by Erika Kelly
“A wake-up call.” He guided her onto a bench he and his brothers had crudely carved out of a fallen log.
“I can’t believe you know more about my dad than I do.” She shot him the evil eye.
He laughed. “I know about it because I’m here, wild thing.”
He could tell she wanted to be angry at him, but instead she let out a huff of breath and her shoulders slumped. “They should’ve told me.”
“If you’d kept in touch with them, they would have.” Wind rustled across the sage meadow, lifting the hair off her shoulder. He reached to smooth it but stopped himself. He didn’t get that privilege anymore.
She looked stricken. “I know that, okay? That’s why I’m staying in town this summer.”
“I thought you were staying for two weeks?”
“I changed my plans.”
“Just now?” He couldn’t keep from smiling.
She gave a terse nod. “It’ll be my last chance to spend any real time here.”
“Is your boyfriend staying, too?”
She looked away. “No.”
Hope kicked hard in his chest. She’d be home all summer—hell, yeah. But was she with Man-Bracelet or not? “You sure you want to leave a good-lookin’ guy like that on his own in New York City?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about me and Julian.”
He didn’t miss how she called him by his name. Not boyfriend or fiancé. He reached for her hand, thumbing the ring finger. “You accept his proposal?”
She pulled her hand away. “Why did you call him out like that? It was a crappy thing to do.”
“Worse than hijacking the toasts at a rehearsal dinner to pee on your girlfriend?”
She cringed but covered it quickly. “A gentleman wouldn’t have called him out on it.”
“No one’s ever accused me of being a gentleman. And I make no apologies for who I am.”
“Believe me, I’ll well aware.” She got up from the bench. “I’m going back inside.”
But he wasn’t ready to let her go. “You forget I know you, and I’d bet the ranch you’re not marrying that guy.”
“It’s none of your business.” That sweet ass sashayed away from him.
He had a shot at bridging the gap between them and, instead of talking to her, he’d provoked her.
Part of him thought, She’s not Callie anymore. Let her go. But he’d seen her laugh with her parents at the bar, and it had thrown him back in time to when they’d been sixteen, hanging out on her bed after school. In jean shorts and a T-shirt, her dark hair streaked with purple, she’d belted out a Kings of Leon song.
She’d murdered the lyrics, but she’d insisted she had them right. So he’d pulled them up on his phone and showed them to her, and she’d gone into a fit of hysterics.
That was his wild thing. Full of life and no inhibitions. They said whatever they wanted to each other, and if either one didn’t like it, they fought it out.
“Wild thing.” He had to fight. Had to.
She stopped and turned toward him with a wary expression.
“You remember when you danced to that Limp Bizkit song in the cafeteria, and everyone went nuts? Lloyd got all worked up because you got the lyrics wrong. He told me they played the song at the prom—”
Her body went rigid. “Do you mean the prom I didn’t go to because you bailed at the last minute for your brother’s snowboarding competition? Yeah, I remember everything, Fin. And, sorry, but Memory Lane’s just not as scenic for me as it obviously is for you. Goodnight.”
Chapter Six
Fin was the love of my life. We dated all through college and then for ten years after that, but he would never give me a commitment. I knew he saw other people. I was okay with that. He didn’t lie to me. I told myself I wanted him to get it out of his system, so that when he was ready to settle down he’d have no regrets. Only, when he was ready, he did it with Sandra. Not me. I came home from work one day and started to make dinner. It was our anniversary. I was making him his favorite. Homemade macaroni and cheese and cheesecake. When he walked in, he looked really happy. I’d never seen him look that happy. And I thought, This is it. He loves me. He’s ready. But when he came into the kitchen his smile faded. He asked why I was making cheesecake. Didn’t I get his message? No, I hadn’t. I’d gone straight from work to the grocery store, and then immediately started cooking. He tried to take the spatula out of my hand and said, Don’t do this. I’m moving out. He didn’t apologize or anything. He just packed a bag and left. He moved on, and I’ve stayed in that kitchen holding the spatula for the past seven years. #worldsworstboyfriend.
Callie closed her eyes, feeling a sick twist in her gut as if the story had happened to her.
Why did these stories wreck her?
With a quick glance to her brother’s house, she wondered how long she’d been sitting in her dad’s truck. She’d only meant to read one or two but, once again, she’d gotten sucked into Traci’s Instagram page.
The image of that woman standing in her kitchen with a spatula? God. Her boyfriend should’ve talked to her, told her he’d fallen out of love. He didn’t have to string her along like that. His selfishness had slammed that woman’s heart shut like a bear trap.
All right, let it go. It was Monday morning, her brother had left on his honeymoon yesterday, and she had a whole summer ahead of her to get to know her nephew. That’s what matters.
But…that spatula. She couldn’t get the image out of her head.
What symbolized her relationship with Fin?
Easy. His boarding pass. Because the whole time she’d been making plans to go to NYU with him, he’d been on another path altogether. He just hadn’t told her. So, in her blissful ignorance, she’d gone ahead and rented an apartment for them, set up a joint bank account, and booked their one-way flights. She’d even printed out his boarding pass.
He hadn’t taken the initiative on any of it. If she’d been paying attention, she would’ve noticed that important detail. She would’ve been prepared.
When Fin had shown up at her house that morning to tell her he wasn’t going with her, her world had shut down. And like that woman with the spatula, Callie was still holding that damn boarding pass. She took it everywhere she went. She’d had it tucked in her back pocket every moment she’d been with Julian.
A chill skittered down her spine. It was why she’d chosen him. Julian had pursued her relentlessly. He could’ve had any other woman in the graduate program—hell, in the city. But his interest in her had never waned.
She’d dated him because he was safe. His compulsion to be with her meant he’d never bail on her.
She let out a slow breath. Julian had done the right thing breaking up with her. Yes, it left her life in utter turmoil, but she’d been with him for the wrong reasons.
More than anything, she didn’t want to be that woman with the spatula. She wanted to be free.
She had to get over Fin. The betrayal.
How, though? How do you heal?
She didn’t have a clue. Lifting her phone, she swiped the screen. Just one more.
I hate what Fin Bowie did to me. I hate that I’m such a stupid cliché. My sister, also my roommate at the time, had been acting strange. We’d always been close, so when she got distant, I didn’t like it. On my lunch hour one day I decided it was time to have it out, so I drove home to talk to her. I walked in the door and saw Fin Bowie’s ass as he was banging my sister on the dining room table. I haven’t talked to either of them since. I hate Fin. Hate him. But my sister broke my heart. #worldsworstboyfriend.
People sucked. Okay, enough of this. As she got out of her car, she checked the driveway. A lone car sat under a tree. A Camry. Definitely not Fin’s.
She wanted to bash her head against the steering wheel. You did it again. Avoiding her ex had become a kneejerk reaction. Suck it up, Princess. It was time to get used to being around him.
As she maneuvered across the graveled driveway
in her sandals, she heard a woman’s voice. By the cadence, it sounded like she was reading a story. She climbed the porch steps and peered through the screen. “Hey, guys. It’s Aunt Callie.”
“Come on in,” the woman called.
The door creaked open, and she dropped her tote on the floor by the closet. She found her nephew on the couch beside the sitter, a book perched on both their thighs. “Hey, Theo.”
The boy’s features flushed, and his gaze quickly darted away.
“Hi. Sherry, right? I’m Callie.”
The older woman got off the couch and extended a hand. “Wonderful to meet you. Wow, you look so much like your brother.” She cast a bright smile at Theo. “Doesn’t she look just like your daddy?”
Legs jutting straight out in front of him, Theo’s feet started shifting like a metronome. As a kid, she’d been shy around new people, too. She’d let him get used to her. “Can I sit with you while you read?”
“Sure.” Sherry plopped back down, and Theo handed over the book.
He had a sippy cup between his pale legs and a red plastic bowl of Cheerios beside him. One hand rested on his thigh, the other on the stuffed white dog beside him.
As Sherry continued with the story about a boy and his carrot, Callie took in the yellow linoleum floor and dark wood cabinets of the kitchen. A window by the desk in the living room looked out onto a small backyard with a swing set. Maybe she could take Theo outside for a bit?
When the story finished, Sherry closed the book. “Another one?”
He shook his head. Being sandwiched between two women he barely knew seemed to make him uncomfortable, so Callie shifted to the coffee table. “Have you been to Ballard’s Pond?” He gave a teeny nod. “Maybe we could get some boats from Bazoo’s Mercantile and float them. Would you like to do that?”
“Oh, that sounds fun,” Sherry said.
“And then we could get an ice cream cone when we’re done. I don’t know if Bliss is still around, but I must’ve eaten a thousand cones from that ice cream parlor. Would you like to do that? I could totally go for a hot fudge sundae.”
When Theo just hunched a shoulder, Sherry said, “His godfather’s coming over, so maybe we should wait for him. Theo loves him some Uncle Fin.” The woman got up. “I think I’ll get started on lunch.” She flicked a finger between Callie and Theo and mouthed, I’ll give you some time alone.
She shouldn’t feel so intimidated but, really, what did she know about entertaining four-year-olds? What had she liked at that age?
Right then her mind sent up a sharp, clear image of herself as a little girl. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in the corner of someone’s house, her backpack filled with art supplies—colored pencils, sketch pad, scented erasers—beside her.
She’d forgotten about that, the way she’d sit by herself and draw.
Before Ryder came along, her hippie parents had lived in their VW bus and traveled around the country. But once they had a child, they’d settled down in Calamity. Money had been scarce as they’d progressed from a food truck to a diner, so childcare had always been an issue. Sometimes she and Ryder hung out at a booth in the restaurant, the table cluttered in crayons and coloring books. More often, though, they’d be shipped to someone’s house—usually someone with other children.
Callie didn’t know it at the time, of course, but she’d been an introvert. She’d play for a while, but she’d always reach a point where she just needed to be alone. And she’d turned to art.
Was Theo just shy? Or was he an introvert, too? She didn’t know anything about him, so she wasn’t quite sure what to do to make him comfortable around her.
She pulled her phone out of her bag and typed a text to her dad.
Any tips for what I should do with Theo?
He responded right away. I bake cookies with him. Your mom reads him stories. Fin takes him on adventures. Hang out with him until you find your way to be with him.
She liked that a lot. Find your way to be with him. She thought back to her colored pencils and sketch pad and an idea struck. “Do you have any Play-Doh?”
Warily, he shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“How ‘bout we make some?” She got up and reached for his hand.
He didn’t take it, but he did ease off the couch and follow her into the kitchen.
“If I promise to clean my mess, do you mind if I dirty up the kitchen?” she asked Sherry, who was reaching into the freezer.
“Not at all.” After the sitter dropped a box of chicken nuggets onto the counter, she pulled a step ladder out of the pantry. “Theo’s a great helper.” She set it in front of the counter.
Callie found the flour and oil easily enough. “Do you think they have cream of tartar?” Unless they baked, she doubted they would.
“No idea,” Sherry said. “My best work comes out of a microwave.”
Over the stove, Callie found a spice cabinet. She scanned the labels of the red-capped tubs. Cream of tartar. Bingo. Did that mean Ryder made their dad’s famous biscuits?
Callie got to work. She didn’t see any food coloring, but that was all right. It might not be the prettiest playdough Theo had ever seen, but once he squeezed it between his chubby little fingers he wouldn’t care about color.
Once the water boiled, she poured it into the flour mixture and stirred until it became a sticky dough. It was still hot, but she wanted to get Theo playing with it, so she kept kneading, giving her hands a break from the heat every now and then. “What do you think? Does this look fun?”
“What is it?” he said in his sweet, little boy voice.
“It’s like clay. We get to make fun shapes with it. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Sherry helped Theo off the step ladder, as Callie brought the cutting board and warm dough out to the living room and set it on the coffee table. On her knees, she got busy pinching off small pieces—some for her and some for Theo. With the little boy watching, she rolled them into snakes, using her fingernail to make eyes on either side of the bulbous heads. Then, she started forming people. Pressing them flat on the board, she put a hat on one of them and a skirt on another.
“What do you want to make?” She wondered if the lack of direction made him uneasy. Which gave her an idea. “Do you have cookie cutters?”
“Yes.” Theo shimmied off the couch, his little feet dropping to the floor, and he scampered into the kitchen. He came back with a big basket of them. She smiled, remembering that her dad baked with him.
“Oh, this’ll be fun.” With the heel of her hand, she pressed the dough flat and cut out shapes of gingerbread figures and pine trees. As Theo watched intently, he edged closer. And then he poked a finger in the dough. She continued cutting out shapes of leaves and flowers, but mostly she got a kick out of the way he squeezed it between his fingers.
“I like candy canes.” She pulled out the shape and then slid the basket closer to him.
Tentatively, he reached inside, taking a moment to examine each one. He settled on a Halloween cat, it’s back arched. Smashing the dough with his palm, he pressed the cutter down hard.
“Next time I’ll bring food coloring so we can have different colors to work with. We can add red to make the stripes on the candy cane and black for the cat.” She pulled out a tree-shaped cutter. “We’ve got a Christmas tree, so we’ll make some green dough, too.” She pulled out a pumpkin. “And purple for the pumpkin. Right? Pumpkins are purple?”
“Pumpkins aren’t purple.” When the shy little boy cracked a smile, Callie’s heart swelled. And then he got on his knees on the couch so he could press down on the cookie cutter. She smiled when he stuck his tongue out of his mouth as he concentrated on peeling the shape carefully off the board.
The door creaked open, and light flooded the room. “Hey, little man.”
Shock splintered her happiness. She hadn’t heard an engine or his boots on the porch, so she wasn’t prepared for Fin’s arrival.
Theo jerked like he’d been e
lectrocuted. “Uncle Fin.” He scrambled to his feet and took off. Fin crouched, readying himself for impact, as Theo hurled himself again his godfather’s body.
God, how many times had she done the same thing? So excited to see him after he’d come home from a family trip? Hell, after not seeing him for the two periods since lunch hour?
She remembered the elation at seeing her sexy, badass boyfriend, the look in his eyes that said, Get over here and let me get my hands all over you.
She remembered what it felt like to be wrapped in those powerful arms, the outdoors scent of him so masculine and decidedly Fin.
How many times had she burrowed into his neck and clung to him? She’d never felt more at home—more herself—than when she was with him.
With their matching grins, man and boy bumped fists. And then Fin got up, surveying the mess they’d made on the coffee table. “What’cha got there, little dude? Can I play?”
That voice she’d heard in her ear a thousand times, in the classroom, under the covers, and in the backseat of his car, made her heart flutter out of control.
She’d done an excellent job of vilifying Fin over the years. Every time he sprang to mind, she’d pull up the times he’d bailed on her because of his brothers. She’d missed both junior and senior proms.
But right then, seeing him on his knees beside Theo, as they leaned over a cutting board, rolling out dough and forming it into shapes, the crust broke, and joy came seeping up through the cracks.
Her brother was right. Fin had done more good things than bad. It was just that she’d relied on the bad ones to fan the flames of her hurt and anger. To keep her from getting near him.
Because she was still susceptible.
“Your Aunt Callie’s pretty cool to make you clay.”
Watching Fin be so wonderful with that little boy weakened the barrier, releasing a tidal wave of emotion. All the memories she’d stored away came crashing over her—and it hurt to know that most of them were sweet, happy…beautiful.
She’d loved Fin Bowie with all her heart, and he’d loved her, too. He’d been a good boyfriend. A really good one.