Page 127 of Neap & Spring

“Okay, I do that,” he admits. “But it’s productive!”

“It’s not productive. It’s anxiety,” Frannie quips from her stool, pointing at him with a half-eaten crust. “And Amara’s right. We all need to go home and actually rest.”

People start moving then, gathering their things, stacking pizza boxes, saying their goodnights. Wesley claps Callum on the shoulder on his way out. Hayes and Beckett leave together, arguing about who knows what. Iris gives me a quick hug, whispering “Good luck tomorrow” before following them.

Patrick is the last of the family to leave, stopping by Callum on his way to the door. He says something too quiet for me to hear, but Callum nods, and Patrick squeezes his shoulder before heading out into the night.

“Okay,” Amara says, pulling her jacket back on. “Marcus and I are at that cute little inn down the road. We’ll be here at eight tomorrow morning to start prep. Sound good?”

“Perfect,” Callum responds, standing to walk them out.

“Vivienne.” Amara pulls me into another quick hug. “Thank you for today. For all of this. It’s going to be incredible.”

“I hope so,” I mutter against her shoulder. “I really think it will be.”

“I know it will be.” She pulls back, her hands on my shoulders, her smile so certain. “We’ve got this.”

Then she and Marcus are gone, the back door closing behind them with a soft click.

Frannie and Cora leave shortly after, calling out goodnights as they go.

And then it’s just me, Callum, and Roman.

“I’m going to finish the prep list for tomorrow,” Roman says, but he’s looking between us with barely concealed amusement. “You two should, uh, probably also go home. And sleep. Like Amara said.”

“Good idea,” Callum says, not moving, his gaze never leaving my face.

“Great idea,” I add, also not moving, staring right back.

Roman grins. “Okay then. I’ll just … be in the walk-in. Doing very important, very loud, chef things. For at least fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty. Maybe longer if you need it.”

And then he’s gone too, disappearing into the walk-in with an exaggerated whistle.

The kitchen is suddenly very quiet.

Callum’s still staring at me, and there’s exhaustion in his expression, but also anticipation. He’s been waiting all day for everyone else to leave. “Hi,” he murmurs.

My heart kicks against my ribs. “Hi.”

We stand there for a moment, the humming of the kitchen around us mixing with the distant clatter of Roman doing whatever he’s doing in the walk-in.

“Can I walk you to your car?” Callum asks.

It’s such a simple question, but the way he asks it, shy and almost tentative, makes it feel like it’s the most important question he’s ever asked.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’d like that.”

I grab my bag from the office, and he waits by the back door, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the door open for me. The rain has stopped, and the air is still damp and cool, smelling like wet pavement.

My car is parked at the far end of the lot, under the one streetlight that actually works. Our footsteps are quiet on the gravel, punctuated by the distant sound of waves hitting the rocks below the restaurant.

We’re halfway to my car when his hand finds mine, and he slowly laces his fingers through mine. Neither of us say a word, but I catch a faint smile on his lips.

When we reach my car, I turn to face him, my back against the driver’s side door. He’s still holding my hand, his thumb moving in that small circle against my palm that I’m starting to recognize as his thing.

“Vivienne,” he starts, taking a slow breath. “I don’t know how to say this without sounding like — I don’t know — like I’m not saying enough.”

“Just say it,” I tell him softly.