Page 43
Grabbing the other end of the baguette and pretending to fight over it. Snap. Bumping her hip into me so I lose my balance and tumble onto the blanket with her practically on top of me…
Holy fuck.
Her hand rests on my chest and the full weight of her straddles my lap. Briefly our eyes meet, and I search hers for something beyond the silliness. A sign that she’s forgotten this is all for show. The way I keep doing.
I should look away because this moment means nothing. She should look away because this is playacting, and the photo has been taken.
Neither of us does.
Callie’s lips part, and I can’t stop staring at them. I swallow hard as my mouth begins to water and I calculate the distance between us. How many inches I need to lean forward to take her mouth with mine. How little she needs to lean forward before I can see if her lips taste as good as they look.
Her hand feels like a brand, searing the skin beneath my shirt with heat I don’t want to let go of, but then she pulls away. “Sorry. I should’ve asked before I went full football tackle.”
“No,” I say, pushing myself up to sitting, while she wriggles off my lap and stands up. My voice sounds strained like I’ve swallowed sand. “It’s good for authenticity. A couple who just met wouldn’t be having that kind of fun. It makes us look like we’ve been dating a while.”
I’m not immune to the truth behind my words. Why is it so easy to be with her when we’ve only just met? Back when I used to date, back before I met Elizabeth, and I looked optimistically at the potential of each new relationship, I always came up short. There never was an easy kind of shorthand, the spontaneous fun and stolen moments that Callie keeps capturing on her phone.
Maybe that’s because those relationships mattered. Or at least, they had potential to turn into something, which made every interaction feel like pressure. A yes-or-no moment. Will we, won’t we?
But this…this is just easy. Because I know none of it is leading anywhere. And maybe that’s why I finally feel free. Free of my ex and all her bullshit, free from the weight of being a single parent for five minutes, free to just…breathe in the air and stare at a pretty girl who doesn’t want anything from me except photos of “ranch things.”
This, I can handle.
“That’s probably enough photos for today,” I grumble, not loving being the center of attention for a photo shoot and especially uncomfortable in the lie that we’re perpetuating by documenting a relationship that doesn’t exist.
Eye on the prize. This is for Scout.
I firmly believe that everything I’m doing is in my son's best interests. If I thought for one moment that he’d be better off splitting his time evenly between Elizabeth and me, or living with her outright, I’d sacrifice my own desires for his benefit. It would kill me, but I’d do it.
“I know we have a lot,” she says, open and willing even though this is my problem we’re trying to solve.
“Yeah, let’s take a breather. Maybe get some food. I have some granola bars in my truck.”
She laughs. “Thank god. Not like we could eat the bread and cheese from our fake picnic or anything.” Her mockery might sting if not for her gentle laugh, which lifts the stress from my shoulders.
“If you spare me more photos, you can have two.”
“I’ll spare you some.” She lets out a dramatic breath like she’s doing me a monster favor. I watch her toss the various items she used to stage our dating history into a tote bag. The ugly Christmas sweater gets balled up, and the valentine crumpled.
Just like that, all evidence of us as a couple vanishes. With just the backdrop of grass and the distant trees remaining, Callie stands out, her hair trailing down her back, blousy top billowing with the light breeze.
Surreptitiously, I snap a couple of photos of my own, liking the way the sunlight glints off her hair and kisses her skin. I feel like a stalker sneaking these photos after telling her I’ve had enough.
But I can’t help it. Maybe I’m inspired by how she kept pointing out angles, lighting, and the simplicity of different backdrops, but looking at her now, all I see are possibilities for good photos. The way she puts her hand up to shield her eyes from the sun. How she bends down to scoop a handful of leaves and pick out one perfect green specimen to examine. The toss of her hair over one shoulder when she turns to come back toward me.
I pretend to be studying something important on my phone so she won’t know I’ve been taking pictures of her like a creeper.
Like a guy who likes a woman more than he should.
CHAPTER 15
Callie
Down, girl.
As usual, I’ve taken things way too far and gotten way too carried away with the little charade we’re creating. I almost leaned in and kissed Luke. And not just for the cameras.
Almost.
