by Mia Sheridan
“Myrtle,” I hissed loudly, thankful there was no one around. Still, the crackling faded, and I took it off speaker even though the ceasing of Myrtle’s rambling let me know she’d finally heard me.
“Yes, dearie?”
Myrtle had finally figured out how to open the computer program I’d set up that allowed my assistant access to my text messages. There were only so many texts because they’d been building up for two months while Myrtle became acquainted with the twenty-first century. Damn my own tendency to give my number out freely when I was drunk. I usually came to regret it—like now.
I ran a hand through my hair, glancing back at the closed door to the room where Jessie was enjoying the rest of the tour. My gaze moved upward, and with a sinking in my stomach, I noticed that the high wall over the doorway was open and the vaulted ceiling of the hallway continued into the gallery. Shit.
“Myrtle, I don’t have access to a pen right now. Can I call you back later to go through the messages?”
“Oh, of course, dearie. I just wanted to let you know I’ve got everything covered here. Nothing important at all. You just relax and enjoy yourself, and if you decide you want the messages before you return, you call me.”
“Thanks, Myrtle.”
I hung up my phone and turned it off, then headed back into the room. Jessie was standing in front of a huge portrait of an angel smiling down on a young girl, and she glanced at me quickly and then turned her attention back to the art.
She spent another several minutes looking at that painting, and I pretended to be interested in the statue next to me, resting my hand on its head and feeling one shell-shaped ear beneath my fingertips. The stone was rough and had broken away in a few spots. I wondered idly how one went about carving figures from rock, when the ear suddenly came loose and dropped with a small ping to the glass surface below. I froze.
Jessie, who had turned from the painting and was strolling to one next to it, looked my way just in time to see me grab for the piece of broken ear, bumping the statue and causing it to rock dangerously. I sucked in a breath, steadying it, and Jessie put one hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide with alarm. My breath wheezed out between my teeth as the statue stilled, and I stuck the ear in my pocket, looking over my shoulder to make sure no one had seen what I’d done.
The security guard standing near the front looked at me suspiciously, shifting back and forth on his heels as if considering whether to come over to me with some warning or another.
Before I knew what was happening, Jessie made a beeline for me, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me out the door. “Oh my God,” she muttered. “You broke that statue of the Virgin Mary. Let me see.”
I sheepishly reached into my pocket and pulled out the ear. She stared at it before looking back at me, a choking sound coming from the back of her throat. She pulled at my arm again, dragging me out of the museum’s main entrance and into the bright sunshine. “Don’t you follow directions? The signs all said ‘Do not touch.’ Good God.”
“I’m sure it can be superglued.”
She stared at me, her mouth slightly agape, and then her lip suddenly twitched and she started laughing, grabbing her stomach and bending forward. The whole thing suddenly seemed so ridiculous, and I started laughing, too. Really laughing, for maybe the first time since I was a kid. Maybe since the last time I’d been with Jessie. “We’re going to get arrested or something.”
“I did it. Not you.”
“No, but I’m the reason you’re here. I feel responsible for you.” She dug around in her purse and pulled out an envelope, removing the contents and then holding her hand out. Understanding what she was silently requesting, I fished in my pocket, pulled out the tiny ear, and placed it in her palm. She put it in the envelope, sealed it, took out a pen, and wrote something on the front. Then I watched her walk the short distance to the mail slot, drop it inside, and hurry back to where I waited. “We have to go. Come on.”
I held back a laugh. “Go? We’re miles away from the château.”
“At least it’s a nice day for a stroll.” She paused before glancing away. “I guess we’re going to spend some time together after all.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Jessica
The sun warmed my back, the birds chirped in the dense trees all around us, and I shot a look at Callen as we made our way along the dirt road that led back to our hotel, tempted to laugh again. He’d looked both bored and uncomfortable in that museum, and I’d been unable to hold back the wave of tenderness that accompanied my amusement. He’d followed me there despite the fact that he obviously had no interest whatsoever in the exhibit. I couldn’t help feeling flattered and strangely charmed by the sight of Callen Hayes pretending to find enjoyment in church relics described entirely in French. And unwillingly, I’d caught a glimpse of that same boy who’d once followed me through overgrown fields, between trees, and around a train yard, playing the games I came up with and indulging my childhood fantasies. Yes, he was a man now, and I knew his motives were different and probably not very honorable, but I still couldn’t help the warm flush of affection for the boy that might still be part of the man after all. I’d thought he’d become nothing more than a suave womanizer. I’d seen him in action. But there was still sweetness in him and an endearing awkwardness that made my heart skip a beat. Stupid, maybe, but there it was.
“Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to ruin your museum experience.”
I sighed. “It’s okay. I saw enough of the exhibit.” I paused for a moment, glancing at him and remembering the phone call he’d taken out in the vestibule, the one that had been broadcast to the inside room at large. “I like Myrtle, by the way,” I said, my lip twitching.
His eyes widened, and he let out a surprised laugh that ended in a groan. “Shit, you heard all that?”
“Most of it.”
He ran a hand through his hair, the dark strands glinting a deep, rich chocolate in the sun. “She’s my assistant.”
“I got that, dearie.” I gave him a wry smile, and Callen laughed, looking just slightly embarrassed. I hefted my purse on my shoulder, and Callen made a gesture that indicated he’d take it from me, but I shook my head.
We walked in silence for a few minutes, and I soaked in the peaceful quiet of the day, looking ahead to where I could see the tops of the town buildings. I was surprised there was no discomfort between us. Walking with him like this almost felt…normal, common, as if we were easily falling back into the camaraderie we’d once had, despite all my reservations about spending any time with him at all. With no one else around, it felt simple and…good.
“Remember that time we pretended that old train car was a pirate ship, and we sailed the seven seas?”
His words surprised me, but only a little because I’d been thinking of the past, too. Something inside me delighted to know his thoughts had followed a similar path, and a grin spread over my face at the memory. “You called yourself Captain Carver ‘One Eye’ Swales.”
Callen laughed, the sound deep and rich. “Captain One Eye, that swashbuckling swain. Damn, I can’t believe you remember that.”
I smiled softly, looking away. “I remember everything about those years.” I remember everything about you, Callen. You were my prince and my pirate, my savior and my friend.
I stopped suddenly, turning to face him. “Why did you disappear? Where did you go?” I shook my head, resisting the urge to cringe. I’d told myself I wouldn’t ask, and yet it was as if the words had fallen from my lips of their own accord. Callen the man was clearly interested in me, but it was the boy I’d loved, and he’d left me. I needed to know why. Yet…fear raced through me, too. A part of me didn’t want answers because the knowing might wound me even more than the wondering. “No, don’t tell me. It doesn’t matter.” I began walking again, but Callen took my arm gently, stopping my retreat and turning me toward him. I stared at him, into those thickly lashed gray eyes I’d once known so well. Eyes that brought to mind
storms and shadows and the early hours of dawn. The eyes that were the same, though almost everything else about him seemed different.
“Doesn’t it matter though, Jessie?” he asked softly, pushing a piece of hair that had come loose from my ponytail behind my ear.
I shivered at the intimate touch, shutting my eyes briefly. A small sigh escaped my lips. “I made up all these fantasies about what happened to you. That you had been abducted by a caravan of gypsies…or were being held for ransom by a band of robbers…only I was too old for those games by then, and I finally had to face facts that you were done with me and had decided I wasn’t even worth saying goodbye to.” That our kiss hadn’t meant anything to you, when it had meant everything to me.
“No, Jessie, that’s not what happened,” he said, his voice thick with some emotion. Regret? He ran his hand through his hair again and looked off into the distance. “The truth is, I told myself I wouldn’t go back. After…after that day, I realized how…” He shook his head, obviously struggling with his own words, with the explanation I’d wanted so desperately then but was now so afraid to hear. “I realized how selfish it was of me to keep spending time with you. You were pretty and smart and full of so many dreams, and I was just a stupid nobody, Jessie. Less than that.”
“No,” I said, my fists clenching at my sides, a sudden fierce protectiveness racing through me. I’d been there to save you. “You weren’t nobody to me. To me you were everything.”
He shook his head. He looked pained, as if my words had hurt him. “I stayed away for a week and then I couldn’t anymore. I planned to go back the next Saturday, but I came home Friday afternoon and my dad was packing up our house. He’d been laid off from his job, and I knew enough to stay out of his way and not to question his decision. I snuck back to the boxcar and left you a piece of music. I hoped…” He looked off in the distance, the corners of his eyes tightening minutely. “I hoped you’d know it was a goodbye…a thank-you.” He shook his head. “The truth was, Jessie, other than you, there was nothing in that town for me. I’d burned every bridge there was to burn. My dad and I got in the car with all our stuff and drove to Los Angeles the next morning.”
“Oh.” It felt so strange to have the pieces of that long-ago mystery come together. And I had been scared that it would hurt, but mostly it just made me sad. I pictured myself returning to those train tracks day after day, month after month, continuing to hold on to the hope that Callen would return, and he was long gone, in a city four hundred miles away, beginning a brand-new life. But he’d wanted to return. That piece of knowledge made something inside me feel lighter. If only I had known it back then. “I found the music, but I didn’t realize it was for me. I thought it was something you’d accidentally left behind. Couldn’t you have left me a note? Or written to me later? Something?” Anything.
“No. I…” An expression, part pain, part embarrassment, moved across his face, and he opened his mouth to say something but then apparently changed his mind. “I thought it would be better if we just cut ties, if you didn’t think about me again.”
I blew out a breath. He’d been wrong about it being better that we just cut ties, and I wished he’d made a different choice. But he’d been a fourteen-year-old kid with an abusive father and who knew what other hardships that he might be keeping to himself. I found it difficult to be angry with him now. “I felt guilty for a long time,” I admitted. Sad, heartbroken, and guilty.
“You? Guilty? For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I shook my head, remembering the disbelief I’d felt when I’d seen him on television, but also the relief. “I knew you didn’t have a good home life, and I worried that something bad had happened to you, that I should have tried to find you back then when I still might have been able to do something…I should have gone to a couple of schools to look for you, or asked my parents for help, or—”
“Jessie,” he said, shaking his head. “No. You were a kid. We both were. God, I’m sorry that I made you worry. Forgive me for that?”
“I already forgave you for that, Callen,” I said softly. And”—I let out a breath—“now that I know what happened, I’m glad the move was fortuitous for you as far as your music. It all started for you in L.A., right? It worked out the way it was supposed to, I guess.”
His eyes moved over my face for a moment. “I guess,” he finally murmured. He put his hands into his pockets and glanced up the hill toward the town. “Think there’s any chance of us finding a place to eat up there?”
I smiled, aware that he was changing the subject but not minding. We’d said what needed saying. “I’m sure there is. Come on.”
We walked the short distance to the downtown area in silence, stepping onto the cobblestones that lined the narrow streets. Flowers trailed out of window boxes, colorful awnings shaded shop windows, and girls rode by on bicycles, their front baskets filled with fruit and bread and morning purchases. The day had warmed even more, and there was something sleepy and old-fashioned about the town that filled me with a sense of dreamy happiness. I could have strolled the cobbled streets all day, window-shopping and exploring small, dusty stores, but I didn’t figure Callen would find such things interesting. I was here for a month, though, and I’d have plenty of time on my own.
“We could get some things to go and have a picnic lunch somewhere nearby,” Callen offered.
I raised a brow. “Why, Callen Hayes, that sounds perfectly…sweet. What will it do to your reputation if the paparazzi gets a picture of that?”
He laughed. “I’ll be ruined. My bad-boy image will be shot to shit.” He stopped in front of a storefront featuring a stand of hats and grabbed a ball cap with the French flag on it, perching it on his head. “I’ll wear a disguise.”
I laughed, though my stomach did a slow roll of appreciation at how cute he looked. What was it about boys in ball caps?
He paid for the cap, letting the shopkeeper keep the very generous change, and then we walked a few stores down to a market, where we bought a basket of ripe strawberries, a wedge of Brie, some sliced ham, and a bottle of sparkling water. A bakery across the street had just taken a tray of warm baguettes from the oven, and we bought a loaf and took cutlery and napkins from the counter.
I asked the woman who rang us up at the bakery if there was anywhere interesting to sit and eat lunch nearby, and she told me about some church ruins that overlooked the Loire River a quarter mile outside town. When I told Callen what she’d said, he smiled and said he was up for anything. Why does he have to be so charming?
As we turned out of town, something caught Callen’s eye at a novelty store on the corner, and he stopped, pulling an object out of a tall box. A kite? I stepped closer and saw that the kite he’d chosen was in the shape of a red-and-black pirate ship, a white skull and crossbones on its topsail. I laughed. “Why, One Eye, look at that; it’s your ship. I was sure it was in a thousand pieces on the ocean floor by now.”
He laughed, too, taking the kite inside and returning a moment later with his purchase. I shook my head, turning my face up to the sky. “I don’t know if there’s enough breeze for a kite today.”
“We’ll have to see.” He winked, and my heart flip-flopped over itself, causing me to look away on a frown. I knew it wasn’t a good idea to be swooning over Callen Hayes. I’d vowed not to do it, and yet here I was, strolling through a quaint French village on my way to a picnic lunch with him. I groaned internally. A couple of hours. I had to get to bed early tonight since I started my new job in the morning. And then it would be easy to focus on what I needed to focus on…which wasn’t him.
I had no doubt he’d find ways to occupy himself very easily as well. I had a perfectly good idea about what ways those would be, and I hated that the thought depressed me. Still, it was wise I kept it in mind, wise I remembered who Callen was despite the temporary boyish happiness in his eyes today. Despite the romance of the Loire Valley and despite the erratic beating of my heart each time he turne
d his beautiful smile my way and looked at me with affection in his eyes.
I wasn’t unique. This was part of his allure. He used to make me feel special all those years ago, too. But now? I refused to become one of many who fell for those same charms.
“What’s the sourpuss expression about?” he asked, breaking my moody silence.
“Huh? Oh, I’m just hungry. Come on, the woman at the bakery said the ruins are this way.”
CHAPTER NINE
Callen
I didn’t like the suddenly somber look on Jessie’s face, so I took her hand in mine and clasped it firmly. “Lead the way.” She looked startled as she glanced between our latched hands and my face, but she didn’t try to pull away. I grinned, finally eliciting a laugh from her as the mood lightened.
We were going to eat a picnic lunch and maybe fly a kite. I didn’t think I’d been this damn excited when I’d taken the stage to accept that French award months ago—the biggest award I’d ever received. Weird. Inexplicable. But true.
We walked a short way, and then Jessie turned down a dirt road that led to the edge of a flower field. She let go of my hand, and I immediately missed her fingers threaded through mine and the warm clasp of her palm against my own. “Look, it’s over there,” she said, pointing.
All I could see was a strange pile of rocks at the edge of a cliff overlooking the river. “When you said remains, I thought there’d be more to look at.”
She shrugged and started walking, and I followed. As I always did when Jessie took me on an adventure. When we got to the site, there looked to be an old tile floor peeking out through the rubble, but other than that, it really was just piles of collapsed rock. “There’s nothing left.”
Jessie was looking around with interest, though I had no idea why. “Not much. But I can tell it was beautiful once.”