Going All In

by Alannah Lynne

  “That’s disgusting.”

  The front door opened and the smell of fresh-baked goodies poured in, punching up Callie’s hunger and causing her stomach to growl in response. Water pooled in her mouth and she stood, as if in trance, following the scent.

  “I made fresh-baked brownies,” Tiffany said. “Who wants one?”

  Jen rolled her eyes. “You two are turning into a couple of Martha Stewarts.” She leaned forward and peered into the pan as Tiffany set it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “But I have to admit those look tempting.”

  Tiffany, who had the uncanny ability to ignore the negatives and focus on the positives, beamed. “They’re white and dark chocolate marble. Try one.”

  “Just one?” Callie said with a laugh. “I’m counting on that being dinner.”

  “We made something similar last week in cooking class. I tweaked the recipe a little, so…” Hesitation and uncertainty crept in. “If they’re no good, I can whip us up something else.”

  “I’m sure they’re great,” Callie called over her shoulder as she went to the kitchen to wash her hands and grab some plates and napkins. “So far, everything you’ve made has been incredible.”

  Since Tiffany bought the condo next door and started taking cooking lessons, Callie had become her culinary guinea pig. The arrangement worked perfectly. Callie didn’t have to cook—something she’d discovered after moving out on her own she wasn’t very good at—and Tiffany had someone to try her new dishes. They’d also agreed on a bartering system of sorts. Tiffany kept Callie fed, and Callie helped Tiffany decorate her condo.

  Tiffany had spent the past two years watching Callie pave the way, and she’d been taking notes. Six months ago, she decided to leave the comfort of the heated pool in favor of life’s more turbulent waters. She had yet to break free of her parents’ checkbook, but she was working hard to figure out her place in life, and total freedom was just around the corner.

  Jen, however, was content to remain entrenched in the world of maids and Daddy’s credit card and didn’t understand why they wanted to make their own marks on the world.

  After drying her hands, Callie grabbed the plates and napkins and headed back to the living room. She stopped short as the scents of fresh paint and brownies hit her. She drew in a deep breath and enjoyed the rush of endorphins the unlikely combination caused. Who knew those smells could be so comforting?

  Tiffany scooped a brownie from the pan and placed it on one of the plates. “The dressing table looks great.”

  “Thanks, I’m happy with it.” She took a bite of brownie, then moaned with pleasure as the warm, gooey treat melted on her tongue. “God, these are good. I don’t know how they tasted before, but you nailed this recipe.”

  Tiffany’s smile grew and she bounced on her toes. “You really think so?” She looked to Jen for confirmation, then back to Callie.

  “Absolutely. They’re incredible.” Callie took another big bite. Then another. And another, then finally gave up the fight to be polite and crammed the rest in her mouth.

  Jen’s reaction was more subdued, but after a dainty bite, she agreed. “Yeah, they’re good.”

  “You know…” Tiffany started, then stopped and cranked her mouth around as she worked up the nerve to finish her thought. She sat down in a chair and tucked her leg beneath her. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of starting a catering business.” As soon as the words spilled from her mouth, she sucked in a breath and held it, waiting for their response.

  Jen blinked a couple of times and fiddled with her earring, like she was adjusting the dial on her hearing.

  But Callie knew she’d heard right, and excitement for her friend bubbled up. “Seriously?” She dropped into the chair next to Tiffany’s. “You think you’re finally ready?”

  Callie didn’t doubt Tiffany’s abilities. She’d been eating her food for months and had no complaints. Ever. But Tiffany wasn’t as sure of her culinary talent, and Callie worried Tiff’s self-doubts would get in the way.

  Tiffany’s eyes misted with fear and trepidation, but the fog quickly burned away as underlying determination shone through. “Yeah, I am. I’ve done a lot of thinking since our last conversation—”

  Oh crap.

  “—and I think it’s time.”

  Callie held her breath as Jen’s gaze narrowed and swung between Callie and Tiffany. “I don’t remember talking about this before.”

  “You weren’t there.”

  Callie’s retort was harsher and more defensive than intended, but she loved the conversations she and Tiffany had without Jen, and she was protective of them. Their private sessions were real and genuine, about important things that mattered. They talked about their futures and made plans—plans some would say were nothing more than pipe dreams—but they were quickly learning there wasn’t much of a difference between plans and dreams, and they were excited about the possibilities life held for them.

  She’d rather continue this conversation without Jen, the pessimistic voice of doom and gloom booming loud and strong from the sidelines like James Earl Jones narrating a film: The end is near… Prepare for destruction. But Tiffany had started the discussion and was excited, so Callie encouraged her to continue. “Tell me more. What are you thinking?”

  As Tiffany began to talk—more or less thinking out loud and brainstorming—Jen rolled her eyes, swirled her drink around in her glass, tapped her foot, and checked the polish on her perfectly painted nails. Of course, Jen’s increasing boredom intensified Tiffany’s anxiety and uncertainty.

  Jen’s insensitive, selfish, immature attitude was to be expected, but it still pissed Callie off. Stepping in to diffuse the situation before Jen stole Tiffany’s dreams before they had a chance to fully develop, Callie said, “You’re off to a great start.” She grabbed Tiffany’s fingers and squeezed while locking gazes with her. “Let’s go to lunch one day this weekend to celebrate. We’ll make a day of it.”

  Her blatant dismissal of Jen caught all of them off guard, but Callie didn’t care. She refused to let Jen’s negativity poison Tiffany’s hopes and dreams.

  After Tiffany’s quietly spoken, “Okay,” everyone fell silent and tension filled the room, making it difficult to breathe. Callie searched for a safe subject to get them back into neutral territory, something they could all talk about and enjoy, but her mind was a blank.

  Okay, not completely blank, because Wade seemed to be taking up a lot of space there recently. But given the awkward atmosphere of her living room, she decided to keep thoughts of Wade to herself. Seeking an escape from the expanding tension, she grabbed another brownie and opened her mouth to take a large bite.

  Before the chocolate morsel hit her lips, her phone pinged with a text message. She’d given Wade a special ringtone, so without even looking, she knew it was him.

  Her heart took a few beats to get back into rhythm, as did her breathing, so she did her best to hide her reaction as she picked up the phone and read the message. Campfire tonight. U interested?

  She felt Jen and Tiffany’s curious stares on her but refused to meet their gazes. Nervous excitement made her mouth too dry to speak, and she didn’t know what to say anyway. She pressed her lips together and slid them back forth, thinking things through.

  Oh heck, who was she kidding? She didn’t have to think this through. She was so excited by the invitation she could jump out of her skin. So without conferring with Jen or Tiffany or seeking confirmation she was making the right choice, she replied, I’d love to. What do I need to wear? Pick me up or meet somewhere?

  Chapter Six

  Callie battled her trembling fingers, trying to steady them enough to attach the back of her earring while Tiffany and Jen stood guard at the window, watching over the parking lot like a couple of sentries guarding the fort.

  “What does he drive?” Jen called from the living room.

  “No idea. I’ve only seen him in company trucks.”

  She sighed with re
lief as the back finally slipped onto the post. Then she fixed the collar of her turtleneck and adjusted her necklace. Wade told her to dress casually, jeans and a sweatshirt if she had one, then nonchalantly offered to bring something of his if she didn’t.

  She’d been tempted to take him up on it for the silly, girly pleasure of wearing his clothes, but she finally admitted she’d be able to find something on her own. After twenty minutes of rummaging through her closet for something casual-not-drab, she settled on a black turtleneck and red sweater.

  As she grabbed her ankle boots from the closet floor, the memory of Wade at the club flashed through her mind. The searing heat pouring from his eyes as his hand sliced the middle of her thigh made her even more determined to get her thigh-high boots out of layaway as soon as possible.

  “Tell me again why you’re going out with this guy,” Jen said, throwing off a ton of barely contained revulsion, much like she had at the club when Callie introduced them to Wade.

  Callie wanted to believe Jen’s reaction was subconscious, that she wasn’t intentionally being snobby, but Callie knew better. Wade was a construction worker, and a couple years ago, Callie shared the same unfounded, erroneous opinion of blue-collar workers. For the first several months after meeting Kevin, she could hardly stand to look at herself in the mirror for the way she’d previously thought and spoken of men and women like her amazing co-workers. She’d eventually learned to forgive herself for her ignorance but doubted Jen would ever come around to sharing Callie’s newfound way of thinking.

  Callie sat on the edge of the sofa and zipped her boots. “He’s a nice guy.” She shoved her hair out of her face and made eye contact with Jen. “He’s different than the other men I’ve dated, and I like that.”

  She ignored the glance exchanged between Jen and Tiffany and poured herself a glass of wine. Besides the obvious off-the-charts sex appeal, there were so many things about him that attracted her. He wasn’t a huge talker, but his self-confidence and quiet sense of humor carried a punch. She liked the way she felt with him: free-spirited, adventurous, brave.

  He made her want to drink the Kool-aid of life, to get out there and live rather than sit back and watch time go by. He was obviously a loyal and true friend, or “his boys,” as he called them, wouldn’t visit every year, and she appreciated that quality more than most.

  Her gaze slid across the room to Jen and Tiffany. She’d known them since middle school, like Wade and his friends, so she knew the value of long-term friendships. Jen often made hurtful comments, but Callie doubted she even realized how badly her words cut. And when things blew up with Callie’s dad, Jen stood by her side as a fierce protector every step of the way.

  On more than one occasion, like at the country club when Callie came under fire, Jen put her razor-sharp tongue to use, fending off the attacks on Callie’s behalf. When the newspaper started reporting the story, Jen made every newspaper in the neighborhood disappear. Of course, she denied any involvement, but Callie found the pile of papers in the trash, and no one else would’ve had the nerve to steal everyone’s paper to save Callie and her mother further humiliation.

  Tiffany took a less aggressive approach, but she’d been no less fearless in her protection. In the immediate aftermath, one of them accompanied Callie whenever she left home, making sure she didn’t have to face the world alone. Some may wonder why she tolerated Jen’s rude and often crass comments, but Callie understood no one was perfect, and sometimes the bad had to be abided along with the good.

  “Where did you say you were going?” Tiffany asked, peering over her shoulder.

  Callie smiled and took another sip of wine. “I didn’t.”

  They hadn’t given her too much grief about hanging out with Wade and his friends at the club, but if they knew she was going to a bonfire… campfire—was there a difference?—at the state park, a place they all agreed was highly overrated, she’d never hear the end of it.

  A heavy rumble filled the air, causing Jen and Tiffany to press their cheeks to the glass and crane their necks toward the entrance, seeking a better view. She’d never seen Wade’s personal vehicle, but based on what she knew about him, she was sure he drove a truck. And based on the game of hopscotch her heart was enjoying and the heavy warmth sinking low in her belly, she’d bet the approaching growl, growing louder by the second, was that truck.

  “No way,” Tiffany whispered as her eyes grew wide and a smile spread across her face. She whipped her head around to face Callie, burst into laughter, then resumed staring out the window.

  Jen was less amused. “No fucking way. Friends do not let friends go out with rednecks.” She slammed her margarita glass down onto the windowsill and turned on Callie. “Flirting with a construction worker is bad enough. Going out with a redneck construction worker is going too far.” Her face reddened and she spit and sputtered, unable to find the necessary words to fully express her anger. “Have you lost your damned mind?”

  Fighting back a laugh, Tiffany said, “I don’t think we have to worry about her actually going anywhere, Jen. She’ll never get up into that truck.”

  Curiosity pushed at Callie’s back, trying to drive her across the living room to the window, but she forced herself to stay seated on the barstool and assumed a casual I-could-care-less-what-you-think attitude.

  “I told you guys. I want something different. I’ve gone out with rich guys. I’ve gone out with foreign guys. They’ve all been boring.” She lifted her shoulder and shifted her gaze away from their stares. “I want someone who excites me. Who makes me laugh and challenges me.” She leaned forward on her barstool, beseeching them to understand. “I want someone who quietly encourages me to be brave and try new things. Dammit, I want passion.”

  Jen snorted and rolled her eyes. “Did you just say you want passion?”

  Yeah, unfortunately, she had. She hadn’t meant to speak that last part out loud, but so what? She’d answered honestly, and she was no longer willing to settle for less.

  “Yes, I want passion. I know you think I’m a goody-two-shoes prude, but maybe I’m stuck in that place because I’ve never met someone capable of bringing out another side of me.”

  “Oh my,” Tiffany said on a breathy sigh. “I thought he was good-looking the other night, and I kind of understood what drew you to him. But”—she gulped—“he could bring out another side of anyone.”

  Unable to stand the suspense any longer, Callie jumped off her barstool and raced to the window.

  Wade had just jumped down from the cab of his big—massive—black truck and was in the process of slamming the door shut. He wore cowboy boots, faded jeans, and a red-and-green flannel shirt that hung loose, like a jacket, over a stretched tight, white T-shirt.

  Even though she told him she would find something to wear, he brought a couple of extra shirts with him. He slung them over his shoulder, then dug into his pocket for his phone. He glanced at the screen, then at the numbers on the building, then at the doors. As his gaze swung up to the window where they stood and he caught sight of them staring, a broad smile broke across his face.

  Without thought or verbal communication, the three of them shrieked and hit the floor with a collective thud.

  “Oh my God. This is so embarrassing.” Callie crawled away from the window, stood and brushed herself off with as much dignity as she could muster, then ran for her wine glass.

  “Which part is most embarrassing to you?” Jen demanded as she stood and straightened her skirt. “Going out with a redneck? Or being caught staring by said redneck, which would indicate he’s smarter than us?”

  Tiffany ran her hand under her eyes and wiped away tears of laughter. “Oh, shut up, Jen. He might be a redneck, but he’s really hot.” She leaned forward on her knees and peeked out the bottom of the glass. “Shit, he’s still down there looking up at us, laughing.”

  “No,” Callie said. “He’s looking and laughing at you. I’m all the way over here”—she rested her elbow on the counter
and leaned into it—“waiting for my date to arrive.”

  She barely had time to regain her wits when a knock sounded at the door. She jumped and nearly dumped her drink, proving she hadn’t actually gathered anything yet. She steadied the long-stemmed glass on the counter, wiped her hand on her jeans, and slowly made her way to the door. Glancing over her shoulder, she found Jen on the couch, looking suitably bored, and Tiffany running for the safety of the kitchen.

  Barely contained laughter lit Wade’s face when she opened the door. “They didn’t seem to approve at the club. Am I faring any better tonight?”

  She scrunched up her face and chewed on the side of her finger. “It’s a split decision.”

  “Damn, that’s disappointing. I thought for sure my truck would bring ’em in.” The humor glinting in his brown eyes amplified his sarcasm. With a wink and a tug on her hair, he added, “Good thing I don’t care what they think.”

  He held her gaze for several beats, and the realization he’d just opened himself up enough to reveal he did care what she thought sent a wash of heat cascading over her. She drew in a ragged breath and steadied her voice. “I like your truck, but the driver is spectacular.”

  Heat infused her face with the admission, and she turned away to lead him into the living room. She’d introduced Wade at the club the other night but hadn’t introduced Tiffany or Jen. “Wade, this is Jen”—she pointed to the couch—“and Tiffany.” She nodded to Tiff as she slunk out of the kitchen, wearing a sheepish smile.

  “Ladies, good to see you again.” He might be referring to the night they met at the club, but his mischievous smile led Callie to believe he was teasing them about the window incident.

  Tiffany must’ve thought the same thing because she giggled, then ducked back into the kitchen.

  “You said you were set on clothes, but I brought some anyway.” He dragged a long-sleeved T-shirt and sweatshirt off his shoulder and held them out to her. “Just in case.”

  “Okay,” Jen said with a punch of anger and frustration. “This is ridiculous. We need to know where you’re going.”