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“Sorry,” I say, popping the fry in my mouth. “It’s been forever since breakfast.”
“Just pass me one,” his voice stops me as I’m pulling out his order of fries. “Can’t take my hands off the wheel.”
I call bullshit but dutifully hold out the fry. His mouth closes over it, his lips brushing my fingers, and it’s impossible to hide my shiver. I know what those lips feel like on mine.
And that’s how it’s been these past few weeks. We’ve fallen into a comfortable routine where, most days, he’ll come in for a cup of coffee before heading home after closing. Some Sundays I’ll spend with him and some with my friends. My favorite, though, is spending it at his place. It brings me peace. I can spend hours watching him work. It’s soothing watching his strong, capable hands take a piece of wood and transform it into something beautiful. I’ve even managed to make something myself. The cutting board won’t win any awards, but I’m proud of it.
But then there are moments like these. A brief touch against the small of my back, a glide of fingertips over my cheek when tucking a stray hair behind my ear. When I look up to catch him staring at me, that promise still burning brightly. Or sometimes I will be the one doing the staring.
All moments that I feel with a twisting in my stomach and heat in my cheeks. We don’t act on it, and we don’t speak about it, for which I’m grateful. I haven’t seen or spoken to Quinn since the dinner at my parent’s place, and while I’m getting used to not seeing him every day, my heart still hurts.
The rest of the ride is spent in silence. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s a silence that brings a smile to my face and hope to my heart.
I place the takeout bag on the counter, grabbing plates while Kallan gets the glasses.
In the weeks I’ve been living here, I’ve put my stamp on the place with new bedding, curtains, vibrant scatter cushions, and a couple of plants. It’s taken a while, but I finally feel settled, like it’s home and not just the place I used to visit.
“I want to talk to you about something.”
“That sounds serious,” I say, taking in Kallan’s expression. His easy smile from earlier is gone and has been replaced by pinched eyebrows.
I put down my burger, wipe my mouth, and give him my full attention.
“I have to leave for a while,” he says, wetting his lips.
My heart gives a dip. “Oh? Why?”
“I got a call from Delia. Josie’s mom,” he adds when he sees my look of confusion. “Henry isn’t doing too well, and he needs some help.”
“Oh no. Is he okay?”
He nods. “Apart from a broken leg, he’s fine. They’ve made plans to close up shop and retire to Florida at the end of the year, but Henry kept accepting jobs, and when he realized he was running out of time to get everything done, he panicked. He thought he was having a heart attack and was rushed to hospital. Luckily, it was just a panic attack. Unfortunately, this happened while he was on a ladder, hence the broken leg.” He shakes his head. “Stubborn old fool,” he mutters under his breath, but the words are underlined with affection.
“At least it wasn’t a heart attack.”
I can’t imagine getting to that age and suffering from a heart attack just as you’re about to retire.
“Yes, well, because of his inability to turn anyone down, he has a huge backlog and no way to honor it. He’s too proud to ask for help, so Delia called me.”
“Of course you need to help them.” I know he does, but just saying the words makes my chest ache.
“I don’t want to go,” he says, his eyes telling me all the reasons why, “But I owe him and Delia the world, Bailey. They took me in and accepted me for who I was, even when I couldn’t. And on top of that, Henry taught me everything he knew about woodworking. He gave me a different direction than the one I was on. Helping them out is the least I could do.”
“I get it,” I say, reaching out and putting my hand on his arm. “You don’t need to explain. It’s just…I’m going to miss you.” Looking down, I swallow, feeling wretched with selfishness. How could I have come to depend on him so much in such a short time? Surely it’s not healthy? “How long will you be gone?”
“I’m not sure. Delia says it’s quite a bit. I’ll be able to get a clearer picture when I get there.”
I nod, pushing down the feeling of rejection that’s threatening to surface. This isn’t rejection. Kallan has a life besides me. People he cares about. People who care about him. This is just him being…him. Besides, maybe there was a grain of truth in what he said about using him as a crutch. Have I done that? Am I scared of being alone? Maybe distance will be good for me. Give me perspective.
“And your house and your shop?”
“Suppose you won’t be interested in house-sitting for me?”
“Hmm, tempting. Just think of all the parties I could throw without complaining neighbors,” I tease. “But no, that would be weird. Being there without you.”
“I’ll speak to Andrew. He won’t mind taking care of everything. Besides, the extra responsibility will be good for him.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
