Page 50 of Chasing the Sun

I settled for intimidation.

Straightening, I took a slow, deliberate step forward, boots scuffing against the wood. The cat didn’t move. Another heavy step. Still nothing.

Fine.

I crossed my arms over my chest, leveling it with my best military-grade frown. “Go away.”

The cat stretched, arching its bony spine, and then—just to really drive the knife in—rolled to its back, belly in the air as both arms and legs stretched out, like it had lived here its whole damn life.

Unbelievable.

“This isn’t happening,” I muttered. I had survived worse things than this—literal battles, fistfights, near-death experiences, but apparently my greatest adversary was a cat with one eye and an attitude problem.

The cat rolled back to its belly and flicked its ears, unimpressed with my surly attitude.

I exhaled sharply, looking past it toward the property line and the unmistakable sound of trucks, tires grinding against gravel, engines running too close to my property.

I would have to deal with my furry, uninvited guest later.

I stepped off the porch to peer down the roadway, my already sour mood turning downright lethal.

There was a line of work trucks—onmyroad.

Freshly irritated, I clenched my fists as I watched another truck roll to a stop in front of the inn. I didn’t need a sign to know who was responsible for this particular headache.

By the time I got close enough to see her, Elodie was at the end of the roadway, clipboard in hand, hair windblownand wild, and looking like she hadn’t a care in the world while chaos unfolded around her.

She was thriving, while I was losing control. I probably should have turned around. Should have let her deal with whatever mess she was creating, but I couldn’t.

Because now she was messing with my business, and for the first time since she showed up, I was entirely out of patience. Elodie Darling was encroaching.

Again.

I’d spent the last three weeks avoiding her, but now she was forcing my hand.

“Fine,” I muttered, shooting one last glare at the cat. “I’m dealing with this right now.”

I stalked across the front yard, boots kicking up dirt, frustration stinging in my chest.

The sun was still high, beating down on my back. The scent of cut grass and summer flowers mixed with the breeze rolling in from the lake. The air smelled like home, and I hated that it felt different now.

Because of her.

Because of this.

The smart move would have been to keep my distance, but instead I was marching toward trouble, shadowed by an unwanted cat hot on my heels. I glanced down at the cat, who looked like it was heading into battle alongside me.

“This is probably your fault,” I said gruffly. “I just know it.”

The cat didn’t disagree. I shook my head and suppressed a smile. I wasn’t its friend. I wasn’t feeding it. I wasn’t keeping it. I sure as hell wasn’t naming it.

When I reached the property line, I didn’t slow my pace. “Darling,” I called, voice sharp.

She turned, shielding her eyes from the sun. And then—of course—she grinned, wide and welcoming. That sweet, slow, sunshine-smothered smile sent something dark and restless moving through my stomach.

“Good morning, Callum.” Her voice was all light and pleasant, like we were friends. Like she hadn’t spent the past three weeks haunting my every waking thought. Elodie arched a brow, tilting her head. “A little early in our relationship for sweet nicknames, don’t you think?”

I crossed my arms. “That’s your last name, isn’t it?”