Taunting Callum

by Kristen Proby

  Or, more specifically, a single, late afternoon stand.

  I mean, it was just incredible, earth-shattering sex. The kind that sticks with a girl for the rest of her life, no matter what happens after the fact. And I’m content keeping it for myself.

  It’s a happy memory.

  After losing my husband and daughter so many years ago, a memory that makes me smile is exactly what I need.

  “Hey, Aspen,” Ellie says with a big grin. “I believe you’ve met my brother, Callum.”

  I’m just about to agree when he frowns and shakes his head. “No, I don’t believe we have.”

  I blink rapidly. Are you fucking kidding me?

  Just like that, my happy memory pops like a balloon.

  He was the best sex of my life. The only sex I’ve had since my husband died, and he doesn’t remember it?

  The next few minutes are a haze as Ellie and Callum place their orders and sit at one of the nearby tables. Callum faces my way, watching me work.

  He forgot me.

  I shake my head as I pour milk into a carafe.

  He forgot.

  Sure, it was a year ago, but he just walked into my café, into the place where he was inside me, and he…forgot.

  I don’t want it to hurt. I really, really don’t.

  But it does. It’s a knife in the back, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. The chemistry was off the charts. The sex was incredible.

  Or so I thought.

  But I guess, according to Callum, the encounter was utterly forgettable.

  And that makes me feel cheap and, frankly, like garbage. I was discarded plenty as a kid. It hurts just as bad as an adult.

  I deliver their order, and the asshole has the fucking audacity to ask me out to dinner.

  The answer to that is a hell no.

  My friend Willa comes in with her son, Alex, which is a nice distraction. Maybe Ellie and Callum will just take their stuff and go.

  But after Willa leaves, I realize I’m not so lucky.

  Callum approaches the counter, and I square my shoulders.

  “Aspen,” Callum begins. “I owe you a big apology. I just got off the plane after being up for thirty hours, and—”

  I hold up my hand, and he closes his mouth.

  “Is there something else you need?” My hands are shaking, so I link them behind my back and hope he doesn’t notice. I want to throw up. I want to cry.

  But I won’t do any of that, not in front of him.

  “Yes, to bloody apologize,” he says, but I shake my head. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

  “Let’s get something straight,” I reply immediately, feeling the blood rushing to my cheeks in anger. “You didn’t hurt me. It takes a hell of a lot more than an egotistical, full-of-himself prince to hurt me. Besides, you don’t know me, remember? What do you care?”

  “Well, I—”

  “That was a rhetorical question,” I add. “Now, if there’s nothing more I can do for you, I’m closing early today.”

  “We’re leaving,” Ellie says, pulling on Callum’s arm as she looks back at me in apology. “Thank you, Aspen. Let’s get together soon, okay?”

  I smile at my friend. “I’d love that, Ellie. I’ll text you soon.”

  “Lovely.” She pushes Callum toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  Once they’re gone, I rush to the door and lock it. When I’m alone in my office, I let the tears come.

  The son of a bitch forgot me. I didn’t expect him to fall over himself to see me or say hello. But to completely forget? It’s absolutely unforgivable.

  I wipe my cheeks and resolve not to shed another tear for Callum Wakefield.

  Chapter 1

  ~Aspen~

  Present Day

  * * *

  “I hate today,” I mutter as I climb out of my car in front of Brooke’s Blooms and walk inside the beautiful floral shop. It’s late summer, and the fragrance that assaults my nostrils is glorious. This used to be my favorite time of year.

  Used to be.

  “Hey, Aspen,” Brooke says with a wide smile. She’s a pretty, petite woman with dark hair and an artistic eye for flowers. She never ceases to amaze me. I couldn’t put a bouquet together to save my life. And, thankfully, I don’t have to. Because I have Brooke.

  “Good morning,” I reply. “I’m here to pick up the wreaths.”

  “Of course. I’ll grab them from the cooler.”

  She steps into the walk-in refrigerator. A few moments later, she comes back holding two wreaths, each about two feet in diameter, before setting them on the countertop.

  “Beautiful,” I whisper and gently tickle the petals of a sunflower with my fingertips. “You did a wonderful job, Brooke.”

  “I’m glad you like them,” she says. “Are these for your front door? Or for Drips & Sips?”

  I shake my head but offer her a small smile. “No, they’re just something pretty to remember something I lost. Thanks again. You outdid yourself.”

  I square the tab with her and leave the shop, a wreath in each hand as I walk back out to my car.

  The drive to the little state park at the edge of Whitetail Lake doesn’t take long. It’s a beautiful late September morning. The sun is up, the birds chirping.

  And I’m here to remember my dead husband and daughter.

  I take the wreaths from the car and walk down to the shoreline. I’m alone down here, which I counted on. I don’t need anyone witnessing my grief. I’m a loner, an introvert at heart, and aside from a few very close friends, this isn’t something I plan to share with anyone. Especially strangers.

  I squat next to the water and pick up Greg’s wreath first. I chose red peonies and lots of greens for his wreath. The peonies were in my wedding bouquet, and the greens are because Greg enjoyed being out in the wilderness more than almost anything. He said it’s where his heart was on fire.

  And it killed him.

  It killed both of them.

  I was angry for a long time, but I can look back with bittersweet fondness now. I loved my husband with a passion. He was my match in every way. Had been with me since high school when I bounced from foster home to foster home.

  When we got pregnant at sixteen, he didn’t leave me. He didn’t bail. He stuck right by me. Despite being painfully young and completely out of our element, we welcomed Emma into the world and did the best we could.

  He worked two jobs. And with a ton of hard work and grit, we beat the odds. We had a loving marriage, a healthy, happy child, and a fantastic life.

  I kiss one of the flowers, set the wreath on the water, and give it a push and watch as it travels over the calm surface.

  “Rest easy, Greg,” I whisper and then look down at the second wreath.

  This one is still a sucker punch to the gut.

  My perfect baby girl was the light of my life. Her little laugh could make the sunshine seem dim. She had my red hair and her dad’s love of nature. The dirtier she got, the better. I fought a never-ending battle trying to keep her clean.

  When Greg wanted to go camping one last time that summer, and I had to work, Emma was thrilled at the idea of spending two whole days with her daddy in the woods. I stayed back, working the shifts at the restaurant that I couldn’t get out of. But secretly, I wasn’t upset. Camping wasn’t really my thing.

  It was theirs.

  I brush my fingers over the sunflowers and sniff as tears fill my eyes. These flowers remind me of Emma, her bright smile and happy personality.

  She was only seven when she was taken away from me.

  She’d be a teenager this year.

  I kiss the sunflower lightly. “Sweet dreams, baby girl.”

  And then I push the wreath onto the water and watch it glide out to sit next to Greg’s, as if the energies of the universe pull them together.

  They always were two peas in a pod.

  I sit for a while on the shoreline and watch the flowers floating on the water until they drift
out of sight.

  And then I sit for a little longer.

  Today is the one day every year that I let myself be sad, remember, and cry.

  I hear a car door slam behind me. That’s my cue to leave.

  I stand and walk back to my vehicle, but rather than go immediately home, I drive downtown and park in front of Asana Yoga Studio.

  I need to breathe and stretch and re-center myself.

  “I thought you said you wouldn’t be here,” the studio owner says as I walk inside.

  “I changed my mind,” I tell Fallon with a shrug. “I didn’t bring the right clothes, but I don’t care. Can I borrow a mat?”

  “You can borrow anything you want,” she says and then lays her hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay, friend?”

  “I will be.” I offer her a brave smile, and then I’m rescued as other clients walk in for class. I don’t want to answer any more questions.

  I roll out a mat. Before long, Fallon is taking us through meditation, breathing, and guiding our poses.

  By the time the hour is up, I feel much calmer. More at peace.

  Well, as peaceful as I can be on this day, anyway.

  And as I leave the studio and take a deep breath of fresh air, I know that coming here today was the right choice. If not, I’d just be at home, moping. And that’s not healthy.

  I can’t go into work for the rest of the day. I promised to take the day off. I’d just be distracted anyway.

  So, I head for my little house at the edge of town. I love the view of the mountains from my back deck. Honestly, the entire house suits me.

  It’s a little quirky. Sometimes irritable. Mostly endearing.

  I pull into the driveway and feel my eyebrows climb at the sight of my two best friends, Monica and Natasha, sitting on my front porch.

  “There you are,” Monica says as I walk toward them. “I thought you’d be home an hour ago.”

  “I decided to go to yoga,” I reply and eye the bags they’re holding. “What’s up?”

  “Well, we know what today is,” Natasha says as she pushes her dark hair behind her ear. These two are the only ones in Cunningham Falls who know. “And we decided that you’re not going to spend it by yourself.”

  “You decided?”

  “Yep. Don’t try to give us attitude, either,” Monica adds. “You’re stuck with us.”

  “Unlock the door,” Natasha instructs me, pointing to the keyholes.

  “Bossy, aren’t you?” I climb the steps and unlock the deadbolt, then step inside and lead them both through the living space to the kitchen, where I open the fridge and reach for a pitcher of filtered water. “Want some?”

  “We have better beverages than that,” Monica says. “Natasha’s making her famous ‘ritas.”

  I check the time. “It’s not even eleven in the morning.”

  “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Natasha says with a shrug and starts unpacking tequila, limes, and salt from one of the bags. “Look, when it’s the anniversary of your husband’s and daughter’s deaths, you get a pass on what time of day is socially acceptable to day drink.”

  “We also brought guac and pico and queso,” Monica says.

  “The trifecta of corn chip goodness,” I say and smile at my friends. “I thought I wanted to be alone today, but I think you’re right. This is much better.”

  “Of course, we’re right,” Monica says. “Duh.”

  “I wish Ellie was here,” Natasha says. “She’s so fun. Oh, but maybe you don’t want her to know.”

  “Ellie’s my friend, and I trust her,” I say with a sigh and reach for a tortilla chip, load it up with guacamole, and shove it into my mouth whole. “Eventually, I’ll tell her. Someday. Although, given she’s royalty, she probably already knows. I’m sure the minute we started spending time together, they did a deep-dive into my past.”

  “You’re probably right. She’s coming to town,” Natasha adds. “I heard from her the other day. She and Liam, and Sebastian and Nina are coming to spend a few weeks and enjoy the rest of summer.”

  “It’s good timing,” Monica says. “We’re having an awesome late summer. The weather will be perfect.”

  I nod and continue shoveling chips into my mouth. I had no idea I was so hungry.

  “She gets here Friday,” I say and take a sip of the margarita that Natasha just passed me. “Oh shit, that’s strong.”

  “You’re welcome,” Natasha says with a grin. “We’ll have to see if she wants to do girls’ night Saturday. We haven’t seen her in a few months.”

  “I haven’t seen her since her wedding,” I reply and try to block that night out of my mind. It’s not that the wedding wasn’t absolutely spectacular. It was the best one I’ve ever been to.

  But Callum danced with me at the reception.

  I hate that guy.

  Thankfully, I haven’t seen the prince since the wedding either. I don’t need that mistake thrown in my face at every turn.

  Even Natasha and Monica don’t know that I had the best sex of my life with Ellie’s brother. Or that he promptly forgot all about it.

  How humiliating.

  What a jerk.

  “Right?”

  I glance up. “Huh?”

  Monica smiles. “I said this might be the best guac I’ve made.”

  “I’m shoveling it in, aren’t I?”

  She nods smugly. “Indeed, you are.”

  “You know,” Natasha says as we load everything into our arms and take it onto the deck, “we should have mid-morning margaritas more often.”

  “I don’t think that would go over well with my clients,” Monica says with a laugh. “Although, we might get some interesting haircuts out of it.”

  Monica owns The Style Studio, the hair and nail salon downtown next to Asana Yoga. She does hair, and Natasha does nails. There’s also a massage therapist, an eyelash specialist, and two other hairstylists.

  It’s one of my favorite places in town.

  “Wait.” I frown at both of my friends. “Did you guys take today off to be here?”

  “Cleared our books,” Monica confirms. “And I told Rich that I’d be gone all day, but that he could reach me on my cell if he needs me.”

  I feel the tears threaten again.

  “You guys didn’t have to do that.”

  “We’re your family,” Natasha says as she leans over and covers my hand with hers. “And it’s a tough day. So, of course, there’s nowhere else we’d be, Aspen.”

  “Damn it, I hate crying.” I brush a tear from my cheek. “I was doing so well today, too.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Monica asks quietly. “You’ve never told us how, just that it happened.”

  “No.” I swallow hard. Reliving that weekend is never something I want to do. “No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “More guac?” Natasha asks, offering me the bowl.

  “Yes, that’s perfect. And more margaritas.”

  “That we can do.”

  “I thought tourist season was over,” Gretchen, my assistant manager, says Friday afternoon as we hustle through the tail-end of the lunch crowd.

  Wendy and Kelli, my morning workers, both left an hour ago. Gretchen and I are usually fine without help in the afternoons.

  But the crowds gave us a run for our money today. I’ll never be sorry for the extra business, though. And now that most of the tables are empty, and it’s calmed down, I’m grateful.

  “Maybe the weather lured in more tourists for the weekend?” I ask and eye the display case. “Either way, we’re out of almost everything. I’ll never complain about that.”

  “No, it’s fantastic,” Gretchen says as she replaces the vanilla syrup. “Those new huckleberry chutney turkey sandwiches are divine. They flew out of here.”

  “I like trying new things. And when the customers go crazy for them, even better.”

  Gretchen smiles, and her eyes light up when someone approaches the counter. “Hey there, Chi
ef.”

  I turn to find our police chief, Brad Hull, standing at the counter.

  “Do you need your usual afternoon shot of caffeine?” I ask with a smile.

  “Please,” he replies. “How’s business?”

  “Busier than expected,” I admit as I pour two percent into a carafe and flip on the hot air to froth the milk. “Is something special happening this weekend in town?”

  “Just excellent late summer weather,” he says. “The lake will be loaded with boats, and the trails with hikers this weekend. But the cooler weather is supposed to move in next week.”

  “So, I’ll take the business while I can get it,” I say and pass him the cup of coffee. “It’s on the house. Be safe this weekend.”

  “Appreciate it,” he says and takes a sip. “Best coffee in town.”

  “Damn right, it is.”

  He winks and then walks out of the café. I turn to find Gretchen wistfully watching Brad walk away.

  “He’s a married man,” I remind her. “Might want to ogle someone single.”

  “I know.” She sighs dramatically. “And I like Hannah. But it’s a damn shame.”

  “It’s a shame that he’s happily married?”

  “That he’s not happily married to me,” Gretchen says.

  “Weren’t you infatuated with some firefighter last week?”

  She grins. “Yeah. I think I have a thing for men in uniform.”

  “I mean, who doesn’t?” I ask and laugh with Gretchen as she pulls her apron off and rolls it up to put in her locker.

  “Everything’s clean, restocked, and the place is finally empty.”

  “Go enjoy the rest of the day,” I say and wave her off. “If any stragglers come in, I can handle it.”

  “Thanks, boss.” She hurries back to stow her apron, retrieve her purse and keys, and then she’s out the door—most likely to look for a man for the weekend.

  I like Gretchen. She has an excellent work ethic, and I can depend on her to be here on time, and to work her whole shift. But she’s also ridiculously boy-crazy.