Chapter 7 - Callie
—
Callie
The cover of my brand new sketch pad is flipped open. I’ve got a freshly-sharpened pencil in my hand, but the sheet of crisp white paper is totally empty. There isn’t a single mark or scribble on it, nothing to show for the near hour I’ve been sitting on this park bench.
Groaning, I tap my pencil on the page in time with the knee I’m bouncing up and down.
There’s honestly nothing worse than a blank page.
Some might see the blank space as potential, but it just feels like it’s mocking me—that is, until I manage to start something.
That’s the problem, though. It’s been a long time since I tapped into my artistic side and even longer since I started a new project.
The thought of picking up a paintbrush felt a little overwhelming, so I thought I’d start small, maybe do a few sketches of trees or something since landscapes and nature scenes are my favorite, but so far I’ve got nothing.
It’s not that there’s a lack of inspiration.
This park is one of my favorite places in Dayton Springs.
It’s lush and green this time of year, and all the dogwoods and magnolias are blooming.
Pink and purple azalea bushes line the fence, and just beyond that, a patch of wild honeysuckle fills the air with its sweet aroma, attracting at least a dozen honeybees.
The birds are chirping, and several squirrels are scurrying about, darting between the branches of the trees.
It’s a beautiful, peaceful place. In theory, it should be the perfect spot to do a few simple line drawings, but apparently, I’ve got artist’s block.
Or, more specifically, I’ve got my stupid ex made me believe art was a waste of time and I believed him because I was in love block.
I start scrawling random swirls on the corner of the page just to fill the empty space with something.
I try not to think too hard about it, just let my hand move on muscle memory as my mind wanders.
I don’t realize what I’m doing until a pair of eyes stares back at me.
I flip my pencil around to stub out the lines, but I barely swipe the eraser before I’m flipping the pencil again, the granite tip gliding across the page to add more depth and clarity.
When I’m finished Jensen Shepherd’s eyes pop off the page. I’ve managed to capture the exact expression he wore when the blindfolds first came off, and even though it’s not the real thing, my heart gives a pathetic little jolt.
“Stop,” I murmur, chiding myself. “Don’t even think about it.
” I hate that I’m still thinking about him.
It’s been three days since the photoshoot, three days since I mustered up my courage and sent Jensen a text against my better judgement.
A text that got no response. Zilch. Nada. Literally nothing.
It had stung a lot more than I’d expected.
I should’ve listened to my gut, to the voice in my head telling me that relationships are a complete waste of time, but a tiny kernel of possibility had wormed its way into my system, and I took a chance.
Crashed and burned in the end, but at least I tried.
A mistake I’ve sworn I won’t make again. At least, not anytime soon.
Yet, I can’t stop thinking about Jensen’s warm hands gliding across my skin, almost reverently.
I close my eyes and it's all too easy to imagine the way his strong arms made me feel so safe and secure. And that kiss? Oh sweet magnolias, it’s living rent-free in my mind.
How is it possible that a man can kiss like that and then completely ghost someone all in the same afternoon?
“Because that’s just how they are,” I mutter under my breath, covering my sketch with thick, dark lines. “Men like Adam and Jensen just . . . ” I can’t finish the sentence. As annoyed and frustrated as I am about the unanswered text, it feels wrong to put Jensen in the same category as Adam.
Huffing out a breath, I finish camouflaging the rendering of his eyes and turn the page to a fresh sheet. As I look around, I’m hoping something inspiring will leap into my peripheral or at least call out, “Sketch me! Sketch me!” Nothing does.
I scoop up my cell phone and do what every artist does when they’re blocked: procrastinate by checking social media. The mindless scrolling is just that, my finger swiping quicker than my brain can process. But then I see something that makes the blood in my veins ice over.
The picture was posted a few hours ago. Adam’s overly whitened smile is wide, and his arm is wrapped around the shoulders of a busty redhead in a blazer.
It’s pretty clear from their body language that this isn’t a work colleague or friend.
Nope, this is the hard launch of these two as a couple.
Which is funny considering the reason Adam broke up with me is because he said he needed to give all his focus to the firm.
I didn’t realize he meant the new paralegal that started working in the office two weeks before he kicked me out.
I screenshot the picture and fire it off to Mabel with a WTF gif and then decide I’m officially done with social media for the day.
Ignoring the unusual number of notifications at the top of my screen, I swipe to close the app.
I toss my sketchbook and my pencil into my bag. So much for finding inspiration today.
By the time I’ve made it back to my car, Mabel has sent me multiple texts in a row.
I snort and fire back a quick reply.
I re-open my app, tapping on the red notification button. Hundreds of comments fill my screen. “Whoa,” I do a quick scan, my cheeks lifting.
The Piggly Wiggly grocery store isn’t far from Mabel’s bungalow, and I pull into the closest parking space and grab a buggy from the corral.
Energy buzzes through me as I hurry down toward the freezer section. I grab our pints and some whipped cream and then aim my buggy down the savory snack aisle. We might as well go all out if we’re celebrating.
I snag a box of Cheez-It and toss a bag of pretzels into my buggy, pushing it without paying attention to where I’m going. I yelp when it smacks into something hard—another shopper’s cart.
“Oh my gosh,” I rush to say, “I am so sorry, I was just . . . ” The words die in my throat.
Jensen Shepherd’s hands are curled around the handle of the buggy I’ve just rammed, and his eyebrows are high, clearly surprised to see me. The same eyes I’d been sketching at the park are staring back at me in the flesh.
“Hi,” I manage, my tone going flat.
“Callie, hi.” Jensen reaches up and rubs at the back of his neck. “Uh, how are you?”
I’m fine, Captain Kiss and Run. How are you? Ghosted anyone else lately? I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Good. You?”
“Fine, thanks.”
There’s a long pause, both of us waiting for the other to say something.
Good gravy, could this be any more awkward? I mean, three days ago this man had his tongue in my mouth and now he can barely look at me.
It doesn’t help that he looks amazing. His face is slightly flushed, which brings out the deep blue of his eyes, and the stubble on his chin is a few days old, making him look rugged and handsome in a way that isn’t fair at all.
The collared Bradford Auto shirt he’s wearing is a bit dirty, and there’s a grease smudge on the side of his neck that my fingers are itching to wipe away. I force my hand to stay where it is.
I want to ask him so many things, the least of which why he ghosted me, but I decide it doesn’t even matter.
“Well, sorry about almost mowing you over.” I pull my buggy back and re-angle it so I can move around him. “Have a great night.”
“Callie, wait.” Jensen side-steps into my path. “I . . . ”
I don’t give him the opportunity to spin a lie or offer up some lame excuse. “I gotta get going, I’m heading to Mabel’s. The photos from our shoot went viral.” I point to the ice cream at the bottom of my buggy. “We’re celebrating. But uh, yeah. Nice talking to you.”
I whip my cart around in the opposite direction and speed walk down the aisle.
I checkout in record time, and once I’m safely back in my car, I breathe out, low and slow.
My reflection in the rearview is all red and splotchy.
I crank up the air conditioner and adjust the vent until the cool air is blowing directly in my face.
To say I’m flustered is the understatement of the year.
Seeing Jensen was awkward, but also electrifying.
My entire body is covered in goosebumps.
Despite the weird vibes and the text message snub, there was still a moment where my stupid heart leapt at the sight of him.
For that split second, all I could think about was how nice it was to be held by him and how much I wanted to be held by him again—which is absolutely infuriating.
“We’re not doing this,” I hiss at my reflection.
“We are not going there. He’s just another Adam waiting to happen.
” But even as I say it, the words don’t sit right with me.
Adam wasn’t capable of emotional connection.
He frowned upon it. The man I met during the photoshoot, the one who held me in his arms and kissed me senseless isn’t in the same category.
Whatever Jensen may be, I know in my gut that he’s not like Adam at all.
Annoyed—with myself above all— I crank the keys and steer my car toward Mabel’s.
Ten minutes later, I’m pulling into the bungalow’s driveway. I slam the door to my 4Runner and hurry to the front door, flinging it open. “Mabel?”
“In here,” she calls out from the living room.
I kick the door shut with my foot and heft the grocery bags of snacks a little higher on my arms.
Mabel waits for me in the living room, perched on the end of the couch and practically vibrating with excitement. “Did you see?” She hops up, rushing over to help put the bags on the counter.
“I saw my notifications blowing up, but I haven’t had a chance to look at the post.”
Mabel whips her phone out of her back pocket and taps the screen, flipping it around to show me the post she made about the photoshoot.
“I posted a teaser yesterday,” she explains. “The response was so strong, I made another post this morning with more images and . . . ” She points to the tiny number at the bottom of the screen. “Callie, look!”
My jaw drops. “Oh my god!”
She clutches my arm. “I know! I posted it and honestly forgot about it, but while I was at work today, my phone started going nuts with notifications and I opened it up to find this!” She takes the phone from me and taps on a different app, bringing up another platform.
“I posted it here too.” The post on this new platform is performing even better than the first one she showed me.
“I’ve already gotten a handful of inquiries about my services.” Mabel bounces up and down on her toes. “ Can you believe it?”
I reach for my cousin, wrapping her in a huge hug. “Well, of course I can believe it! You’re amazing and now the whole world knows it!” We both let out a squeal, jumping around in a little circle as we squeeze each other as tightly as possible.
I take another look at the post. It has at least fifteen photos attached, and each one is more stunning than the last. Mabel’s talent is undeniable, but that isn’t what makes me suck in a ragged breath.
It’s the tenderness that leaps from each photo, the warmth, and the undeniable connection between me and Jensen.
It’s in the way our hands are linked, the way my smile brightens when it's him I’m smiling at, the way he touches me in every single frame.
And oh my god, the kiss photos have my entire body feeling like the ground is shifting under my feet.
Then there’s the comments. Mabel is right, people aren’t only gushing about her incredible photography skills—they’re losing their minds over Jensen and me.
“Listen to this,” I read aloud.
I roll my eyes. “It’s written in all capital letters.”
“That’s because it’s a serious question,” Mabel tells me, pointing to another one. “I like this one."
"They’re not wrong, you know.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to Mr. ‘I’m going to ghost you and then act like you have the plague when I run into you at the Piggly Wiggly’,” I deadpan.
“Wait,” Mabel holds up a hand. “What?”
I quickly give her the lowdown on what happened at the store. “It’s fine, though. It’s not like I’m interested, I mean, I’ve got my cats to think of.”
“You mean the cats you don’t have?”
“Yet,” I remind her. “The cats I don’t have yet .”
Mabel rolls her eyes and continues scrolling through the comments, reading the good ones out loud and making us both laugh. When her phone rings, the sound of the Imperial Death March from Star Wars blasts from the speaker. Mabel’s face immediately drops as the contact name shows up on the screen.
“Not today, Satan,” she murmurs, silencing the call. She hastily returns to the viral post, but her enthusiasm is noticeably less.
“He’s calling again?” I ask, treading gently. The topic of her ex is usually a forbidden one.
“Yeah, but I just keep sending it to voicemail.”
I hate how small her voice sounds, so full of pain and anger. I throw my arm around her shoulder and squish her to my side. “You want to talk about it?”
“Nope.” She makes a little popping sound on the P consonant. “I just want to keep pretending he doesn’t exist.”
“And so we shall,” I tell her as I shove any lingering thoughts of Jensen far from my mind. “How about we focus instead on the two men who never let us down.”
Mabel grins. “I’ll get the spoons.”