Page 102 of Soup Sandwich


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He clears his throat and then wipes at his face and says, “Ladybug, let’s let Layla explore her new space. Why don’t we go finish up dinner?”

Katy reluctantly peels herself away from me, standing before me with earnest blue eyes. “You really love it?”

“With all my heart,” I promise her.

Callan takes her hand and before I can say anything to him, they’re gone, and the door is closed. I stare around the room, at the books, at the cushions, at the colors—my favorite colors—at the art on the wall that he got from Amelia and had reframed and hung.

All of this he did for me, but he prefaced it by saying there are no strings attached to it. He did all this work knowing there was a possibility I’d walk away. Only how can I possibly ever walk away from them now? Do I even want to try?

29

I’m not sure how long I lie like a starfish on the carpet, staring up at the pitched ceiling. At the bookshelves. At the reading nook against the window. At the desk ready for me to work at. At the chairs that I know he thought of and positioned for me to use with a friend or Amelia. I told Katy I loved her, and I meant it, but… fuck. I love him too.

I do.

I’m in love with Callan, and it’s not something I could have avoided simply because it’s not something that came on slowly. It didn’t creep up on me, and it didn’t slither its way into my heart the way it did with Patrick. Patrick only infiltrated my heart once I allowed him in.

That’s not the case with Callan.

Callan hit my barriers like a wrecking ball, and my defenses didn’t stand a chance at holding. But more than that, my attempts to thwart him were meager at best. I started this by telling him I didn’t want to fall in love again, and I meant it, but I did nothing to prevent it.

Now what?

I hate that question and it has me scowling up at the ceiling and then wiping at the emotion that still clings to my face in the form of dried, crusted tears. Callan loves me, and I love him. Could it actually be that simple? That perfect? That… right?

I love Katy and I love him.

So does it matter that the timing might not be ideal? That I’m so much younger than him in all the ways that feel like they matter most? Eight years isn’t crazy, but given our lives, it feels like decades. Still… I’m not sure how much I care anymore.

Callan isn’t Patrick.

As I think the words, they rattle the breath from my body, seeping deep, inward until they completely overwhelm and shake me to my core. Callan is nothing like Patrick.

I can’t do anything about the past other than learn from it. But instead of giving up on love, I now know what it should be. What I want from it.

And what I will never settle for again.

I peel myself up off the floor and head into the bathroom that’s up here. Grimacing when I catch the melted makeup on my face in the mirror, I splash some water on my face, washing it all away.

Washing everything away.

When I think I have my shit back together, I go downstairs to find Callan in the kitchen with Katy. She’s standing on a chair beside him, both of them wearing aprons, as he helps her stir tomato sauce in a pot.

Could I do this with them? Could I be part of their lives permanently? What would that mean for school? For my residency after that? For myself?

Am I ready for all of this—for them—at only twenty-three? A smile spreads across my face as my heart and mind—for once—line up. Yes. I think I could be.

“Smells amazing in here.”

Both Callan’s and Katy’s heads pop up.

“We made spaghetti and homemade sauce,” Katy chirps with pride.

“Yum! I love spaghetti. It’s my favorite!”

My smile grows as hers does, and then I shift to Callan. In his eyes, I can tell he’s still nervous. He’s worried I’m going to bolt or disappear on him again, and I hate that’s where his mind is. Rounding the island, I wrap my arm around his waist and drop my head to his shoulder.

He relaxes against me, exhaling a breath, and dammit. I should say something, something reassuring, but I can’t make the words come out. All I can do is kiss his neck and nuzzle my nose against him, and inhale his cologne and then whisper, “Thank you. It’s the best thing anyone has ever given me.”

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