“Do not put your hands on a woman like that. Ever.”
It’s a whispered threat, but it’s more lethal than a shout. Callum practically tosses him to the two bartenders, who deposit him on the sidewalk. A few tables break into applause and whistles. Callum doesn’t even crack a smile though. He simply walks back over to me and touches his hand to my elbow.
“Are you okay?”
I nod, every nerve within me short-circuiting. “Fine. Thank you.”
“Bloody creep,” he mutters, looking in the direction of the door.
The bartender hands me back my cash, saying our drinks are on the house. Callum nods at him, then turns back to me. His hazel eyes study me with concern.
“We don’t have to stay,” Callum says. “We can leave if that makes you feel more comfortable.”
Comfortable.
The word settles deep into my chest. It’s clear as day to me now: comfort is Callum next to me. I can be anywhere in any situation, and as long as he is next to me, I’ll be okay.
“I’m not above accepting a free drink.” I look up at him. “I want to stay.”
He chuckles, then carries our beers back to our booth. We pick up right where we left off, our conversation flowing easily. But inside me something’s different. Is a casual arrangement supposed to feel this intimate, this quickly? Because right now casual feels a lot more personal. And I think I like it.
Chapter 11
Almost two weeks back home in Maui and our no-strings-attached arrangement is still intact. To my surprise, we haven’t crashed and burned. Days are spent like they were before the trip to London that changed everything. We cook and serve food parked next to each other, never exchanging a word during work hours. It’s a huge disappointment to the food bloggers and social media fans who visit our trucks daily to enjoy a meal, phone in hand, ready to catch our next squabble and upload it. But there’s nothing salacious to capture.
Our evenings, however? Our evenings are very, very salacious. We take turns sneaking to each other’s places. Things are tricky since we both live with other people, but we’ve worked out a system. When Mom’s at mahjong or book club, Callum comes to mine. When Finn is out, I go to his. The minute we shut the door, clothes are off, and we’re a tangle of limbs and skin and hot breath until we realize what time it is.
The anticipation of seeing Callum outside of our food truck battlefield is what powers me through most days. It’s why I’m standing at the front door of his condo in Wailea this evening, shuffling my feet, stomach in a million happy knots as I wait for him to answer. I knock for the second time, cardboard cat carrier clutched in my other hand.
He answers, his smile wide when he sees me. Then his gaze drops to the carrier, and he full-on beams.
“Lemon!” he practically squeals.
We walk inside, he shuts the door, and I let her out of the carrier. At first her eyes dart around the space, conveying the typical hesitation all cats have when you bring them to a new place. But then Callum scoops her up and scratches under her chin. She’s purring instantly.
“Thought it was time she visit her co-owner’s home,” I say.
Callum mock frowns at me. “It’s impossible to own a cat. They own us.”
He sets her down on the floor, then points to the nearby dining table where four bottles of pink champagne rest.
“Wow. Do you woo all the ladies like this?” I joke.
He rolls his eyes. “Finn helped a chef friend cook at a private party in Kaanapali the other night and they went home with all of the leftover alcohol. He’s gone on an overnight hike, so he asked me to get rid of a couple bottles.”
“The perks of private dining. Damn, I miss those days.”
“Well, I’m chuffed to bring you a taste of the past.”
One corner of his mouth quirks up, showcasing the hottest slanted smile I’ve ever seen. I lean against the nearby kitchen island to keep myself steady as I quietly swoon.
“Wondered if you were in the mood for a champagne-drinking contest?”
I chuckle. “Why, exactly?”
He raises a brow at me; my grip on the counter tightens. “Why not?”
He swipes a bottle from the table and pops off the top. The cork shoots across the room, the boom sound spooking Lemon. Even with her pregnant bulging tummy, she scurries down the hallway at lightning-fast speed.