Page 45 of Chasing the Sun

She shot me one last look—one last smirk that promised I was thoroughly fucked.

And, damn it, I was.

TWELVE

ELODIE

The moment Levi left,the tension was unbearable.

Callum stood there, hands in his pockets, watching me with that unreadable, broody expression. He should have left. He should have taken the out, turned right around, and walked home.

But he didn’t.

He stayed, and I refused to be the first one to break, so I turned and walked away.

I exhaled sharply, forcing myself to move and ignore the heat simmering beneath my skin. I wasn’t about to let some broody, muscle-bound grump make me flustered when I had a to-do list a mile long.

I spun on my heel, heading toward the barn, throwing him a glance over my shoulder. “You coming, or are you just going to stand there and glare at me all day?”

Callum hesitated and his jaw ticced.

Then, after a slow inhale, he exhaled hard through his nose and followed.

I grinned.That’s what I thought.

The heavy thud of his boots sounded behind me as Icrossed the field toward the old barn. The moment I stepped inside, I was hit by the thick, heady scent of hay, aged wood, and something richer, darker—the unmistakable scent of Callum.

Something about his cologne mixed with the earthiness of the barn was unfair. Like someone had bottled pure testosterone and bad decisions and let it seep into my bloodstream.

I pushed the feeling aside, propping my hands on my hips as I surveyed the space.

“This is where I want to set up the farm stand,” I announced, tapping my fingers against the clipboard in my hand. “We’ll need a register here, some shelving along the back, and space for display crates.”

I turned toward Callum just in time to catch his gaze dragging over the room—not in a casual way, but in a way that looked ... familiar. Like he was remembering something.

Callum hovered in the entrance, his broad frame silhouetted against the daylight. He looked like he was regretting his choices, but I didn’t give him the opportunity to change his mind.

I reached for the nearest crate, shoving aside an old, dusty tarp. “All this junk needs to be cleared out.”

I felt his gaze on me, heavy and assessing. Cal didn’t move or speak. After a beat, he exhaled through his nose and rolled his shoulders back.

And then—he worked. For all his grumbling, Callumworked.

He might be broody, miserable, and allergic to fun, but damn, when he put his body to something, he put hiswhole bodyinto it.

Thick forearms flexed. Broad shouldersshifted under the pull of each lift. Muscles contracted with each haul of heavy crates and long-forgotten equipment.

I should not have been watching, but I was. Not discreetly either.

I let myself look, let my eyes drag over him like I had every right to. BecauseJesus—watching him work, watching him use all that power, that strength, and knowing exactly how it would feel pressed against me?

Itdidthings to me.

Callum dropped a crate with a loud thud, stretching his neck. His gray tee was damp with sweat and clung to every hard ridge of his stomach. He caught me looking and narrowed his eyes.

“What?” I asked innocently, pretending to catalog and sort through the items on my clipboard.

He grunted, shaking his head before grabbing another heavy bin. The muscles in his arms rippled.