Page 61 of Chasing the Sun

An enemy that might have just accidentally become a friend.

EIGHTEEN

CALLUM

She was sowet for me.

I didn’t want her, but something inside meneededher. I had lost control, not thinking about the consequences, and instead thinking only ofher. Spread out on the table, Elodie’s ripped T-shirt hung open, exposing her sheer bra.

I hadn’t even had the decency to properly undress her.

I cleared my throat, taking a step back to pull up my pants and give her space to close her legs. She scooted to the edge of the table, holding her tattered shirt together and looking at the pile of discarded clothes on the floor.

“Well,” she said, humor laced in her voice as she surveyed the mess.

I bent down and scooped up her jeans and thong, holding them out to her. “Sorry.”

Her face twisted. “Sorry? For what?” Elodie shook out her hair. She kicked her legs as she sat at the edge of the table, totally unaffected by the fact she was still naked from the waist down.

I gestured toward her. “Your shirt.”

She plucked at the ripped cotton and hit me with a devious smile. “I already told you, you’re paying for that.”

I bit back a grin as my eyes met hers. “Noted.”

I looked around. These were dangerous waters—the lines between what we were and what we’d become were getting murkier by the second.

Elodie hopped off the table, holding her discarded clothing in front of her. Her head tipped to the side, a cute little pout forming on her lips. “We still hate each other, right?”

“Yes,” I lied.

I wanted to hate her. It would certainly be easier, but there was no way I could. Who could possibly hate a woman who walked around like a literal ray of sunshine?

“Good.” She padded toward the bathroom before turning to look at me over her shoulder. “Now get out of my house.”

I chuckled and stuffed my hands into my pockets.

It was nothing more than two consenting adults working out a little frustration. That was all it was.

All it could be.

It was only a matter of time before she truly did hate me—not because of the incredible sex, but because of the kind of man I was. The kind who knew the ends always justified the means.

The farmland should have been mine. I had thought about it—hell, I’d almost convinced myself I wanted it. It was a chance to build something bigger, something lasting—the perfect opportunity to feed people my way.

I had let doubt creep in, let the past whisper that I wasn’t meant to want more, and in the time it took me to get my head on straight, Elodie had swooped in, turning it into something I barely recognized.

My dream was muddied now—a dream that certainly didn’t include Tire fucking Mountain.

Stan was already set. He had Elodie keeping the farm afloat, and she was making something real out of it.

Me? The only thing tying me to this place was an inn I never wanted in the first place. My son’s happier, sure, but how long would that last? How long before this town started feeling too small, before he started asking questions I couldn’t answer?

Questions about why we stayed. About why I acted like this place was temporary, even though I’ve been here long enough that it shouldn’t feel that way anymore. About why, when I looked at Elodie, it felt like I was standing on the edge of something I didn’t know how to name.

How long before I got too damn comfortable?

That was the part that scared me the most, because I didn’t want to be comfortable. If the Army had taught me anything, it was that getting comfortable was how you started thinking you belonged somewhere. That was how you forgot what happened when it all got ripped away.