“Cala…” He looks completely out of place in this barn—tailored suit, polished shoes, perfectly trimmed beard.
Meanwhile, I’m in my work clothes, no makeup, and I don’t even want to know what my hair looks like right now.
Ruby’s heavy hooves echo inside the barn. I lead her by the reins to the corral and let her run free.
Then I turn to him, take a breath, and brace myself for whatever he’s about to say.
“Thank you.”
I blink. “For what?”
“You know what for.” His hand brushes the back of his neck. “Denying that your presence is changing something in me would be… ridiculous.”
A small smile pulls at my lips, completely uninvited.
“I told you I wanted to help,” I say softly. “I’m glad I could.”
Seeing him last night—vulnerable, terrified—wasn’t easy. He didn’t look like the brooding, impossible Heathcliff I know. He looked like a scared kid. I wanted to hold him, to tell him everything would be okay, but I knew touching him was the worst thing I could do.
Oliver takes my hand and presses a light kiss to the back of it, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth.
“I’ll see you tonight.”
He turns, climbs into the SUV, and drives off toward the city.
I clutch my lapis lazuli pendant between my palms and look up at the sky.
“I’m in trouble, Grandma.”
By noon my parents are back. We have a quick lunch where they tell me what the doctor said and what to expect.
Not much will change, apparently. The doctor just wanted to check how my father’s healing was going.
He, on the other hand, came back darker and quieter than ever.
That afternoon I settle into the garden.
This time I play music from my phone—“Dancing in the Moonlight” by Toploader. I read somewhere that plants like music, and honestly, they’ve been looking better every day, so I’m sticking with it.
I pull weeds, check every leaf, and sing along, using the little hand trowel as a microphone.
Then I hear a familiar, awkward throat-clearing behind me, and freeze mid-chorus.
Oliver stands there in his gray overcoat and sunglasses, watching me like I’m an alien species.
“Hi,” I say, shading my eyes from the sun. It’s still high in the sky and blinding.
“Do the plants always get a show?”
His brows pull together in the middle of his forehead. I can’t tell if he’s trying to be friendly or if it’s just his usual sarcasm.
“Whatever keeps them happy,” I say, stabbing the trowel into the dirt and crossing my arms, waiting, unsure for what. Maybe a hint of what mood he’s in today.
“I’m sure your hands are enough.”
A faint smirk curves his lips.
Good mood confirmed.
He’s flirting with me. Obviously, he finds me attractive, otherwise, he wouldn’t have fucked me like an animal in the barn, kissed me at my bedroom door this morning, and probably done something else I’m forgetting.
But I was hoping the sex was just… sex. A one-off. A momentary lapse in logic.
Flirting? Smiling? That’s new territory, and I’m officially confused.
I smile, fidgeting nervously with the trowel between my hands.
He keeps staring at me, equally uncomfortable.
“I’ll help you finish up the day,” he says suddenly. “I’m gonna go change. I’ll be right back.”
I nod with a tight smile and watch him climb into his SUV to drive back to his house.
For the next hour, Oliver works right beside me, brushing against my arm now and then, smiling more than I’ve ever seen him smile, being almost too nice.
Oliver.
Yes, that Oliver Walker.
With the sun dipping lower on the horizon, we cross the property in Oliver’s new golf cart—although, to be more accurate, it’s a dune buggy, something bigger and more rugged, a machine that makes us feel like we’re off-roading rather than simply traveling from one side of the estate to the other.
The wind rushes past as we follow the winding drive, the hum of the engine and the jostling ride making it impossible not to smile.
When we finally come to a stop in front of Oliver’s imposing mansion, a FedEx truck sits parked at the gate, waiting, its engine idling.
A delivery guy hops out, hauling a massive box.
“Ah,” Oliver says, a rare note of excitement in his voice. “It’s here.”
“What’s that?” I ask as he signs the form and thanks the driver.
“A new chair for your father,” he says with a proud smile. “I want him to have more independence—to get out of the house a bit. So, I ordered him a four-by-four.”
“A four-by-four?” My eyes go wide.
He shrugs. “Yeah… it’s a joke. Sorry. I know I’m not great with—”
“I thought you were serious!”
The smile on his face widens, and suddenly I can’t stop laughing. Real, uncontrollable laughter that bends me in half.
Oliver watches me like it’s the first time he’s ever seen me laugh, and when he joins in, the sound is rich and warm. I reach out, resting my hand on his shoulder for balance, my stomach aching from laughter, and he laughs even harder, like maybe, for once, neither of us is overthinking anything.
The front door opens, and my parents step outside to see what’s going on.
I drop my hand from Oliver’s shoulder and fall silent.
He does the same, except he takes one step back, putting a safe, deliberate distance between us.
“Oliver,” my father greets him, suspicious. “Everything all right?”
Of course. He’s never seen Oliver laugh before, which explains that look on his face.
“Yes,” Oliver says, clearing his throat and erasing the smile. “Actually, you’re the one I wanted to see.”
He gestures toward the box, and my father frowns.
“What’s that, Oliver?”
“A four-by-four,” I mutter under my breath and the two of us lose it again, laughing.
“It’s a new chair,” Oliver explains, regaining composure. “An electric one you can use around the property. Look.”
He points at the picture printed on the side of the box.
My father stares at it for a long moment, then gives a curt nod.
“Mr. Walker, thank you so much,” my mother says, her voice trembling somewhere between gratitude and relief.
My eyes stay on my father—the disapproval written all over his face—and for the first time, I feel the urge to speak up, to call him out for it.
“Now you’ll be able to chase me around the ranch,” I say, watching him carefully.
But he ignores me completely, his eyes fixed on Oliver.
“Deduct it from Cala’s paycheck,” he says flatly.
“What?” My blood starts to boil.
Oliver’s jaw tightens; his good mood vanishes instantly.
“Can I have a word with you, Lucien?” he says, his voice low and sharp.
My mother and I exchange a glance and immediately nod. We get out of there fast, not because I’m scared of Oliver anymore, but because I can feel the fury building in my chest like a pressure cooker ready to blow.