Page 103 of Chasing the Sun

I bit my lip, trying to smother a smile as the mama raccoon and her babies came into view.

Cal groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re still feeding them, aren’t you?”

I pressed my lips together, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Elodie.” He shot me a look, and I shot one right back.

I lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “They’re cute.”

He sighed. “They’re criminals.”

I gasped, clutching my chest. “How dare you. They’re family.”

Cal exhaled, long and suffering but laced with humor. “They tried to steal my dinner two nights ago.”

I jutted my lower lip out in a pout. “Maybe they were just hungry.”

He shook his head. “MaybeIwas hungry.”

I bit back a grin as he muttered something under his breath about “woodland bandits” and “absolute menace behavior,” but before I could argue their case further, a sleek, familiar shape slunk out of the shadows, winding through the soft glow of the porch light.

Cal’s attention darted to the shadows. His cat Scratch trotted right up to him, weaving between his legs like she owned the damn place—which, honestly, she kind of did.

Cal sighed, bending down to rub behind Scratch’s ears. “You just can’t help yourself, can you, little troublemaker?” His voice was softer now, full of something that made my chest ache.

With a confident grin, I crossed my arms. “She loves you.”

Cal gave me an unimpressed look, but when he crouched down, I saw it—the moment his entire demeanor softened, the way his hand instinctively reached out to stroke over her sleek, scraggly fur.

“Damn cat,” he murmured, voice dropping into something warm, something private.

Scratch purred like an engine, arching into his touch, blinking up at him like he hung the moon.

Cal scooped up the cat, holding Scratch like a baby. Hisvoice dipped even lower, smoothing into something that was almost ... baby talk. “Who’s my little troublemaker, huh? Are you causing problems out here, sweetheart?”

I sucked in a breath, my lips parting.Did he—did Callum Blackwood just coo at his cat?

I arched a brow, and when Cal glanced up and saw my expression, he immediately cleared his throat and straightened, like he hadn’t just been sweet-talking the feral murder machine who’d been leaving dead mice as gifts on my porch.

I let the silence stretch just long enough for him to feel it.

His jaw flexed as he set her on the ground. “Not a word.”

I grinned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Scratch rubbed against his leg again, and I swore I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, like he was fighting a smile.

Damn. He is so gone for that cat.

Cal straightened, watching me, his expression unreadable.

I swallowed hard. “Good night, Callum.”

For a second I thought he was going to kiss me again. Instead, his fingers brushed my jaw, his thumb ghosting over my cheekbone, his touch so soft, so reverent, my breath caught in my throat.

His voice was low, rough. “Good night, Darling.”

Something clicked in my brain and a tiny laugh rumbled in my chest. “I thought you said that was just my last name,” I teased.