To Be With You

by Daphne Abbott

  “I’m just worried about the cleanup at the mansion. It’s going to suck tomorrow.”

  “I’ll come out and help you,” he said. “I can try to get my brothers to help too.”

  I waved my hand. “Nah. It’ll be okay, no need to call in backup.”

  “Okay, I’m still going to come help, though.”

  “Why?” I couldn’t help how harshly the word jumped out of my mouth. Cal’s attitude towards me for the last month was shitty. I didn’t understand this sudden turnaround. “You’ve been an asshole to me for weeks, Cal. And don’t tell me it’s because I was valedictorian instead of you.”

  “I haven’t been an asshole—”

  “Yes, you have!” I interrupted. “You’ve been mean and snarky all week. And then suddenly tonight you’re my friend again. So tell me, what’s going on here?”

  Cal sighed, and I watched in the dim light as he leaned his head against the back of his seat. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

  “Like I don’t know, what?” My heart felt like it would beat out of my chest and a tiny piece of me that always wondered about what was really going on in my friend’s head perked up.

  Cal rolled his head on the back of the seat. Even though I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew he was looking at me. “You’re seriously going to pretend like you don’t know I’m in love with you?”

  * * *

  I shoved the door of The Loon’s Nest open, and the scent of wood-fired pizza and beer hit me, causing my stomach to growl like I hadn’t eaten in weeks. Even though it was eight on a weeknight, the place was full of people eating and drinking. Behind the shining timber bar, Jake Waite filled drink orders with another bartender.

  There was a tiny open spot at the counter, so I squeezed my way through to make eye contact with Jake. Without a word, he gave me a nod and spun to pull a pint glass from the shelf. He set it under the Hazey Hodag, a local IPA, that was my current favorite, and slid the glass to me with a wink and a smile.

  “Thanks, hun!” I called over the din of conversation and the baseball game playing on the TVs. I slid some money his way, then left the bar to wander toward the back of the building and the outdoor beer garden. Because I was still not entirely comfortable spending time with Callum on my own, I’d called Lucy and begged her to join us as well.

  I found Luce sipping a martini at a picnic table by herself. In typical Lucy fashion, dressed to the nines in a bright cobalt blue dress, soft blonde curls, and a bold red lip. Lucy’s style had started out as a way of looking older when we were thirteen; now it was her signature. Even as her best friend, it was rare that I ever saw her without makeup.

  “Hey,” I said and dropped onto the bench opposite Lucy. “Thanks for coming.”

  Lucy quirked a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Of course. You expected me to say no to watching this disaster?”

  “Come on, it’s not a disaster,” I chided, as I took a drink of my beer. “I told you we cleared the air. He’s here for a job and will leave before we know it. No harm, no foul.”

  Lucy laughed and brushed her hair over her shoulder. “Right. When’s Romeo showing up?”

  “Any minute now. They were just going to drop off Fabián’s camera and join us,” I replied.

  “Fab is the camera guy?”

  “Don’t call him that.” The breeze off the lake was cold, forcing me to pull my sweater closer over my chest. I’d changed from work clothes into jeans and a casual top. Now, seeing Lucy’s outfit, I felt too casual. I hated she made me feel like that a lot, like I had to dress to her standard or become the frumpy friend who’d let herself go after a divorce.

  “What? That’s what he does, isn’t it?” Lucy plucked the olive from her drink and ate it.

  “Camera guy just sounds demeaning,” I replied. Lucy was a good person, but way deep down, she was also a spoiled brat. And I did not need the brat Lucy to insult my best chance at getting the renovation done before fall. “Please, just be nice tonight, okay?”

  Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “Define nice.”

  “You know what I mean. Show me you can act like an adult and not throw around backhanded comments like they’re presents. And we’ll talk about that job you want.” She’d been hounding me for months to consider taking her on as a wedding planner, but I had held her off. I knew she was smart and a capable planner, but her track record with snide comments to the wrong people was a mark against her.

  “That’s low,” Lucy said. When I just shrugged, she made a sound like a growl and slammed a hand on the table. “Fine. I’ll play nice.”

  * * *

  “Please tell me you have pictures of this one with long hair,” Fabian said his laughter.

  “I do,” Lucy said and grinned at Callum. “Remember that forensics trip to Madison?”

  “Oh god,” Cal groaned and covered his face. “Please tell me you don’t still have those pictures.”

  “She does,” I confirmed. “She pulled them out on my last birthday to make fun of my bangs.”

  “Please, I need to see this.” Fab leaned forward and captured Lucy’s hand in his.

  “We’ll see. I can’t use my best ammunition right out the gate.” Lucy pat his hand. “But if you play your cards right, I’ll introduce you to Ida, and she can tell you some whoppers.”

  Fab immediately switched topics to a funny story from college and the pictures were forgotten. While Lucy and Callum listened, I excused myself to go to the bathroom. The crowd inside had thinned, and the music was at a lower level. Jake was still behind the bar, but the other bartender was nowhere to be seen, and there was only one server left in the dining room.

  After finishing my business, I exited the bathroom, phone in hand, and failed to notice Callum waiting in the hall. He was quick, though, and caught me by my shoulders before I ran into him at full speed.

  “Woah!” he said with a laugh. “Slow down, ace.”

  I rolled my eye at the old nickname he’d used to torture me in school. “Sorry, I was looking at my phone. It’s getting late.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, and something in his tone made me take a second look.

  His handsome face was more rugged than I remembered. There were laugh lines and scars that he’d earned in the years since he’d left. I wanted to ask about each one of them, but we’d developed a strange truce, and I didn’t want to ruin that with stupid questions.

  Callum smelled like the whiskey he’d been drinking and the fresh pine air. Two of my favorite scents. I must have swayed toward him subconsciously because I felt his grip on my shoulders tighten, then relax. I could hear the ragged edge to his breathing this close, and I noticed that my own had an odd sound. We were dangerously close to doing something stupid, but I didn’t have the desire to stop it.

  Callum must have felt the same pull because he shifted one of his hands from my shoulder to cup the side of my face. His long fingers felt cool on my heated skin, and I felt them tangle in my hair just at my temple. My skin felt like it was both on fire and ice cold. I didn’t know if I should burrow into Callum for warmth or step away to cool off.

  “Cal,” I whispered, but I lost the rest of my sentence.

  He didn’t seem to mind because his smile was soft, and a knowing glint was in his eyes. I’d seen that look before, and it meant trouble then. It could only mean trouble now.

  But I’d been a coward once, and I was not about to be one again. I closed the distance between us and sealed my mouth over his. Callum tensed for a second. Then he was in motion, pushing me against the nearest wall while his mouth invaded mine. His tongue slid between my lips and tangled with my own. Now I could also taste the whiskey on him, and it was more intoxicating than if I’d drank it myself.

  Callum’s body was lean and hard, more muscular than I’d expect from my quiet and artistic friend. But I luxuriated in the sensations of his hard muscles
against my softer curves. I loved he was tall, so I wasn’t looking down at him to get my kiss. I was used to towering over the men I dated. At five-foot-ten, it was rare for me to feel small in an embrace.

  When I dug my nails into the short-clipped hair at the back of his neck, Callum made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl. Then he used those clever hands to wrap around my thighs and lift me from the floor. He pinned me between the hard wall on my back and the hard muscles of Callum’s chest. And I couldn’t think of anywhere else I wanted to be.

  Slowly, by increments, something seemed to come over Callum, and he backed away. Just seconds after pinning me tightly to the wall, he gently let my legs drop, and he moved a step backward. Our mouths were the last connection to break, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from whimpering a protest.

  We stood in the hallway, staring at each other. Our breaths were the only sound except for the dim noise of the bar several feet away. Everywhere Callum had touched me, felt alight with sensation. My nipples were tight, and the sensation of my bra brushing against them was driving me to distraction. I hadn’t been this turned on in months. Why did it have to be Callum Waite that woke me up again?

  “That was a bad idea,” he whispered.

  “You started it.”

  He laughed. “We shouldn’t do it again.”

  I couldn’t stop the minor frown on my face. “Or…”

  “No. No ‘or.’ We need to work together, Olivia. We can’t do ‘or.’”

  I grinned. There had been many changes in my life since Callum left Eagle Creek. I wasn’t the buttoned-up good girl anymore. And I wanted to explore this new adult attraction to my childhood friend and crush.

  “I disagree, Cal. I think ‘or’ is exactly what we need to do.”

  Chapter 9

  Callum

  “You are not in love with me.”

  I had to laugh at the intensity of her voice, even as her words gutted me. I knew my confession was a risk, but I’d went through with it, anyway. “Liv, I’ve been in love with you since we were twelve and I realized it wasn’t just friend love I felt for you.”

  She snorted and folded her arms under her breasts. “Even if I believed you. Why would you wait until now to tell me?”

  Embarrassment heated my skin. “I’ve tried, but it never felt like the right time. And then you started dating Peter—”

  “I’m still dating Peter.”

  “I know.” I growled in frustration and ran my hands through my hair, tugging on the curls as I tried to regain some control. “I know you’re still together. But I’m running out of time. I’m leaving for Rhode Island in six weeks.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  I could feel this opportunity slipping away with every question Olivia raised. Had I been wrong in assuming she returned my feelings? I’d felt something from her for weeks, and especially tonight. Had I misunderstood her friendship for romantic interest?

  “I just wanted to make sure I told you how I felt before I left for school,” I said.

  “Okay,” she said, still sounding suspicious. “And what am I supposed to do with that information? Drop everything and go with you? Say fuck it and give up on everything I’ve worked towards for the past four years?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, it’d be great to have you with me, but I don’t expect it.” My breath was coming faster and sweat was forming under my arms and on my forehead. “I don’t have expectations—”

  “Like hell you don’t,” Liv argued. “Otherwise, you would have kept your mouth shut and let me go on with my life in peace.”

  “You still can.”

  “No, I can’t! You just told me my oldest friend and the boy that’s been my rival for years has been harboring romantic feelings since we were twelve. Now I’ve got to reconcile that with everything that’s gone on between us. And I also have to worry about what my boyfriend will say when I tell him.”

  Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “Why would you tell him?”

  “He deserves to know.”

  “No. You’re just worried he’ll find out on his own and dump you.” Anger rushed through me, erasing the last of the fear. All the tension I’d been feeling for days boiled to the surface, and I directed it all at Olivia. “You’re so set on having the perfect life with the perfect house and the perfect husband that you can’t see what kind of soulless loser you’re dating. Rather, than consider a relationship with me, a guy that would worship you, you’re content with the scraps he gives you.”

  “You’re one to talk,” she scoffed. “You’ve convinced yourself you’re in love with me, when all you’ve ever done is treat me like an annoying younger sister. And then suddenly, you decide I’m good enough and you want me and I’m expected to jump into your arms?”

  “No—”

  “Shut up! Just shut up, Cal. I will not listen to you tell me how stupid I am for dating Peter in the same breath you tell me you love me and want me to come with you.” She waved her hands and made a frustrated little noise. “Don’t you see how fucked up that is?”

  “Liv—” I reached out to take one of her hands, but she jerked away from me.

  “Don’t touch me, Cal. Don’t even fucking talking to me.”

  * * *

  The blank screen of my computer taunted me.

  I had just over 36 hours to complete the renovation plans and get them to Olivia to review before our meeting with the historical society. What should have been an easy update to the existing plans had turned into a monster of a task that I couldn’t seem to complete. Every time I sat down at the desk in my makeshift office in the loft of the rental cabin, I never seemed to get further than opening the lid of my laptop.

  I blamed the kiss in the Loon’s Nest hallway. Feeling her mouth on mine had brought up old feelings and resentments that I’d assumed I’d come to terms with long ago. The kiss had been out of character for me, but my attraction and curiosity and the whiskey at dinner had emboldened me. Now I was switching between thoughts of the kiss and replaying our fight the night of graduation.

  Olivia had implied she wanted more than a kiss. But could I put aside my need for an emotional connection, for a chance at a fling? Was that even what she was suggesting? Should I bring it up to her when I saw her again, or just pretend like the kiss never happened?

  “You stare any harder at that computer, it’s gonna melt,” Fab said, breaking my concentration.

  I looked over my shoulder to see him standing in the door, dressed like he was ready for a night on the town. I frowned at his black jeans, motorcycle boots, and black Rolling Stones tee. “Where are you going?”

  “Out,” he replied simply. “You’re up here having a standoff with your computer, and I’ve got my editing done for the day. I’m going to meet that firecracker, Lucy, and we’re gonna troll for men in the next town over.”

  “Call me if you need a ride. I’ll be here all night.”

  “You can come too. Let your hair down a little.” Fabián’s grin was quick and teasing. “When’s the last time it was some else’s hand and not your own that finished you?”

  Olivia’s mouth and the feel of her statuesque body against mine flashed through my mind again. “Too long. But I need to get these plans done before our meeting on Monday.”

  “All right, you have fun with that. I’m going to show Miss Lucy what we in the south mean by laissez les bons temps rouler.” He spun on his heel—much more gracefully than it should have been possible in motorcycle boots—and sauntered down the steps of the loft.

  Within seconds, he was out the door, and the cabin fell silent, leaving me to the blank screen and the invasive thoughts of Olivia. I’d pushed the desk up to the large picture window that overlooked Lake Dorset. Beyond the lake, on the opposite shore, was the dark shadow of the Van Ess mansion.

 
Fab had snickered when he saw the view from our new accommodations, but didn’t give me a hard time. I think he understood that my desire to be close wasn’t just about Olivia and my childhood full of unrequited love. It was about closure. I’d left this town with my tail between my legs, but I’d promised myself that I would get my closure with the house—and the town—someday.

  By the time I finished the additions to the main house, it was well after 9, and my stomach was growling. I stumbled down to the kitchen in a haze of hunger and work hangover. In the fridge, Fabián had left a casserole dish filled with some kind of pasta and instructions to bake it for thirty minutes. I tossed the pan in the oven, texted mother hen my thanks, then sat at the kitchen counter with my tablet sketching some ideas for the carriage house.

  The current plan was to convert the existing carriage house to the storefront for the nursery with storage and a small apartment above. Now that I knew Olivia intended the apartment for her own use, I wanted to rework the plans to give her the best space I could. Instead of the utilitarian studio, I began designing an open concept kitchen and living room, with a luxurious master suite, and even a small space for a desk and computer.

  I knew my urge to improve and update the space was just another way to show off to the girl that turned me down years ago, but I couldn’t stop myself. Besides, if she loved it and enjoyed what I’d created, was it purely self-serving?

  When the timer on the oven dinged, I pulled out the food and made a plate. Distracted by drawing, I didn’t care what Fab had made, just that it filled me up. The drawing was going better than anything I had done in weeks; I even took time to add some extra touches to the greenhouses attached to the carriage house. In the end, the place would be as efficient as any modern-day operation with the whimsy and grace of the Victorian style.

  It would suit Olivia well.

  At least it would suit the Olivia I’d known in high school. She could be totally into Swedish minimalism these days, but I doubted it. We were meeting in the morning to complete plans before our big meeting with the historical society on Monday, and she could tell me then what she thought of my work.