His hair is the shortest I've ever seen it, cropped close on the sides, a little longer on top, and being more outside lately has given his skin a bronzed glow that makes his green eyes stand out like sea glass against sand.
He looks like summer. He looks like a wet dream casually walking around. He looks like mine, which he is, which makes me the luckiest woman in Harbor Hill and possibly the entire eastern seaboard.
"Seeing you like this," I tell him, reaching up to run my fingers through the short hair at his temple, "I'm thinking you'd look hot as fuck in a buzz cut."
"I'll do it after the wedding if you want.”
"I need a trim too. It's gotten a little long." I tug at the ends of my hair, which have grown longer than I usually keep it.
"I'm sure I'll love it, baby," he murmurs, and presses a kiss to my temple that makes my eyes close.
His fingers continue their slow path along my neck, finding the spot where the muscle has been tense all day.
"Neck still stiff?" he asks.
I mumble yes against his neck and kiss him there because I can't help it. I love this thing we have, this easy intimacy where we just stay close and touch each other, trading light kisses like currency, like something we've been doing forever instead of months.
"It's alright," I tell him, smiling up at him. "Worth it."
We took a nap together this afternoon, tangled up in my bed with my head on his arm, our mouths so close we were breathing each other's air. I couldn't move without waking him and I didn't want to move anyway, so I stayed there for two hours and now my neck is paying the price and I don't regret a single second.
He lifts my face with his fingers under my chin and drops a sweet peck on my lips.
"I'll massage it again later," he promises.
"Keep your dirty talk down, please."
Ruth materializes beside our booth like she was summoned by the mere suggestion of impropriety. She's holding a coffee pot and wearing an expression of theatrical disapproval.
"Ruth." Callahan sighs. "It's just a massage for her stiff neck. Why are you like this?"
"Because you look at her like you want to eat her at all times, so whatever you say is trouble for sure."
I giggle and Callahan's cheeks flush pink, which only makes me giggle harder. This man who has done unspeakable things to my body, blushing at Ruth's teasing like a schoolboy caught passing notes.
"Stop that," he scolds me, but there's no heat in it. "She'll think what she heard is true."
"So what you're saying is you don't look at me like you want to eat me?" I ask, widening my eyes in mock innocence.
"Ruth. Go away so I can say what I want to little miss Trouble here."
"Nah." Ruth tops off coffee cups, clearly settling in. "I'm good."
I'm still smiling when Cherry walks in like she owns the place, which she doesn't, which she never has, which hasn't stopped her from acting like it for as long as anyone can remember.
Her eyes scan the room and land on us in our corner booth, on Callahan's arm around my shoulders, on the way I'm pressed against his side, and ice moves across her face before she rearranges it into what she must think is friendly.
Ruth rolls her eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't get stuck.
"Lord, this girl has no self-preservation." She nods at me, the look of a woman who has seen things go sideways in her diner before and doesn't want to mop up the aftermath. "Be good."
She leaves us, but not by much. She positions herself behind the counter with a clear sightline to our booth, ready to spectate and get a full report.
Cherry approaches with her shoulders back and her smile fixed, stopping at the edge of our table like she's been invited.
"Cal," she purrs, and the familiarity in her voice makes my teeth itch. "Can we meet up one evening to discuss the safety measures for the summer festival?"
The summer festival. The one that happens in July. The one I won't be here for.
