by S. M. Soto
“I was, what, five? That doesn’t really count, Callan.”
“You were six, actually, and I was nine. If you want to get technical.”
My heart warms. “Aw. You remember how old I was when I came in and brightened your life?”
It’s his turn to roll his eyes. “More like, I remember how old you were when you started getting on my damn nerves. Sure.”
“Couldn’t let me have that one, could you?”
“Nope.”
I settle on the ground next to him when we reach the levy. When I was learning to ride my bike, my dad and then Callan taught me here. They figured it was safer if I fell on grass rather than pavement. Can’t say I disagree. I fell a lot while I was learning to ride.
“Tell me what’s on your mind?” he asks after a long beat. We’ve been sitting here, staring out at the murky water below us. My gaze has been fixed on the frayed rope attached to the tire. The slight breeze causes it to sway gently. Idly, I wonder if anyone has ever risked getting on that tire. Who in their right mind would want to get in that water?
“You always ask this,” I mumble, not really wanting to delve any deeper into what’s going on in my mind.
“Because I’m always curious about how your strange mind works. Now start talking.”
Blowing out a heavy sigh, I shrug. “She called me stupid today. Kids say it at school jokingly to each other, but the way she said it to me? She meant it, Cal. I’m almost ashamed to admit it hurt my feelings.”
“Why?”
“Why? Maybe because I don’t like being called stupid?” I add dryly.
Callan gives me a stern look. “I mean, why do you care? You obviously know you’re not stupid. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.”
I look down, focusing on my hands that are fiddling with the dead grass beneath us. “Is it weird that I have this…need, almost, to be liked by everyone? I just don’t understand why she doesn’t like me. I try to be so nice to her, Cal. I go out of my way to do nice things, and it’s like every time I do, it backfires.”
“Not everyone is gonna like you, Daisy. You know what I say? Fuck ’em.”
Laughter bubbles up my throat. “Your mom would have your balls if she heard you.”
“Good thing she isn’t here then, right?” The grin I’m wearing slowly tapers off, and I avert my gaze as I think about everything else she said to me. He must sense I haven’t told him everything. “That’s not all, is it?”
“She said I was ugly.”
Now Callan frowns. “Again, what’s the big deal? You know you’re not ugly. In fact, you’re the prettiest girl on the block.”
My heart does something strange at that moment. It feels heavy and light. It’s like an angry metronome clanging from side to side. An inexplicable warmth swirls through my chest, wrapping around my heart.
Callan Reed thinks I’m the prettiest girl on the block?
Why does that make me insanely happy?
“You think I’m pretty?” I whisper, voice slightly awed.
As if realizing his slipup, Callan pulls a face, and his nostrils flare. “I didn’t say that.”
A knowing gleam enters my eyes. “Yeah, you did,” I sing-song.
Callan just rolls his eyes, acting as if I’m the most annoying girl on the planet. I might be, I might not, but I know one thing for sure. If I really got on his nerves, he wouldn’t still be sitting here next to me. He would’ve left long ago because that’s just how Callan Reed is. It’s either his way or the highway.
“Are you getting sweet on me?” I bat my eyelashes at him playfully, trying to hold back the goofy grin itching to spread across my face.
The muscle in Callan’s jaw jumps, and his eyes narrow. “Shut up.”
I toss myself back on the grass beside him and laugh.
The memory pierces my heart. It has pain slithering down the very center of my sternum, making it hard to breathe. It’s a segue into the next memory.
While Rosalind is in the shower, I let myself into Callan’s bedroom and splay out on his bed. He turns in his chair, raising a single brow at me that clearly says, what the hell are you doing in here? I have this thing, though small, it’s always there—I hate being alone. I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. Hence, why I’m lying here on his bed instead of waiting for Rosalind in her room. Or at the very least, that’s what I tell myself.
“What are you doing?”
I shrug, making myself comfortable. “Waiting for Rose.”
His lips twist. “Good luck. You’re going to be waiting for at least an hour. I don’t know what the hell takes her so long in there. I mean, Christ, she’s only, like, three feet tall.”
I laugh. “Don’t be mean. We like to pamper ourselves.”
“Give me a fucking break. You guys are, like, twelve; you don’t need to pamper anything.”
I roll my eyes at him because there’s no use defending our long showers. You either get it, or you don’t.
After a while, he closes his textbook on his desk and flops back on the bed next to me. I can smell his scent so distinctly here in his bed. It’s a mix of fresh laundry detergent, spring growth, and a hint of spice. It’s been a while since I’ve been in his room. It seemed like once he started high school, the dynamic between us changed. Now that he’s a sophomore, he feels like a stranger.
Shifting ever so slightly, I turn to face him, but my heart lodges in my throat when I realize he’s been watching me this whole time. The heat of his gaze seeps into my skin. It’s a warm blanket that covers me from head to toe and has pink rising to my cheeks.
“Why do you always stare at me?”
“Because I can.”
The air fills with tension, making it thick, almost too hard to swallow. “Can I ask you something?”
The corner of his mouth quirks. “You just did.”
I fight back a smile of my own, searching his gaze. His eyes are a vibrant blue-gray at the moment. They’re a blend of colors that I easily find myself getting lost in. A startling blue—full-on Prince Charming-esque. They are like fields of cornflower or the perfect, cloudless sky. I lick my suddenly dry lips, and his eyes follow the movement. The effect of it resonates deep in my stomach. My heart pounds as I toy with how to ask the question.
I don’t know why I’m doing this.
But then again, I don’t know why I do a lot of things. At times, it feels like there are two versions of me—the one that everyone knows, and the other one? She’s just there, lying in wait, waiting to be set free. The two personalities are constantly at war with one another.
“Someone tried to kiss me today.”
His face gives nothing away, but his eyes, they shutter. The bright blue there now looks like they’ve been touched by storm clouds. I rarely ever see any emotion in them, but right now, all I’m seeing is contempt as they embrace the wild wind of the storm. It’s just a brief gust before the chaos returns to its familiar calm sea. He quirks a brow, feigning indifference. “And?”
“I said no. Because I didn’t know how.”
His brows pull down. “You said no to kissing someone because you don’t know how? How do you expect to learn?”
I rub my lips together in anticipation. “I was hoping you’d teach me.”
His eyes widen with disbelief. “You want me to teach you how to kiss?”
I nod. “If anyone is going to teach me, I want it to be you.”
A beat of silence stretches between us. He searches my gaze with earnest. “And why is that?”
“Because I’ve heard you’re the best at it.” I don’t tell him the real reason. I can’t.
Something dark passes through Callan’s eyes. I can’t tell if it’s desire or if he’s angry I’ve come to him for this. I hope it’s the former, not the latter. His heated gaze sweeps across my flesh, and a slow tremor wracks down my spine.
“All right. Sit up,” he orders.
My heart jumps into my throat, and my stomach seizes
with nerves. I swallow past the sudden tightness there and mirror his position. With a confidence I’ve never seen from him, Cal leans into me, sliding his big, warm hand behind my neck.
“Relax.” He whispers the word across my lips, and I swear, I might’ve whimpered. “When you feel my lips touch yours, just let go. Don’t think about it too much. Just feel, Daisy. Just feel me.”
My eyes flutter shut at the exact moment Callan’s lips touch mine. I let out a sharp gasp at the sensation. His lips are plump, hot, and incredibly skilled. He works my mouth with his, tugging me closer by his hold on my nape. I fall into him, absolute putty in his arms. Heat swirls through my body in waves, and when he pulls back, resting his forehead against mine, I want to beg him for more.
As I peel my eyes open, my heart stops when I see him. His eyes are slammed shut, almost as if he’s in pain, and his jaw is grinding back and forth. I open my mouth, attempting to ask if he’s okay, but his eyes suddenly spring open. They drill holes into me, sucking me into their vortex.
I don’t know how it happens, or who makes the first move, but his lips are on mine again, and I can’t help but moan into his mouth. Callan kisses me with a need I’ve yet to be exposed to. His lips are hard and intent, but as his tongue parts my lips and strokes mine, it’s almost as if he’s caressing my heart and digging his talons into my soul. He works my lips like he’s starved. He tastes me like this is his one and only chance, and I do the same. Tentatively, I snake my hand behind his neck, and his skin is practically on fire. It burns beneath my palm.
Callan makes a noise in the back of his throat. I’ve never heard anything quite like it. It’s need and frustration all fused together. He deepens the kiss, damn near stealing the breath from my lungs. As far as first kisses go, this is one for the books. One I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life, I’m sure of it.
He pulls away from me, his chest heaving, his grip on the back of my neck tight like he doesn’t want to let go. My lips feel swollen, and my own chest is rising and falling rapidly in order to accommodate my heavy breathing.
As we stare into each other’s eyes, something shifts.
It changes the dynamic of our friendship.
It suddenly feels like I’ve lost Callan Reed, one of my best friends, forever.
“If you aren’t going to sit, you might as well leave now.”
Snapping out of the memories, I jerk forward at his sharp tone, and with a mind of their own, my legs walk me to the open seat across from him. I swallow thickly, trying to control my breathing as I stare at this person sitting before me, waiting for him to look at me.
Dressed in a pristine tailored charcoal suit, Callan fits right in with all the stuffy businessmen of New York. He’s taller than I remember and broader. He looks huge sitting across from me, almost larger than life. I only remember the gangly boy and the handsome teenager from my past, not this man sitting here.
Sitting in his high-backed chair, his shoulders wide-set and his back straight, he looks like he belongs here. He was clearly made to sit in this huge office. He commands the room as much as he dominates the business world. His shoulders and upper body fill out the suit incredibly well, making me wonder what he looks like beneath.
Guilt is swift and heavy as it slams into me. Not only did my husband just die, but here I am, already lusting after someone else. In the back of my mind, I know I have every right to, especially after everything that has happened, but some strange part of me still feels guilty.
Maybe it’s because during my entire marriage, I compared Dean to Callan. In my head, Dean never quite measured up. That might be what hurts the most. Realizing he was never the man I was supposed to marry. I settled.
He deserved more than that.
And so did I.
“I presume you brought in your resume, Mrs. Fletcher.” He finally glances up, and when he does, I gasp. Callan’s body isn’t the only thing that has matured over the years. His face has too, and he’s aged like the finest wine. Somehow, the line of his jaw looks stronger than it did, even compared to when we were younger. His eyes are brighter than I remember, like a thousand hues of blue and a small touch of gray radiating in softly swooping arcs. The stubble gracing his jawline makes him look more manly. The young girl in me itches to reach out and caress him, just to see what it would feel like against the palm of my hand. As much as I’d like to, I can’t do that. We’re not those kids from all those years ago.
I expect to see a spark of recognition in his eyes when he looks at me, but instead, I get nothing—just a pair of cold gray eyes surrounded by a ring of blue staring back at me with impatience. Humanity lacks in his gaze. This isn’t a novel scene in the movies or books where the character from the past takes pity on the girl, oh no. It’s quite the opposite. The man I grew up with doesn’t even seem to recognize me at all, and before now, I didn’t realize it would hurt this much. I’ve had thirteen years to get over his disdain for me. It turns out, all those years aren’t nearly long enough to take that pain away.
It takes my brain a few seconds to catch up and realize what he asked. Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I nod jerkily and dig into my purse to pull out my resume that literally has nothing on it. Being a housewife for nine years doesn’t exactly look great when you’re job hunting.
He obviously disapproves as he scans it over. His thick brows pull together, causing his face to pinch in a menacing scowl. It’s unsettling. Everything about this current version of him unsettles me. “You have little to no work history. No suitable references. No skill set. What good are you to me?”
My stomach clenches painfully at the brashness of his words, and I open my mouth, trying to work out what to say. “I-well, yes. While I was married—”
At the sound of my voice, he flings my resume away from him, discarding the paper like it’s offensive. “You can go, Mrs. Fletcher. I think it’s safe to say you’re underqualified for this position.”
My throat constricts with emotion, and my mouth gapes as I stare at Callan in a state of shock. How can he be so cold? It’s like he doesn’t even recognize me or know who I am. Surely Rose told him I was interviewing today. She wouldn’t throw me to the wolves like that. She wouldn’t.
There’s no way.
When I remain seated, he glances up at me, eyes dripping with indifference. “Is there a reason you’re still here? I have things to do.”
Tears fill my eyes unannounced as I watch my one opportunity slip away. This was my only chance to take care of Faith, and I’ve ruined it.
“Callan, please,” I whisper as my tears brim at my lash line, clouding my vision.
His eyes flash with rage at the use of his name, and I realize just how badly I’ve fucked up.
“Are you deaf? Go!” he bristles.
I scramble out of the chair and out of his office in the nick of time, just as my tears start falling. On my way out, I get a sad look from the receptionist before the elevator doors close, and I collapse against the chrome paneled wall in a fit of tears.
My predicament, the clusterfuck of epic proportions, everything about my life that has gone horribly wrong, suddenly crashes into me as I break down in the elevator while leaving Callan’s firm. My only saving grace is that I’m alone in the cart. I can’t even imagine breaking down like this in an elevator filled with people.
That ordeal was humiliating and degrading, and I could kill Rose for even suggesting this. For planting that small inkling of hope that something might work out in my favor for once.
I should’ve known better.
Why would the universe start cutting me some slack now when I’ve already lost everything else?
As soon as I step through the doors and hear the soft lilt of Faith’s cry, I burst into tears. How did this happen? How did hearing her cry make me miss her so much? How can I already be so attached?
“Oh, no. I take it the interview didn’t go well?” Rosalind asks as she sways with Faith in her arms, trying to get her to stop cryi
ng. I reach out, indicating I’ll take her, and as soon as I smell her perfect little baby scent, my tears start to slow, though the pain vibrating in my chest is still there, burning with a vengeance.
“It was humiliating, Rose. Did you even tell him I was interviewing? Tell me the truth.”
Rosalind heaves a sigh and collapses on her couch, avoiding my gaze. “I’m sorry. I just thought…I don’t know, I thought he’d see you and actually have a heart.”
I let out a groan that rumbles in my chest. “Rosalind. He didn’t even know who I was. He was so cold. So mean.”
She scoffs, shaking her head as she processes my words. “He knows exactly who you are, Daisy. I mean, hello, there are pictures of you, pictures of us, all over this place and back at my parents’ place. He knows you. Callan is just an asshole who isn’t happy unless everyone around him is miserable. That’s why he needs you.”
“Me?” I point at myself incredulously, taken aback.
“Yes. He can’t keep an assistant for longer than two weeks. Two weeks, Daisy. No one, and I mean no one, wants to work for him, even with the pay increase, because he’s such an asshole.”
I shoot my leg out, kicking her in the shin. “How dare you send me into the lion’s den without telling me all this!” I hiss.
Rosalind’s face cracks into a pain-filled grimace. “Ouch! Christ, Daisy! I thought I was helping.”
“Helping? Helping?” I raise my voice an octave. “What the hell makes you think I’d be able to last as Callan’s assistant? I mean, just look at me! I’m a mess.”
She grows serious, scooting closer to me. “Because you’re you. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, Dais, and I know how much this job can help you. You and Faith need this. Just…just let me talk to him, okay? I promise I’ll fix this.” She shoots me a sad smile and pushes upright, already scrolling through her phone, no doubt dialing her brother.
