13. Darcy
13
DARCY
W e drove the short distance back to my house, the smell of fried food wafting through the car. My stomach grumbled at the smell, and I realized how hungry I was. I was touched Callum had brought it for me and surprised by the kindness of the gesture. I never expected him to apologize for his fight with John.
“Up here on the right,” I said, pointing out my small Cape Cod-style cottage. Even in the pouring rain the house was quaint. I always felt better coming home to it, and I was proud of the way I had fixed it up, bringing it back to its former glory.
Callum slowed the car to park along the sidewalk.
“How nice,” he said, smiling at me. I thought about the pouring rain and the bag of food sitting at my feet. From the size of the bag, it looked like far too much food for one person. And Callum had been so sweet tonight ...
“Have you eaten?” I asked. I waited for his reply as the windshield wipers squeaked against the windshield.
“Not yet,” he admitted. “Liz probably saved a plate for me.”
“It looks like I have plenty for two,” I said carefully. “Do you want to come in?”
It was only hours ago that I was telling myself to keep my distance from Callum and not to let myself get too attached. But the rain falling around us as everything got dark outside made the rest of the world fall away. I wanted a quiet dinner where I could enjoy someone else’s company.
“If you’re up for it,” he said. “I’d love to.”
The rain was falling harder, and neither of us had an umbrella. I hadn’t brought anything except a sweater when I walked back to the office. Callum took the food, and we made a run for it back to the house, the rain beating onto our heads and shoulders. I cried out as I struggled to fit my key into the lock and Callum tried to shield us both with his jacket, standing close to me. Finally, the key turned, and I pushed inside, both of us laughing and dripping from the downpour. I looked up at him as he ran his hands through his hair, flicking water out of it.
“Food might be a little soggy,” he laughed. I smiled back at him and told him it was alright as I peeled my soaked sweater off and hung it by the front door.
Since Callum had a coat on, he was less wet than I was, and I was glad to see his shirt was mostly dry when he took it off. But his curly dark hair was wet, dripping down around his eyes in a way that made him even more handsome than usual.
“I’m going to change,” I said, feeling a slight shiver as I peeled my eyes away from him. “The kitchen is just off to the right.”
Callum nodded, and I rushed upstairs to take off my soaked jeans and T-shirt. I agonized over what I should put on, longing for sweatpants but not wanting to look too casual with Callum setting up food in my kitchen. But it had been a long day and ultimately comfort won out. I picked out my favorite sweatpants, an old pair with “Maplewood High” in block letters up the leg. I thought Callum might get a kick out of them. I wore a plain, loose-fitting T-shirt and a zip-up sweatshirt since the house felt cold in the rain.
I couldn’t help checking my hair and makeup in the vanity mirror. I grabbed a brush and smoothed out the knots that had formed. I was glad my mascara hadn’t run in the rain, and I added a touch of blush to bring color back to my pale face. At the last minute I decided to add a swipe of lip gloss as well before I rushed down the stairs, hoping I hadn’t taken too long.
“If you need it …” I said, tossing a towel toward Callum. He had laid out the food on my small kitchen table and was busy setting plates and silverware out.
“Hope it’s okay I looked around,” he said, nodding down to the table he was setting.
“Of course. I’m just glad I did the dishes this morning!” We smiled and Callum brought the towel to his hair, rubbing it against his curls. I went to the fridge where I stood on tiptoes to grab my emergency bottle of wine, usually up there for particularly stressful days at the office.
“Is red alright?” I asked. Callum nodded and I grabbed two stemless wine glasses from the cabinet. For a few minutes the space was filled with the pop of the bottle and the clink of silverware as we set up for the meal in front of us. Something about it felt natural and calm, as if we had done this sort of thing many times before.
I poured us each a glass of wine and we sat down.
“Thanks again for this,” I said as we each took a good sip of wine and settled into the food. “If it wasn’t for this, I’d probably be sitting down to a bowl of cereal or something.”
I hadn’t intended for this to sound sad, but I suddenly felt embarrassed as the words came out of my mouth. When my dad got sick, cooking was one of the first things that went out the window. We often resorted to takeout or quick microwave meals that didn’t require endless cleanup. On nights I spent with John, he would usually cook. His dietary specifications were detailed and after a few failed attempts on my part to cook dinner for us, I gave up and let him take the lead on whatever he wanted to cook.
“You and me both,” Callum laughed, and I felt better. “Thank God I’m staying with Liz this summer, or I would probably starve. I’m way too used to catered meals and room service. I think I’d burn the house down if I tried to turn on the stove.”
“Not much of a cook?” I asked. I was eating enthusiastically, realizing just how hungry I was. The food had grown slightly cold, but we didn’t mind. We were both simply glad to be inside a warm house and filling our stomachs.
“I never learned,” Callum shrugged. “I went from living in a dorm room cooking ramen in the microwave to being on the road where food would simply appear in front of me.”
“It must have been a big change,” I said. I thought about myself as a college student and just how immature I was. I wasn’t sure I would have been able to handle being launched to fame and suddenly traveling the world giving concerts.
“ Huge change,” Callum said, his eyes widening. “I was so focused on the music and putting out songs that people could connect to. I never really thought about everything else that came with people hearing those songs. The idea of people wanting to meet me or interview me for magazines was never something I ever thought about.”
“Really?” I asked. “You always seemed so comfortable with it.”
“No way!” he laughed. Callum refilled my wine glass and then topped off his own. “It makes me so uncomfortable. I only do it because it’s part of the job. If we don’t have fans, there’s no one to listen to new music and no audience to sing to. I sign autographs and take pictures so I can keep writing and performing. That’s what’s important to me.”
“I don’t know if I could do it,” I admitted. I stood up from the table to grab a glass of water and placed one in front of Callum as well. “Be in the public eye like that. I would be so nervous to make a mistake or say the wrong thing.”
I thought about the one time I was forced to participate in a school play. I must have been in the fourth grade, and we performed a dramatized version of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. I had two lines of narration that kept me up at night for weeks. I couldn’t get off that stage fast enough!
“It’s not easy,” Callum admitted, and I heard a fatigue in his voice that made me sad. But then he chuckled, changing the mood. “Liz said I was lucky no one witnessed that fight earlier. I guess I should be glad no one in town’s figured out the value of a good tabloid photo.”
I groaned, imagining the newspaper article that would accompany something like that.
“Oh my God, that would have made things so much worse!” I laughed.
“As long as they list me as the winner, I’m alright with it,” Callum laughed.
“Oh, is that the most important thing?” I asked, smirking at him. “To win the fight?”
“Of course. You can’t fight over a woman and lose .”
I blushed at Callum’s open admission that he was fighting for me. I knew I should reject the idea, but it made me feel warm and appreciated in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. I looked back at Callum, comfortable in the silence between us. I felt deliciously full and relaxed from the wine in front of us. The rain outside was a gentle sound that lulled me into calm, and Callum was looking at me with those warm brown eyes that made me feel seen.
“It’s still coming down out there,” I said, looking over to the window. “Maybe you should stay until it calms down a bit.”
He seemed surprised by the words, but he quickly recovered.
“Makes sense,” he said, playing along. “Better to be safe.”
We cleaned up the food, finding moments of gentle touches between us as we passed containers of food into the fridge and dropped plates into the sink. I filled our wine glasses and guided Callum to the living room, the only other room on the first floor. My body felt tense with anticipation, wound up by the brush of his hand on my own and the closeness of his body behind me as we navigated the small kitchen. I knew Callum felt it too. He was looking at me with unbridled hunger, though I could tell he was waiting for my move.
I settled onto the couch, pulling my legs up to sit cross-legged where I could face him on the other side. My body felt warm and flushed, and I slid off the sweatshirt I wore. He settled across from me, watching me discard this top layer as he took a long sip from his wine glass. He placed the glass on the coffee table and turned back to me with a smirk.
“I didn’t think I would be here tonight,” he said. The honesty in his words surprised me, and I felt a flush of heat that went straight to my core. Those curls were still damp across his forehead, falling around his eyes, and I looked again at the red and purple bruise that surrounded his left eye. I knew I shouldn’t condone his fighting, but I had never had someone fight for me like that, and I had to admit it stirred something inside of me.
“Does it hurt?” I asked. I let my hand wander up to his cheek, gently running a finger along his temple. I was careful not to touch the bruised skin of his eye.
“It does,” he said, his voice low as his eyes searched my face. “Does it look bad?”
“I don’t want you to hurt,” I said, letting my finger run along the stubble around his chin. “But you look badass.”
He let out a single laugh, and I could tell he enjoyed this. His eyes got darker. He lifted a hand up and suddenly his hand was on my breast, causing me to gasp as his fingers started to explore.
“So that’s why you invited me over,” he laughed. I couldn’t take it any longer. His fingers pressed against the fabric of my T-shirt, sending a promise of things to come, and I wanted more. I leaned forward to put my hands on his thighs and pressed my mouth against his.