Page 38 of Keepsakes and Kismet

I shake my head. “No, I’ll meet you there. I won’t be long. I’m starting to feel a little better.”

He picks up the water bottles. “Should I take these back, or⁠—”

“No. No, please leave them,” I say hastily.

“Okay, Peyton. Call if you need me.”

As soon as the sound of Callum's footsteps disappear, I crack open the water bottles and pour them on my arms. Even in the cold, I feel relief the moment the water hits my skin. Cautiously lifting only the clean sleeve of my sweater off the ground, I scrub my arms back and forth. First, my right arm, then my left. I keep scrubbing until the burning sensation lessens.

When my arms feel tolerable again, I notice a few scratches from where I rubbed them too raw. A new wave of shame envelops me, followed swiftly by embarrassment.

I flip my sweater inside out, and roll it into a small ball, careful to leave only the clean parts exposed, and stand. I still feel slightly shaky on my legs, but gingerly walk back to the cart anyway. I know my arms are cherry red. My humiliation feels heavier the closer I get to Callum. At least it looks like the rest of the group went back to the clubhouse.

When I reach him, I slide into the front seat, leaving space between us. I bend down and set my ruined sweater on the floor of the golf cart.

Callum looks at me with grave concern. I count the worry lines on his forehead, then follow his gaze as it travels up and down my abused arms. I expect questions, but I don’t get them. Instead, Callum unzips his gray jacket and hands it to me. I quickly take it, zipping it up over my polo dress.

Then, he pulls something from his pocket. A little packet of antiseptic wipes. He wordlessly holds them out to me, and I could cry at the gesture.

I take them, tugging one out of the container and wiping my lower arms beneath the loose jacket, feeling a sting when I swipe it over the raw spots.

When I’m finished, I set them on top of my sweater, before meeting Callum’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He looks at me incredulously. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I… I forced you to come to this, and then I freaked out. I wasted your time.”

“Hey. No one should ever touch you without your consent. Ever.”

“He wasn’t aggressive or anything. And it was just my lower arms. I overreacted.”

Callum’s jaw ticks. “Peyton, he didn’t ask if he could touch you. No one gets to touch you without your permission. You don’t have to minimize your pain in front of me. It’s valid.”

Wrapping my arms around myself, I sag back into my seat, the sound of his voice washing some of my tension away. I don’t need anyone’s affirmation, but it feels nice to know he’s on my side.

“Paul didn’t know about my aversion to… Well, I just don’t like to be touched. By men.”

Callum nods calmly. “Am I too close right now? Should I move?”

“No. It’s only touch, and I… I don’t really feel crowded by you, like I do with other men, I guess?”

“How do you usually feel when a man touches you?” he asks gently.

Fear. Regret. Nausea. But those words don’t seem big enough to convey how I feel. I search my mind for a more accurate description, but pictures are the only things that surface.

“Like my hand is on fire. Like my skin is burning off. Like I need to dip it in ice. And…” I take a deep breath, averting my eyes. “Sometimes, I do. I mean, I just did. I have to run it under cold water. It’s a compulsion.”

Hedging a glance at him, I wonder if I’ll see distaste, but all I find is genuine, empathetic hazel eyes.

I grab a piece of my hair, knotting and unknotting the end. “Anyway, I’m not even remotely used to physical touch from men anymore. Even women still give me pause if the vibes are off.”

“You’re not alone. Physical touch is kind of new for me, too,” Callum says quietly.

“What do you mean?”

I’ve gathered by now that Callum doesn’t go out much. He said he hasn’t been a “couple” in a while. But being single doesn’t have to mean less physical intimacy, and neither does being introverted.

“I haven’t really touched a woman since my last girlfriend. And, uh, we broke up freshman year of college,” he says.