I look up at Mom, who’s dicing a mango at lightning speed, completely oblivious to the warring emotions taking place inside me.
I take a breath and reply.
Hey . . . sorry I haven’t messaged you, things have been busy. She’s good, thanks for asking. She feels well enough to be at the food truck tomorrow.
She leans over the counter to hand me a spoonful of mango salad to try. Again my phone dings.
CALLUM: I’m relieved to hear that. But what about you?
I clear my throat, my face heating even though he can’t see me. We’re miles apart right now, and he can still tell I’m deflecting.
ME: I’m fine.
CALLUM: Liar.
I don’t want to fight via text, so I set my phone down on the counter and help Mom with the fruit salad. Another few minutes pass before my phone buzzes with two new text alerts.
CALLUM: Sorry. I just miss you.
The next message is a photo of Lemon sitting on his couch, looking up at the camera.
CALLUM: Lemon misses you too. She wants to know if you’d like to come over and cuddle her, because she’s sick of the big guys with the strange accents.
My heart melts on the spot.
ME: I would love that.
CALLUM: Then come over. Please. Promise I won’t bring up anything upsetting . . . I just want to be close to you, hold you . . . anything to make you feel better.
With those words, I’m convinced. Callum somehow knows exactly what I need even when I refuse to say it.
ME: On my way
* * *
• • •
When Callum opens the door to his condo, all I can focus on is his face. It’s marred with worried wrinkles.
“Hi,” I say softly, unsure if I should apologize before stepping foot in his home. The last time we were face-to-face this close, we were arguing at the hospital. I owe him a sorry for how I lashed out, for sure.
“Come on in,” he says.
I follow him inside to the kitchen counter, where two bottles of sparkling white wine sit. I’m about to ask what’s the occasion, but he turns to me, gently grabbing my hand in his.
“I’m so sorry for what I said at the hospital. I was out of line. You were stressed out, and I should have just supported you instead of arguing with you.”
My chest clenches. “It’s okay. I’m sorry too. And also . . .”
His eyebrows knit as he gazes at me, his eyes full of kindness and worry.
“You were right,” I finally blurt. “About me needing to ease up on my mom. I have been, and she’s been more open with me. Things are so much better between us.”
The warmest smile pulls at his beautiful peach lips. “That makes me so happy to hear, Nikki.” A long moment passes, and his mouth turns down. “About the other things we said . . . at the hospital . . .”
The memory of me hurtfully reducing him to a fuck buddy and nothing more is front and center in my mind. I’m practically on fire with how embarrassed I am for calling him that. But I don’t want to rehash that now, not when it’s been nearly a week since that night at the hospital, and our biggest competition—against each other—is just days away. I want this time with him to be as untainted with the complications of reality as possible.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.
“Not really.”
He nods his understanding. “How are you feeling? Really feeling?”
Instead of answering, I let go of his hand and wrap my arms around his torso. I burrow my face into his chest as he slips his arms around me. The warmth is intoxicating, more powerful than any alcohol or drug. If only I could stay locked in Callum’s embrace forever. Life would be so much easier.
“I just . . . I feel so much better when I’m with you,” I whisper into his skin.
He presses his nose into my hair and takes a deep breath. “Same.”
I lean back so I can look up at his face. “I know . . . I know we have so much to talk about . . .”
I stop short before I can speak and ruin everything. So much is hanging heavy in the air between us. Our relationship in its current state is an awkward limbo between bedfellows and something more. It’s bound to change with the festival this weekend and when one of us has to