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“I don’t know what she saw in me because I wasn’t a good guy back then, but it was something. Night after night, we met at that park and we became inseparable. She welcomed me into her life with no reservations. Her parents, as well. They showed me what it meant to be a family. Her dad took me under his wing and taught me all he knew about woodworking. I’m thankful every day for having met them. Without them, I wouldn’t be the man that I am.
For a while after she died, I went to a dark place. I couldn’t understand why life was so unfair. Why somebody so good would be taken so soon when the world was filled with bad people. Then one day, I realized I was doing her memory a disservice. I was going against everything Josie stood for because if anyone had the right to rage against life, it was Josie. Yet she never did.”
“That must have been so hard.”
For one crazy moment, I want to take Kallan in my arms and pretend that I mean enough to him to take away all the hurts that he’s faced.
“It was. But to get to my point. What you are going through is a kind of death, and death is hard. Regardless of what you decide to do, you need to give yourself the grace to grieve.”
*****
“I don’t think I can eat another bite.” Groaning, I drop my head against the couch, wondering if he’d think less of me if I unbuttoned my jeans. “You weren’t boasting when you said you make a mean trashcan burrito.”
After our heavy conversation on the porch, we went inside and I watched in fascination as he put together the most delicious-looking burritos, seemingly out of nothing.
“I don’t make promises I can’t deliver,” he scoffs.
“So you play guitar, you sing, you make magic with your hands, and you can cook. I’m impressed, Kallan Reed,” I tease, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye.
At the sound of his grunt, I roll my head so I can look at him fully. Is he…blushing?
“You’re blushing,” I say, half in awe, half-jokingly.
“Yes,” he says, completely owning it. He picks up a piece of my hair and rubs it between his fingers, his eyes focused on what he’s doing. “You can’t blame a guy when a beautiful woman talks about making magic with your hands.”
When his eyes finally meet mine, they’re positively scorching, and for a few beautiful seconds, the world falls away, leaving only me and him. Leaving a world where I can pretend I don’t have any baggage. Where I can freely respond to the way his eyes darken. It’s been years since I’ve been looked at like this, and I want to drown under the tidal wave of emotions that brings.
But then he severs eye contact, and the moment is broken. In a swift motion, he gets up, swiping our plates from the coffee table and retreating to the kitchen.
Reality is something you can’t escape from, and it makes me feel wretched. What am I doing? I have no business lusting over Kallan. It would be different if he was some stranger I met in a bar. I don’t owe Quinn anything. Not anymore. But Kallan isn’t some stranger. He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and he’s come to mean so much to me in the short time I’ve known him. He deserves more than that.
*****
KALLAN
It takes effort not to throw the plates down. Bracing my arms on the counter, I drop my head, taking slow, deep breaths, willing my body to calm down.
What the hell am I doing? I was two seconds away from saying fuck it and claiming her mouth. And she would have let me. That electric pull between us was so heavy it was a third person in the room that couldn’t be denied, and the way she reacted was a siren call to a lonely and lost sailor. It was subtle, but it was there—the dilated pupils, the small puffs of air escaping her parted lips that I could almost taste when she leaned closer—giving me the non-verbal permission I needed. But I know tomorrow she’d regret it. I did a lot of stupid stuff when Josie died, and all of them left me feeling empty. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t fill the gap she left because I wasn’t ready. Bailey isn’t ready, and what she needs most is a friend.
But fuck, I’m sure if names were in the dictionary, the description under hers would betorture.
It doesn’t help that revealing all I had earlier has left me feeling exposed.
It takes effort, but I finally pull myself together.
“Come,” I say when I get back to the lounge. She’s still seated, but her back is as stiff as a board, and she’s fiddling with her fingers.
“Is everything okay?” she asks, stammering over the first word, her voice tentative. It bothers me. I don’t want things between us to be stiff and awkward because of my almost fuck up.
“Of course.” I smile, hoping it will help reassure her. “I thought I’d show you where the magic happens,” I say, referring to her request to see my workshop.
Her relief is immediate. She jumps up, and there’s a lightness to her step when she follows me outside. We’re quiet as we walk, but it’s a comfortable silence. I clench my fists against the temptation to reach out and pull her closer. Feel her warmth against me as we’re walking together, but one fuck up a day is enough.
I let her walk in ahead of me and then stand back and watch her as her eyes roam the space, taking in the various projects I have underway.
“It’s huge,” she breathes, turning in a slow circle.
“One would think. But when I get big orders it doesn’t feel that way.”
