"I think," Gran announces, setting her wine down like she's calling a room to order, "that Lily should do whatever Lily wants. And if what Lily wants happens to be a tall firefighter with nice eyes and nicer muscles, then that's Lily's business."
"Gran…" I'm pleading now, actually pleading.
"I'm just saying. Live, sweetheart." She picks up a cinnamon roll, tears off a piece. "That's all I'm saying."
"Nobody is talking about any firefighters. I made a point about age gaps. An academic point, based on data."
"Pure data," Poppy says flatly.
"Empirical observation," I mutter, severely unhappy with my supposed best friend.
"Your face is so red, girl."
"Poppy, I swear to God..."
The sound of a truck on gravel cuts me off. Through the kitchen window, I see an older model pickup rolling up the drive, something large wrapped in moving blankets in the bed.
"That's Will," Poppy says, sliding off her stool.
She grabs her jacket from the hook by the door. I follow her outside because I need air. Because I need to see this man. Callahan's father, the one who kept flowers in the kitchen because his wife always had.
The driver's door opens, a man steps out, and I starebecause he is Callahan. Or rather, Callahan is him. Not as tall or broad as his son, but the same quiet way of standing, like the ground was lucky to have him.
But where Callahan's eyes are green with that ring of gold, this man's are brown, with creases at the corners. His hair gray at the temples, darker everywhere else.
Will hugs Poppy first, the kind of hug that says she's family to him and has been for a while. Then his gaze moves past her and finds me.
"You must be Lily, Rome's sister."
"That's me."
He smiles. And God, it's Callahan's smile. It crinkles and opens and makes you feel like you'd done something right just by standing there.
"I've heard about you."
"Good things?" I'm blushing like a little girl. Fantastic.
"Only things." He winks. "I'll let you decide what that means."
His handshake is gentle, firm but careful, like he's holding something he doesn't want to break.
"The chair's in the truck. I'll grab it if you ladies tell me where it should go."
"I'll help," I offer quickly.
A small smile crosses his face so fast I blush again.
"She's solid oak. And I got it, don't you worry."
"I'm stronger than I look."
He considers me for one more second, then his expression warms. He looks so much like a dad I have to stop myself from staring.
"I believe that," he says simply.
"Will, I can get Ramsey," Poppy says, already reaching for her phone.
"Don't bother the boy. I got this." He's already walking to the tailgate, pulling the blankets back.
