15. Callum
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Callum
The office smells like her now.
I’d recognize the light, floral scent that follows Vivienne around anywhere.
It’s embedded in the tiny space, mixing with the usual smell of old paper and coffee.
Her laptop is open on the desk with three different documents visible on the screen.
There are sticky notes everywhere. Pink ones on the filing cabinet, yellow ones lining the edge of the desk, and blue ones stuck to the corkboard in what I’m sure is some kind of system only she understands.
It should bother me. This is my office. She’s invaded my personal space. The one place in the entire restaurant that’s supposed to be mine alone.
But it doesn’t bother me at all. Not even a little bit.
If anything, I like it. I like walking in here and seeing evidence of her everywhere and knowing she’s been here and she’s safe. She’s in my space fighting to save something that isn’t even really hers to save.
Her falling-apart composition book is open next to the laptop, covered in her swirly handwriting. Black ink for facts, blue for ideas, and red for follow-up, she told me. A pen is stuck through her hair, holding up that messy bun she always wears.
I’m leaning against the doorframe, watching her work like a creep. She doesn’t know I’m here yet. Her eyes are locked on the screen, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she moves the trackpad with one hand while the other absently twirls a strand of hair that’s escaped the bun.
I should say something. Announce myself. At least clear my throat a little. But I can’t seem to make myself make a sound.
Watching her like this, so focused and completely in her element, reminds me why I fell for her in the first place.
The late-afternoon light is coming through the small office window and catching on her face, illuminating the curve of her cheek and the concentration in her hazel eyes.
A few strands of hair have escaped, falling around her face in a way that’s completely unintentional and somehow perfect.
There’s a small crease between her eyebrows from staring at the screen too long, and her lips are slightly parted as she reads.
God, she’s beautiful.
I didn’t like that polished, put-together facade she had that first day she walked into my restaurant with her blazer pressed, makeup perfect, and every hair in place. That wasn’t Vivienne.
This is better. This is the real Vivienne.
This is the Vivienne I remember.
The lunch rush just ended twenty minutes ago. The dining room is empty now. Frannie is clearing the last few tables, and the kitchen is in that post-service lull. Dishes are being washed and stations being wiped down. Roman is organizing prep for dinner.
I should be in there with them. But I still can’t seem to make myself move.
“Are you just going to stand there like a creep, or are you going to say something?” Vivienne asks without looking up.
Oops. Caught.
“How did you know I was here?”
“You breathe loud.”
“I do not breathe loud.”
“You do. Like a —” She makes a loud huffing sound, her nose scrunched. “— Like that.”
“That is not what I sound like.”
She’s messing with me. I can see the smile she’s trying to hide.
“It’s exactly what you sound like.” She looks up now, her eyes gleaming mischievously, but I’m stuck on the dark circles lining those eyes. Ten days of barely sleeping while she works herself into the ground. But at least she’s smiling slightly. “What do you want, Cal?”
You, I think. And immediately feel like an idiot.
“I’m just checking on you.”
“Do you need your office?”
“No. No — you’re fine. You’ve just been staring at that screen for” — I look at the small clock on the wall — “six hours?”
“Has it been that long?” She blinks her bleary eyes and looks at her own laptop clock, seeming genuinely surprised. “Oh. Wow. Yeah, I guess it has been.”
I’ve noticed that she does this a lot. Loses herself completely in work.
I remember it from school. She’d get so focused on a project that time would just disappear.
I’d find her in the library at three in the morning, still taking notes, not realizing the building was supposed to close at midnight and the librarian just had a soft spot for her.
I push off the doorframe and step into the small office. It feels even more cramped than usual with all her stuff everywhere. I have to move a stack of papers just to lean against the filing cabinet.
“Is it done?” I ask, nodding toward the laptop.
She takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “Yeah. It’s done.”
“And?”
“And I’ve read it seventeen times. Changed the wording on page three several times. Adjusted the revenue projections twice. Questioned every single number and citation and —” She stops and runs both hands over her face, dragging her features down. “It’s as good as it’s going to get.”
I can hear the fear underneath the professionalism. She’s terrified this won’t be enough, that we’ll have worked ourselves to exhaustion and it still won’t save the restaurant.
That she’ll have failed me.
Which is insane, because she’s already done more than I had any right to ask. More than I could have done alone.
“So send it.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
She stares at the screen with her hand hovering over the trackpad, but she doesn’t click anything. She just lingers there, frozen.
I know that feeling. The moment right before you commit to something irreversible. Right before you jump and hope someone catches you.
“What if they hate it?” she mutters.
“They won’t.”
“What if the numbers are wrong? What if I missed something? What if —”
“Vivi.” I move closer and crouch down next to her chair so we’re at eye level. “It’s good. I’ve read it. Multiple times. It’s comprehensive. It’s realistic. It’s exactly what they asked for. You are good at this.”
She seems to consider her words before her eyes meet mine, and I see that she’s terrified. “But what if it’s not enough?”
She cares. More than she probably should for a consultant who’s getting paid to be here.
And that makes me want to pull her out of that chair and tell her that even if this fails, even if we lose everything, if the investors pull out and I have to sell every single piece of restaurant equipment, having her here has been worth it.
Finally seeing her and knowing she is safe after all this time was more than worth it.
But that would be way too much for whatever this fragile thing between us is right now.
We’re just finding our footing again. We are starting to rebuild some kind of trust after silence and hurt.
I can’t risk that by admitting that having her here feels like the best thing that’s happened to me in years.
Watching her work in my office, surrounded by her color-coded notes and half-empty coffee mugs, feels more right than anything has in a long time.
That her hand on my thigh was the first time I’d been steadied by another person in longer than I can remember.
No. I need to keep it simple. Keep it safe.
“Then it’s not enough,” I say instead, “but we’ll have tried. We’ll have done everything we could. And whatever happens next, we’ll figure it out.”
The tension in her face gives way to something gentler before she turns back to the laptop and moves the cursor to the send button. She waits there for another second.
I hold my breath.
“Okay,” she breathes. “Okay. I’m doing it.”
“Do it.”
She clicks quickly, the noise echoing in the small office, and the email whooshes away with the sound that means it’s gone and out of our hands and on its way to three men who hold my future in their hands.
Vivienne slumps back in the chair, both hands coming up to cover her face.
“That was awful,” she says, muffled behind her palms.
“It’s done.”
“It’s done.”
“We did it.”
“We did it.” She drops her hands and looks at me. “In ten days. We put together a full, comprehensive business plan in ten days.”
“You put together a business plan in ten days. I just provided poorly put-together spreadsheets and complained about things.”
“You did more than that.”
“I made coffee.”
“You trusted me.” She says it without fuss, but it lingers between us. “Even when you didn’t agree with my suggestions and I couldn’t even explain my reasoning — you trusted me.”
My next breath comes a little uneven.
She’s right. I did trust her. Even when I was still hurt about her leaving and I didn’t understand her decisions. Even when every instinct told me to keep my distance and lock my heart away.
I trusted her anyway.
Somewhere deep down, past all the anger and confusion and hurt, I still know her. And I still believe in her.
I think I always will.
“Yeah,” I swallow. “I did.”
We sit there for a second, just looking at each other with soft smiles. The office is quiet. The restaurant beyond is quiet. It feels like we’re the only two people in the world.
Like if I leaned forward just a little bit, if I closed this distance between us —
Then Vivienne’s stomach growls.
Loudly.
And the moment breaks.
She presses a hand to it, laughing. “That was embarrassing.”
“When’s the last time you ate?”
“I had coffee this morning.”
“Coffee isn’t food.”
“We’ve had this conversation. Beans are a food.”
I stand up, my knees protesting slightly from crouching. Man, I need to stretch more. “Come on.”
“What? Where?”
“We’re getting out of here.”
She blinks up at me. “What?” she repeats.
“You’ve been cooped up in this office for over a week straight. We just sent off the most important document of my career. And you need food.” I hold out my hand. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”
The words are out before I fully think them through.
In Paris, she used to take walks when she was stressed. I’d see her slip out between practicals and come back an hour later calmer and more centered. I never went with her. She always seemed like she needed the space. And I would have given her anything she needed, even if it was space.
I think I would still give her anything she needed if she asked.