Chapter 25
twenty-five
brEE
We’re sitting at my ridiculously small kitchen table, eating the breakfast Callan made before I even rolled out of bed.
And by “eating,” I mean I’m nibbling while watching him fidget like a caffeinated squirrel.
His knee’s bouncing, and his fingers are tapping out a whole symphony on his ceramic mug.
“You’re awfully restless,” I say, biting back a laugh as his drumming picks up speed.
He freezes and gives me one of those sheepish, knowing looks. “Sorry. I don’t sit still very well.”
I raise an eyebrow, fighting to keep my tone serious. “What, is my tiny condo too boring for you already? Does the absence of a medieval castle and rolling hills throw you off?”
His eyes go wide, like I actually think he’s offended by my humble abode. “No, lass. It’s not you or the place.” He gestures vaguely around, his Scottish accent coming through a little stronger. “It’s me. I need to do something, even if it’s just pacing.”
“I’m kidding, Cal. We can go out and do something today, though.”
“We don’t need to go anywhere just for me,” he says as he leans back in his chair. “It’s been less than twenty-four hours since you passed out at work. I’m perfectly happy staying here. Especially after the workout I gave you last night.”
My cheeks instantly flush, and I narrow my eyes at the smug grin spreading across his ridiculously handsome face. Workout is an understatement.
I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. “Well, I’m fine now. Better than fine, actually.” I meet his gaze, my lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile. “And I’m not opposed to another…workout.”
His eyes darken, that signature smirk tugging at his mouth as he leans forward, his voice dropping to a teasing rumble. “Is that so, Sunshine? I figured you might need more recovery time.”
I lift my chin, meeting his intense stare with as much confidence as I can muster. “I’m tougher than I look, MacKenzie.”
“That right? Guess I’ll have to test your limits then.”
“Guess you will,” I say, my voice steady despite the way my heart is pounding. Two can play this game, but with Callan, I’m starting to think winning might mean losing, and I’m not mad about it.
Just as he reaches for me, a loud knock at the door shatters the moment, making us both jump.
“Bree? Are you there? It’s Zoey. I brought soup!”
I groan, dropping my head to the table in defeat. “Of course she did.”
He chuckles, leaning back and running a hand through his hair. “Your friend has impeccable timing. Can’t wait to meet her.”
“Bree?” Zoey’s voice calls again, more insistent this time.
I sigh, dragging myself up from the chair. I crack the door open before Zoey barrels inside, a giant container in her hands and concern radiating off her.
“Hey, Zo. You didn’t have to do this, but I do appreciate it.”
“Of course I did,” she says, already making a beeline for the kitchen. “You fainted at work yesterday for Christ’s sake. It’s the least I could—”
She cuts off mid-sentence, stopping dead in her tracks as her eyes land on Callan. He’s at the sink, sleeves rolled up, hands soapy as he washes the dishes like some kind of domestic god.
For a moment, the only sound is the faint clinking of plates against the sink. Then Zoey whips her head toward me, her eyebrows practically hitting her hairline. “Uh, Bree? Who’s the dishwasher?”
Callan looks up, and of course, he hits her with that smile. The one that’s practically designed to make people forget how to function. I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck.
“You must be Bree’s wonderful friend, Zoey,” he says smoothly, stepping forward and pulling her into a hug like they’re old pals.
He’s laying it on thick, but the look on Zoey’s face is absolutely priceless. I’m pretty sure she’s seconds away from fanning herself.
“Shut the fuck up,” she blurts, eyes darting between us. “This is Callan? You literally fainted yesterday, and now he’s here, looking like…that?”
Callan laughs, the sound rich and velvety as he leans back against the counter. “I was already on my way for a surprise visit when I heard the news. Thought I’d better stick around and make sure she doesn’t pull another stunt like that.”
“Well, aren’t you just Prince Charming?” Zoey quips, turning to me with a wicked grin. “Bree, you’ve been holding out on me. He’s even hotter in person.”
“Hush, don’t feed his ego.”
Callan smirks, thoroughly enjoying himself. “I assure you, Bree keeps me humble.”
Zoey snorts, plopping the container of soup down on the counter. “Uh huh. I bet she does.” Her eyes sparkle with playfulness as she glances between the two of us, clearly storing ammunition for later.
He clears his throat, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. “Actually, I was just about to take Bree out for some fresh air. Doctor’s orders and all that.”
“I’ll get out of your hair. Here I was, thinking Bree was sitting here all alone, but I see I have nothing to worry about.”
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. Thank you, though, for bringing this by,” I say, nodding toward the soup container.
She waves me off like it’s nothing. “Of course. Text me later?”
“You bet,” I reply as I walk her to the door. Once I’ve shut it behind her, I turn around to find Callan leaning against the counter, arms crossed.
“I can see why you two are friends.”
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms as I lean back against the door. “Oh, really? And what’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs. “Just that she’s every bit as feisty as you are. Makes perfect sense.”
I smirk, pushing off the door and closing the distance between us. “Feisty, huh? Is that your polite way of saying handful?”
He tilts his head, pretending to consider it. “Maybe. But I’m not complaining.”
I arch an eyebrow just inches away from him. “You think you can handle all this ‘feistiness’?”
His hands slide to my hips, firm as he pulls me closer. “I think I’ve been handling it just fine, Sunshine.”
I laugh softly, my fingers trailing up to rest against the beat of his heart. “Kiss me, Prince Charming. And then I need to go get ready for whatever it is we’re doing today.”
“As you wish, my lady,” he replies, his tone dripping with mock chivalry. When he leans down, there’s nothing mocking about the kiss that follows.
His lips claim mine as his grip turns possessive on my hips, anchoring me against him like he has no intention of letting go. The kiss is slow, his tongue teasing mine in a way that’s almost maddening. He’s taking his time, savoring every second and every reaction.
I let out a quiet sigh against his lips, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to keep myself grounded, even as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. My thoughts blur into a single, all-consuming focus—him.
God, I missed the way he kisses me like I’m the only thing that matters, like he’s trying to memorize every detail, every sigh, every shiver.
His lips move against mine with a deliberate intensity, all hunger and tenderness that makes my knees weak.
Each brush of his lips, every subtle shift, sends a wave of heat coursing through me, melting away the time and distance that kept us apart.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless, my lips tingling, my thoughts completely scrambled. Callan’s dark eyes lock onto mine, smoldering with a desire that makes it hard to focus on anything except the idea of dragging him back to bed and letting the rest of the day disappear.
He takes a step back with restraint that’s as frustrating as it is endearing. “Go on, get ready,” he says. “As much as I’d love to keep you here all day, I think some fresh air will do us both good.”
I give a reluctant nod, even as my body protests the distance between us. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
We’ve been wandering through the local farmer’s market for a while now, and Callan’s enthusiasm is borderline contagious.
He’s like a kid let loose in a candy store, stopping at every stall with wide-eyed curiosity.
His excitement doesn’t discriminate. He’s just as enthralled by jars of local honey as he is by handmade candles.
He’s carrying a bag stuffed to capacity with a loaf of sourdough, a jar of strawberry preserves, and, inexplicably, a knitted hat he insisted I needed. Even though it’s May, and I’m currently sweating in the afternoon sun.
He halts abruptly at a booth overflowing with jars of spices, his face lighting up like he’s just discovered treasure. Grabbing one, he twists the lid and sniffs dramatically. “This one smells like trouble,” he declares, holding it out to me.
I take the jar from him, laughing as I read the label. “Cajun seasoning? Yeah, I can definitely see you causing a kitchen fire with this.”
He tosses the jar into his already overflowing bag. “Or creating a culinary masterpiece. You’ll thank me later.”
I shake my head, biting back a smile as I watch him move on to the next stall, where he immediately strikes up an animated conversation with the vendor about beeswax candles. Life with Callan, I realize, is going to be anything but boring.
After a few more stops and a bag that’s probably pushing its limits, he looks at me sheepishly. “I think I’ve got more than I can carry. You ready to head back?”
“Yep,” I say, nudging his arm. “Let’s go unpack all your goodies. Though I’m starting to think we’ll need a second kitchen just to store your spice collection.”
He chuckles, adjusting the bag on his shoulder as we start walking. “All part of the plan to keep you well-fed, Sunshine. My grandmother would be so impressed with me right now.”
“Mission accomplished,” I tease. “Though I should probably call my parents when we get back. I kind of bailed on dinner last night.”
He raises an eyebrow, a sly grin creeping across his face. “And what’s your excuse going to be? Sorry, Mom and Dad, I fainted, and my ridiculously handsome Scottish boyfriend showed up and distracted me?”
“Something like that. Minus the ‘ridiculously handsome’ part.”
“Please tell me I get to meet them.”
I blink at him. “You’re excited about meeting the parents? Who are you?”
“They’re the people who made you who you are,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Why wouldn’t I want to meet them?”
Well, hell. That was awfully fucking sweet.
I loop my arm through his. “Well, my dad’s a bit of a jokester, so prepare yourself for some questionable humor.”
“Questionable, how?” he asks, glancing down at me with a look of amusement and curiosity.
“You’ll see,” I say. “Oh, and my mom? She’ll absolutely ask you a million questions. So maybe think of your top three proudest accomplishments in life because she’s going to want to know them all.”
He chuckles, completely unfazed. “I’ve already survived you, Sunshine. I’ve got this.”