Chapter 2 Callum
CALLUM
Itake my time getting dressed, pulling on jeans that sit low on my hips, and a flannel shirt that I leave unbuttoned because I want to see if she'll look again.
She will. They always do.
But with Piper, it's different. The way her cheeks flame. The way she tries so hard to pretend she's not affected.
After I nearly tanked the family ranch with that deal gone sideways, I thought I could start over.
Took a job at a different ranch. New faces, clean slate.
But trouble has a way of finding me, or maybe I’m just cursed with shit luck.
Turns out that place was even worse. Shady money, bad decisions, people you don’t want to owe.
So yeah, I came here to my family’s cabin they never use.
And now Piper shows up, gift-wrapped by a blizzard.
My sister's best friend.
The universe has one hell of a sense of humor.
I head back out to find she’s still in the living room, standing with her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the dark fireplace like it might spontaneously ignite if she wishes hard enough.
Her hair is still damp from the snow, curling slightly at the ends.
She's beautiful. Always was, but now…
Now she's dangerous.
Not because of what she could do to me. But because of what I could do with her.
I watch her thumb swipe across her phone screen, tapping, waiting. Nothing happens.
“You planning to stand there all night?” I ask.
She jumps and spins around. Her eyes go wide when she sees me, then immediately drop to where my shirt hangs open. She jerks her gaze back up so fast I almost laugh.
“Trying to call my sister?” I ask, stepping closer.
She flinches slightly, then scowls. “No.”
I lift a brow.
“Fine. Yes.” She huffs. “I was just on the phone with her before I came inside. I don’t get why it suddenly…”
“Storm probably knocked out the tower. That’s the only way we get reception out here. One gust of wind and it’s gone.”
She stares down at her phone like sheer willpower will make it work. “Great.”
She mutters something under her breath that I don’t catch, but the frustration is clear on her face.
“Looks like it’s just you and me now,” I say with a smirk.
She scowls at me, and the idea that’s been forming since she walked through that door clicks into place.
My sister hates me. Has made that abundantly clear through two years of silence. And now here's her best friend. The one person Mackenzie probably tells everything to. The one person who knows all of Mackenzie's secrets.
Stuck here. With me.
How much fun would it be to mess with my sister through her best friend?
Not hurt her, I'm not that much of a bastard. But play a little. Push some boundaries. See how far good-girl Piper is willing to go.
And if Mackenzie ever finds out... well. Maybe it's time she remembered I exist.
“It’s freezing in here,” Piper says, motioning vaguely toward the cold fireplace like it personally betrayed her.
“The heat’s on,” I say, letting another smirk tug at my mouth. “But I’ve got a few other ideas for how to warm things up.”
She shoots me a look of pure disgust. “Fire. I meant I’d like to make a fire.”
“Sure you did. You want me to do it?” I ask, letting the smirk curl wider.
“I’ve got it.”
“Sure you do.”
Her eyes narrow. “I can build a damn fire.”
“Then by all means,” I say, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall. “Show me.”
She stares at me for a long moment, clearly weighing whether this is a trap. Smart girl.
Then she kneels in front of the fireplace, reaching for the stack of kindling beside it. I watch her struggle with the arrangement for a solid two minutes before I take pity on her.
“You're doing it wrong.”
“I know what I'm doing,” she barks.
I push off the wall, moving to crouch beside her, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. “You need smaller pieces at the bottom. Build up to the bigger logs.”
“That's what I'm doing.”
“No, you're making a pile. There's a difference.” I reach past her, rearranging the wood. My arm brushes hers and she goes still. “You need air flow. Otherwise it'll just smoke.”
“I was getting to that.”
“Sure you were.”
I sit back on my heels, pulling a lighter from my pocket. One click and the kindling catches, small flames licking up through the carefully arranged wood.
Piper's quiet for a moment, watching the fire grow. “Show off.”
I grin. Can't help it. “You're welcome.”
“I didn't say thank you.”
“You were thinking it.”
She turns to look at me, and we’re closer than I thought. It makes me think of things I shouldn’t.
Which is exactly why I don’t back up.
Instead, I tilt my head, watching her squirm. If Mackenzie could see this, she’d lose her damn mind. Her perfect little best friend, alone in the mountains with the family disappointment.
“You're impossible,” she says.
“So I've been told.”
We're still crouched there, the fire crackling between us and the wall, the cabin warm and getting warmer. She should move. I should move.
Neither of us does.
“Where am I sleeping?” she asks finally, breaking the moment.
I stand, offering her a hand up. She ignores it, pushing to her feet on her own.
Stubborn. I like that. Maybe a little too much.
“You can sleep in the bed. What side do you like?”
Her head jerks back. “I’m not sleeping with you. If you’re in the bed, I’ll take the couch.”
“That couch?” I glance over at it. “It’s ninety percent wood and barely wide enough for a small child. You’ll last ten minutes.”
“Watch me.”
“Suit yourself. Just don’t wake me up crying when your spine gives out.”
The fire pops in the silence that follows. Outside, the wind howls, throwing snow against the windows.
“I’m hungry,” she says.
“Yeah? What are you gonna do about it?”
She shoots me a glare. “Mackenzie said there’s some food.”
“There is.”
Hope sparks in her eyes. “Thank God.”
“But nothing’s free, darlin’.”
The hope dies fast. “What does that mean?”
I let the silence stretch, just to watch her squirm. “You cook?”
Her brow furrows. “What?”
“Simple question. Can you cook?”
“Yes.”
“Then you can earn your meals.” I nod toward the small kitchen. “I’ve got the ingredients. You make the magic.”
She stares at me like she’s trying to decide if I’m serious. “You want me to cook for you?”
“My cabin. My rules.”
She crosses her arms. “Great. What else do I need to earn from you, Callum? What else do you want?”
I step closer, just enough to make her shift her weight. “Who says I want anything else?”
Her expression sharpens. “You always want something else.”
“Nothing else.” I let my gaze linger on her mouth a little too long. “Unless you’re offering.”
She bristles, then turns toward the kitchen like she’s about to throw a skillet at my head.
I show her where everything is. The pots and pans, the plates, the utensils.
Point out what's in the pantry, what's in the freezer.
When I hand her a pot, my fingers brush hers.
She jerks back like I've burned her. When I reach past her for the olive oil, my chest grazes her shoulder. She goes absolutely still.
It's incredibly hot.
“You always hover like this?” she mutters, turning her back to me as she lights the burner. “Or is this some alpha male kitchen dominance thing?”
I lean against the counter, just behind her. “Just making sure you don’t burn the place down. Wouldn’t want to lose the only roof I’ve got left.”
She snorts. “Right. Wouldn’t want to piss off the family that already disowned you.”
“You always this sweet to your roommates?”
She spins, wooden spoon in hand like a weapon. “If I had a second pan, I’d throw it at you.”
“You want me to get one?” I reach for the cabinet, brushing her hip slightly as I do.
She steps back with a huff. “Can you just wait somewhere else? You don’t need to lord over me in the kitchen like some Gordon Ramsay wannabe.”
I stay exactly where I am. She can pretend she doesn’t like it.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks.
“Doing what?”
“This. You standing there. Whatever this is.”
The real answer? Because I'm bored and lonely and she's here. Because messing with my sister’s best friend feels like a fun way to pass time. Because Piper looks at me like I'm dangerous and I want to show her she's right.
But I don't say any of that.
“Maybe I just like getting under your skin,” I say instead.
“Well stop it,” she says, stabbing a spoon into a pot.
“Can't,” I drawl.
“Why not?”
“Because you're so fun when you're flustered.”
“I’m not flustered,” she says, too fast.
I raise a brow, letting a grin pull at the corner of my mouth. “You’re very flustered. It’s cute.”
“I’m not cute.”
“You’re right,” I say, stepping a little closer. “Cute’s not the word.”
My gaze drags down her body, then back up to meet her eyes. “Beautiful. That’s the word.”
She goes still, like a deer who just spotted a wolf.
“Don’t,” she says.
“Don’t what? Tell the truth?”
She scoffs, but her shoulders are stiff, her fingers clenching around the wooden spoon in her hand.
“You’re just trying to mess with me,” she says, turning back to the stove, like that will put space between us. It doesn’t.
“Maybe,” I say. “Or maybe I mean every word. And that scares you.”
She doesn’t say anything, but I see the way she swallows and the quick glance toward the corner like she’s trying not to react.
“Dinner’s almost ready.”
We sit across from each other at the kitchen table. She eats. Slowly, methodically. Like she’s trying not to enjoy it.
I don’t touch my plate. Not because I’m not hungry. Because she’s far more interesting than food.
I lean back in my chair, ankle resting on my knee, elbow hooked over the backrest. I watch her. The way her throat works when she swallows and how she licks sauce from her bottom lip.
She catches me staring. Freezes mid-chew. “What?”
I shrug. “Nothing.”
“You’re staring at me.”
“You’re in front of me. Where else would I stare?”
She shifts in her chair. “This is weird.”
I lift a brow. “What is?”
“This. Us. Eating dinner like this isn’t, like we’re not…”
“Like you’re not supposed to hate me?” I offer.
She glances away. Stabs her fork into a piece of macaroni.
“Do you?” I ask. “Hate me?”
She doesn’t look up. “I don’t know you well enough to hate you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She sets down her fork. “You're Mackenzie's brother who screwed over his family. She's my best friend. I’m trapped here with you. And you're sitting here looking at me like you’re planning something.”
“I am planning something.”
Her jaw tightens. “What.”
I lean forward to get under her skin. “I’m planning to finish this food, drink another whiskey… and go to bed. With you.”
She shoves her chair back with a sharp scrape and grabs her plate.
“I lost my appetite,” she says, storming toward the sink. “I am not—nor would I ever—go to bed with you.”
“It’s the only comfortable place to sleep in this entire cabin.”
“I’d rather sleep in the fire,” she snaps.
I shrug, leaning back again. “Suit yourself.”
She turns her back to me, dumping her barely touched food into the trash.
She's rattled.
Which means she's not nearly as indifferent as she wants me to believe.
And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s the people who say “never” that tend to crack first.