31. Vivienne #2
“Not just the place,” I continue quickly, needing him to understand all of what I’m saying.
“The people. Your family and how they just welcomed me like I was always supposed to be a part of it. Sunday dinners with everyone talking over each other and your dad telling stories and the twins arguing and Wesley pretending to be annoyed.”
I’m crying now, but I can’t stop. Now that the words are tumbling out, I don’t know if I could stop even if I tried.
“Frannie getting excited about literally everything. Cora’s deadpan commentary.
Roman’s terrible jokes. Iris and her books and the way she listens to everyone like every word matters.
Sloane and her plans for the fishing business and how she’s trying so hard to honor her dad while making it her own.
The whole town showing up for that dinner like your success was their success. ”
I cup his face in my hands, making sure he hears every word and sees the truth in my eyes.
“And you,” I whisper. “Especially you. I love you so much. I love the way you cook like you’re having a conversation with the food.
I love the way you talk about this place like it’s part of you.
I love the way you looked at me after I told you about Stellan and you didn’t see someone broken.
You saw someone strong. Someone brave. Someone worth loving. ”
“You are brave,” he says, his voice rough. “You are so worthy of love.”
“I love waking up to the ocean,” I continue, the words just tumbling out.
“I love walking down Main Street and people knowing my name. I love working in the restaurant with you.” I pause and take a shaky breath.
“I love all of it. And I don’t want to walk away from it just because it scares me how much I want it. ”
“Vivienne —”
“I know the cottage is month-to-month. Assuming there is anything left of the cottage after this,” I interrupt. I have to get the words out before I overthink them. “And I know I don’t have a job here lined up. I know there are a thousand logistical things to figure out, and I know staying means —”
“Stay,” he cuts in, and his voice is fierce now and almost desperate. His hands come up to frame my face, mirroring my position. “Please stay.”
“Really?”
“We’ll figure out the rest. The job, the living situation, all of it.
” He’s talking fast now, like he’s afraid I’ll change my mind if he doesn’t get all the words out fast enough.
“You could keep consulting if you want. Or you could work with me at the restaurant. Not just consulting but actually working there. We could build it into something even better together. Or you could do something completely different. Fish with Wesley! Work at the cafe! Do anything you want. We’ll figure it out. Together.”
He leans his forehead against mine, his eyes closing.
“Just please stay,” he almost whimpers. “Stay and have coffee with Margo, and dinner with Iris, and business meetings with Sloane. Come to every Sunday dinner. Stay and argue with me and work with me and —”
His voice breaks, and he has to stop to take a breath, composing himself.
“Stay and let me love you,” he finally manages. “Let me love you the way I’ve wanted to forever. The way I should have been loving you all along.”
Tears are streaming down my face. “Okay.”
He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching mine. “Okay?”
“Okay.” I nod aggressively, smiling through the tears. “I’ll stay. I’m staying.”
For a second, he just stares at me like he can’t quite believe it. Then the smile that breaks across his face is like the sun coming out after days of rain. It transforms his whole face, and he looks younger and lighter in seconds.
He pulls me down into a kiss that’s so joyful and so full of promise. His arms wrap completely around me, holding me so tight I can barely breathe, like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever held.
When our lips finally break apart, we’re both crying and laughing and holding each other like we’re afraid to let go.
“I can’t believe you’re staying,” he says against my hair, his voice muffled.
“I can’t believe the debt is gone.”
“I can’t believe you’re here. In my arms. In Westerly Point.”
“I can’t believe you drove through that storm to get to me.”
He pulls back enough to look at me, and his face shifts to something very serious.
“Listen to me,” he says, his hands coming up to cup my face and hold me steady. “I need you to understand something.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll always come for you.” His eyes are blazing. “Storm or no storm. No matter what happens. No matter how scared you get or how much time you need or how complicated things become — I will always come for you. Always.”
My throat is so tight I can barely swallow past the lump forming.
“You spent years protecting me from my own instincts,” his voice goes softer but no less intense. “Five years carrying something alone because you thought it would destroy me to know. And maybe you were right. I probably would have done something stupid. But Vivi —”
He leans his forehead against mine again.
“You don’t have to protect me anymore,” he whispers. “You don’t have to carry anything alone. Whatever comes next — good or bad or complicated or messy — we face it together. You understand?”
I nod, unable to form any coherent words.
“I need to hear you say it,” he presses gently.
“Together,” I say, my voice breaking finally. “We face it together.”
“Good.” He kisses my forehead, then my nose, then my lips. “Because I’m not letting you go again. Not ever. You’re stuck with me now.”
I laugh, the sound watery. “Good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing as close as I can get. “Because I’m not going anywhere. This is it for me, Cal. You’re it for me.”
He makes a sound that’s half laugh, half sob, and buries his face in my neck. I can feel him shaking slightly, the wetness of tears against my skin.
“I love you,” he says, muffled. “God, I love you so much.”
“I love you too.” I run my fingers through his hair, holding him close. “So much it scares me sometimes.”
“Good scared or bad scared?”
“Good scared. The scared that comes with having something so precious.”
He lifts his head to look at me, and his smile is so full of so much love.
We sit like that for a long time, wrapped around each other in the tiny bathroom while the storm slowly dies outside.
His hands are gentle on my back, moving in slow circles.
My fingers trace patterns through his damp hair, following the waves.
We’re not talking, just breathing together and letting the reality of everything sink in.
The debt is gone. I’m staying.
We’re finally together.
After five years of running and hiding and carrying weight that was never meant to be carried alone — we’re finally here.
I’m finally home.
Eventually, I become aware that the wind has died down. The rain has lessened from a deluge to a steady pour. The worst of the storm is passing.
“We should probably check the damage,” Callum says, but he doesn’t move. His arms stay wrapped around me.
“In a minute.” I tighten my hold on him. “Just one more minute.”
“Okay.” He chuckles and settles back against the bathtub, adjusting me on his lap so I’m more comfortable, and presses a kiss to my temple. “One more minute.”
But it’s more than a minute. It’s ten, then twenty, then we lose track of time entirely, just sitting in the quiet aftermath, holding each other, letting the magnitude of everything wash over us like waves.
“What happens now?” I ask eventually, my voice muffled against his neck.
“Now?” His hand comes up to stroke my hair. “Now we wait for the storm to pass completely. Then we assess the damage to the cottage. Then I will take you home.”
“Home?”
“My apartment. Unless you want to try to salvage this place tonight, which I strongly vote against given the giant hole in the window and possible roof damage.”
I pull back to look at him. “Your apartment?”
“You can’t stay here.” His voice is firm. “You’re coming home with me. We’ll deal with the cottage tomorrow when it’s light outside and safe.”
The way he says home — like it’s a given, of course I’ll come back with him — makes my heart squeeze.
“Okay,” I smile. “Home. Let’s go home.”
His answering smile is brilliant and unguarded. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”
Callum’s thumb is back to tracing circles on my hip in an unconscious rhythm. “You know what the best part of all this is?”
“What?”
“We have time now.” He looks at me, and his eyes are glazed over. “No more debt eating everything. No more running from city to city. Just … time. To figure things out. And build something together. Time to be together without all the weight we’ve both been carrying.”
“Time,” I repeat, testing the word. It feels foreign and precious at the same time.
“Yeah.” He kisses me softly. “All the time in the world.”
I settle back into his chest, his arms coming around me, and for the first time in five years, I let myself believe it.
We have time.
We have each other.
We have home.
Outside, I hear the rain finally stop. The wind drops to a whisper, just a gentle breeze now.
The storm is passing.
And we survived it.
Together.