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My blood boiled at seeing the figure at the bottom of the second page. Everything was itemized, the cost of materials, the labor—everything meticulously spelled out, and the final total came to a big fat zero.
Had he not correctly calculated and completed the quote before sending it out, or was this an intentional tactic in a game he wanted to play? The assumption he’d get a reaction from me was notable. He was forcing my hand, manipulating me to engage him, expecting I would need to speak to him and question the quote.
Engaging the gear before turning my car, I sped back to the house. Two could play this game. He would get a response from me, but I doubt it would be the one he was expecting.
* * *
As I dug through the drawers, searching for the personalized stationery my mother had once owned, I decided on the words I would spit out on the page. Reconstructing and articulating the correct sentence to express to Callum McArthur just how much Ididn’tappreciate his charity.
I squealed with victory, finding my mother’s old writing set, the pen still with ink. I folded myself into the dining table chair and scratched out the reply.
Dear Mr. McArthur,
I’m writing in response to the quote so efficiently supplied.
Please note that I will NOT be requiring the labor component of the quote. Therefore, I have taken the liberty of recalculating the total cost of materials and delivery. Enclosed is a check for that amount.
Thank you, with kind regards,
Alina Simpson
To hell with Callum McArthur. I sealed my envelope, running my tongue along the aged glue that would hold the seal.
Grabbing my keys from the mantelpiece, I raced down the steps to my car. My sole purpose was to post my reply straightaway. I was positively giddy with the idea.
The fact that I had to drive past the hardware store on the way to the post office hadn’t escaped my consideration, but it was not likely to be part of the strategy. Hysteria warped in my stomach.
I wished I could have been there to witness him reading my returned letter. I could only imagine the look on his face when he did, the thought tugging a smile to my lips.
As if fate had allowed it—unfortunate or not—Callum was standing in front of the store talking on a phone as I passed. He looked irritated, his face distorting into a frown as his brows knitted.
Just by my scrutiny, the conversation he was having wasn’t pleasant, but when our eyes met, his face transformed, relaxing as he lifted his hand in a half wave before thinking better of it and letting it drop back to his side.
I couldn’t look away as I passed, as if time was moving in slow motion between us, holding our gaze, transfixed by its own magnetic pull. Then, steering my car along the main road and away from the store, my eyes flickered to the rearview mirror to catch one last glimpse of Callum. He’d ended the call and moved onto the road with his hands resting on top of the baseball cap on his head as he tracked my departure.
My stomach clenched in unison with my squeezing heart. Even seeing him again, my body still cheated my head.
How many more times will I need to see him before I’m immune?
Why did it seem like the years in between meant so little that the here and now felt exactly the same as it had when he’d turned me away over a decade ago?
It was all too clear that the passing of time meant nothing when it came to Callum.
The memory of our first kiss was still so fresh it could’ve happened yesterday. His lips had destroyed me in the most exceptionally beautiful way.
* * *
Emotion filled his eyes as he cupped my cheeks in his hands, his fingers splayed while his thumb stroked my skin, his passion so raw and revealing it caused my heart to skip a beat.
“Alina,” he whispered. “You make me feel like I’m drunk when you’re near.” With a featherlight touch, Callum’s lips brushed against mine, a barely-there caress before he deepened our kiss, exploring my virgin mouth and massaging my tongue with his own.
Without breaking contact, he rolled his body onto me. My hands gripped his hair as his body pressed into mine. He stole the air from my lungs, but I didn’t want the kiss to end. Not ever. I wanted Callum like this, blocking out the rest of the world until the pain and memories faded away.
He moaned into my mouth as I moved against him to relieve the pressure building between my legs.
Callum broke our kiss. “Careful, Alina. Kissing like that will end with us in a place that is probably better kept for another time.”
I sucked air into my starving lungs as he panted out his breath. My feelings were hurt by what felt like rejection.
