Willa: I don’t think this was about her brother. What just happened?
Greer: What else would it be over? Duh. Her husband.
Willa: I think our girl is catching feelings.
Calla: No, that’s not it.
But it is. I totally am.
Greer: I think Willa is on to something.
Willa: Your brother and my client are demanding we start his appointment. I don’t think he has a clue.
Greer: Remind us again why you can’t just be with Beck. What’s the big issue?
The issue is simple. I let myself live in a world where I was going to get everything I wanted once. Where I woke up thinking about the dream life I was going to have with the all-American family and the white picket fence. Wrong. It backfired. It ruined me. It changed me. I’m not letting it happen again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BECK
The way I see it, I have two options when it comes to Calla. One, I can have a full-blown adult conversation with her and address what she’s been doing, and we can move past it. Two, I can play the game with her.
I spent a good hour weighing the pros and cons of each option and in the end, option B was more fun and seemed fitting. If Calla wanted to come to me about this and have an actual conversation, one that involves more than her begging me to file, she would have. Knowing her, if I go with the first, she’d deflect, and that would leave me with option two. I’m just skipping a pointless conversation and getting right to it.
I hear Calla’s car pull into the drive, so I make myself comfortable and wait.
I’m all in now. May as well go big right out of the gate.
“Honey, I’m home,” Calla calls out as she stomps through the door, singing her next line. “I went shopping.”
I take a deep breath and move from the kitchen to the living room. The smile on her face drops. As do the bags in her hands.
“Shopping, huh? What did you buy?” I move closer. Her lavender honey scent surrounds me, and I swear, no matter what this woman has done to us in the last couple of weeks, just being near her gets a rise from every part of me.
But right now, it looks like I’ve switched the roles, and I won’t lie: the flushed look on her cheeks is worth it.
She steps back, her gaze bouncing around the room like a pinball machine.
I hold my composure and brush my arms against hers as I reach for one of the bags. She jerks her hand back like I burned her, and I almost break into laughter.
“Where is your shirt?” she asks.
“In the wash.”
“All of them?”
“The ones I wanted to wear, yeah.”
“And your pants are in there with them?”
I shake my head but don’t look at her. I try to peek into a bag instead.
“Nope. Just haven’t put them back on yet.”
Finally, I look up and grin. “I’m not naked, Calla. I have my boxers on.”
Her nod has a slight wobble.
