by S. M. Soto
“I don’t have time for anything else.” I shrug, knowing what she’s hinting at.
“You’re going to make me ask, aren’t you?” She sighs.
“You certainly don’t have to.”
She does anyway. “What’s going on between you two?”
“Nothing.” My tone is no-nonsense.
“The looks you two share don’t look like nothing.”
“Don’t read into this, Mom. You’ll only be let down.”
“Why can’t you let yourself be happy?” she asks, staring up at me with so much sadness in her eyes, it’s hard to look at.
“Some people aren’t meant to be happy.”
“Everyone deserves to be happy, Callan. Even you. I think you deserve it the most. And so does that woman sitting in there.”
She presses a kiss to my cheek and leaves me with an even bigger hole in my chest than before.
Padding down the darkened hallway, I pause when I spot the light on in Callan’s office. A smile spreads across my face as I imagine him behind his desk, working away.
Gently pushing the door open, I find him bent slightly over his desk. With the lamp on in the corner and his laptop open, the glow illuminates his features. He even has these glasses on that make him look incredibly sexy.
“Can’t help yourself, can you?”
He glances up at the sound of my voice, a crooked grin spreading across his face. The effect of it hits me square in the chest.
“Had some last-minute things to do.”
Crossing the distance between us, I set the baby monitor on the corner of his desk, and I climb into his lap, looking over his work. He’s been drawing. The structure is beautiful.
It’s a sprawling building with Gothic-style windows and articulate peaks.
“Is this a church?”
He lifts a shoulder noncommittally. “Could be. Not sure what I want to do with it yet.”
“It’s beautiful.” My voice is awed. That’s just what his work inspires. Awe.
“So are you,” he breathes against the skin of my neck. He presses a chaste kiss there, and I grin.
“Don’t flatter me. You’ve spent years being an asshole. You can’t make up for it now.”
It’s meant to be a joke, but the way his body stiffens beneath mine tells me that wasn’t the right thing to say. I risk a glance behind me, catching a shudder cross his face. I guess he doesn’t agree.
“Hey,” I chide, cupping his stubbled cheek to direct his gaze to mine. The blue there is incredibly bright. So beautiful, just like the man sitting beneath me. “It was just a joke.”
“Joke or not, you’re not wrong.”
Silence descends between us.
I heave a sigh. “Why were you always so angry with me?”
“Why else is any teenager angry? Hormones.”
I quirk a brow, ready to call him on his bullshit. “Callan Reed, I’ve known you my whole life. You better believe I damn well know when you’re lying. Can you just be honest for once?”
He sighs. “I should’ve been happy. I had no reason not to be. But I wasn’t.”
“I find that hard to believe. You had everything—star quarterback, popular, annoyingly smart. Hell, even your family life was better than mine. It was just you guys. You didn’t have to worry about someone else coming into the picture and changing your family dynamic.” I skirt around the topic of Skylar. Even thinking about her while I’m sitting on his lap makes me physically ill.
Will I ever be able to stop picturing them together?
Will I ever be able to forgive any of them?
Truth is, I don’t know.
“It wasn’t even about that. Not really. Not at first. I think I hated you because I could. I hated how free you were. Free in your ability to just be yourself, no matter the consequences, no matter what was going on around you. I envied you for that.”
My chest tightens.
“And now?
He searches my gaze earnestly. “I still envy you for it, but it’s a different kind of envy. Back then, I let my emotions get the best of me. On the outside, it may have looked like I had everything, but I didn’t.”
My mouth grows dry with the way he’s staring at me. He’s staring at me like a man who is baring his soul, a man who is going to tell me the truth for once.
“What didn’t you have?”
My heart beats against my rib cage in anticipation.
He licks his lips. “It’s not so much what I didn’t have, but what I was missing.”
His meaning hits me square in the chest. My mouth drops open on a quiet exhale. I beg words to fall from my lips, to question what he’s saying, to make sure it’s the truth, but I’m speechless.
“What are you saying?” I croak out, needing him to say the words.
Right when he opens his mouth, the baby monitor blares to life. My eyes slam shut, and I heave a deep sigh. Callan places a kiss on my neck, and I want to whine.
Right when he was getting real, Faith decides she’s hungry?
Dammit.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll be right back, I promise.”
I push off his lap, hurrying to get back to Faith. I go about our usual routine of changing her, some funny baby talk, feeding her, then putting her back down, only she doesn’t seem to be all that interested. For once, little miss is fighting her sleep.
It takes a good twenty minutes of singing and swaying until I finally get her to fall back to sleep. I make my way back into Callan’s office and find him leaning back, staring at the door as if he’s waiting for me. There’s a soft smile on his face and something warm in his eyes.
I eye him skeptically. “You’re being weird.”
He chuckles, then pointedly looks down at the baby monitor I left on his desk. Heat rises to my cheeks, and I have the urge to face-palm myself.
Jesus Christ.
“Don’t judge me.”
He raises his hands. “Judgment-free zone. Was cute listening to you ramble on and try to sing, though.”
“Har, har, har, you’re hilarious. Does anything nice ever come out of that mouth?”
“Probably not.”
I roll my eyes, fighting a grin. “You know, I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it yet, but you look very sexy in those glasses. Very Clark Kent-esque.”
He grins. “Noted.”
And again, the moment is effectively crushed when the baby monitor blares to life. Our gazes hold, disappointment percolating through the air. I hesitate for only a few seconds before blowing out a sigh.
Who am I kidding? I’m not the “let them cry it out” kind of mom.
“You can bring her in here if it makes it easier on you.”
My brows shoot up. “Really?”
“Beats sitting here alone.”
I nibble on my bottom lip, unsure if it’s a good idea. If she continues to cry, I can’t imagine he’ll be able to get any work done. “Well, if you’re sure it’s okay?”
He just nods, looking back down at his work.
As I make my way back into Callan’s office with Faith in my arms, she begins to calm down. He glances up when he hears her shuddering breaths from how hard she was crying. He stares at her for a few beats, darts his gaze to me, then looks back down at his work.
“You can sit on the couch.”
I take a seat on the couch and watch him work while Faith lies in my arms. It feels so natural and not so fucked-up. I try not to think about the fact that I’m holding my ex-husband’s daughter in my arms, the one he had with my cousin, who made it her mission to ruin my life, and I’m sitting in Callan’s office, my first love, who slept with my cousin and hated my husband.
That’s enough to make anyone go crazy.
I watch him while he works, taking in the cute looks of concentration. Every so often, he looks our way, or he’ll smirk at me when he catches me staring, and I revel in it, in his playful demeanor. I memorize everything about this moment. Everything about how calm Faith seems to be whe
never she’s in his presence.
Any talk of the blind date has been brushed under the rug, and part of me is glad because there is no way my best friend is changing her mind on this. I’m going on this date, even if I don’t want to. The other part of me is hurt that Callan seems so at ease with the idea of me going on a blind date. He hasn’t mentioned it. Hasn’t tried to tell me not to go. He hasn’t said anything at all, and somehow that hurts more because it’s clear what we’re doing means absolutely nothing to him. Even though the look in his eyes as he watches Faith or me at times is borderline possessive, none of that matters.
This is just sex to him.
Maybe it always has been.
Shaking off the melancholy thoughts, I sneak a glance up at Callan and find him watching me. Heat climbs into my cheeks, and he winks, drawing a grin out of me. It makes me forget about why this might be a bad idea after all.
I cherish it all because if life has taught me anything, it’s the little things we have with people. The small moments. And we have to cherish them, always.
The next morning, I’m up early feeding Faith, and I pause as I stare down at her. A few heartbeats pass when the realization strikes.
I’m smiling.
For no apparent reason, and something tells me it has a lot to do with last night. With Callan.
I can’t tell if it’s just wishful thinking, but I swear, it feels like there’s been a shift in our relationship. It’s as though he’s put away his anger and resentment and is slowly embracing Faith. After he spewed those hateful words of never being able to love someone else’s child, I thought I knew where Callan’s head was, but I think I may have gotten it wrong. I think he wants to believe that of himself. I think because he hated Dean, he wants to hate Faith, too, but after last night, the way he was sneaking glances at not just me but her, too, I don’t think that’s possible anymore.
After she’s fed, I strap Faith to my body and make my way onto the upper level of Callan’s penthouse. After I moved in, he mentioned he has a chef who comes in every other day to stock his fridge, but she’s generally off on weekends. This was part of my stipulations. He lets me use the kitchen on the weekends, and we call it somewhat even.
I stare at the immaculate, bright kitchen. It’s a chef’s dream. With five-star hotel amenities. Subzero appliances, a long, white marble island. Counter space that feels like it goes on for miles.
“All right, little miss. Let’s see what we have.”
I open cabinets, searching for possible food options. When I stumble on a box of pancake mix, I grab it, pulling the essentials from the fridge. I get started, beating the pancake mix, using another pan to work on some eggs while I search for bacon or sausage. I realize that as I’m working and Faith is gurgling incoherently, I’m still wearing that stupid smile.
Much like I always do when I’m in a good mood, I begin singing the tune to “Nowadays” from Chicago. I’m more than slightly out of tune, but I’m in such a good mood that I don’t care.
That is, until I hear his sharp voice behind me.
“What are you doing?”
“Shit!” I yell, whirling around. My heart jumps into my throat. The smile slowly tapers off my face, and I force a thick swallow past the lump building in my throat. His face gives nothing away. Not even his eyes tell me if he’s upset that I’ve taken it upon myself to cook in his kitchen. Or that I’ve been singing awfully loud. He’s merely standing there, his gaze drifting from me down to Faith.
“I, uh, I’m making breakfast. I didn’t want to touch your frozen meals, so I thought I’d make something for both of us. If you’re hungry.”
He tilts his head to the side ever so slightly as he regards me. “I see you still have your Chicago soundtrack on repeat.”
My brows shoot up. “How do you know I like Chicago?”
“Because you watched it every single day when we were kids. If you’re still singing it now, I imagine that hasn’t changed.”
How does he remember that?
Tense heartbeats pass until he looks over my shoulder at the stove.
“Might want to flip that.”
I spin, realizing my pancake is still on the stove, most likely burning. I turn back around but pause when I realize he’s gone. I tell him I’m making breakfast, and he walks away?
What a shit.
But that’s also better than him yelling at me over nothing, so I’ll take it.
Not about to let his strange attitude ruin our day, I hum down to Faith, picking back up where I left off in the song, swaying my hips to the tune. She stares up at me, eyes getting heavy. It’s moments like these, when I can just be myself with her, that I cherish the most. I hear something thud in the entertainment area, just outside of the kitchen, and my brows pull together in a frown. I lower the burner and make my way over there, pausing when I find Callan setting up her bassinet.
I’m beyond stumped. So much so, I stand there, mouth agape, waiting for him to explain himself. He can sense me there watching him. There’s no way he can’t, but it seems he’s choosing to ignore me.
Once the portable bassinet is set up again, he stands to his full height, his eyes meeting mine.
“What are you doing?”
The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s biting back a smile. Isn’t it obvious? is written all over his face.
“Figured I’d bring this out for you. Don’t really think cooking and having a baby strapped to your chest is the greatest idea.”
“You’re probably right, but why?”
“Because you can burn her? Hurt your back? I don’t know.”
“But why do you care?” I reiterate.
He lifts a shoulder noncommittally. “Can’t say.”
We stand there with the silence stretching between us. I watch him, searching for answers as he does the same, trying to make sense of why he cares. Not wanting to seem ungrateful or make this weird, I smile, carefully unstrapping Faith.
“It’s perfect timing, actually. I need to use the bathroom.” I lay her down, and she stares up at me, little arms and legs kicking playfully. I grab her feet and shake them gently until she smiles. “Who has the cutest smile? You do, funny girl,” I coo down at her, and she gurgles her approval. When I turn back to Callan, his gaze is glued to me. “Can you watch the stove and just make sure she’s okay while I grab her pacifier, then run to the bathroom?”
He hesitates for only a second before he nods. “Sure.”
As I’m walking away, I hear Callan murmur to Faith in a low tone. “She’s a little crazy, isn’t she? We’re in for a treat with her.”
My heart melts, and I can’t hide the smile as I walk away.
He’s softening toward her.
I feel it, and I know he does, too.
We spend the rest of our Saturday inside his penthouse, and it’s perfect. It feels normal, as though things were always meant to be this way. I can see us doing this daily. He makes it a point to discuss work projects with me, ask about Faith, and literally puts any effort at all into having an actual conversation with me.
And fuck, if that doesn’t give me all the hope in the world, but I should know by now, hope is a fool’s wish.
It’s the night of my blind date, and I’m feeling on edge. After how well things have been going between Callan and me, this date feels like a slap in the face of sorts. It shouldn’t. I know it shouldn’t. I have every right to go out on this date tonight.
Callan and I aren’t dating. We’re not exclusive. We’re not…anything.
So, what does it matter? He slips into my room at night and fucks me, then at work, he pretends I’m his lowly assistant.
Maybe a date with someone else is what I need.
To avoid running into Callan at the penthouse, I get ready at Rose’s place since she’ll be taking care of Faith during dinner tonight.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” My voice shakes as I stare at my reflection in the mirror, running my hands over the formfitting dre
ss. I wanted something a little more casual, but Rosalind suggested something a little more romantic for tonight. I’m not entirely sure why I let her talk me into these situations.
Rose steps up behind me, setting her hands on my bare shoulders, and meets my gaze in the mirror. The bright hue of the red dress stands out against my tan skin. It has a low plunging neckline that shows my cleavage without being too over-the-top. It hugs my curves in all the right places, and even though it looks amazing, I just wish I felt amazing, too.
“You need this. There is absolutely nothing wrong with dating. And Jeremy is a great guy. At least if nothing comes of tonight, you can say you made a friend. One more in New York won’t kill you.”
I blow out a shaky breath, smiling. “You’re right. I need this. I deserve this.”
“Good. I’m glad someone is on board.”
My brows pull down, and I turn to look at her. “What do you mean?”
She rolls her eyes. “Callan. The asshole. He cornered me at Mom’s and demanded I cancel the date.”
My stomach twists. “He what?”
“Can you believe that? He has some nerve, deciding whether you date. Want to know what his excuse for being an asshole this time was? He was looking out for you because you’re his ‘assistant.’” She mimics his deep voice, and under any other circumstances, I’d find it funny, but I don’t. Not now. I only agreed because I was hurt that Callan didn’t care. But now I find out he does indeed care, I feel like I’m doing something wrong again.
I feel like the worst friend for not telling her. She doesn’t even grasp why her brother would care. Why would she? Her best friend hasn’t given her any new juicy gossip. Part of the reason I haven’t said anything is because I don’t want sense talked into me. That’s what Rosalind will do—tell me what an idiotic idea it would be to get involved with Callan.
I want him.
Even if I know it will end in heartbreak.
“Has he…has he mentioned anything since then?”
She shrugs. “No, but I’ve also been ignoring his calls, so that might be why.”
