by Maribel Fox
How do I bring this Henri thing up with Callie? I don’t think I can just say ‘hey, I met a ghost,’ without her having some kind of breakdown. Or being convinced that I’m having one. Neither are desirable outcomes.
He’s got something to do with these rocks she’s looking for, which brings me back to the question of why she’s looking for them. What does Callie know? Is she keeping vital information from me? Is she aware of the weird shit going on?
I can’t imagine she is. The girl I knew would never even entertain the idea of magic or any other hokum like that. Callie’s a science girl, always has been. Another reason I could never bring myself to tell her the truth back when we were kids. It would’ve shattered her world view. Who knows how she’d take that, how she’d treat the guy responsible for it?
And now here I am, half a lifetime later, in the same place, in the same position, but with another layer of unbelievable nonsense to reveal to her.
Great.
My standard thoughtful stroll along the beach has landed me in the only place it ever could thanks to muscle memory: The Shamrock.
I wasn’t trying to end up here, but I wasn’t really trying to end up anywhere, so I guess that’s what happens when you’ve gone to the same place on autopilot enough times. Not sure what it says about me that that place is a bar, but I’m not gonna look too far into it tonight.
In fact, I’m not sure I’m gonna look too far into anything. I hesitate at the door, seriously considering turning around and going back to my haunted boat.
Callie’s staying at Brigid’s, the B&B attached to this bar, so there’s a pretty good chance I’ll run into her here if I go inside.
I have no idea what to say to her about any of this. Not to mention, walking in now, she’s going to think I’m stalking her or something. Crazy, considering I didn’t even mean to come here. Besides, it’s quickly becoming the most popular bar in town these days. There are some older folks still being hold-outs, but for the under-40s, this seems to be the spot.
So would she really be that surprised to see me?
There aren’t any more beers in my fridge and it’s a lot more work to go to town to stock up than to walk inside and sit at the bar.
Fuck it.
I square my shoulders and gently push the door open, not wanting a repeat of the slamming announcement I got last time.
Gently turns out to be a good plan, because I don’t draw anyone’s attention when I walk in.
And by anyone, I mean Callie.
Of course she’s here — where else would she be with the weather so unpredictable? — and she’s at a table instead of the bar, her back to me, leaning forward talking to a man I don’t recognize.
In less than a second, I’ve decided I hate this man. I have nothing to go on other than the fact that he’s talking to Callie, but that’s enough for me right now. She looks uncomfortable, her shoulders tense despite the way she’s leaning toward him. He’s holding her hand, gently stroking the back of it in a familiar way that makes every muscle in my body tense.
She looks like she’s trapped, but I’m sure that’s a spin I’m putting on things that isn’t there.
Besides, what am I supposed to do? Barge over and demand he take his hand off her? She’s just a client — at least as far as anyone else is concerned — and I agreed this would all be professional. That means keeping out of whatever personal matters she has going on, no matter how hard it is for me to turn the other way.
At least this way, no one’s paying attention to me. Callie still hasn’t noticed me and the guy she’s with doesn’t know to notice me, so I keep my head down and don’t draw any attention to myself on my way to the bar.
I pick a stool near enough, order my drink from Rue, and strain to hear the soft conversation from that table in the corner.
12
Callie
Of all the strange and uncomfortable things that have happened since I came back to Lupine Bay, this has to take the cake.
Luckily, I’ve got a drink to get me through it.
Double-lucky, Rue’s got some sort of sixth sense that told her I needed this to be an extra strong drink.
“You look good, Cal,” Trenton says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I slurp on the straw, dead-eying him.
“What are you doing here?” I don’t see the point in beating around the bush. He had to know I’d be asking when he decided to waltz into town.
He’s still smiling when he brings his glass to his lips. “I wanted to see you,” he says, his voice just the right amount of confident and vulnerable.
Calculated.
That’s the best way to describe Trenton. He’s very calculated, from his inoffensively fashionable clothes to his Ken-doll plastic smile, Trenton is a very nice analogue of what an ideal man should be, all while falling completely short.
I don’t respond, just staring at him over the rim of my glass. I don’t believe him, and I don’t need to say it for him to know it too.
“The lab’s not the same without your fiery spirit,” he says, laying it on even thicker.
It’s crazy to think that just over a month ago, I was engaged to this man. I was ready to start a life with this living mannequin.
And I knew it wasn’t all-consuming, soul-shaking love or anything like that. There’s only ever been one guy who lit that spark of crazy excitement and infatuation in me. Only one guy who ever called to my soul and put me in a whirlwind whenever I was around him.
Trenton is not that guy. Nowhere close. But we worked for the same department in the same university and he seemed like the best I’d get. I convinced myself I was willing to settle.
“My ‘fiery spirit’?” I ask, scoffing incredulously. “I think you called it ‘childish delusion’ last time.”
Trenton’s smile falls a little and he gives me a measured shake of his head.
“Come on, Callie, you know that’s not how I meant it.”
Another scoff from me.
“I know what you said. Maybe you should try saying what you mean in the future.”
“You have every right to be angry,” he says gently. Carefully. Too carefully. It’s pissing me off and I know it’s irrational, but why is he being so calm?
“I didn’t realize how serious you were about this trip,” he says, grossly downplaying how awful he was about the whole thing.
“You told me I’d make a laughingstock of myself,” I spit, knuckles going white on the glass that’s more than half-empty now.
“Have you found anything?” he asks, head tilting to one side innocently, a sparkle in his eye that makes me even angrier. He’s not really asking; he’s trying to rub it in my face.
I hate that it’s working. I haven’t come up completely empty-handed, not yet, but there’s nothing worth sharing. Definitely nothing concrete enough to shove in his face.
“Checking up on me?” I snarl.
“Of course not. I miss you,” he says, making me snort. It’s a far cry from the guy who was worried about me tarnishing his reputation along with my own. The guy who told me he’d always humored my stories but expected I’d grow up and forget about coming back to this ‘podunk town’ or finding anything significant here.
It was him laughing in my face that made me realize he was never going to be what I wanted him to be. I didn’t expect a lot from Trenton, I didn’t expect passion or great love, but I at least thought he’d be a supportive partner. His casual dismissal of something I took seriously was all the evidence I needed that he could never be that partner I wanted.
That’s when I told him I was done. I left for my sabbatical a week earlier than planned — without any resistance from my boss. That in and of itself was strange. The woman’s not normally very accommodating or understanding, but she seemed eager to get rid of me.
Maybe Trenton had already told her my plans and badmouthed me to her. Maybe she shared his fears of my search hurting the department’s reputation.
I don’t k
now for sure, but I do know I wasn’t all that sad to leave, and I’m not looking forward to going back. If this search turns into something maybe I won’t have to.
“Is it so hard to believe?” he asks, sounding hurt.
“That you miss me? Yeah. It’s not like we spent a lot of time together, and…” I kind of forgot all about you already.
It seems unnecessarily mean to add that. Awkward to admit, too. We’d been together for years, yet we still never lived together, never traveled together, we had an occasional date night, and plans on the appropriate holidays, but it’s all been so… soulless. Like we’re playing out a pretend version of a relationship instead of actually having one.
I didn’t miss him at all, so yeah, it’s definitely hard to believe he’d miss me.
Miles on the other hand… We’ve been apart only a couple of hours and I already miss him like crazy.
That’s what’s unbelievable. The way that I can swear I feel him nearby even though I’m sure he’s out on that creaky boat weathering the storm.
“There has been an interesting development at the Chetco site we could use your eyes on,” he says. “No one has your knack for spotting irregularities.”
Flattery might normally work for him, but not today. I wasn’t happy to hear that there was someone waiting for me when I walked into the bar, and I was even less happy to see it was Trenton. My extra rummy cocktail isn’t even making me this conversation less excruciating.
“I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” I mutter, slurping on my drink which is all but gone now. There’s a prickle on the back of my neck, like I’m being watched, and deep down there’s a part of me sure of who’s doing the watching.
How could I be so sure though? It’s just my head playing tricks on me. If I turn around, I’m not going to see Miles staring at me. I’m not.
So why am I hesitant to turn?
I can at least look to Rue for a refill, and if I happen to scan the bar and make sure Miles isn’t here, what’s the harm?
“Looking for something?” Trenton asks, defensive and aggressive all of a sudden.
“Just a refill,” I grumble, waving my drink in Rue’s direction again for good measure.
“Yeah, or maybe there’s something else you want to be in this town for,” he challenges.
I don’t know what he’s implying, but I’m through listening to it. I roll my eyes, slurp the straw one last time, and start to stand.
“I’m not through with you,” Trenton says, reaching for my arm.
“Too bad,” I mutter, pulling, but his grip tightens. I’m suddenly all too aware of how strong he is. It feels like he could snap my arm in his hand like a twig before anyone could even stop him. That brief flash of panic is all I have time for before there’s a shadow falling over the table.
“Get your hand off her,” Miles growls, appearing at my side just when I need him.
Guess those prickles weren’t all in my head.
He’s glaring at Trenton with a barely contained rage I didn’t even know was possible from a sweet affable guy like Miles. Under any normal circumstances, I’d jump to my own defense, tell him off and say I don’t need anyone fighting my battles for me. But this isn’t normal circumstances. I was just terrified, and now with him here, I feel… safe.
Not to mention completely tongue-tied because I’ve never seen Miles so dark and serious and sexy. He’s radiating this fierce energy that I feel into my core and it’s making me want to rip his clothes off. It’s really fucking distracting right now.
Trenton releases my arm, but his eyes narrow at the two of us, sensing something’s up.
“Oh, so this is why you don’t want to come home with me. Too busy getting your groove back with the locals,” he sneers. “Don’t know why I thought better of you considering your upbringing.”
Miles stiffens and I jump in front of him before he can lunge for Trenton, grabbing his arms before he can swing.
“He’s not worth it,” I say, heart beating wildly in my throat. The adrenaline of a near-brawl is one thing but being this close to Miles is another entirely. He smells like the sea, deep and welcoming. I push him back putting space between him and Trenton, but more importantly between the two of us.
Miles doesn’t resist, stumbling back a step, looking a little dumbfounded.
“Who the hell is this guy, Callie? Why are you taking his side?” Trenton asks.
“Yeah, who the hell is this guy?” Miles echoes.
My head’s reeling and I don’t know what the hell just happened. As pissed as I am at Trenton over everything, jumping to ‘protect’ Miles like that isn’t nothing. I don’t know what it means, but it’s something.
“Who the hell am I, guy? I’m her fucking fiancé, so maybe step off,” Trenton challenges, making a move toward Miles, me still between the two.
“I regret to inform you that your welcome at The Shamrock has worn out,” Rue says, snatching Trenton’s sleeve in her grip. He starts to resist, but she gives him another stern word and his resistance fails. He lets her lead him out and Rue wipes her hands of him once the door’s closed.
“Hope you don’t mind I took out the trash?” she asks with a little smile.
I swallow, purposefully not looking at Miles, and fake a little grin of my own. “Not at all. Appreciate the help,” I add, bracing myself.
Miles is going to have a lot of questions about all that. Questions I’m not sure I want to answer. But after him nearly getting in a fight over me — what was that about anyway? — I think he deserves to know.
Shit.
Why can’t anything ever be easy for a change?
13
Miles
I didn’t know-
No, that’s no good. Delete that.
You should have told me—
Ugh. That’s even worse. Delete that too.
I stare at the phone, at the blank little text box that’s thwarting me at every turn.
I know I should say something, but I don’t know what. Or maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe leaving her alone is the best course of action.
Last night when I left the bar, there were too many thoughts swirling in my head for me to focus on any one of them. I’d gone in with the intent to tell Callie about Henri and the stone, but then everything happened with that guy — her fiancé, if he’s to be believed — and it all went out the window. There was no point in trying to talk to her then. I could tell she was on the defense about the whole interaction and bringing up ghosts was just going to make her think I didn’t take any of this seriously.
Which is why I feel like I should text her now. She was mortified and clearly scrambling for an explanation, and I left, sparing her the trouble. Angry wasn’t so much the word as confused, but I knew better than to ask what I wanted to just then.
Now, we’ve both had time to sleep on everything. She still hasn’t said anything. I don’t know if she’s planning on coming over for scuba lessons, but they’re not scheduled until later in the afternoon.
I didn’t mean to—
Delete that. I did. I meant every bit of it. I don’t care if that guy is Callie’s fiancé — well, I definitely care — I’m not going to let anyone put their hands on her like that.
Besides, I’ve never seen her wear a ring.
Shit.
I need to stop staring at the phone, not texting her. There are errands I could do. Shopping that needs to get done. I could restock on beer. The boat always has work that needs to be done. Chores I’ve been letting slide while I’ve been focused on Callie and her job.
As much as I know I should get to work, I sit in the same spot, staring at the clock, at my phone, at a half-written text that’s destined to be deleted. I need to move. I need to put the phone down and stop obsessing.
More than that, I need to make sure things are all right with her.
Well, not all right, because I know there’s still a lot of animosity she feels for me, but the thought that I screwed up worse
by stepping in between her and her boyfriend doesn’t sit well with me.
Her being with that jackass is even worse.
As much as I’ve always dreamed about having a chance with Callie, reconciling and seeing if my puppy-love crush could be anything real, I never expected that she felt anything of the sort. While I’ve been mostly single, only occasionally dipping my toe in the dating pool just to confirm there’s nothing there for me that could compare, I figured Callie was out there with other guys.
I tried not to think about it, but I figured it was happening.
But to actually see the milquetoast cardboard cut-out she settled on really drives it home in new and upsetting ways. What does she even see in a guy like that?
I look at the phone again, expecting her to cancel any minute now. The closer the time for our lesson gets, the surer I am that she’s not going to show.
Then, right on time, she’s here.
And I’m completely unprepared to see her in the flesh again.
Last night things got heated — not just between me and her fiancé, but between me and her. When Callie stepped in to stop me, she got close to do it. Too close. And she paused. The air between us got thicker, and something deep down inside of me strained to get closer to her. That feeling never really goes away, but it was so much stronger with her body practically pressed up against mine, and I felt the way her breathing shifted, how she reacted to it too.
She’s got a fiancé, though.
“Wasn’t sure you’d show up,” I say, hoping to break the ice, boat rocking under us, the bay extra choppy today.
Callie purses her lips. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Sounded like you might be leaving.”
She scoffs, tossing her head, brassy hair catching the light before she drags it into a topknot.
“Not before I know I’m not going to find anything out here.”