Never til Now (Dayton Springs #1)

Chapter 1 - Callie

—

Callie

I need to put on pants. Real pants.

If I remove even one little item, there’s a good chance the entire thing will explode like a pinata, burying me alive.

It would be poetic in a way, I suppose. Crushed to death by all the clothes Adam made me buy, all the boring business books he said I needed to read. All the little odds and ends he insisted were much more “me.”

He’d already crushed my spirit, so why not let him crush the rest of me as well?

“Why did I even bring this stuff?” I grumble, fighting the urge to smack myself in the face as I stare into the open hatch.

It’s impressive really, the way I’ve managed to Tetris all the junk, but there’s not much in this SUV that actually matters to me.

But when your boyfriend of six years gives you an eviction notice instead of the engagement ring you were expecting, you get a little petty and take as much as you can from the apartment you two shared.

I eye the red duffle bag at the bottom of the pile and give it a good yank, but the duffle doesn’t move. Everything piled on top of it, however, gives an ominous rattle. I try again. The duffle still doesn’t move, but the pile sways this time, making me jump back.

“Fine,” I declare, holding my hands up in surrender.

“You win.” I reach for the back hatch, slamming it shut, and walk back toward the bungalow.

Mabel, my cousin and best friend, is in the kitchen, scrambling eggs like a pro and singing along to a Billy Joel song playing from the Alexa in the corner.

“Morning!” she chirps, pointing to one of the seats at the island bar where a plate waits for me. “Today’s the day, right?”

“The day I binge season 12 of The Real Housewives? ” I stuff a forkful of eggs into my mouth. “Mmhmm.”

Mabel rolls her eyes. “Come on, Callie. You promised you’d get out of the house for a while. I don’t care what you do, but you can’t sit on my couch all day. You need fresh air!”

“No, I need Netflix to stop being all judgey.” I counter, taking another bite of my breakfast. “It keeps asking me if I’m still watching.”

“That’s because it knows, like I do, that you’re wallowing.”

“I’m not wallowing!”

“You’ve been here for almost a month now, and the only person I’ve seen you interact with besides me is the pizza delivery guy.”

“Yeah, well, people are overrated.” I wave a hand. “Being a recluse is the new big thing, didn’t you know?”

“You know I love you right? But as your cousin, I’m familially obligated not to let you turn into . . . .” She indicates my general direction and wrinkles her nose. “This.”

“I’m perfectly fine with this, ” I retort, brandishing my fork like a pointer.

“Uh-huh. You’re like one step away from adopting multiple cats and never going out into public again.”

“Listen, if the cat distribution system chooses me, who am I to argue?”

“Callie,” Mabel whines, drawing out my name into one long word.

“I know what Adam the A-hole did to you has made you doubt everything about who you are, but you can’t just throw in the towel forever.

When was the last time you painted? Or did something just because you wanted to?

Or at least showered on a regular basis? ”

She pauses, waiting for me to give her an answer, but I can’t. And my insides twist when I think about the feel of a paintbrush in my hand.

Painting has always been my thing . My passion.

My outlet for when life was just a little too heavy to handle.

It’s one of the only things that helped me when my parents died, and it’s the reason I worked my butt off to get into one of the most prestigious art schools in the country.

It’s what makes me, me . Or at least it did . . . until I met Adam.

He was everything I’m not. Polished and professional, and he had a plan.

At first, I felt honored that he wanted to make me a part of it, privileged even.

So when he began to make a few simple suggestions, it was easy enough to agree.

Swap my favorite paint-spattered overalls for a matching gym set?

Sure, I can do that. Dye my naturally golden hair a platinum blonde? Heck yeah, let’s go!

But it wasn’t enough. And before I even realized it, I became a frog in a pot of hot water.

Give up art school for a more respectable business degree? Well, if you really think it’s for the best.

Learn to play tennis instead of painting so much? Yeah, I can give that a try, I guess.

I didn’t realize at the time that I was being boiled alive. I was in love, after all. And someone you love could never hurt you like that, right ?

Spoiler alert: Wrong.

“If you don’t get it together soon, he wins,” Mabel says as gently as she can. “You know that right?”

Ugh. She has me there. I can still picture Adam’s smug, unfeeling face when he told me he was making Partner and that he no longer saw a future with me and wanted me to move out by the end of the week. He said he needed the time and space to focus on his career.

I sigh. “I did have a thought about putting real pants on today.”

“Yes!” Mabel claps her hands together like I’ve just solved the world’s energy crisis. “Real pants are good!”

“Except when they’re buried at the bottom of your SUV and retrieving them means facing death by avalanche.”

“Okay, that’s probably true, but maybe that’s your first step. Unpacking your car.”

“And put my stuff where?”

“In the loft, of course.”

I roll my eyes. “Mabel, we’ve talked about this. I can’t stay in the loft much longer.”

It’s the same argument we’ve been having for days now.

Despite being super cute and well-decorated, Mabel’s tiny bungalow is only meant for one person.

The one bedroom isn’t big enough to share, and the small “studio” space that’s really more like a glorified closet, is where she keeps all of her photography equipment.

There’s barely space for me on the couch, much less all the junk in my car—which is why I’ve been sleeping in the small loft apartment above the detached garage out back.

Mabel scrunches her brow. “Well, it’s my house, and I say you can.”

Her response, even though it’s nothing but 100% pure stubbornness, makes me want to jump up and squeeze the snot out of my cousin.

When I’d called her, all dramatic and tearful, to tell her that Adam dumped me and I was coming home, she hadn’t hesitated to offer a dozen hugs, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, and the loft space she usually rents out for extra income.

With only four months between us, we’ve always been close, a bond that grew even deeper when my parents were killed in a car wreck when I was fourteen.

I’d moved in with her and my aunt and uncle and we became inseparable.

People even mistake us for sisters because we look so much a like—same blonde hair, same fair skin and dark green eyes.

But Mabel’s shorter than me and curvier, with a line of freckles across her nose that I’ve always envied.

She’s more confident than I am, too. She knows who she is and in the words of Dolly, “does it on purpose.” She’s my person, and even after I graduated and moved away from our hometown of Dayton Springs, Alabama, we’d never gone more than a day without talking.

There isn’t anything Mabel wouldn’t do for me and I for her.

But occupying her loft space on a permanent rent-free basis would place a huge financial burden on my cousin’s shoulders—and I’m not about to ask her to do that, especially after all she’s been through the last few years.

Let’s just say, I’m not the only one with baggage when it comes to exes.

Mabel’s photography business is still in the early phase, and she’s worked so hard to try and build her portfolio but she hasn’t had her big break yet.

Instead of doing photography full time, she’s stuck working shifts at the local diner to make the mortgage.

The rental income from her loft used to help a lot, but now things are extra tight with me squatting up there.

“You could just let me pay rent.” I say.

“Pssh,” Mabel waves a hand. “You’re family. Your money’s no good here.”

Tell that to the three overdue bills I saw you stuffing in the junk drawer the other day, I want to retort but don’t.

I’ve known Mabel my whole life, and she’s not one to back down—especially when it comes to the people she loves.

Arguing with her won’t work. If I really want to help, I need to find my own place. And fast.

But finding the energy to even pick myself up off the couch lately has been tough.

“Now, stop trying to change the subject.” Mabel lightly swats at my arm. “Are you going to get outside and touch some grass, or am I going to have to call the sheriff and tell him there’s a phrogger in my living room?”

I crack a smile at that, even if the idea is a little overwhelming.

“I want to,” I admit. “I hate feeling like a depressed blob of patheticness, but this whole thing with Adam has just sucked all the wind out of my sails.” I pluck at the fabric of my sweats.

“My life revolved around him for so long . . . and now? I don’t even know who I am anymore. I mean, look at me. I’m a mess.”

Mabel comes around the island and throws her arms around me.

“Aren’t we all, though?” She squeezes me tightly and then pulls back, a smile lifting her cheeks.

“It might take some time, but you’ll find her again.

That girl that I’ve always known and loved?

She’s still in there. You’re still her. That man-baby may have stolen your shine for a while, but I know you’ll find it again. ”

I swallow hard, trying to keep the tears welling up in my eyes from dripping down my cheeks. “I hope so.”

“I know so,” Mabel gives me another squeeze. “Annnnnd, in the meantime, I think I know what you need.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup. You need something to boost your confidence.”