Page 28 of One Small Spark (Love in Sunshine #4)

TWENTY

WREN

This is probably a bad idea. Probably definitely a really bad idea. Just because things turned out okay for Hope, I’m going to take her advice about romance?

No. I cannot be thinking the word romance when I’m standing on Callahan’s porch again like a woman obsessed.

I could have called. Added a text to our goodnight messages from last night.

Something normal like, “Hey, are you home? I thought I’d drop by because it turns out I’m feeling ways about you and I can’t process them alone and also I think I kind of miss you for some reason? ”

Would have been easier than trying to say it.

I ring the bell, refusing to think about the crazy look in my eyes the attached camera must be recording right now. It’s so quiet out here. Last time, he opened the door before I could even knock, but tonight, I count the minutes that go by while I wait.

He could be asleep already. His truck is here, but that doesn’t mean he’s around. He said his family lives close, maybe he’s over there. He could be somewhere in the forest chopping wood in one of his ubiquitous flannels for all I know .

Probably best if I don’t picture myself stumbling across that idyllic scene.

I’ve just turned to leave when the door opens behind me. I spin back around, only to squeak out the most pathetic sound of my entire existence.

Callahan’s in his doorway, wet and naked with only a towel around his waist. I don’t stare. That would be so rude. But I do note the water droplets that slowly track down his nicely formed chest, over his flat stomach, to finally get absorbed by the fluffy white terrycloth at his middle.

His tattoos do, in fact, stop at his shoulders. They curl around his deltoids like clouds capping off each nature scene. My gaze zeroes in on the little bird on his inner arm. He doesn’t have tattoos on his chest, but the light dusting of dark hair there is revelation enough.

I should probably not know what his belly button looks like. That’s too much, right? But there it is, kind of flat and weirdly appealing.

It would be absurd to say I’ve never seen a man shirtless.

I’m no stranger to lakes and rivers in the summertime.

I have eyes. But the way I’m goggling at him, you’d think I lived in a convent and just discovered abs.

The thing is, I’ve never seen this man shirtless.

He’s tall and lean, lightly muscled, and so very, very…

Swallowing hard, I drag my gaze up to meet his. Please let that detailed ogling have been instantaneous instead of several minutes long. “I thought you’d be dressed.”

He runs the hand not clutching his towel through his wet hair, making it curl at the ends. “I can’t be decent all the time.”

Strangely, he doesn’t seem embarrassed. I, on the other hand, am slowly melting into a puddle on his front porch.

“You said I could come by.”

“I’m not turning you away. Come in.” He opens the door wider, moving to let me pass .

I walk through, searching for anything to focus on other than that stark white towel. Anything.

“Are you naked under there?”

I should just cut my losses now. Run out the front door and try this again another time. Or never. If he’s going to open the door in the nude, it’d be best to stay away from his cabin entirely, right?

Right?

“Do you want a peek?” He shoots me a devilish grin, his hands moving to open the towel.

I spin to put my back to him. “No! I don’t want to see that.”

My eyes have other ideas. I look over my shoulder anyway.

He laughs, flashing the towel open to reveal solid blue swim trunks. “I’m not naked.”

“Oh.” I should not sound so disappointed.

“Interesting that you looked, though.”

I’m going to ignore that. “What are you doing in a swimsuit? Do you have a hot tub?”

Lila’s told me that all the cabins at the lodge have them. I heard way too much about how she shared one with Grant back when he stayed there.

“The opposite. I’ve got a cold plunge tub on my deck.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

He tilts his head toward the back of the house. “I’ll show you.”

Still dripping, he leads me through the living room, and I touch the rolling ladder as I pass.

One day, friend. He pulls open the back door, revealing a big deck with an unobstructed view of the woods, two Adirondack chairs, and what looks like a tiny black hot tub except it’s topped with ice cubes.

Just looking at it makes me want a blanket and a hot tea.

“I don’t believe you fit in that.” He’s got to be way too tall for that thing. It looks like it could barely hold August .

“I fit just fine.”

My already overtaxed brain fizzles out in a puff of smoke. I grasp for an ounce of coherence, my fingers finding nothing. “With the ice, though? Sounds like torture.”

As if to prove my point, a breeze blows over the deck and straight through the open door.

He shivers, an image that etches itself on my brain for future playback.

He shuts out the cold, but we don’t leave the small alcove.

I look around, trying not to stare at any part of him.

He’s got a couple of coats hanging by the door and a pair of boots at the ready.

Big, big boots.

“It’s to help with anxiety.” He gazes down at me, no shame in admitting his vulnerability now. “Theoretically, it regulates my nervous system.”

“Does it work?”

“In my experience, it does.”

“I thought cold showers were supposed to distract you from sex and stuff.” Nice, Wren. Never been smoother.

Especially when I’m trying to focus on anything but the mostly naked man in front of me.

“In my experience, it doesn’t.” He indicates I should go into the main part of the house. “I’ll get dressed. Make yourself at home.”

He climbs up the staircase, leaving wet footprints as he goes. My brain whirls with questions about what’s up there. What his bedroom looks like. If the ceiling is sloped, and if it is, how he gets around. What he’s putting on.

I shake my head, moving toward the best distraction at my disposal: his library.

He’s got a little bit of everything here.

Technical books about bike mechanics. Books about hiking trails and campsites in Oregon.

Several shelves of classics like Dickens, Fitzgerald, and Hawthorne.

Contemporaries covering horror, sci- fi, and mysteries.

Everything Rick Riordan has ever written.

He’s got Austen and Bronte tucked away in here, too, along with some modern rom-coms whose bright covers add a nice pop of color to the otherwise drab assortment.

There’s also a vinyl record collection on one shelf. Was not expecting yacht rock, but I can see that kind of laid-back classic rock for Callahan.

I’d noticed the photographs when I was here last time but didn’t really examine them.

I do now. No surprise, all the photos are of scenery or use nature as the backdrop.

He’s got a family photo. One of him and Charlie at a lake somewhere.

A snapshot of him and what must be Leo when they were kids in a treehouse.

A picture of him with an elderly man catches my eye. I can’t resist picking up the frame to get a better look. It’s more recent than the others, maybe a couple of years old. The two men have their arms slung around each other, the older one wrinkled and frail but smiling just as bright as Callahan.

“That’s my grandpa.”

I spin so fast, I clutch the frame to my chest so I don’t drop it. His hair’s still damp, but he’s put on a navy blue henley that clings to his arms, and gray sweatpants. I know he chose that combo just to spite me. It’s like the man wants me to be tongue-tied twenty-four-seven.

“I’m sorry. I was just—” I replace the picture where it was. “I was snooping.”

“I gave you permission.” He steps closer, seemingly to get a better look at the photograph, moving in until his arm brushes mine. “He passed away about three years ago.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s been longer than that since my grandma died, and her loss still hurts my soul sometimes.

“Don’t be. He had a good life. ”

Callahan gazes down at me. Waiting. I did come all the way out here to see him again, but…ugh. Why are words so hard?

“You’ve got a lot of different kinds of books.” I’m not deflecting at all.

“I like some of everything. Nice shirt.”

“Thanks.” I tug at the hem of my long-sleeve tee. It’s got an illustration of a woebegone frog with the quote, I have a serious case of mood poisoning .

“Do you want to sit down?”

“Yes. No.” I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. When I open them, he’s still standing there looking like the coziest snack. The jerk. “I’m probably distracted enough as it is.”

The smirk that touches his mouth sets off a brush fire in my chest. I take a big step backward.

It’s better if I keep my cool for this. He glances me over, the smirk fading as he takes in the extra space between us.

He stays calm and collected, though. His easygoing nature throws me off.

At least when we’re snarking, I know what he’s thinking.

Or I thought I did. Maybe I’ve never known.

“You’re in my system for good.”

Unhelpful.

I should have planned what to say before I came over here. My brain has been mostly making static noises since my conversation with Hope. A thought or two in my head would have been nice.

“I might possibly owe you an apology. Probably.” I exhale hard. Maybe I should practice some breathing exercises while I’m at it. Anything to get a sense of calm going instead of this worrying adrenaline rush.

Is this how Callahan feels when he’s on the spot? Like he wants to barf and run away and sit with his head between his knees all at the same time ?

“For what?”

I can’t tell if he genuinely isn’t sure or if his list of grievances is so long, he needs me to narrow it down.

“For…” I wave a hand in the air. “How I act with you, I guess. What a brat I’ve been, mostly.”

He doesn’t ask questions, but his placid reaction makes me want to explain anyway.

“I was led to believe some things about you that I recently discovered weren’t accurate.”

Why do I sound like a baroness making a non-apology to the servant she let go?

“What things were you led to believe? And by whom?”

This is the hard part about apologizing. You have to actually confront all the stupid stuff you’ve done.

“Is that relevant?” I ask.

“Seems pretty relevant.”

I sigh, but…I want to get past this. I owe him the truth. “Richard Allred.”

Callahan’s gaze darkens, and not in the good way. More like he’s thinking about how many times he can throat-punch the guy before Allred’s lawyers step in.

“He told me you convinced him not to invest in Blackbird’s.” I tick my head to the side, not liking the rest. “And that you said I was a nightmare. I thought you said all that because you hated me. For some reason.”

At least those things were only ever secondhand news. I can’t repeat the things I actually heard him say, even if he’s changed his mind in the years since.

“How did you discover that’s not accurate?”

He doesn’t specify if he means the story about him thwarting our business or that he hated me. Hopefully that means all of it was inaccurate .

“Charlie said something about how much you couldn’t stand the guy.

Something about how you wanted to beat him up because he was such a jerk to…

someone in town.” I can’t look at him. This is the worst. I thought he tried to ruin me, and he actually did the exact opposite.

“And I guess he’s been revealed to be a fraud now. ”

“Now that you know he’s a fraud, it’s easier to believe I’m not the bad guy?”

I hate how his voice drops. My confession wasn’t supposed to make him sad. But he’s not wrong. I refused to entertain the idea Callahan could be a good guy until the truth of it slapped me across the face.

“It’s not just that. Rosetta told me about your volunteer work in the library, and I’ve seen how much you’re doing for Sunshine with the bike trails.

And the romance book group ladies love you.

They can be menaces, but they have good hearts.

You’re sweet to August, and that counts for a lot.

It’s all made me realize how unfair I’ve been to you. ”

He just watches calmly while I spew out my feelings. Or most of them.

I exhale a huge sigh. Time for the big reveal. “I like you, okay? Against my better judgment.”

His mouth tips up. “Don’t go all Mr. Darcy on me. I might swoon dead away at your feet.”

My instinct is to laugh along with him, but I shoot him a dirty look. “Be nice. I don’t know how to do this.”

“Apologize?”

“That, too. But also…” I gesture between the two of us. “This.”

“You can’t tell me you’ve never dated.” It’s flattering how incredulous he sounds.

“I have. I’ve just never tried very hard before. Having feelings isn’t really my strong suit. ”

The rundown of my exes with Hope earlier was a bit of an eye-opener. I picked crummy guys and then was surprised I never got invested? Play stupid games, I guess. I don’t want stupid prizes anymore.

“And now?” Callahan sure is calm when he’s tormenting me.

“Now…I want to try.” I suck in the most steadying breath I can. “With you.”

His mouth pulls into the slowest, widest smile. I can’t even call it a smirk. He’s loving his front-row seat to the Awkward Wren Show.

“Don’t make it weird,” I add.

“I’m glad you want to try. Because I’m already there.”

I cannot with this man. Doesn’t he know those are inside thoughts?

My gaze sweeps over his living room until I spot the distinct retro-cowboy cover of next month’s romance group pick. I wave vaguely at it. “Where did you find that? I haven’t been able to snag a copy yet.”

Distraction to the rescue. The Awkward Wren Show is now on hiatus.

“We could read it together.”

My heart leaps at how casually he suggests it, no matter how impractical the idea is. “Reading over each other’s shoulders? Doesn’t seem like that would work very well.”

I might read faster than he does. Plus, we’d have to be super close to make that work. Practically plastered against each other. Like at the first book group meeting, but with zero space between us.

Reading together is growing on me.

“I could read out loud,” he says.

Did this man just offer one of my secret fantasies to me on a platter? I should have some self-control. This evening has already had enough strange moments. I should tell him I’ll read it after he’s finished. Reading one at a time, that’s the logical thing to do.

“Let’s do that,” I say instead.