50. Outtake #2 - Theo needs Callie’s input for his nest
Calliope POV
The bath has gone cloudy with lavender oil and too many bodies.
Sloane’s behind me with his back against the sloped end of the tub, knees bracketing my hips beneath the water.
Dash is on the outside edge with his sleeves pushed up, one hand trailing lazily through the bath near my calf because he said he was only coming in to bring towels and then stayed.
He’s been doing that more often lately, making little lies about why he’s close enough to touch me and then not bothering to defend them when Sloane gives him a look.
“You’re both ridiculous,” I murmur, but I tilt my head back when Sloane’s fingers slide through my wet hair.
“Accurate,” Sloane says against my temple. “Still not moving.”
Dash’s mouth twitches. “I never said I was getting in.”
“No,” I say, looking down at his damp cuff. “You’re just participating from the shoreline.”
His thumb brushes my ankle under the water, slow and absent enough that my body believes him before my mind decides whether it should. The bathroom is warm, the mirror fogged, the towels stacked on the chair because Idris put them there before leaving with Theo.
My phone buzzes on the little wooden stool beside the tub, pulling me out of the moment. Dash reaches for it, turns the screen toward me without reading it, and then his eyebrows lift. “Theo texted.”
I sit up too fast, water sloshing against Sloane’s thighs. “Is he okay?”
The phone starts ringing before Dash can answer. Video call. Theo’s name fills the screen, and the first clear thought I have is that I’m naked in a bath with Sloane’s arm around my waist and Dash’s hand still wet from touching my leg.
Sloane’s mouth finds my shoulder. “Answer him, baby.”
I do, because Theo calls now when he needs something small as often as when he needs something large, and I won’t teach him that either one is a burden.
Theo appears on the screen with his face too close to the camera, cheeks pink from cold air or embarrassment, his hair tucked badly behind one ear.
Behind him are shelves packed with blankets, cushions, nesting liners, soft lamps, weighted throws, and three different display beds arranged with the kind of seriousness usually reserved for surgery.
Idris is in the background holding a basket and looking like a man who’s been through some kind of war zone.
“Callie,” Theo says, relieved. Then his gaze drops, his eyes widen, and his whole face lights up. “Oh.”
I sink a little lower into the bath on instinct. Sloane laughs softly into my neck, and Dash looks away toward the fogged mirror with a discipline that only makes the corner of his mouth more obvious.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I say, my cheeks hot. “Are you nesting-store overwhelmed?”
Theo nods immediately, still delighted enough that he keeps glancing at the water and then back at my face like he’s discovered something wonderful and is trying to be polite about it. “There are too many textures.”
“There are fourteen kinds of gray,” Idris says from behind him. “He says none of them are correct.”
“They aren’t,” Theo says, offended. He turns the camera toward a wall of folded blankets. “That one is too hotel. That one is too baby. That one feels like Idris’ office if Idris’ office wanted to be a sweater.”
Dash coughs once into his fist and Sloane’s arm tightens around my waist. “That’s probably the one.”
“No,” Theo says, scandalized. “It’s wrong for Callie.”
Warmth moves through me. “Show me the ones you like.”
Theo turns the camera carefully. His hand appears in frame, touching the corners of three blankets: one cream, one pale blue, one deep green with a thick, almost velvet pile. He hesitates over the green one longest.
“That one,” I say.
Theo’s face comes back onto the screen. “Really?”
“Really.” I settle back against Sloane, letting the water cover me to the collarbones while Dash’s hand returns beneath the surface, warm against my ankle. “It looks like something I’d steal and pretend I didn’t.”
Sloane hums. “She would.”
Dash says, “Immediately.”
Theo beams as Idris steps closer, looks at the green blanket, and drops it into the basket without comment. Then Theo turns toward a shelf of pillows, and Idris’ expression changes by the barest degree. “No.”
Theo freezes. “You don’t know which one I’m looking at.”
“The round one with the ridiculous tassels.”
“It’s shaped like a moon.”
“It has tassels.”
“It has personality,” Theo says, and turns the camera so I can see a pale gold crescent pillow with absurd little tassels along one edge.
I press my lips together, trying not to smile too much because Idris looks genuinely betrayed by the object. “It’s awful.”
Theo’s face falls.
“And perfect,” I add.
Idris closes his eyes for one long second. Sloane loses the fight and laughs against my shoulder. Dash’s fingers tighten lightly around my ankle before he lets go, like even he needs somewhere to put the sound.
“The moon pillow too,” Idris says, resigned.
Theo’s smile comes back brighter than before. “You’re buying it?”
“I am apparently buying a tasseled moon.”
“For the nest,” Theo says. Theo looks back at the screen. “Are you staying in the bath?”
“For a while,” I say.
“With them?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
His gaze flicks toward Sloane’s shoulder behind mine, then toward the place Dash’s sleeve is visible at the edge of the frame. “Good,” he says. His head tilts a little and then he brings the phone really close to his face. “Can you take another bath with me later?”
I don’t even get a chance to answer as Sloane answers from behind my shoulder. “I’ll make sure there’s extra bubbles just the way you like, Theo.”
Theo squeals and cuts the call before I sink into the water a bit more. “I’m going to be a complete prune after two baths.”
Dash stands as he heads toward the door. “I don’t think any of your men are going to care, Callie.”