by Jessica Ames
Then I return my attention back to my phone. In the time it took me to get up the stairs, Callum has replied.
CALLUM: That sounds perfect. I hope we get to do it one day.
So do I.
19
Callum
Talking to this woman is fast becoming the favourite part of my day. She’s hilarious and sassy and Christ, I’m enjoying bantering with her. She’s great and I can’t wait to meet her. The only issue is we haven’t even spoken—not properly anyway. We’ve been texting back and forth and while I’m enjoying that, I’m ready to take it to the next level. She’s not pushing for that so I think I may need to take the next step here, or we risk getting stuck at this baseline, which I don’t want.
I want more with her.
Conversely, I don’t want to scare the shit out of her and make her back off either. We’ve dealt with the first elephant in the room: the distance. She mostly seems okay with that, but I’m not relaxed about it yet. It was okay with the other women I matched to at first. Then it stopped being okay and things went south. Fast. I hope she will not be the same and that she can deal with it.
The next hurdle… my history. That usually has most women running for the hills. I hope that will not be the case, but I’m trying not to get my hopes too high because I don’t want to be disappointed. This may be hard, given how much I already like Sadie. We definitely have a chemistry, even via text that is obvious. I’m interested to see how that plays out in person and if it’s still there then. It’s a bizarre process this. I have no clue what the rules are or how we’re supposed to react so I’m just making shit up as I go.
Which is why I’m nervous about asking to speak to her. Will she think it’s too soon? Is it too soon?
Fuck if I know, but I’m not prepared to wait any longer.
As soon as I cut the engine on the boat, I’m out of the cabin and moving to secure it to the dock. The other three move slower, tired after a long day, laughing and dicking about.
“What’s the hurry, Cal?” Mace throws at me as I move to secure the boat to the moorings.
“I’m tired. You guys might have nothing to do tonight but I have a date with my shower and then my bed.”
Alex moves to help me while Tanner sees to the other things we need to do to finish up for the evening.
“I’m hoping you have a date,” he mutters quietly as he shifts past me to grab the equipment we need to offload.
Fucker.
I almost wish I hadn’t mentioned the fact I’m talking to Sadie because since he found out he’s constantly making little remarks like that or shooting me smug looks.
By the time I reach home, I’m itching to text Sadie and I have my phone out of my pocket before I’ve even shut the front door behind me.
I want to ask her straight out if I can call her, but I don’t want to seem too full on so I type out a generic message—something similar to the messages we’ve been exchanging all week.
ME: How’s your day been? I just got off the boat five minutes ago and I’m desperate for a shower and something to eat.
I tap my phone against my hand for a second before I head into the kitchen and flick the kettle on. I need coffee if I’m going to stay awake. Realistically, I need a dram of Dutch courage but I’m fresh out of booze, and Doris will have locked up for the night. I could probably head to The Lighthouse and buy a bottle of something from Charlotte but that might raise questions—questions that will no doubt get back to my family and leave me having to explain why I’m sitting home alone drinking hard liquor.
I’m just finishing up making the drink when my phone beeps.
SADIE: You poor thing. Do you need a hug?
I stare at her words. It’s a little bit flirty, but I’m not sure if I’m reading too much into it. Is it an innocent response? Or is there more to it? I hate all this second guessing. This would be so much easier if she was here, in the room with me, so I can see her face, gauge her reactions. It’s hard to know what someone means or is implying when all you have is a text message. It leaves far too much open to interpretation and I hate that it does.
Well… no time like the present to get this shit moving. I’m tired of waiting. I want to see if this is going to go anywhere before I get more invested, before we’re in danger of feelings being hurt—my feelings mainly because I have no idea what she thinks about me.
ME: I would love a hug, but I’d settle for a phone call. If it’s not too soon I’d like to talk to you.
As soon as I hit send I have instant regret. Why in the hell did I send that?! It’s too forward, too bolshy and too bold.
I stare at my phone screen, waiting for the dots to appear to tell me she’s writing back. Nothing.
Fuck.
Then the dots appear. I wait with bated breath as she types her response. It seems to take forever. Too long really. I’m on tenterhooks the entire time. Then the dots disappear.
What the hell? Did she stop typing? Has she decided against talking to me?
Fuck. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe I pushed too hard.
Then my phone vibrates and rings in my hand. SADIE CALLING.
My stomach gives a little flip, butterflies attacking as I stare at it. I suddenly feel like a teenager—uncertain and a little bit terrified.
Get a grip, Cal.
I swipe my finger across the screen, accepting the call and put the phone to my ear.
I have a brief moment to wonder what she’ll sound like, to wonder if I’ll sound how she imagines. The idea of putting a voice to the face and the texts is strange but not wholly unpleasant.
I’m so deep in thought that I nearly miss the sound of her voice coming over the line.
“Hey, Cal.”
Her voice is light, musical, feminine, and it sounds delectable.
20
Sadie
I’m working late tonight. I have about a million things to get done before the morning so I decide the overtime is the only way to get them ticked off. The team leaves an hour after finish and I send Mel home half an hour after that.
The office is quiet after hours. Most people find it weird, creepy even, and I guess it is. There’s a stillness, a silence that is hard to find during working hours. Even when everyone has their heads down and is getting on with work there is always some noise or some movement. This is not the case when the office is empty.
I’m typing away at my computer, my fingers flying over the keyboard as I try to get this stupid report finished. Then my phone pings.
I shouldn’t look; I should keep my momentum going and get this report finished, but curiosity gets the better of me (and a hint of excitement that it could be Callum) so I grab my mobile.
My stomach gives a little flip, butterflies attacking as I hit the screen to open the message and I grin when I see it is him.
CALLUM: How’s your day been? I just got off the boat five minutes ago and I’m desperate for a shower and something to eat.
ME: You poor thing. Do you need a hug?
I grin as I stare at my phone screen, waiting for the dots to appear to tell me he’s writing back. He doesn’t make me wait too long.
CALLUM: I would love a hug, but I’d settle for a phone call. If it’s not too soon I’d like to talk to you.
I smile even as a wave of nervous energy goes through me. I’m not a person who is anxious about being on the phone; I would never have got as far as I have in life if I couldn’t call people, but this isn’t people: it’s Cal. And I have to admit I am a little apprehensive. What if we talk and realise how incompatible we are?
I start to type back my reply, then delete the words. With a hint of trepidation, I hit the dial button in the corner of the screen instead. Then I put the phone to my ear and I wait for the dial tone to kick in. I jiggle my leg as it starts to ring in my ear, wondering what he’ll sound like. Will he have a good voice or an accent? Will he sound strange? He does live on an island, after all.
The sound of the ring tone cuts off and
the call connects but I’m met with silence. Not sure if he’s there, I say, “Hey, Cal.”
He clears his throat before he says, “So you’re the girl science thinks is my perfect match.”
I laugh, his words putting me straight at ease. “And you’re the guy science thinks is my perfect match!”
He chuckles himself, a rich sound that stirs in my belly. “Well, hopefully science is right.”
“Hopefully,” I agree, unable to stop the bashful grin from spreading across my face. “So that beach you’re sitting on… Is that close to where you live?”
“Everything is close to where I live. The entire island is less than nine miles from root to tip.”
I knew that; I read it on the internet when I looked up his hometown. Before I encountered Callum, I’d never heard of the island of Kildirk. In fact, I’m not entirely sure I can find it on the map, despite knowing roughly where it sits off the Devonshire coast.
“Have you always lived on the island?”
“All my life,” he confirms. “I was born here, as were my parents and their parents before them. If you talk to my grandmother she’ll tell you the Vanstones have been here since the twelfth century, but it hasn’t been close to that.”
“I can’t imagine having such a rich history. I know nothing about my family genealogy.”
“Believe me, I know more than I want to.”
“It must be quite strange, being that cut off from the rest of the world.” I can’t imagine it. I’ve always lived in London or just on the outskirts. Even though I lived in huge houses growing up that were in quieter areas, there was still always the feeling of movement, the kinetic energy that comes from living in a city.
“We’re not inbred, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says, chuckling. “Although I do sometimes wonder about my cousin, Alex.”
I file away the fact he has a cousin in the vaults for later. “Does he know you think this about him?”
“Probably. I tell him often enough.”
“You have a lot of family on the island.” I shift in the chair, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Yeah, I guess I do. Between my parents, my sisters, my nieces and nephews, and my aunt—Alex’s mum—and Alex himself, we make twelve. It was thirteen until Francesca moved. What about you?”
“My mum, stepfather and sister, Lilliana—she’s Henry’s and mum’s.”
“She’s younger?”
“Yeah, by a fair amount. Nine years, I think.”
“That is a fair amount…”
He trails off and I can tell he’s trying to build up to ask the question but doesn’t know how to, so I answer for him. “My dad died when I was six. Henry came on the scene a few years later. I hated him at first. I thought he was trying to replace Dad, but over time I came to love him. He’s been a good father figure to have.”
Callum sounds quiet when he speaks. “That’s good that you had him, but a shame you had to lose your father for that to happen.”
I find it a relief that he doesn’t give me platitudes about my father’s death, as so many people do. I hate that. It seems so disingenuous to say sorry about someone you don’t know and about an event that happened so long ago. I’m glad he doesn’t do it.
“Yeah, he’s a great stepfather—I probably consider him more my dad than my actual father, which I feel terrible saying.”
“No, it makes sense,” he tells me, no hint of censure in his voice. “Henry has had you for more of your life than your father did.”
And that’s true, although I still feel a hint of guilt for feeling that way, like it’s a betrayal of my father. But Henry has been a rock to me. In the aftermath of being jilted he took care of me in ways I can’t ever repay him. There was a ton of outstanding invoices that Richard was supposed to have paid but hadn’t. Henry sorted them all—without question. He also packed up all my things from the apartment afterwards, so I didn’t have to face my ex. It might sound cowardly, but I couldn’t bring myself to see him that soon. I was exhausted after the wedding, emotionally drained and unable to function. The week after being left high and dry was a blur for me and I needed that week to just deal with the fact my life course had been thrown completely off its trajectory. I wasn’t someone’s wife. I didn’t have a future. Henry and Mum provided a safe space to do that.
And I need to stop thinking about Richard when I’m sitting talking to another man. I need to stop thinking about Richard full stop. He does not deserve any more of my time and I’m not going to give it to him.
“Kildirk is like a whole other world compared to mine,” I say to Callum, pushing my past firmly out of my mind.
“Yeah, it’s a different pace of life—that’s for sure. They only have two speeds here: slow and even slower.”
“And which speed are you?” I hold my breath as he goes quiet, and I wonder if I was too forward with my words.
Then he says, “I’m the exception to the rule.”
My lips lift at the corners. “Oh, you are, are you?
“Well, it’s not hard when you’re competing with pensioners—and to be honest most of those are more spry than I am.”
I laugh, tucking my feet under me and getting more comfortable on the chair as I shift the phone against my ear.
“I don’t believe that for a second. To be a fisherman don’t you need some level of physical strength?” I don’t know the first thing about fishing, but it seems like it would be strenuous work.
“Yeah, I guess so. I never thought about it. I’ve done this since I was sixteen so it never seems hard—or if it did I don’t remember it.”
“So, this whole conversation is just a humble brag about how muscled you are?”
He chuckles. “Would it make any difference if I wasn’t a muscle man?”
I don’t even consider my answer, just say, “No.”
Looks aren’t the be-all and end-all of a relationship. Sure, it’s important to have chemistry, but that—I’ve found—comes from a person’s persona and personality, and what I know of Callum so far, I like. Hopefully that feeling is mutual. It seems to be… for now.
“That’s good to hear. I’ll let you make up your own mind about my muscle man status.”
That definitely implies he wants to meet up in person, which is good because although I’m nervous of the prospect of meeting a stranger, I’m also kind of excited. I have forgotten what it’s like to be at the start of a new relationship, where things feel new and every conversation is an event in itself.
“I feel that’s something that has to be judged in person.”
He lets out a laugh that fills my belly with warmth. “You’re welcome to inspect my muscle man status in person at any time.”
I grin, even though he can’t see me. I forgot how enjoyable flirting can be as well. It’s been far too long since I last embarked on some good old-fashioned flirting.
“About that,” I say, then pause, unsure how to proceed without rocking the boat. “How do we uh…”
“Do this?” he finishes for me.
Bloody hell. Is it too early to be questioning these things? He may not even want to meet. For all I know this conversation is boring the pants off him.
“Yeah. It’s kind of tricky with the distance, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so, but it is what it is. We’ll make it work. And I’m keen to try to make it work. I mean, science says we should be together. Who are we to argue?”
His words make my lips pull into a grin.
“Well, we wouldn’t want to go against science now, would we?”
“No, we wouldn’t, but Sadie, try not to dwell on the distance issue. We’ll figure it out. For now, all I’m focused on is the fact I like talking to you and I really want to see where this goes. If it doesn’t go anywhere, well, what have we lost? I’m more than happy to spend the next few weeks getting to know a smart, amusing, driven, beautiful woman.”
I’m fairly certain I blush to the tips of my hair, like a hormone-filled tee
nager. And I’m glad he can’t see me because I would be mortified if he could.
“I’m happy to do that too,” I tell him. “More than happy.”
“Then let’s do that and not worry about the small things.”
“Okay,” I agree, even though the small things will undoubtedly become big things, because in a relationship they always do when they’re not dealt with. But he sounds so assured, so certain, I find myself agreeing anyway. Mostly, because I want him to be right.
21
Callum
Talking, texting, messaging—before Sadie I hadn’t been much for any of that stuff. Now, my phone is rarely out of my hand. It’s a bit more difficult while we’re out on the boat because I have to bring my A game and keep my focus so I can’t be checking it all the time or talking to her constantly, but the moment we’re back on dry land, I’m on the phone to her—either speaking or messaging.
I love talking to Sadie and hearing about her day. And hopefully that is a mutual feeling. I assume it is because she’s still talking to me weeks after we first matched, but you can never be sure with these online things. I’ll feel better once we’ve met and I can gauge whether we have chemistry between us. Then, I’ll know whether she seems keen on me and if this thing has the potential to go anywhere.
It’s a strange feeling I have about this dating malarkey. On the one hand I am excited. It’s thrilling starting something new with someone new. It’s also entertaining finding out about them—what they like, what makes them tick—but there is a lot of uncertainty that puts me on edge. Will she walk away suddenly? How drawn in should I allow myself to get? Do I need to be cautious to protect myself? Can I open up enough to let somebody new in?