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I don’t know why, but that word does something to me. Even though she’s talking about committing to a project, it unleashes fear bells. I can barely commit to bringing the snack to my kid’s preschool, let alone anything with a future date. And I can’t commit to another person, only to my son. I need to save all of my available energy for him.

Which is why I agree to whatever she’s proposing for Scout.

“Sounds like you’ve thought this through. I’m…surprised.”

This time, she’s the one who flinches. It’s barely perceptible, but I notice her smile dim a bit, her eyes dull, her body stiffen. She looks almost…hurt? I’m still trying to figure out what I’ve said that offended her when she makes it clear.

“Yeah, well, I’m not a total flake.” She takes a bite of toast and chews slowly.

I watch her, and she looks right back at me, as if challenging me to see her differently from how other people must see her. Or from how she sees herself.

“I never thought you were. Not for a minute.”

Her face softens, and she seems to relax. “Okay. Well, good. And yes, I have some ideas.”

She puts the last bite of toast in her mouth, and while she’s busy chewing, I go to the bench in the hallway and fetch the very full bag I brought back from Charlyn’s store. Placing it on the table in front of her, I wait for her to wipe her hands on a napkin and swallow her toast.

“I almost forgot. This is for you.”

I pace from the table to the sink a couple of times while she looks at me quizzically and pulls the bag to her lap. When she unwraps the tissue from the item on top, I lean against the sink and cross my arms, somehow needing to defend myself against her hating the dress. Or maybe against liking it too much. I can’t decide.

The tissue falls away, and an off-white dress unfurls to the floor. Callie holds it up by its spaghetti straps, but she’s staring at me, not the dress. “You got this for me?”

It’s ridiculous. I could’ve bought her an oversized shirt for painting, and somehow I let Charlyn talk me into practically a whole new wardrobe. The back of my neck feels hot. “Guess it’s a little overboard.”

“It’s…amazing.” She stands up and holds the dress up. Even without her trying it on, I can picture how good it will look on her. She keeps gawking at the dress, which is making me more embarrassed. “Thank you.”

“I figured if you keep getting stuck fingerpainting with my kid and running around making mudcakes or whatever, you’re bound to stain all your clothes. So here are some replacements.” I wish I didn’t sound like I have a mouthful of straw. I’ve really lost all ability to talk to an attractive woman without losing my shit.

“That is…” She places a hand against her chest and swallows. “That’s the nicest thing a person’s ever done for me.”

“Well, then, as someone with more sense than me once said, ‘you need to hang out with better people.’”

She smiles and digs through the rest of the bag, taking out the denim cutoff shorts, linen shirt, straw hat, and a bunch of things Charlyn apparently put in the bag without bothering to tell me. I’m pretty sure I spotted a pair of thong underwear, but honestly, I don’t want to know.

“I know someone who owns a store. She did most of it. I just put down a credit card,” I admit.

“Well, thank you to your friend,” she says, pushing back her chair and coming over to where I’m still plastered against the sink, putting as much distance between us as possible. She stands on her toes, and I brace for her to kiss me on the cheek. But then she…doesn’t. She just hits me with one of those thousand-watt smiles.

I feel my face heat, so I turn away, grateful there are a couple of dishes in the sink to wash.

When I turn around, I see only the swish of Callie’s hair as she takes the bag out of the room. A few minutes later, she’s back, wearing the denim shorts and a blouse with pink and red flowers. It’s hard to take my eyes off her slim, tanned legs and the outline of a pink bra I can see through the sheer fabric of the shirt. “I think this is the perfect outfit for our first kiss.”

“Our first—” Some air catches in my throat, and I start to cough. Quickly, I fill a glass of water and start drinking it down, while Callie watches me in amusement, twirling a lock of hair. Her lips are painted a darker color that matches the red flowers in the shirt. I want to kiss that goddamn lipstick from her lips, and I don’t want to wait for a photo op to do it.

“Okay, maybe no kiss. I don’t want to explain to your son how I killed you with the mere suggestion of physical affection.” She wags a finger at me. “But eventually, we’ll need a kiss. Ooh, maybe it’s better if it’s out in public somewhere instead. Then people will vouch for us. Still, we need lots of cute falling-in-love photos, all the big moments.” Her dimples flash as she smiles. I clear my throat, barely able to digest what she just said.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Here we go, an entire day documenting how I fell in love with a woman I absolutely cannot fall for. Fuck me.

An hour later, we’re in the grocery store loading up a cart with items for a “perfect picnic”—a wheel of brie, artisan crackers, rosé wine, peaches, pistachios.

We take the food and a plaid blanket from the back of my truck to a secluded spot near a lake I haven’t been to in years. When we walk through the stand of trees that leads to the clearing, I guide Callie along, then pull her next to me so I can watch her face as she sees Curie Lake for the first time.

“Oh wow.” She stops and takes it all in—the broad view from one edge of the cover to the other and the patch of wild grass and a smattering of stones that lead to the edge of the water, where the sun glints on the water like facets on a diamond. The trees here are evergreen, so the location could pass for any season.

She turns to me. “This is perfect. If I was looking for the ideal place for holiday photos, I couldn’t have come up with anything better. If the horse thing doesn’t work out, you could be a social media stylist.”