My throat squeezes with longing, with a hope I don’t often let myself entertain. Even so, I allow my mind to drift to distant thoughts, and something in my chest aches.
What I wouldn’t give to have a polite conversation with Callum. A friendly conversation.
You’d need friends to have one of those, Nikki.
I swallow against the squeeze in my throat. Deep down I know it’s true, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. I’m a friendless twenty-nine-year-old who was so panicked when I moved out to Maui that I didn’t think to prioritize friendships. Relationships are a luxury you can’t afford when you’re fighting to support yourself and your mom after your dad’s terminal illness threw everything into limbo.
But still.
The thought tumbles through my head. It would be pretty damn nice to have a friend right about now.
If Finn is right, if his brother somehow doesn’t hate me, if he for some reason wanted to be friends, I’d say yes in a second.
I rejoin the slow-walking crowd, stopping at a baked goods booth. A young woman in cutoffs and a holey T-shirt offers me a sample of banana bread, and I accept with a soft “thank you.”
When I look up, I freeze. Callum and Finn stand just ahead of me, but turned away. At their angle, they can’t see my face, but I can see their faces.
“You’re doing a bang-up job, Finn,” Callum says, gently elbowing his arm.
Finn looks down at his banana bread sample, his face bright. “You think so?”
“Yeah. You turned things around, and now look how well your business is doing.”
“You helped me a lot, Cal.”
“You’re the one who’s thinking up the recipes. You’re the one the customers love chatting with. Food and customer service are what’s winning it, and that’s all you. I’m proud of you.”
When Finn looks up at him, the brightness in his eyes melts. “If only Mum and Dad could be, too, right?”
“Don’t say that.” Callum’s tone takes a hard, serious turn. “They’re proud; they just don’t know how to show it. They don’t know how to do anything that’s not in the confines of a soul-sucking corporate office.”
Finn chuckles, his face light again. “Right. Thanks, mate.”
“Always.” The look in Callum’s eye says it all. Proud older brother.
Witnessing this moment of brotherly love makes me think that there really is something to what Finn told me minutes ago. Callum is capable of being soft—I’ve seen it with my own eyes. And if that’s the case, maybe Finn’s right. Maybe Callum is soft enough not to hate me.
Callum says something about leaving to change the oil in their car. Finn nods and says he’s meeting a friend soon. He shoves the banana bread in his mouth, pats Callum on the back, and rejoins the bustling crowd.
Callum turns, and that familiar hazel-eyed stare captures me from just a few feet away.
He is shocked to see me. I can tell by the lift of his brow, how his hand drops to his side instead of grabbing the banana bread sample like he initially meant to.
He doesn’t move. He simply stands facing me, an unfamiliar brand of surprise written all over his face.
I can work with surprise.
I lift my hand up in a small wave. He does nothing. I let one corner of my mouth lift in a shy, uncertain smile. Still nothing.
My stomach drops to my feet, but I wait. Our history may only consist of heated arguments, one nude beach incident, and an awkward run-in at an animal clinic, but he does not hate me. Finn said so. If that’s the case, all I have to do is give this a few extra seconds.
Just then his brow makes the familiar journey downward. His eyebrows pinch together, he presses his lips tight, and it results in the harshest scowl I’ve seen him make to date. There’s no room for friendliness here, not when I’m miles deep in hostile territory.
I bite my lip in an attempt to erase my grin and force my arm back down to my side. It’s too late though. I’ve already shown my hand. I’m someone aching for any semblance of kindness, friendliness. He knows that now. And he doesn’t give a shit.
With his giant paw, he swipes a sample of banana bread from the table and heads right toward me. A whoosh of air hits my skin as he passes by, angry scowl still plastered on his face. No eye contact, no “excuse me.”