Chapter 26
twenty-six
brEE
“You ready?” Callan asks, his voice even and calm. As in, everything I’m not right now.
I blow out a long breath. “As I’ll ever be.”
We’re about to head to my parents’ house for dinner, and I’m a bundle of nerves.
I surrender my keys to Callan and slide into the passenger seat of my sedan.
He climbs in with an ease that’s almost unsettling, his confidence radiating as he pulls out of the driveway.
Meanwhile, my palms are practically glued to my thighs from sweat.
What really gets me, though, is his grin. It’s huge. A full-blown, dimple-showing, can’t-wait-for-this kind of smile. He’s actually looking forward to this, and frankly, it’s weirding me out.
“You’re humming,” I blurt.
He shoots me a quick, amused glance, his hand tapping lightly on my thigh in time with the rhythm of his tune. “Am I? Didn’t notice.”
“Well, you are,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “And you’re…happy. Like suspiciously happy.”
He laughs, his thumb brushing a lazy circle on my leg before returning to the beat. “You make it sound like a crime to be in a good mood.”
“No, it’s just… You’re about to meet my parents, Callan. My dad’s a bit protective. Shouldn’t you be at least a little nervous?”
He just shrugs. “Bree, I’m Scottish. You think I can’t charm my way past an intimidating father? I’ve got whisky, a firm handshake, and an accent that practically does the work for me. What more could the man want? Besides, I’ve got the best reason to win him over. You.”
I’ve never had to do the whole boyfriend meets the parents routine as an adult, and it feels like I’m walking into a pressure cooker. For him, though? This is just another chapter in his ongoing adventure, and he’s handling it with the same effortless confidence he brings to everything.
He reaches over, his calloused hand wrapping around mine, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Hey, it’s going to be fine.”
“They might grill you like a steak,” I warn. I’m only half joking.
He lets out a lighthearted chuckle, and it immediately makes me feel better. “Sunshine, I’ve faced far worse.”
“Mmhmm. You’ve never seen my dad during football season.”
“Ah, American football. That’s the one where they don’t really use their feet and stop every five seconds to have a chat, right?”
I let out a laugh and smack his arm lightly. “I know you’re screwing with me. Not that you’re wrong.”
The knot of nerves in my stomach loosens. It’s stupid, really, but this easy banter, this back-and-forth that feels so natural, is exactly what I need. With him, I’m never nervous for long.
He glances at me again, this time his expression more serious. “Seriously, though. You’re all I see. That’s all that matters.”
My heart does a little flip at his words, and more of the tension leaves my shoulders. “You’re the best,” I say, squeezing his hand.
As we pull up to my parents’ house, though, the nerves start to creep back in. My mom’s flowerbeds are in full bloom, vibrant and alive with color, but right now, they’re more intimidating than welcoming.
Callan’s smile hasn’t left his face, and when he turns to me, it’s like he’s about to embark on a grand adventure, not walk into a potentially terrifying situation.
“Ready?” he asks.
I glance at the house, then back at him, my hand hovering over the door handle. “I guess,” I mutter, though it comes out more as a question than an answer.
He leans over, brushing a quick kiss to my temple. “Don’t worry, Sunshine. I’ve got this.”
“Famous last words.”
As we reach the front door, I steal one last glance at him. He’s still completely at ease, his posture relaxed, his expression confident. Before I can reach for the doorknob, the door swings open to reveal my mom with a warm smile on her face as she takes us in. “Bree! Callan! Come in, come in.”
The moment feels surreal, like I’m watching it happen from somewhere above myself. I step over the threshold and Callan releases my hand, immediately extending his to my mom with that disarming charm of his. It makes me both proud and a little bit nervous.
“Mrs. Smith, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he says, his accent thick and smooth as he hands her the bouquet of flowers he bought at the farmer’s market. “Thank you so much for having me.”
Mom beams at him, clearly charmed already. “Oh, please call me Shannon.”
The comforting scent of pot roast wafts from the kitchen, mingling with the familiar scent of Mom’s favorite candles. It’s cozy and homey, but it makes my stomach flip. It’s soothing and anxiety-inducing all at once.
“Honey, they’re here!” Mom calls out, her voice filled with excitement, and I hear my dad’s heavy footsteps approaching from the living room.
He appears in the entryway with his protective dad stance. His eyes land on Callan, and I can practically feel the evaluation happening.
“Well, well,” he says, his tone just shy of a challenge. “So you’re the young man we’ve been hearing so much about.”
Callan stands tall, looking every bit the part of someone who’s used to being sized up. “Aye, sir. I hope so at least,” he says, extending his hand.
Dad takes it, giving it a solid shake. “Strong grip,” he comments, a hint of approval in his voice. “Tom, by the way.”
“Callan MacKenzie, sir. Great to meet you.”
I stand off to the side with Mom, watching the exchange like I’m in the middle of a carefully orchestrated negotiation. Dad’s eyes narrow slightly, assessing him in that way I know too well. Then, as if he’s found a way to push just a little further, he asks, “Play any sports, Callan?”
Yep, here we go.
“Used to play rugby,” Callan replies casually, not missing a beat. “Still watch a fair bit.”
Dad’s face lights up. “Rugby? Always thought that was just football for people who didn’t mind dying young.”
Callan lets out a hearty laugh, his deep voice rumbling in the most endearing way. “Aye, something like that. You watch?”
To my complete shock, Dad nods back. “Watched a match once when I was stationed overseas. Took me half the game to figure out the rules, but damn if it wasn’t entertaining.”
And just like that, it’s like a switch flips. Suddenly, they’re sitting side by side on the couch, gesturing wildly at the screen as Dad pulls up a rugby highlight reel to stream. They’re laughing, trading jokes about brutal tackles, and comparing notes like old pals.
I stand frozen in the doorway, completely forgotten as I watch the scene unfold. My mouth opens, but no words come out. I blink at my mom, who’s standing beside me, equally stunned.
“What just happened?” I whisper, almost in disbelief.
Mom looks all too pleased. “Don’t question it, honey. Come on, I could use some help finishing up in the kitchen.”
I shake my head, still processing how quickly they’ve hit it off. I follow her, but I can’t resist stealing a few glances over my shoulder at Callan and Dad. It’s like they’ve known each other for years, not mere minutes.
“So,” Mom says, handing me a bowl of salad to toss, “he seems lovely.”
I laugh softly, still a little amazed. “Yeah, he really is. I didn’t expect Dad to warm up to him so fast, though.”
She chuckles, glancing at the roast in the oven as she adjusts the heat. “Your father is a sucker for anyone who can talk sports.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
Mom turns to me with an eyebrow arched in that way she always does when she’s about to ask something personal. “Well, tell me,” she continues, wiping her hands on a dish towel, “how’s it going? Him being here?”
I pause, heat creeping across my face. “It’s only been a day, but I’m really glad he came.”
“He’s smitten with you, you know.”
I crinkle my nose, trying to play it off. “Smitten, huh?”
She swats my arm with the dish towel. “He’s only turned around to look at you seven times in the few minutes we’ve been in here.”
I peek over my shoulder, and sure enough, Callan is sneaking a glance at me, his reassuring smile instantly making my heart skip a beat.
I turn back around, rolling my eyes, a little embarrassed but smiling all the same.
“Mmhmm,” Mom mumbles. “That’s what I thought.”
I focus on setting the table, because if I stop moving, I might actually have to process the fact that this is happening. My parents, my boyfriend, and me, all sitting down for a perfectly normal, not-at-all nerve-wracking family dinner.
Mom calls the guys in, and the kitchen fills with the usual clatter of plates and silverware. I look up just in time to see Callan stroll in like he’s lived here his whole life.
The audacity.
By the time we settle, with Callan and me on one side and my parents on the other, I realize the tightness in my chest has loosened. Either I’m finally relaxing, or I’m moments away from a stress-induced blackout. Fingers crossed for the first one.
Dad is still firing off questions, and Callan, the absolute menace, handles each one with that allure of his. No hesitation, no flustered stammering. Just smooth, confident answers like he was born for this exact interrogation.
“This smells delicious, Shannon,” Callan praises as he fills his plate. “I hope Bree has the recipe. She’s been trying to perfect her pot roast for a while now, I hear.”
I shoot him a look, but he just winks at me, completely unfazed.
“Oh, of course!” Mom says, beaming, clearly delighted by the compliment.
Ah. I see what he’s doing.
He’s got this all down to a fine art, making sure everything goes smoothly and making everyone comfortable. What I love most is how easy it all is. None of it feels forced. This is just who Callan is.
As we dig in, Callan, ever the charismatic storyteller, dives into tales of his travels, his eyes lighting up as he describes the wild, untamed beauty of the Scottish Highlands.
Mom leans on the table, hanging onto his every word.
Dad, usually a tough nut to crack, nods along, his serious expression giving way to something that looks a lot like respect.
He’s impressing the hell out of my parents right now, but last night?
Well, he had me pinned to the mattress, whispering absolute filth in that same accent while proving, in explicit detail, that his talents extend well beyond storytelling.
He’s got that rare skill that turns even the most proper, put together woman—which I am not, but still—into an absolute wreck, all because he knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly how to do it.
I clear my throat and force my attention back to my plate, trying not to squirm in my seat. Dinner with my parents is not the time for this, I scold myself.
But with the way Callan is handling this… I can’t help but imagine all the ways he could put that confidence to better use later. Preferably with fewer clothes and significantly less talking.
“So, Callan,” Dad says, pulling me out of my sex-hazed thought. He pauses to take a bite, his eyes shifting from his plate to my boyfriend. “What exactly do you do for work?”
Pride flickers across Callan’s face, his posture straightening. “My brother and I run the family distillery. Fourth generation to do so.”
Dad nods, his curiosity piqued. “That sounds impressive. What’s it like, running a family business?”
Callan’s smile is subtle but genuine. He’s comfortable here, talking about something that clearly means the world to him. “It’s a lot of hard work, but it’s rewarding. There’s history in every bottle we make, a piece of our family in every step of the process.”
I watch as Callan talks about the distillery, answering Dad’s questions with ease, his passion for the work shining through. I’m content to just sit back, to let him share as much as he wants. I want my parents to get to know him.
Throughout the entire meal, though, Callan has kept his hand firmly on mine. It’s a small gesture, but the way he holds it, the constant reassurance of his touch, makes me feel like I’m the center of his world while conversation swirls around us.
I can’t help but notice the way he’s eating with his left hand, his grip on the fork a little clumsier than usual, like using it feels unnatural, but letting go of my hand is simply not an option.
It’s both ridiculously sweet and mildly amusing, watching this otherwise capable man fumble through dinner just to keep me close.
The effort is unnecessary, but the sentiment? Absolutely heart melting.
I catch a glimpse of Mom from the corner of my eye, her gaze fixed on Callan as he laughs at something my dad says.
She’s watching him closely, and I see any hesitation start to fade.
I know she’s been worried about me opening up to someone again, especially someone so far away.
She was cautious when I first told her about Callan, unsure of the distance and the time zones and the uncertainty of it all.
There’s a shift from guarded concern to something closer to admiration. She knows how much he’s been there for me these past months, how every day he’s been a constant in my life, even from miles away. How he listens, how he makes the effort, and how he makes me laugh.
As Callan shares a story, her smile widens in a way that tells me she’s letting herself see him as someone worthy of her trust.
I can’t help but breathe a little easier.