move from our spot in Makena . . . and then whenever Callum moves back to Chicago. But I don’t want to think about any of that. All I want to do is have this evening together and exist in this perfect bubble we’ve created. Reality can wait a little bit longer.
“I just . . . I can’t . . .” My voice wobbles and my eyes water.
Callum presses his lips against mine, quieting me instantly. After a long beat, he pulls away. “It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about any of that. I told you I wanted to help you feel better.”
He glances to the bottles on the counter. “How about a sparkling wine drinking contest and a few episodes of The Office to take your mind off things?”
My smile is one of joy and relief. He knows me so well. I blink away the tears and nod. “That sounds perfect.”
We each grab a bottle, pop the corks off, then settle on the couch. Lemon crawls out from under the coffee table and hops on my lap.
“Hey, my girl.” I pat her pregnant tummy as Callum powers on the TV. “How has she been this past week with you and Finn? She looks like she’s ready to pop.”
“She’s made herself right at home. She’s even started sleeping in Finn’s bed with him.”
“Good thing Finn doesn’t hate cats.”
“He’s got a soft spot for them, just like me.”
I down a sip of the wine. “How did you explain the arrangement with the cat? You know, since we’re still keeping you and me under wraps.”
Callum stares at the TV screen, jaw tight. “I told him I’m fostering cats from the vet’s office periodically.” He clears his throat. “He seems to buy it.”
“I’m so glad,” I say quietly.
Episodes queued up, we settle into our go-to position on the couch: Callum in the corner, me cuddled under his arm, Lemon tucked between us. We make it two episodes before both of our bottles are nearly empty. I sneak a glance at Callum, and my heart thuds.
Perfection.
It’s the one word I’ve been searching for all day—these past few days actually. Every day I’ve been without Callum, it’s felt like something is missing. But now that we’re together, it’s clear. He’s my lost piece. When I’m with him, everything’s right. Everything’s perfect.
Picking up Lemon with my free hand, I deposit her on the other end of the couch. Then I swipe Callum’s bottle from him and set both of the bottles on the coffee table.
“What are you . . .” He loses the rest of his words when I quietly straddle his lap.
A dizzy spell from the wine hits me, but I steady myself with both of my hands on his shoulders. His eyes lock with mine, and before he can say anything else, my mouth is on his.
It’s another breathless, desperate kiss, just like all our other ones. But for me, at least, it feels different. For me it’s a silent acknowledgment that after tonight things may change. After tonight, it’s only two days until the festival. After that he’s headed back to Chicago. For sure there will be disappointment and stress, maybe hurt feelings, maybe even anger.
But tonight there’s no trace of any of those. Tonight, as Callum and I pull at each other with eager hands, yanking our clothes from our bodies, it is perfection.
Perfect is the way his hands grip my hips, steadying me as I grind myself on his lap, only the thin fabric of our underwear separating us. Perfect is his tongue teasing my tongue, refusing to stop, spurred on by how many times I moan and cry out. Perfect is my hands lost in his hair, his throaty groans every time I tug. Perfect is that stripped-down look in his flawless hazel eyes every time our gazes connect, letting me know that this means something to him too.
Soon we’ve shed all fabric. Inside I’m burning, aching, begging for release. So I reach between his legs to guide him inside of me.
“Wait,” he blurts, then reaches to the other end of the couch where his rumpled trousers lie.
He glances at the empty spot on the couch where Lemon was sitting. “We must have scared her off.”
We both share a chuckle as he fishes his wallet out of his pocket, then he pulls out a condom. I swipe it from him, rip the wrapper open with my teeth, then lean back as I slide it on.