Page 24 of Keepsakes and Kismet

I appraise his outfit of choice tonight—a brown leather bomber, blue jeans, ivory henley. He looks good. And he smells even better. Like cloves and fresh laundry and tangerines. Spicy, but not overpowering.

I cross my arms and ditch the Southern accent. “Are you stalking me? I’m starting to think you’re not a real officer, after all.”

He scrubs a hand down his face. “I’ve been telling you I’m not a real officer ever since I met you, actually.”

“Hm, when was that again?”

“Somewhere between the Chinese kitchen you didn’t work at and the smoothie shop you kind of worked at, I think,” Callum says, releasing a long exhale.

“Have you figured me out yet, then?”

He runs a hand through his thick auburn hair. “Not even a little. Why are you here?”

“I think the better question is why are you here? I thought you didn’t go out willingly.”

“Exactly.” Callum looks over his shoulder at a man with the same color hair as his own, standing a few feet back. “My brother dragged me here for his birthday under duress.” He raises his voice on the last two words, catching the attention of the man behind him.

“You’re such a drama queen, Cal! Stop being mean to the Birthday Boy!” his brother shouts with a giant smile on his face.

I can’t help but giggle. I’d love to have siblings like Callum does, but as my childfree parents’ mid-forties oopsie baby, they were never in the cards. I don’t think Mom and Dad knew quite what to do with me. When they heard that a local pageant scout was looking for someone new to work with, Mom didn’t hesitate to sign me up. Looking back, I think I spent more time with my coaches than her. But, in a way, I guess I could thank my parents. All of those experiences prepared me for my career today.

His brother waves to me. “Maybe you could keep his moody ass away from me tonight as my birthday present!”

Callum scratches the back of his neck, grumbling, “My brother is a dumbass. Don’t listen to him.”

I shrug, glancing at my watch. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m on the clock.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Wait a minute… Do you work here?”

I’m about to respond, but Eric motions to me behind Callum, gesturing for me to join him across the room.

Callum twists his head, glancing at Eric, who points to me, then the bull.

“Nearly fifteen hundred injuries happen every year from mechanical bull-riding. Is your manager making you do this? It’s not very safe.”

“How do you even know that statist—actually? I’m not surprised.” I reacquaint myself with the little line that appears between his brows when he’s befuddled. “I appreciate your concern, but let’s be honest. It’s not really your area of expertise. We’re not talking about raw pigeons here.”

He shakes his head. “I just don’t think it’s a good⁠—”

“Why did the Staphylococcus want to move out of their colony?”

Callum looks disoriented. “Huh? I mean, what are you… What do you mean?”

I smirk. “Because the culture became toxic.”

He blinks slowly, and I almost see the wheels chugging along in his brain, trying to catch up with my distraction. When he realizes it’s a joke, joy steals his expression, and he laughs.

Callum’s laugh isn’t loud or demanding, but the warmth of it fills the space between us anyway. His head dips down, almost like he’s hoping no one will notice the happiness spilling off his skin. I soak in his low chuckle—not just from a pitch perspective—but because it feels earned. Like I had to work for it.

After a few moments, he lifts his head to meet my eyes again, but the smile hasn’t left his face.

I tug my corset a little higher and readjust my cowgirl hat. “I was reading The Waterton Herald, and that was a joke in the comics. Made me think of you.”

Callum’s head rears back. “You thought of me?”

Eric’s booming voice blasts through the bar. “Here! We! Gooooo!”

I point to the speakers behind me and set my jacket down near the attendant. “That’s my cue. Time to save a horse, I guess. And the environment. The bull is stainless steel, so it’s sustainable. A bull for the people. Well, bye.”