5. Callie Rae
Callie Rae
My bottom lip dangles numbly, heels cemented to the paver stones underneath us. I think my palm drops from his grasp, but I can’t be certain,
The hands of the clock retreat over my heart. The tiniest huff of breath rushes from my lungs, brows gathering as my eyes eagerly roam his face.
He’s so handsome.
So beautiful.
His sandy-brown hair is clipped short. Almost buzzed above that gorgeous pair of hazel eyes. They’re darker than I remember. Tinted with splashes of brown.
My stomach tents when my gaze dips. I catch the stubble seasoning the olive skin of his sculpted jaw. There’s a thicker layer to his flesh; one formed with experience from the past ten years.
Ten years.
I rake my gaze along the bomber jacket over his shirt. Then his jeans. Every limb fills the garments with ease. He’s tall and broad. Big.
A man.
The only hints of the boy I knew are embedded in his peach lips and the elegant bridge of his nose. To this day, those features could land him a modeling gig if he chose to walk that career path.
His eyes avoid mine, fingers resting on his chin as he whispers, “Holy shit.”
A tremble scurries across my lips. My chest jaggedly pumps back to life, and my stare fastens to his rough fingers. I spot the few veins crawling over the back of his hand. He’s weathered by strength and great genetics.
A lethal combination.
“Babe!”
My head whips around, feet slightly stumbling when Jesse marches down the porch.
“I thought I heard you.”
His hands bury in the pockets of his slacks, a grin pasted to his face.
He strolls up to me, and my eyes briefly snap closed.
I angle my chin up when he slips beside me, inevitably stumbling over my words.
“I-I was buying groceries.” I instantly wag my head, pointing to the sprinkled driveway.
“I mean, bringing in the groceries. I was bringing in the groceries,” I breathe.
My eyes flick to Brant, lids hooding as my brain sprints to catch up. Then I pivot my attention toward Jesse, and his arm snakes around me.
“I told you,” he quips, his gaze parked on Brant. “She’s gorgeous, but sometimes her head is a little thrown when it comes to the practicality of things.” Jesse nudges me into his firm side, his amused eyes peering down at me. “I assume you forgot the recyclable bags. The durable ones.”
I barely nod, my tongue and belly tied together at the base of my throat. Jesse tosses a small smirk, and his focus rises to Brant again.
I think I might vomit.
No, I’m definitely going to vomit.
“So, you’ve met our architect for the extension.”
An architect.
He’s an architect.
When I turn my head, Brant’s eyes are stapled to my left side before they skate up. Our gazes bolt together as we fight through a swallow. The corner of his lips twitch, and the gesture wrenches the tiniest grin from me.
Abruptly, there’s a tenderness sheathing my heart.
It’s cozy. Warming the hollow pieces as flashes of his sketchbook burst through my mind.
“Yeah,” I say softly, slipping from Jesse’s embrace. “I should’ve figured that much.”
Jesse’s bending to grab an oat milk carton, and Brant’s a beat behind him. I tuck my hair behind my ear before crouching down, my palm clasping a plastic jug of orange juice.
“Here,” Brant says, offering me a milk carton. I’m cradling the juice in my right arm when I reach with my left hand.
Our fingers brush, the grate of his coarse skin firing a jolt of electricity through me. His eyes dart down—stationed a second too long—and I realize what he’s been staring at this whole time.
My ring.
My engagement ring.
I roll my teeth over my lower lip, intentionally cupping the bottom of the milk to conceal my palm under it. “Thank you.”
He gently nods before his attention volleys between Jesse and me. “I look forward to working on the project with both of you.”
“It’s great you two had the chance to meet,” Jesse chimes in.
I tilt my chin toward Jesse, cranking out a small smile to appease his skewed reality. “Yeah, it is.”
My heart chases the truth away. I’m not sure why I omit the fact that I’ve known Brant all of my childhood. The only explanation my gut has to offer is the fact that it feels wrong.
“Alright, let’s go,” Jesse says, spinning on his heel. “I look forward to Monday, Brant.”
I’m parked for a moment, my lips parting and closing before I pivot.
“Oh, actually …”
Brant’s voice jerks my body around—almost too readily—and Jesse follows suit. My chest pumps through staccato breaths, lungs choking with fear that he’ll out us.
No, he wouldn’t.
He wouldn’t.
His eyes squint, a confident gleam sparkling under the sun.
He diverts his gaze, lifting his fingers to his temple before poking them out to the distance.
“I’m meeting an old friend out here later on.
” His eyes land on mine, lingering for a breath before traveling to Jesse’s.
“Any suggestions on where we should go?” Brant’s eyes return to me, and then he’s softly popping a shoulder. “I’m not too familiar with the area.”
“Well, you chose the perfect area for a cocktail lounge,” Jesse answers.
Brant’s beautiful face twitches as he brushes a hand over his head. I watch him intently, and my belly knots snugly in suspense. “Yeah, that’s not typically my preferred place. I like to keep things lowkey, so I wouldn’t mind something less fancy if you have any recommendations.”
“Tough one,” Jesse replies. “I’m sort of committed to the cigar and lounge scene.”
Here goes nothing.
“Bottle Grounds.”
Brant’s eyes stitch to mine, hand dropping at his side. “Bottle Grounds?”
I quickly nod, Jesse’s comments muffled at my side as I continue. “It’s a tap room, but cocktails are also part of the menu. Six o’clock is the sweet spot. Not too many crowds.”
My face stiffens to mask the subtext from Jesse. Then Brant’s flashing a tiny grin. “Bottle Grounds at six o’clock. Got it.”
“Have a good one,” Jesse says before turning around.
I swallow thickly as my legs retreat. My stare lingers on Brant’s, and he lifts his hand to signal a small wave.
My heart nearly combusts.
Ten years ago, that exact motion fractured my heart into a million pieces. Every day after that, I’ve been plucking the tiny shards off the ground. But some were too microscopic for me to spot.
I accepted the fact that those bits have sunken into the ground by now. Six feet under. Never to be found again.
Never did I expect those lost pieces to return to me under the clear sky of a beautiful day in Spring.
As it turns out, they weren’t dug into a deep hole underground. They were buried in those almond-shaped eyes staring back at me.
He kept them safe all along.
I finally whirl around, my stiletto heels tapping the paver stones. Wafts of the flowers taunt my nose, and I peek over my shoulder as my hair mildly bounces against my exposed arms.
Brant’s a mirror image of me when he travels down the driveway. He’s peering over a shoulder, our attention severing as we near our respective destinations.
Only this time, it isn’t the last image I’ll ever have of him.