20. Callum #3
My pulse kicks up another notch, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
Then Vivienne appears in the doorway.
She stops there for a second, framed by the doorframe, backlit by the dining room lights so I can see the silhouette of her body through the thin fabric of her sweater.
Her hair is still down, falling loose and messy around her shoulders.
The gray sweater has slipped off her shoulder again, exposing the curve of bare skin, and she’s looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“Hey,” she says.
There’s something different in her tone now. Almost hesitant, like she’s not sure she should have stayed. But there’s an edge of something else too. Something electric that makes every nerve in my body snap to attention.
“Hey.” I straighten up, trying to look casual even though every muscle in my body has gone tense. “I thought you left with them,” I lie.
“I was going to.” She takes a step into the kitchen, and then another. Moving slowly closer to me. “But I realized I never thanked you.”
“For what?”
Her gaze drops to the floor, and she wraps her arms around herself in a defensive gesture that makes my heart squeeze. “For inviting me to your family’s dinner.”
She hesitates, her teeth catching her bottom lip.
“I meant to say something weeks ago, but it’s been so crazy with the event planning and coordinating with Chef Singh’s team about equipment and timing and —” She stops herself and takes a breath that makes her shoulders rise and fall.
“Anyway. Thank you. It was really nice. Your family is wonderful.”
With her standing in the middle of my kitchen, only a few feet away, I can see the exhaustion etched on her face.
The dark circles under her eyes that makeup can’t quite hide anymore.
The slight slump in her shoulders that wasn’t there two weeks ago.
She’s holding herself like she’s using the last of her energy just to stay upright.
She’s been working herself into the ground.
I know because I’ve been watching her do it, and I can’t stop her.
She’s been arriving before everyone else — sometimes before me, which shouldn’t be possible — and leaving after everyone’s gone.
She works through lunch and dinner service and into the late hours when the restaurant is closed and everyone else has gone home.
I’ve been trying to help. I’ve been bringing her food and making sure she always has coffee and water. I’ve been begging her to go home and sleep, to take a break, to let me help more.
She never listens. She just smiles that tired smile and says she’s fine, she’s almost done, just one more thing.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I say, but even I can hear how weak it sounds.
“I do.” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and my gaze slips to her smooth skin. The curve of her collarbone. The hollow at the base of her throat. “Your family’s really special, Cal. I know it wasn’t easy. Having me there. After everything.”
“It wasn’t hard at all,” I say honestly, my voice full of grit. “Having you there.”
“Well. Still. Thank you.”
We stand there for a second that stretches into two, then five, and I can feel the air between us shifting and getting heavier. Charged with something I can definitely feel humming under my skin.
She should leave. She should say goodnight and turn around and walk out the back door like she has every other night. Get in her car and drive back to the cottage and let us both maintain whatever careful distance we’ve been keeping for weeks now.
But she doesn’t move.
Her eyes drop to the plated scallop on the counter, then back to me. “You’re still testing?” she asks, and her voice has dropped an octave.
“Yeah. It’s almost there. It just needs —” I gesture vaguely at the pan. “Something.”
She steps close enough that I catch the scent of her shampoo. The one I smell on my clothes sometimes when I get home. It’s tantalizing and intoxicating, and I want to bury my face in her hair and just breathe her in.
“Can I try?”
The question catches me completely off guard. “You want to try it?”
“If that’s okay.” Her gaze holds mine, dark and intense in the kitchen light. There’s a challenge sparking in her eyes, almost playful, and that makes adrenaline spike through my veins. “I’ve been watching you test variations all week. I’m curious.”
“Oh, uh, yeah. Of course.”
I turn back to the stove, trying to keep my hands steady, and plate up a fresh scallop.
This one’s even better than the last. The sear is perfect, the color deep and even.
I spoon sauce around it carefully, making sure there’s enough preserved lemon and capers to balance the richness.
I add a small garnish of fresh herbs that I’ve had prepped all night.
When I turn back to her, she’s moved closer. If I took one step forward, our bodies would touch. I can feel the heat of her. I watch the way her chest rises and falls with each breath for a moment.
I hold out the fork.
But she doesn’t take it.
She slowly looks up at me, her eyes wide in the bright kitchen light, her expression a mix of curiosity and something that makes my blood run hot. Her sweater reveals her pulse point that’s beating way too fast.
And I’m standing here holding a fork like an idiot while she’s looking at me like that.
“Vivienne.”
“Yes?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
Something in me snaps. Something reckless. I’m tired of being careful. I’m tired of pretending.
And I’m so damn tired of keeping my distance when all I want is to close it.
Fine.
Before I can overthink it and the fear of rejection can take hold and talk me out of it and I can remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea, I make a decision.
If she wants to play this game, we’ll play.