Chapter 11 - Callie
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Callie
It’s an innocent enough question, one that most people tend to ask while they’re making small talk—the whole, where you from? What brings you to town? sort of thing. I highly doubt Jensen knows it’s a loaded one.
Still, he’s waiting for an answer. I do a quick run-through of the options and decide to just go with the truth.
“My boyfriend of six years, who I thought was going to propose, dumped me and then kicked me out of our apartment,” I rush the words out with a shrug. “So, I came home.”
Jensen’s eyes widen slightly as he processes the information.
“But don’t feel sorry for me or anything,” I hurry to add. “He wasn’t the one. It just took me way too long to figure it out.”
“He dumped you, and then kicked you out?” He repeats the words slowly.
“Mmmhmm,” I confirm. “You know those pathetic country songs where you lose your house and your wife and your dog all in one shebang? Well, turns out that really does happen. I’m a walking, talking stereotype over here.”
“He took your dog, too?”
“Not exactly, no. I’d been begging for him to let me get a dog for years, and he always said they were too much work. When he told me we needed to talk, I thought he’d changed his mind about the dog. But turns out, he changed his mind about me .”
My laugh falls flat. I quickly drop my eyes to Peaches, who has her head in my lap. I hate how pathetic I sound.
Jensen pulls up next to the RV and puts the truck into park, but he makes no move to get out. He turns to look at me, giving me his full attention and clearly wanting to hear the rest of my pitiful little tale.
“He was nice enough to give me until the end of the month to find another place to live,” I add dryly.
“But I couldn’t wait that long. The next time he left for work, I threw everything I could into my 4Runner and got out of there.
” I let out a sigh. “I ended up back here. It’s where I should’ve been all along.
Adam hated everything about this place, which in hindsight, should’ve been a big clue, but I guess I was just too dumb to see the signs. ”
“Don’t say that,” Jensen says gently. “I know I haven’t known you very long, but ‘dumb’ isn’t a word I’d use to describe you. Now him, on the other hand, I’d say that word—and a few choice others—describe him perfectly.”
His sweet defense of me is a stark contrast to the grumpy demeanor he’s been displaying ever since he found me in his front yard, and I’m not entirely sure what to make of it.
Still, a warm shiver skips down my spine, and oh Sweet Caroline, do I love the way he says my name.
There’s something about the timbre of his voice, deep and low, that makes my insides feel like cooked spaghetti.
“You and Mabel are of the same opinion.”
“Smart woman, that Mabel Callahan.”
“She’s the best,” I agree. “I don’t know where I’d be without her honestly.
She’s like an anchor in my life, always keeping me steady.
It’s why she’s letting me stay in her studio right now, even though she can’t afford it.
I think she’d rather end up without a single cent to her name than let me spend another minute with someone like Adam the A-hole.
” The sudden urge to hug my cousin hits me pretty strong.
“But that’s also why I’m hoping this works out.
” I point to the RV through the windshield.
“Mabel’s been through a lot and she deserves nothing but good things.
So, I really need to find my own place. ”
Jensen nods, though his face is impossible to read. He seems so much more closed off than he did at the photoshoot, and I hate how much I hate the weird distance between us. Despite the fact that he’s clearly not interested in me, my heart still speeds up every time his stormy eyes meet mine.
It doesn’t help that he’s one of the most attractive men I’ve ever laid my eyes on.
He’s wearing a baseball hat today, and I have always been a sucker for a guy in a hat.
His plain green tee stretches across his chest and his broad shoulders and the short sleeves show off more of his tattoos.
The sleeve starts at his wrist and then moves up his forearm and bicep and, I suspect, his shoulder as well.
The swirling black ink is rich and dark, and if I weren’t such a chicken, I’d reach out and trace the patterns with my finger.
“Well, let’s see what you think.” Jensen pulls the keys from the ignition and opens his door. I follow suit, holding my door open long enough for Peaches to jump to the ground.
“It was made in 1957,” he tells me. “The original owners kept it in pretty good condition, but after they passed, it went from owner to owner and eventually ended up at auction. It wasn’t in the best shape by then, but I spent the better part of last year restoring her.
” Jensen unlocks the door to the Airstream and holds it open for me.
“She’s got all the vintage charm of her prime with a few modern upgrades. ”
I step inside and my mouth drops open. It looks exactly like the pictures on the listing, but it’s even better in person. The space isn’t huge, but roomy enough for me to be more than comfortable.
“You did all this yourself?” I ask, spinning in a slow circle so I can take it all in.
“I did,” Jensen leans in through the open door. He’s got one hand above his head, braced on the doorframe, and the other shoved into the front pocket of his jeans.
“That’s . . . ” For a second, I forget that I’m supposed to be admiring the RV and not its owner. “Um, that’s amazing.” My cheeks burn as heat floods through me. “You’ve done a really incredible job. Seriously, it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I run Kase’s shop—that’s where I spend most of my time, but whenever I can carve out some free time I work on RVs. Brings me a little bit of peace.”
The way his voice curls around that last sentence, and the obvious pain in his tone, makes me pause. That’s how I feel about painting. When life is too hard to face, I lose myself in the swirling colors across my canvas. It’s the only thing that silences the noise in my head.
“What about you? What do you do?” His question catches me off guard. It’s another one I’m not sure how to answer.
“Well, I’m not employed at the moment, but I spent the last four years working as a receptionist for an investment firm.
” I already sound super pathetic, I don’t want to make it worse by explaining that Adam basically gaslit me into getting what he considered a “respectable” job, instead of doing what I actually wanted to do with my life.
The longer I’m home and the more layers I peel back, the more I realize just how much of myself I let him change, and I hate it.
“But don’t worry, I can pay my rent and all that.
I have savings and I’m looking for a new job.
I’m sure someone in this town needs a receptionist.”
Jensen must see something on my face because he scoffs. “What do you want to do?”
“Paint.” It’s an automatic response, I don’t even have to think about it.
“I’ve always wanted to open up my own studio, teaching painting classes or something.
I did two years of art school before . .
. ” I trail off, not wanting to finish the story of how Adam had talked me into quitting school to be with him in New York, to admit that I’d allowed someone to talk me out of my own dreams. “Anyway, I’d love to do something with art or something that allows me to be creative.
But I’ll take anything at this point. Is the auto shop hiring? ”
I say the last part with a smile, needing the joke to take some of the pressure off.
“Can you build a transmission?”
“Oh absolutely, 100%.”
“Well, then, consider yourself hired,” Jensen replies, playing along. “In all seriousness though, I might have a solution for you. ”
“You’re not really offering me a job, are you? I was totally kidding about the transmission thing. I don’t know the first thing about cars. I’m the kind of girl who waits ‘til the light comes on to put gas in the tank. Trust me, you don’t want me anywhere near an engine.”
“No,” Jensen laughs, “Not at the shop, but I did overhear Stephanie Smith saying they needed some help at the elementary school when she came in last week to get her oil changed. Apparently, the paraprofessional who helps the art teacher decided to retire.”
“Really?”
“Really. Not sure if they’ve filled the position yet, but it’s worth looking into.”
“Definitely! Thank you.”
Jensen gives me one of those half smiles of his, and I quickly turn my attention back to the RV to keep from blurting out all the things I’m thinking in my head, like how attractive he is and how much I like his beard and his eyes and his whole face really and—
My phone dings with a notification, and I swipe at the screen. “Mabel told me this morning she scheduled a post with more pictures from our shoot since everyone went nuts over the last one. Looks like it just went live.”
I pull up her account and gasp. Three new photos of Jensen and I pop into view, and I’m blown away by how incredible they are. I’d seen some of the raw footage, but Mabel edited these in her signature style. They look even more amazing than they did the first time I saw them.
You all begged for more! The caption reads. Ask and you shall receive! Check out these photos from Callie and Jensen’s stranger session. I think it’s safe to say there was some chemistry. Want to see even more? Let me know!
One of the pictures is of us standing back-to-back with our blindfolds on. Another is one where Jensen is standing behind me, bending down so his cheek is touching mine. The third is one of us kissing.
The artistry in the photography is evident, but the chemistry leaping out of the photos is even more undeniable. I can’t help but zero in on the one of us kissing, my skin heating at the memory.
“Wow,” I say, passing my phone over so Jensen can see. “I knew my cousin was awesome, but I think she outdid herself on this one.”
“She’s a hell of a photographer,” Jensen agrees, handing me my phone back. “And it looks like I’m not the only one who thinks so.” He points to the comment section, which is already starting to fill with people gushing over the photos.
When I look up from my phone, Jensen’s eyes are on me. I meet his gaze with my own, letting myself get lost in those deep blue irises of his. Electricity crackles through me and every bit of connection I felt during the photoshoot slams into me with such force it makes me breathless .
We stare at each other for far longer than is normally appropriate before a familiar wail fills the air.
It almost makes me laugh, the metaphor of it all.
“It’s the first Wednesday of the month,” I sigh, as the tornado siren—the town’s monthly test of the emergency system—continues its shrill song.
Growing up in the South, especially a town that’s smack dab in the middle of tornado alley, you get used to hearing the sirens on the first Wednesday of every month.
But still, it’s an eerie sound, especially now that the weather is warming up.
Spring in Alabama means tornadoes, and I shudder at the reminder.
Jensen and I continue to stare at each other, but it’s more awkward than heated at this point, and once the siren finishes blaring, Jensen tears his eyes away from mine and clears his throat.
“So, what do you think?” He indicates the trailer.
“You interested?” The words are brusque, and his expression has darkened. “It’s yours if you want it.”
My stomach sinks at the look on his face.
Is he offering because he feels obligated?
Is he just a nice, sometimes grumpy, and very confusing guy with a spare RV to rent?
Or is it something else? I have absolutely no idea what’s going on in his head, and I’d wager to say that Jensen Shepherd is one of the hardest people to read that I’ve ever met.
I need a place to live, but saying yes to this place means saying yes to seeing Jensen every day, to being near him. Can I handle that? Do I want to?
All it takes is the thought of my cousin’s overdue bills to make up my mind for me.
For Mabel, I would do anything.
So even though I know deep down that this is probably a very bad idea, I push my hair off my shoulder and steel myself. “I’ll take it.”