Callan nodded.
"And that's the story," I said, my shoulders sagging, as if I’d just gotten to the end of a long journey and could finally relax. "Your turn."
He looked at me for a long moment, and then got to his feet slowly. He moved to where I sat, standing in front of me and then dropping down to his knees so our eyes were level. He took both my hands in his, and our gazes met and tangled up together, caught in the warm intimacy between us. "My story doesn't mean anything," he said. "Not like that. I'm just grumpy and mad about the way my life has changed."
"About soccer?" I asked, feeling like his story was important, that maybe hearing it would help me understand him better, might even help him in the telling.
"About everything." He rubbed his thumbs over the tops of my hands, our eyes locked. And then he chuckled and dropped his eyes, staring at our locked hands. "But I'm tired of being grumpy and mad."
I watched him, noticed the way the dark hair fell across his forehead, the smooth skin that pulled across prominent cheekbones and disappeared in a scruff at his jaw. Something skittered and jumped inside me when I thought about the billboard I’d seen over the freeway a couple years ago—he'd been an icon then, and now here he was in front of me. A man. A man with rich deep eyes and a voice that had dropped to console me, wrapping me in reassurance that my childhood hurt was legitimate, that maybe I wasn't as alone as I always felt.
He looked back up at me then, and moved slowly toward me, as if he was afraid I might change my mind or run away. But I leaned in to meet him, and I pulled my hands from his so that I could slide them around his neck as his lips brushed mine once again. Together, we rose, standing slowly with our breaths mingled and mouths pressed together, until our bodies touched all along the lengths of us, until the warmth I felt in his kiss sparked and ran like fire down my spine.
And then Callan's hands were at my hips, setting me away from him. "I should go."
Disappointment hardened into a little rock inside me. "Oh, well …" It had been a long night, but I found myself wanting to prolong it, to keep this version of Callan Whitewood here, with me.
"I'll see you tomorrow, okay? We can firm up the details for the show. I promise to be cooperative, even without the benefit of the Half Cat." He smiled and my body warmed again, even as he moved toward the door.
"Yeah. Okay."
"Goodnight, April. I had a really nice time with you." His dark eyes glittered in the low light of my room, and a shiver moved through me.
I smiled uncertainly at him. "Me too." And then I was alone in my room, wondering what exactly had just happened.
12
Chinchillas. In Hats.
Callan
There was a time, when I’d been a “soccer star,” that restraint with women was not an expectation. I’d been young—practically famous in my own small world right after college—and girls threw themselves at me on the regular. But with time, age, and experience, and thanks to having had my own heart broken, I found I was less likely to dive into any relationship—even one that was purely physical—without giving it some thought.
And so when I left April's hotel room, my better judgment congratulating me heartily while my balls griped and moaned about my piss-poor decision making, I knew it had been the right thing.
For one thing, April wasn't a soccer groupie. She hadn't come to me based on my looks or my position or my money. She had come looking for something from me, as I’d pointed out in my furious rant to Cormac that day after I’d run her off. But now that I’d had time to think about that, I realized it wasn't the same thing. She'd arrived in Singletree to do a job, had been told my house was under contract with her show, and had been promptly dismissed by a selfish and grumpy guy with a limp. I couldn't blame her for being less than accepting of it, and I was frankly glad she hadn't been.
Because the time I’d spent with April Hall had made me feel things I hadn't felt since those early days with the Sharks. Then, it had been the excitement of a promising career, the enticement of money and women, and the general feeling that I deserved a bright and bountiful future. Whether I had deserved it or not was debatable, I knew now. But that future had evaporated five years later thanks to the injury that had ended my career, and taken with it my belief that I had a shiny bright future ahead of me. But now? In these last few days spent with my nieces, my brother, and April, I felt some glimmer of that expectation rising in me again.
I’d had to give up everything I thought I wanted, and in the vacuum created by acceptance, something else had crept in. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on, could only perceive in glimpses, but something that felt similar to that promise of the future.
Whatever it was, I knew April had something to do with it, and now that I’d agreed to have my home featured on her show, I wanted it to be exactly right.
"Yep, that's perfect," I said, agreeing with the home decorator I’d hired in a rush (and at significant expense) to bring in enough furniture to fill my big house and make sure it all actually went together, something I could never have done on my own. Finding someone willing to come immediately and able to access existing stock in a variety of warehouses and showrooms throughout the mid-Atlantic in the short time frame I specified had not been easy. It had taken hours on the phone and it had been pricey. She'd brought a lot of pieces with her that very afternoon, but much more would be coming over the next week as she was able to get it delivered or go pick it up around the region.
On the heels of furniture being staged, a second decorator was hurrying around with a small team of high school girls who clearly worked for her, directing the hanging of mistletoe and erecting of second, third, and fourth Christmas trees around the house.
As the crews moved through his space, eventually I settled myself on the back porch with a beer, my ankle aching fiercely and my body reminding me that even staying on my feet for four hours was more exercise than I was used to at this point. I put my foot up and leaned back into the wicker chair, letting the chilly air wrap around me as I gazed down at the river flowing by below. After a bit, I picked up my phone and pulled up the number April had given me the night before. I took a deep breath and sent a text.
Callan: How is the filming going?
April: Good, I think. Very … Christmassy.
Callan: I'm sorry. And the chinchillas?
April: One is wearing a hat. The others r not cooperating as well. One ate most of the gingerbread village overnight.
Callan: Oh no!
April: It's like an apocalyptic village now. More my style.
Callan: Would you be up for dinner later? Here?
I gazed over my shoulder, wondering if the decorating madness would be done by dinner. Cormac had opted to keep the girls in daycare today, based on my description of the excitement involved with decorating, so I was on his own.
April: That would be great.
Callan: What time?
April: Seven?
Callan: Perfect. See you then.
I set the phone down on the low table at my side and let my mind wander as I watched the peaceful water drift along. Something warm was blooming inside me, and I forced myself to just let it happen. I wasn't going to overthink it.
What I did end up overthinking, however, was dinner. I knew April was fine with eating things in buckets, and that she wasn't a fan of Old Bay seasoning. Beyond that, I wasn't sure what she liked, so I decided that an assortment of options might work best. And while I was a decent cook, my skills were limited to grilling steaks, microwaving vegetables and making eggs and pancakes. Breakfast for dinner was a totally viable option, in my opinion, but I thought maybe you had to be further along in a relationship before you could play fast and loose with the definition of "dinner." April was not coming over expecting waffles. So I needed other options.
The decorating vans were just pulling out as the deliveries for dinner began arriving. Singletree might have been small, but it did have its fair share of restaurants once y
ou ventured beyond the tiny town square. I had discovered a whole street full of restaurants just beyond the Target on the other side of the peninsula, and most were willing to deliver—for a price, of course.
A low-country boil was first—shrimp and sausage, corn and potatoes. I’d asked them to hold the Old Bay, which had earned me a snort, but as I opened the containers, I found they'd followed my directions. Next, I opened some Thai food—most people liked Pad Thai, I figured. When April pulled up the lane just after seven, I had a veritable smorgasbord laid out on my new dining room table, and the steaks were resting in the kitchen.
I buzzed open the gate and stood in the open door, the nearly frigid air rushing around me on the porch as she pulled up and stepped from the car.
"Hey!" she called up, bundled in a big coat that fell to her knees. She wore boots and gloves, and her cheeks were glowing pink in the lights shining off my very-decorated house. "Wow, look at this place. You've really outdone yourself!"
"I think the decorator I hired outdid myself," I corrected, waving her through the door. "It's gotten cold all of a sudden," I said, and then cringed at the way I’d defaulted to talking about the weather like a ninety-year old man.
I wasn't sure exactly how to greet April. I’d always been polished and suave, but now I felt muddled. I wanted to take her in my arms. Actually, I wanted to pick her up and carry her upstairs and keep here there for days. But that was certainly not the polite thing to do. Instead, I went in for a hug, just as April began removing her coat, so I ended up grabbing her arms instead of her body, and it was almost like I was trying to stop her from taking off her coat. I went in to kiss her cheek at the same time, almost as a second thought, and as she reacted to the arm grab, she ducked her head, and we ended up banging foreheads and then each stepping back in surprise.
"Oh. Um. Sorry," I said, crossing my arms over my chest in embarrassment.
"No, that was me. I'm eternally uncoordinated." The pink that had risen in her cheeks in the cold was turning a deeper red. "Nice to see you," she said, finally managing to take off her coat and handing it to me. I hung it in the hall closet as April gazed around, her eyes wide.
"Wow, you've really made a lot of progress here. Did your big moving truck just arrive?"
I cocked my head at her, so focused on her face I wasn’t understanding her words. It took a minute. "Oh, the furniture, you mean. No, I never had a lot to begin with. Most of what I had in San Diego I just left. This is all new. It was easier than trying to divide things after …" I trailed off, not wanting to taint this evening with memories of my ex. "I hired someone to find things and decorate so the place won't be totally empty when you come to film. I needed a lot. It's not done."
"It looks great, though," April said, wandering into the living room where an area rug had been laid over much of the hardwood, covered with a plush leather sofa, two chairs, a low coffee table and a bookcase in the corner. Stockings hung from the mantle over the fire, and an array of angels stood on the mantel around a photo of me and Cormac next to a woman and two tiny girls. "That's the girls' mother?"
"Yeah, Linda," I said.
"Can I ask how she died?"
"Aneurysm," I said. "It happened really fast."
"Poor Cormac," April said, her voice sad and small.
"I know. It was really hard. He's doing okay, though." We exchanged a glance, and I felt a little tug in my chest at the shine in April's eyes, the sad set of her mouth as she thought about my brother's situation. "You hungry?" I asked, hoping to make her smile again.
"Starving," she said as she turned to follow me. I led her to the dining room, and then excused myself to get the steak. When I returned, she stood exactly where I’d left her, staring around with her mouth slightly open. "Did you invite some other people too?"
I set the steaks down. "Um. No, just you."
"But, I mean … well, this is a lot."
"I wasn't sure what you liked." I felt sheepish suddenly. Had I made an error here? Was she overwhelmed? Did she think it was some kind of ridiculous show of wealth, maybe? "I just wanted to make sure …" I trailed off.
April's open mouth stretched wide into a grin. "This is all for me?" She fastened me with a questioning gaze, the broad smile growing even wider. "Seriously?"
I nodded, still off balance.
"Oh my god, this is amazing!" She picked up a plate, and began taking bits from every dish on the table. "How did you know I love a buffet?"
Relief and pride surged through me. "You do?"
She shot the grin at me again and my blood warmed. God, she was pretty. "Yeah. I'm horrible with menus. I can never decide, or I end up ordering things I don't mean to—like the other night at the Shack." She gave me an earnest look and lowered her voice. "It's a real problem."
"Well, I'm glad I guessed right then."
"This is amazing."
We took our food back into the living room by the fire, which glowed with gas flames that danced blue and orange. There was a small Christmas tree in the corner—nothing compared to the monstrous Christopher, who stood in the parlor—but a lovely little tree, glittering with lights and spreading pine scent through the space.
We ate in silence for a few minutes, and I poured a bottle of red wine and then set it on the table between us.
"Thank you," April said, after a few bites.
"You're welcome." I was battling a feeling welling up inside me—a kind of comfortable acceptance, a familiarity. It was too soon to feel that way, I knew, but there it was.
She tilted her head to one side. "Well, good, but I didn't even tell you what I was thanking you for." A light laugh accompanied this, and my stomach tightened a bit. Everything she did appealed to me—it had to be chemical.
“Sorry, my bad," I said. "Proceed."
"I want to thank you for a couple things," she said, setting down her plate and picking up her wine glass. "One, for giving me a chance and agreeing to do the show. It really means a lot to me. I know it's silly. It's just some decorations … but you really went all out, and it will probably save my job. So thank you."
I felt a rush of stupid happiness, just seeing her happy. I raised my glass and inclined my head.
"And also, for being so welcoming. It's nice to feel like I have a friend here. I don't really acknowledge the holidays, like I told you, but it's kind of a lonely time of year, you know? So it's nice to have some company—someone to hang out with."
"I get it," I said. I thought about my own Christmas the previous year. My parents were gone, and Cormac had just lost Linda and didn't want company. I had stayed in the small apartment I’d rented for myself when everything had blown up with my relationship, and I’d spent Christmas Eve and day—and all the way through New Year's, if you wanted the truth—in a whiskey-fueled haze, feeling sorry for myself and trying to forget the world even existed. "It's nice having you here."
She nodded, and our eyes locked for a long minute, sparks flinging through the space between us and the tightening in my stomach turning to a full-blown storm of anticipation.
We ate slowly, talking and laughing as we exchanged stories about living in California, places we’d each been before coming here. We cleared the plates after dinner, put away the plentiful leftovers and then sat by the fire again, this time together on the couch.
"So filming happens … when?" I asked.
"Your house?" April asked, and I nodded. "Yours will be last. We did one today, and we'll do two more this week. And then that film has to go back for review and we'll start again on the 13th. Your house is scheduled for the 16th."
"Okay," I said, glad to hear April would be in town for a couple of weeks. "And then what will you do? For the actual holidays, I mean?"
"Well, there's a lot of post-production editing to do back at the studio, and I'll need to talk to the hosts to give them some insights about each home. So I'll probably be in Los Angeles."
Disappointment washed through me. I hated the thought of her leaving. "
You don't work on Christmas though, right?"
"The show airs Christmas Eve, but I'll be done just before that," she said. "I guess I'll hang out with my mom for Christmas."
I nodded, feeling a wild urge to ask her to come back here, to spend Christmas with me—or just not to leave at all. But I kept my lips sealed shut. Our lives were on opposite coasts, and whatever the warm encouragement I felt in the space between us might be, it wasn't likely to be the kind of thing that warranted cross-country flights and late-night long distance phone calls and texts. It was just what it was right now, and that would be enough.
Or that's what I kept telling myself. Because the only thing I was sure of was that there was something between us.
April put her glass down and stared into the fire for a long moment, her eyes hazy and half-lidded as she pulled her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them.
"Long day?" I suggested, knowing that she would excuse herself at any moment, and wishing I could make her stay.
She glanced at me with a warm smile. "It was, but it's not that. I was just thinking how nice it is here, now that you've got actual furniture and everything. You've got a really nice home for yourself. And with your family close by …” she trailed off, wistful maybe.
"Yeah, I guess so," I said, looking around. The house didn't feel like mine exactly, though I knew it was. It felt a little bit like I’d moved into someone else's home—I hadn't had time yet to settle into this new furniture, to get used to the art on the walls, to connect to any of it. "It might as well be a hotel right now," I said.
A little smile flickered across April's lips, and I raised an eyebrow at the wicked light in her eyes as my insides jumped and tightened.
Seeing the question in my gaze, she laughed, and then in a low sultry voice, she said, "I was just thinking we'd been spending a lot of time together in hotels, then."
Shaking the Sleigh: Seasons in Singletree Page 12