by Nicole Deese
“Well, I’ll be.” Her eyes twinkled. “What a beautiful namesake story.”
If only the rest of the story had been just as beautiful.
She sighed heavily. “Well, say a prayer for me. I’m not sure I can survive a night of men throwing fists at each other for sport. I’d much rather talk flowers and eat cookies with a new friend.” She placed her hand on my arm and squeezed lightly. “You’re welcome to stop by my place anytime. Perhaps for lunch? I’m in the old Victorian house on Gable Street. Yellow with a white porch. And roses everywhere. Something tells me the two of us have quite a bit in common.”
As I watched her leave, I wasn’t sure what frightened me more: that her assumption was true, or how much I wanted it to be.
Chapter Twenty-Five
DAVIS
“Are you really not going to tell me where we’re going?” Callie asked for the hundredth time since we’d left our empty chips-and-salsa basket at Sombrero Hat.
I changed lanes on the rural highway and flipped down my visor to block the pre-dusk glare. From the position of the sun, I knew we had little more than an hour to spare before the festivities began.
“I want you to be surprised.”
“I will be. Right now. I do a really good surprised face, see?” Hand fluttering to her mouth and eyes rounding to the size of sand dollars, she expelled a gasplike squeal.
I laughed. “Sorry, not going to happen. You know, you’re certainly not the most patient person I’ve ever met.”
“Patient, no. Persistent, yes.”
Slowing, I veered off the main highway onto a side street, passing several hay fields and a deserted fruit stand. “To be honest, I’m taking a bit of a risk here. This was Shep’s idea.”
“You took dating advice from Shep?”
Had I actually admitted such a travesty out loud? “Not advice on dating, just on this specific date location. Big difference.”
She crossed her legs and angled toward me in her seat. Her dress-covered knee rested only a few inches from my reach. I’d become acutely aware of my proximity to Callie at all times. How she moved. When she moved. Where she moved. She was a moving target my eye was intent on following.
“And how exactly does your dating philosophy differ from his again?”
I kept my eyes on the unpaved road ahead, cognizant of the conversational quicksand I was about to walk into. Based on some comments she’d made here and there, I knew we held differing viewpoints on a few hot topics, dating and marriage hovering near the top of that list. But so far my curiosity on such matters of her opinion had not been quenched. Not by a long shot.
“Shep thinks serial dating can be satisfying. I disagree.”
“Why?”
So much for playing it safe. “I don’t understand the purpose of dating if you don’t want it to lead anywhere. To me, that idea seems reckless. For all parties involved.”
“Reckless?” She choked out the word. “That’s a little harsh.”
I glanced at her. “Is it?”
“Yes. Why can’t dating just be casual and fun if that’s what a couple wants? Fun can be a goal, too, ya know?”
“Then why not be friends and leave the romance out of it?”
She laughed. “That is so . . . so . . . something my sister would say.”
I shrugged. “Can’t help it if you’re surrounded by brilliance.”
She slugged me in the arm. “So you’re saying that tonight—that what we’re doing right now—it’s not meant to be fun?”
I allowed her words to soak in an extra second or two, letting her think she’d stumped me as I followed a few weather-beaten signs to a grassy field doubling as a parking lot. We were a good twenty miles from any semblance of a town, but the remote location would come in handy once the sun dipped beneath the tree line.
After shifting into park, I took her hand in mine. “No, I’m saying I have more than enough friends.”
I let the words hang in the air between us for several seconds, fighting the urge to kiss the dazed expression off her face. “It’s time for your surprise.”
Callie glanced around at the acres of parked cars.
“Where are we?”
“Nowhere yet. We have a bit of a walk ahead of us.”
“Good thing I’m not the kind of woman who wears stilettos on a first date.” She lifted her flat-sandaled feet and wiggled her toes.
“I was counting on that. While your wardrobe often keeps me guessing, your shoe preference is remarkably predictable.”
The intense heat of the afternoon sun had finally lifted, offering a tease of relief as a breeze swept over us. With a blanket tucked under one arm, and Callie tucked close to my side, we joined a small crowd moving along a dirt trail. Callie didn’t seem to notice the current of people. She seemed to be focused on something else entirely. I hoped so. I’d meant what I said about not needing another friend.
I’d played the wait-and-see game before, and there was nothing remotely satisfying about sitting on the sidelines and watching the life I wanted slip by. I wouldn’t ever be that man again.
She stepped closer to me. “Have you really not dated since . . .”
“Since Stephanie died?” I finished, curving us toward the entrance gate. “I never said I hadn’t.”
Her gaze roamed my profile as couples and young families grew thick around us.
“Okay, so?”
“What?” I chuckled.
“So you never fell for anybody? In all these years?”
Our pace slowed to a standstill, my gaze drifting over her unbelieving face. “Why do you sound so incredulous?”
“It’s just hard to believe, is all. You’re a vet. Women love the whole rescuer-of-animals thing. Plus you’re . . . you know.”
I hiked my eyebrows. “I know what?”
“You’re . . . you.” She waved a hand from head to toe. “You’re everything a sensible woman dreams of—steady and reliable and—”
“You’re describing a brick building.”
“And,” she said, holding up her finger, “dashingly handsome.”
“Better.”
“So has there been? Someone special?”
My pause told Callie all she’d needed to know. “Ah. There was,” she said. “And it obviously didn’t end the way you planned.”
“No, it didn’t.” I gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “But I can’t say I’m unhappy about that tonight.”
“Who was she? Does she live here—in Lenox?”
“She does. Willa became a widow around the same time I lost Stephanie. We’d been longtime family friends, and to be honest, there was just a lot about her that made sense when it came to planning a future together. She was a single mom, and I was a single dad, and I thought if I waited long enough—if I simply made my interest known—that she’d grow to see me as more. But that’s not how it worked out.”
Callie jerked my arm back. “Wait—Willa. Shep mentioned her the other day. The guy that called about Brandon being in the laundromat. Is he—”
“Her husband, Patrick. A family practice doctor at McCade Medical. They’ve been married just over a year now.”
“And you two aren’t friends anymore?”
“Friends? No. We’re civil, but we’re definitely not comfortable in the same space. I don’t have much hope that will change, but honestly, despite the awkwardness that exists between us now, I can tell you she married the right man.” Something I’d never admitted before.
I felt the full brunt of her gaze on my face as we shuffled forward. “Why do you say that?”
Because she never looked at me the way you’re looking at me now. “Because Willa knew what I wasn’t willing to accept—not until I was forced to accept it anyway. We weren’t right for each other.”
A security officer stood guard at the front of the line where an older gentleman wearing a hat that read “Annual Night Glow Festival” took our tickets.
“Night Glow Festival?” Callie murmured.
“What is . . .”
Her sharp gasp made the little girl in front of us squeal and clutch her mother’s shirt. “Oh, sorry!” Callie pressed her hand to her chest as she surveyed the giant pasture strewn with a hundred flattened hot-air balloons waiting to take flight. “Oh my goodness.”
I found myself wishing I hadn’t given Shep the credit for such a good idea. Callie was unmistakably awed.
“I’ve never been to one of these!”
“I couldn’t tell,” I said, my joke making her grin stretch wider.
“What time does it all start?”
“After sunset.”
She lifted her gaze to the changing skyline, the last winks of daylight basking Callie’s skin in an enticing glow.
“We probably have about thirty minutes or so before the show starts,” I said, nodding to the food trucks on the other side of the field. “Can I interest you in a hot-air-balloon-watching snack?”
Her smile had yet to fade as she inhaled dramatically. “If that’s funnel cake I smell, then absolutely.”
Funnel cake in hand, we meandered back to the open expanse, securing a semiprivate spot on the outskirts of the crowd next to an ancient-looking oak tree. We spread the blanket onto the grass, securing a place to watch the balloon pilots ready their equipment for flight as they climbed in and out of their wicker baskets to test their propane burners. The quick flame bursts glowed bright under the darkening sky.
Anticipation swelled throughout the park as the first stars appeared overhead. Young parents wrangled their toddlers as supervisors reinforced the boundary lines. A little boy, not yet two, with blond ringlets and a chocolate-stained mouth, stumbled in front of Callie. She giggled and waved at him. The boy waved back, and then, without a second’s hesitation, made a mad dash for her funnel cake.
Two inches from a near home-run slide, his father swooped in and saved the day. Superman style.
We both laughed, and Callie cooed with the same telling inflection it seemed every woman used when speaking about young children.
Her focus remained locked on the child, who sat two blankets away, wailing and reaching for his mother’s plate. “Does that stage feel like a long time ago?” she asked.
“You mean with Brandon?”
“Yeah, with Brandon. Unless you’ve had any other children recently?”
“None that I know of.” I stole a piece of her dessert and popped it into my mouth.
She studied the family. “I swear every parent I know says something like ‘where has the time gone?’ or ‘it feels like yesterday when Jimmy John did fill-in-the-blank’ whenever a younger child than theirs acts adorably. It must be written in a parenting manual somewhere.”
“Jimmy John?”
“Don’t get lost in the details here.” She waved me on. “So does it feel like only yesterday when Brandon was wailing on a blanket like that?”
Distracted by the specs of powdered sugar dotting Callie’s bottom lip, I struggled to focus on her original question. “In some ways, yes. But even with our recent issues, there are a lot of advantages to having an older kid.” The more time I spent with him lately, the more appreciative I’d become of his independence, of the way he thought and spoke and took care of Kosher without being asked.
She tilted her head, thinking. “I can see that—even from my limited point of view. Watching Clem and Chris in the early years was like two firefighters living in a house constantly catching on fire. One kid would be calling for help in the bathroom while the other was playing with matchbox cars in a sack of flour.”
I wondered if Callie realized how her eyes lit up whenever she spoke about her niece and nephew. “They adore you, you know? Collin and Corrianna.”
“They don’t have a choice.”
“They do.”
“Thanks.” She ran a hand over the top of our shared blanket. “I’m sure parenting is a balancing act, though. I see that in Clem and Chris—when things are good between them, I mean. She’s more of the rule maker, the keeper of schedules so that everybody stays on track and in their right places. And Chris, well, when he’s around, he’s the one who provides them freedom to cross the boundary lines, make mistakes, explore life.”
It had been a long time since I’d shared that balance with anyone, but I could see the advantage in a cooperative, two-parent household. A partnership. A marriage. “That is the ideal way to raise a child. No doubt about it.”
Her head whipped toward me. “Oh, Davis. I certainly wasn’t trying to imply that you weren’t parenting the right way or that . . .” Her flustered tone caused my hand to move on its own volition. I stroked the soft skin of her arm from wrist to elbow.
“Callie, I’m not offended in the slightest. It is the ideal way to raise a family. The way God intended it to be.”
She studied me for several seconds. “Well, as I’ve said before, I think you’re doing an excellent job with Brandon.”
I laughed lightly. “Thanks. Unfortunately, your opinion isn’t held by everyone.”
“Don’t take Brandon’s attitude too personally. His frontal lobe isn’t fully developed yet.”
“Wasn’t referring to Brandon.” I plucked at a dandelion at the edge of our blanket and set it in between her fingers.
Clouded with a sudden seriousness, she shook her head. “Your mother doesn’t feel that way about you either. She told me she thinks you’re doing a great job, especially considering his age.”
“Not that you’ve been talking to my mother or anything?” I cocked an accusatory eyebrow her way, yet there was zero shame in Callie’s reply.
“You don’t know what we talk about.”
I barked out a laugh. “You really don’t think she told me about your multiple run-ins last week? Believe me, your flower namesake story and about half a dozen other mentions—including a detailed list of your best attributes—have been the subject of multiple text messages. Although, I can’t say I disagree with any of her assessments.”
Callie dabbed her napkin to the corners of her mouth, barely missing the faint dusting of sugar on her lips I’d been watching since we’d unfolded the blanket. “It’s not like I asked her to bring me those delicious tea sandwiches on Thursday. Or give me that hanging flower basket when I dropped Brandon off at her place yesterday afternoon.”
“That’s because people only have to meet you once before they’re completely smitten.”
She flicked the dandelion back to me. “That’s not true.”
“It was for me.”
The hiss of the giant balloon straight ahead of us made Callie jump, an opportunity I took full advantage of. I pulled her against my side. She laid her head on my shoulder, her knees tucked in close.
Hushed by the preparations all around us, we sat spellbound by the rushed movements of maintenance crews and flight teams.
“Who, then?” Callie asked softly.
“Who what?”
“Who doesn’t think you’re a good parent to Brandon?”
Callie’s crumpled brow caused me to bend down and kiss the tip of her nose.
“Stephanie’s parents.”
“What? But why not?”
“Hey, I don’t want you to worry about that. They aren’t bad people; they’re just unhappy with me right now.”
“Because . . . ?”
“Because they wanted Brandon to visit them for a month this summer, and I denied their wishes. And nobody ever denies their wishes.”
She fell silent again, her gaze focused on the fluorescent bursts of the inflating balloons. Then, suddenly, she turned her face back to mine and leaned in close. “Well, for what it’s worth, Davis, I think you were right to keep him home. You couldn’t work on your relationship with him if you sent him away. And he needs you right now.”
The last of my restraint died on those generous words. I cradled her face in my hands and slid my fingers into her hair. Covering her lips with mine, I was intent on tasting every last hint of sweetness from her mouth. A challeng
e she allowed. This kiss held no sense of neutrality. It was owned equally by us both.
Another sharp whistle of air caused us to break apart. A young man in a balloon decorated with a triangle pattern yanked on his burner cord and flashed a thumbs-up in our direction.
Callie returned his gesture with a smile.
He blew his burner again, and she laughed.
I kissed her temple and breathed the only words circling inside my head. “You’re truly one of a kind.”
Her eyes glittered as, one by one, the balloons levitated off the ground. Captivated by their allure, her gaze lifted skyward. The ascent was mesmerizing, the lights so bright and bold. As if under a trance, neither of us spoke for several minutes. The enthralling firelight had created a hush over the entire park.
The balloons floated above us like glowing orbs against a drop cloth of black. Callie snuggled in closer and captured my hand in hers.
“I wish you could see them the way I see them, in all their vibrancy and brilliance.” Her fingers interlocked with my own, her voice a strained whisper. “Brandon told me. About your eyes.”
About my eyes? It took me a minute to piece her fragmented statement together. “Oh . . . you mean that I’m color-blind?”
She sighed into my chest. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it all week.”
“Then you’ve officially thought about it seven days more than I ever have.”
“That actually makes me feel worse for you.”
I pushed my nose into her hair and breathed in her comforting scent. “Considering all the ailments in the world, sweetheart, my inability to decipher between certain shades is relatively small.”
She tilted her face to mine. “Still, I wish I could fix it for you.”
Moved by her sincerity, I smoothed back a section of her hair. “You’ve already fixed more than you could ever know, Callie Quinn.”
In just a few short weeks of summer, this woman had shown me more color than I’d seen in a lifetime.
Chapter Twenty-Six
CALLIE
The familiar smell of the clinic’s waiting room took me back to the day I carried a dehydrated—and smelly—Kosher in my arms for his first visit with Dr. Carter. Funny how much had changed between then and now.