Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Violet
Sunday dinner with Callum’s family. My nerves have been firing since I rolled out of bed this morning. The only thing keeping me from unraveling completely is knowing that Millie will be there, offering a small slice of comfort in an otherwise overwhelming situation.
I wish I could say I’m comfortable with my husband by now, but we're not quite there yet. We're trying—it's just more difficult than I imagined. There’s an unspoken tension between us, a kind of quiet awkwardness that neither of us seems to know how to navigate.
Callum is a night owl, while I’m an early bird.
By the time he rolls out of bed and grabs his first cup of coffee, I’ve already mucked the stalls, fed the horses and chickens, collected the eggs, and cleaned the coop.
Our lives run on different schedules, and it’s painfully obvious.
He’s not much of a talker in the morning, but I’m buzzing with energy.
I've been making him fresh eggs for breakfast, and I still get a tiny thrill every time he compliments them. “These are amazing,” he says, and I swear I see a spark of something genuine in his eyes. It’s the little things, I suppose.
But the rest of our time together? It’s strange.
Like we’re playing house, going through the motions without really connecting.
He works long hours at the brewery, and by the time he comes home, I’m already half-asleep, my day of hard labor at the ranch catching up to me.
I try to be a good wife—I keep his dinner warm for him when he gets home, making sure there’s always a plate ready.
But even that feels distant. We hardly see each other, living in the same house but inhabiting different worlds.
We text more than we talk, small updates or reminders about things around the house. It’s efficient but impersonal. This wasn’t how I imagined marriage at all. Growing up, I thought I’d marry someone I loved, someone I could share my life with.
I tell myself it’ll get easier. That we’ll find a rhythm eventually.
Callum has somehow managed to avoid seeing me come out of the shower again.
But there’s a part of me—one I barely want to admit to—that secretly wishes he would.
I should have been embarrassed the other night when he accidentally caught a glimpse of me, but I wasn’t.
Instead, it felt good. Good to have his eyes on me in a way I haven’t experienced in a long time.
It made me feel...wanted, and I liked it more than I care to admit.
I’ve caught glimpses of him shirtless, and holy cow, am I a lucky wife.
His broad shoulders, defined arms, and those tattoos that snake down them are enough to leave anyone breathless.
There's something undeniably magnetic about him—those muscular arms could easily lift hay bales or sweep someone off their feet, and I imagine they'd be just as strong doing either.
And those abs… he's got the kind of chiseled body that would make anyone stop and stare. I have no idea what his workout routine involves, but it’s clearly working.
I find my mind wandering, wondering what it would be like to run my hands over those abs.
If the upper half is this incredible, I’m sure everything from the waist down is equally.
.. impressive. I’m not usually one to let my thoughts get away from me like this, but when it comes to Callum, it’s hard not to.
With a shake of my head, I try to clear these thoughts. I shouldn’t be thinking about my husband like this. Our marriage is just a contract—a way to save the ranch, nothing more. But despite everything, I can’t seem to stop myself from imagining what it would be like if it were something more.
“Violet, we need to leave in twenty minutes,” Callum calls from the living room.
I can’t help but giggle as I finish getting ready.
It feels like such a married thing to do, rushing your wife out the door.
I take one last glance in the mirror. Unlike Callum, who had the luxury of a relaxed morning shower, I spent my morning mucking stalls and feeding the animals before scrubbing off the mud and muck.
Not that I’d want it any other way; the ranch is my life.
But still, it means I’m taking a little longer to get ready.
My red hair is down for once, falling in loose curls around my shoulders, so different from the messy ponytails I usually sport.
My makeup is minimal but enough to make my blue eyes stand out.
I smile at the sight—I actually feel like a different version of myself today.
One who’s not covered in dirt or rushing to meet the next task on the ranch.
I want to look nice when I meet Callum’s parents for the first time as his wife. They’re already going to have a million questions about this marriage. I don’t need them questioning my appearance on top of that.
Callum appears in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning against the frame casually. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and he gives me that smile. The one that sends a little jolt of something through me. “You look beautiful, Violet.”
My heart flutters at his words, racing in a way I’m not entirely sure I understand. “Thank you,” I reply softly, smoothing out the fabric of my dress. “Trying to make a good impression.”
He sighs, stepping further into the room as I turn to face him. “You don’t need to worry about that. I told you, my parents are going to love you. And, if I’m being honest, you look just as good in those ripped-up jeans as you do in the dress. You leave a lasting impression, that’s for damn sure.”
I blink, caught off guard by his words. They’re unexpected. It’s like a door’s cracked open, leading to a conversation we haven’t dared to have yet.
“Well,” I say, a playful edge creeping into my voice as I step past him, “you certainly leave a lasting impression too. With or without a shirt on.” I lift an eyebrow and glance back at him as I leave the bathroom.
His laugh follows me, deep and rich, and I can’t help the smile spreading across my face. My stomach flutters with that familiar feeling again—the one that’s been sneaking up on me lately.
Am I flirting with my husband?
And is he flirting back?
We pull up to Callum’s parents' house, and my stomach twists into a thousand knots.
The closer we get, the more aware I become of just how nervous I am.
My eyes are fixed on the window, watching the perfectly manicured lawn come into view as I grip the fabric of my dress, anxiously chewing on my bottom lip.
“Hey,” Callum says softly, reaching over and grabbing my hand.
The warmth of his touch startles me, and I nearly pull back out of instinct.
But I don’t. Instead, I sit there, stunned by the surge of electricity coursing through me from something as simple as his hand resting on mine.
It's not just the shock of his skin against mine, but the unexpected calm that follows, like he’s managed to quiet the storm of nerves swirling inside me with that single touch.
What the hell is happening?
“My family,” he begins, his voice steady and reassuring, “is loud and loves being in everyone else’s business.
They joke around and tease each other nonstop, but the one thing I can promise you is they love each other, no matter what.
” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze, and I find myself inching closer to him without even realizing it.
“My siblings already know what’s going on, and yeah, there might be some teasing, but my parents will be happy.
This is what they’ve wanted for me for a long time.
There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be right by your side the entire time. ”
His words hit me harder than I expected. They’re soft and reassuring, and it feels like he’s being an actual husband in this moment. His tender touch, the gentle way he’s trying to ease my anxiety is almost too much to process.
I’m not going to cry, though. That happened once when I broke down in front of him, and it’s not happening again. But there’s this unexpected swell of emotion rising inside me. Maybe it’s because, in this moment, it doesn’t feel like an act.
It feels real.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper as I glance down at our hands. His grip is strong, reassuring, and I don’t want to let go just yet.
Callum smiles, a warm expression that seems to melt away a little more of my anxiety. “Like I said, there’s nothing to worry about. They’re going to love you, Violet.”
We each make our way out of the truck and head toward the front door. The weight of what’s coming doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.
As Callum opens the door to his childhood home, the subtle pressure of his hand around mine grounds me.
We step inside, and I’m immediately struck by how warm and inviting everything feels.
Despite its size, the house doesn't scream wealth or status—it’s grand in its own way, but it's the lived-in touches that really stand out.
The scent of something delicious wafts from the kitchen, filling the air with the aroma of home-cooked food.
It’s the kind of smell that hits you deep, reminding you of family dinners and cozy evenings.
The hallway walls are filled with family photos, capturing moments that stretch back years.
Callum as a boy with a mischievous grin, his siblings in various stages of childhood, his parents looking proud and full of love.
It’s clear that this house is more than just a place to live—it’s a place where memories were made, where love has been nurtured over the years.
It’s cozy, warm, lived-in, and loved. Everything about it feels genuine.
“Hey,” Callum calls out as we walk further into the house.
“Hey, you’re the first one here.” A woman’s voice, full of excitement and energy, calls from somewhere deeper in the house. A moment later, his mother appears, her face lighting up with a smile so wide it nearly takes me by surprise.