Chapter Twenty-One Sophie #2
Also, his truck is big, so it is nice to have some assistance. He opens the door and holds out his hand for mine. I smile at the warmth as he helps me down with effortless ease. The wind cuts a little sharper, so I tug my fleece-lined coat tighter around me and stare at the sight before me.
The carnival stretches out before us across the sprawling field of Thirteen Elms Farm, just a thirty-minute drive from Starling Cove, but it feels like we've stepped into another world. A Ferris wheel spins, its bright lights casting a kaleidoscope of colors against the darkening sky.
There's a spinning teacup ride that will no doubt make me dizzy enough to test the anti-nausea meds, so I cross that out with an absolute no.
There are bumper cars and little baby roller coasters for the kids, endless game booths and food stands, the latter the source of the delicious aroma in the air.
The neon lights draw me in like a moth to a flame, and I’m practically dragging Callum toward the entrance.
"They do this every weekend from now until Halloween," Callum explains, his voice low, but still audible to me over the rising hum of music and laughter. This place pulses with energy, and I feel a giddiness inside that I haven't felt in a long time, maybe ever.
When I glance toward Callum, my breath catches. The warm glow of the carnival lights flickers over his handsome face, and for a moment, he doesn't even look real. The angle of his bearded jaw, the soft glint in his warm eyes, and the way his dark hair curls slightly at his forehead.
God, he looks like art. A piece so beautiful it makes you ache and want to cry.
There's a wistful expression on his face, the same one Maeve gets sometimes.
"I haven't been here in a long time," he says, meeting my eyes with a small smile that looks a little sad.
"Really?"
"Yeah, not since my dad died. My parents and I used to pick pumpkins here every year.
We'd carve them into jack-o-lanterns, put them out in front of the house, and then watch scary movies.
" Callum laughs lightly, shaking his head in amusement.
"My dad would pretend not to be scared, that he didn't absolutely hate horror movies. He was a total chicken about them."
"No way," I laugh, and Callum's smile brightens at it.
From the family pictures Maeve has shown me—adorable Callum as a baby and child, a younger, still beautiful Maeve, and Mr. Rhodes looking proud as anything to stand next to his family—it's so hard to picture that solid-looking man scared of anything.
"Swear to God," he says, laugh rumbling from his chest like thunder. "He'd wrap his arms around my mom, telling us it was because she was scared, but she and I both knew he was the one who needed comforting. He'd jump at every loud noise and pretend he didn't."
"So, he was just a big teddy bear," I tease, poking Callum in his side, pointedly ignoring how solid he feels under his red flannel coat. "Just like you."
"Yeah, he was soft as a marshmallow," Callum nods, meeting my eyes with a more serious look, his voice softer now. "I think he'd like you, Sophie."
It feels as if something has shifted or cracked open inside my chest, my emotions rising up and threatening to spill out uncontrollably. I have to bite down hard on the inside of my cheek to push back the sting of tears threatening to fall. If I cry right now, I won't stop.
The way Callum and Maeve talk about Mr. Rhodes always gets me, with a deep, unwavering love that's as sure as saying the sky is blue and the grass is green.
It's so unfair—so cruel—that the universe took him from them so early.
The heart attack was so abrupt that they didn't get to brace, to say goodbye, to prepare for it properly.
One day, he was here, the next, he was gone for good.
That thought pierces me, sharp and cold, like ice water has replaced all the blood in my body.
Losing Mr. Rhodes decimated them. Maeve still honors him every night by watching the sunset and meditating, as if she can conjure him by her side during that sacred time.
And Callum—my sweet, gentle giant—always talks about him fondly, with reverence and worship, like a kid talking about their favorite superhero.
William Rhodes was made of strength and steel and pure love.
They make him feel like he's still alive, talking about him in the present tense like he'll walk through the door of Rivers & Rhodes any minute.
There’s joy and love when they talk of him, but also this bone-deep grief that’s painful to hear.
I've never lost anyone like that, I've never had someone close to me like that pass away.
Someone whose absence takes up as much space as their presence did.
I don't have the experience to understand their grief.
I can empathize and try to place myself in their shoes, but I still can't know exactly how they're feeling.
And it's been ten years for them.
Am I just setting them up for more grief?
Am I infiltrating their lives and making them care about me when this could just be a countdown to me leaving?
Am I just more inevitable heartbreak?
Not that I'm of the same importance to them as Mr. Rhodes to them. He was Callum's father, Maeve's soulmate, the foundation of their family. I'm not trying to compare, but I know they care about me, and I know I've become a part of their lives, just as they have become a part of mine.
The Rhodes have become an integral part of my life. They have folded me into their family as if I had always been there. If the worst happens—if my body loses this fight, if I just... disappear, what am I leaving behind for them?
Am I being selfish?
Maybe.
Probably.
Definitely.
"Are you okay?" Callum's voice slices through the mess of my spiral, yanking me back to the present. We've made it to the heart of the carnival, the pleasant sweetness of the scents making my stomach rumble.
"I'm fine, just spaced out. Chemo brain," I joke and skip ahead, grinning over my shoulder. "Come on, I hear some Apple Cider Donuts calling my name!"
Callum's concerned face melts into a grin at my words, and his long legs allow him to step easily into stride with me. "Lead the way, sweet girl."
Callum and I wander around, taking our time as we take in the sights, the rides, and the people around us, laughing together.
When we walk past the food area, through the dense and excited crowd, I instinctively grab Callum's hand again, so I don’t get swept away.
Callum looks down at our joined hands and grins, squeezing once. I'm here. I've got you.
Then, like some kind of gentle battering ram, he guides us through the crowd, which parts automatically for my broad-shouldered giant.
My heart flutters at this. I know the smile that crosses my face is cheesy and ridiculous, but I've never felt safer, holding onto this steady man who leads me through the chaos.
Just as we start to pass a row of carnival games, I freeze mid-step, my eyes catching on a prize hanging above a ring toss booth.
They're hanging from a string, two brown stuffed otters stitched together by their paws, holding hands.
They're impossibly adorable, looking all soft and plush, with faces that seem to be smiling.
Callum notices me stop, his hand still linked in mine, and when he follows my eyes, he sees exactly what I'm looking at.
Without a word, he's gently tugging me toward the booth.
"Wait, Callum—what are you doing?"
"Winning you those otters," he replies simply, soft teasing grin on his lips. He steps up to the counter where a bored-looking teenage attendant is scrolling on his phone.
"Four tries for ten bucks," the kid says without looking up, and I grab Callum's arm as he reaches into his pocket for his wallet.
"Callum! Don't waste your money. It's like... a wholesome scam. I'm pretty sure the rings are smaller than the bottlenecks."
Callum tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at the row of glass bottles like he's assessing wind resistance and velocity. Then he just looks down at me and winks, taking all of the wind out of my sails and halting any further protests. Defeated, I let go of his arm and cross my arms over my chest.
"You're wasting your money," I mutter, though I can't hide the way my heart swells and the smile pulls at my lips. It's stupid and sweet and romantic, and I'm very pleased that he wants to win those cute little otters for me.
Callum hands the attendant the money and gets the four rings in return. He picks one up and gives me a confident grin.
"You lack faith, Sophie."
The words spark something in my brain, and I extend my fingers toward the bottles, mimicking a Jedi Master. "Let the Force guide you, young Padawan."
"Make this, I will," Callum's voice takes on a distinct Yoda-like quality, eliciting a loud belly laugh from me.
The first ring he tosses goes wide, clinks off the side of the bottle with a comical doink, and makes me have to smother a chuckle. Callum narrows his eyes, lips twitching. "Alright, just... calibrating."
"Calibrating, totally," I nod solemnly. He gently pokes my side, tickling me and making me laugh again. His eyes linger on me for a long moment before turning back to the bottles. I can't tear my eyes from his face, his expression filled with pure determination.
Second ring, same thing, and Callum's eyes seem to narrow even more.
"Flick of the wrist and follow through," Callum coaches himself. He seems hell-bent on trying to win me these stupid and silly stuffed otters just because I want them. I just stare at this wonderful, handsome, kind man, with his brown eyes narrowed and jaw tight with concentration.
And I feel so lucky.
Callum. He's like a lighthouse guiding me home, a hearth during a violent storm. The first crack of golden light in the dawn. Not just comforting, but necessary, like the air in my lungs or the gravity keeping me tethered to the earth.
I could fall for him, dangerously so.
Actually, I've already fallen—somewhere between book club nights and hangouts at the store, between laughing hard enough to cry when Callum repeatedly put his foot in his mouth, sunsets and boardwalk fries, and him holding me when I cried, never flinching when I got sick.
There's no denying it now.
I’ve fallen hard.
Am I being selfish for feeling this way? Definitely. But can I stop? No. I can't.
This would be the moment to untangle myself and let Callum know we should just keep being friends. That this is going to become too complicated, too messy, too uncertain. To protect him from the mights and maybes and the ticking clock inside my body that could just devastate him in the end.
To let him know that I think he deserves someone whole, someone healthy, someone who can promise him a lifetime.
But that would mean lying to him, and to myself, depriving us of something that could be beautiful.
That would mean walking away from Callum.
I can't do that.
I won't do that.
Because everything in me—my mind, my body, my soul—has already made its decision.
Callum is mine.
For however long I have.
"Ha! Told you!"
His triumphant voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I turn just in time to see the third ring he tossed settle perfectly around the bottleneck with a satisfying clink.
"Are you kidding me?" I stare at the bottle in disbelief. Callum just chuckles and points toward the otters. The teen attendant cuts them down and hands them to Callum, who takes them both. Turning to me, he bows slightly and holds it out, like he's presenting me with a royal offering.
“Your otters, as promised.”
Up close, they’re even cuter and so soft, their tiny paws stitched together like they’re holding hands.
I can't help but think back to the night Callum slept over and how we woke up holding hands, as if our bodies were afraid to let go of each other.
The comparison between them and us makes me happy.
I squeeze them to my chest, my heart suddenly feeling too full for my body.
“Thank you, Callum,” I choke out, voice thick with emotion.
"Of course," his eyes soften, before his smile turns a bit smug. "And what did we learn?"
I laugh and mock-bow to him in exaggerated reverence. "That you are the Chosen One, Master Rhodes. Teach me your ways."
His laughter is infectious, vibrating through my bones, and I truly love how we can joke with each other. I don't have to measure my words or worry that what I'm saying is dumb or not funny. I'm never too much or not enough with him, I'm just Sophie.
Holding the otters up, that bubbly, giddy feeling spreads through my entire body like it's coursing through my veins.
"Look," I say, my voice soft. "Otters hold hands when they sleep... so they don't drift apart."
Callum catches my meaning immediately, and his smile shifts into something... more. His body leans a little closer to mine, and I find my own body responding like there's a magnetic pull between us.
"Otters don't drift," Callum brushes his fingers along the soft brown fur with one hand, and links our hands together with his other one. There's something so certain in his voice, in his gaze, that feels like a promise. I instinctively squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back, still smiling at me.
Callum's voice is low and soft as he gently tugs me toward the food booths, "Come on, my otter. Let me feed you.”