me. He said he didn’t want to continue any bad habits like that when he had a child counting on him.”
I pause and sip again, my chest tight with the memory surfacing just now—one of my favorite memories of my dad.
“At my culinary school graduation, he made this sign and held it as I walked across the stage. It said, ‘Congrats, Chef Nikki-Nack! You did it!’”
I look up to see that Callum’s smile has softened. More wistful than amused. “Nikki-Nack.”
“His nickname for me.”
“That’s adorable.”
The tightness in my throat, the burn in my eyes, it all dissipates at how intently he listens to me.
“It really was,” I say softly.
I open my mouth to speak again, but the only thing that comes out is a soft squeak. I press my mouth shut, shaking my head. It’s the best I can do since I can’t say sorry. Everything is a reminder that he’s not here and he never will be.
Callum squeezes my hand once more. “Hey. It’s all right. You don’t have to say anything. Just take your time.”
I look up to see his face twisted in concern. I nod, grateful that he seems to understand exactly how I feel, exactly what I need in this moment.
It’s another quiet minute with just the pub chatter filling the silence between us before I say anything. “I talk to him sometimes still.”
Biting my lip, I fixate on the wood grain of the tabletop, wondering if I’ve crossed the line to full-on weirdo now that I’ve admitted that out loud.
But he answers without missing a beat. “I used to do that with my gran after she passed.”
“Really?”
He nods, the expression on his face warm. It makes any semblance of doubt about myself fly right out the window.
“I was living in Chicago when she died, so I didn’t get to say good-bye to her. Whenever I was home and visited her grave in the beginning, I would have a chat with her. Tell her about my day, what was on my mind, how much I missed her.”
Hearing him share his own memories with his grandmother makes me want to pull him into the tightest hug. It shows he’s not judging me; it shows he can relate to what I’ve been through.
“There’s an urn with his ashes at the condo I share with my mom,” I say. “Whenever I’m stressed or sad, I say a few words to him.”
His mouth curves up in a gentle, understanding smile.
“Mom and I spread most of his ashes at Baldwin Beach—his favorite beach. Every time I’m there, I stand at the far end of the beach, away from all the crowds, and say hi. That’s actually what I was doing the morning I found Lemon.”
“That’s wonderful, Nikki.”
We share another quiet moment, and it’s not the slightest bit awkward. The silence between us marks a whole new level of intimacy. I haven’t been able to talk about my dad with anyone other than my mom.
I meet his eyes once more.
“You can talk about him with me whenever you want, you know,” he says.
“You sure?”
He nods. “We’re friends. We should be able to talk about these sorts of things.”
“Friends with benefits.”
He raises an eyebrow. “The friend part is still key, Nikki. It’s what helps make this whole arrangement work.”
I let his words soak in. It would be a nice change of pace to have a friend in all of this too.
“I’d like that.”
He smiles softly. “Grief is complicated. Take all the time you need. I’m here for you. Always.”
“Thank you.”
I sip from the untouched water glass on the table, lacing my fingers in his. Maybe this entire setup between us—rivals turned bedmates turned emotional confidants—is naive and foolish and totally unconventional. But it feels right. I’m at ease in a way I never have been ever since losing my dad. And that has to count for something.
Callum glances at the bar. “Shall we play a bit more of the Question Game, then?”
I let out a small laugh. “Sure.”
He turns back to me. “Who would win in a fight: you or Matteo?”
“I’m insulted you even have to ask. Me. I’d tug on his man bun, exposing his throat for my attack. It would be game over.”
“I like your style.”
“My turn: how often do you swim naked at Little Beach?”
Thankfully, he doesn’t balk at the question. Now that we’re sleeping together, I figure it’s okay for me to broach the subject.
He rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “About once a week. Why? Are you interested in joining me?”