Page 107 of The Havenport Collection

Callum

I was a man obsessed. I needed to make amends. I hadn’t seen Violet in over a decade and then she finds me collapsed on her lawn in a pool of my own vomit? Not only did I ruin her grass and stink up her car, I probably traumatized those poor boys for life.

I had to do something. I couldn't let that terrible impression linger.

I couldn't bear the thought of what she must think of me.

Maybe I should call her? Havenport was a small town, so I could procure her number in a matter of minutes.

But it would invite more questions and speculation, and I could not deal with any more drama right now.

And I was ashamed to admit I had been avoiding her.

When she moved back to town last year after her divorce, the rumor mill was filled with the salacious details of her criminal ex-husband and the terrible ordeal she had been through in California.

She seemed to be lying low, and I respected that, so I never went out of my way to see her or connect with her.

I had caught a few glimpses of her around town, but I certainly had not spoken to her. What would I even say to her? “I’m sorry I was an ass in high school. By the way, I’m now a divorced head case, rapidly approaching middle age.” So I stayed away, figuring it was the most adult option.

But every so often, I ran by the Thompson Farm to indulge my curiosity.

Mr. Thompson had been beloved in town and had been a friend of my parents.

He had passed a couple of years ago, leaving the land to his daughters.

Violet’s sister, Rose, a friend of mine, owned half and operated a very successful riding academy.

She lived on the property too with her wife and kids.

And, according to my mother, Violet had moved into the large farmhouse with her twin boys.

So avoidance had seemed like a winning strategy. But now I was haunted by the terrible impression I had left on Violet.

Callum Quinn was an upstanding citizen. I was successful and involved in my community.

I wasn’t a drunk head case who required medical intervention to recover from a depressive bender.

I had to do something. Make a better impression.

Be a better human, anything. Because I didn’t want her to hate me.

And I didn’t want her to pity me. I just wanted things to be normal again.

Too bad I wasn’t really capable of normal.

One of the great things about Havenport, aside from the ocean, was the historic downtown filled with an array of fantastic local businesses. So, when I decided I needed to drop off a thank you gift at the farm for Violet, I decided on the new artisan donut shop that had just opened.

In typical Havenport fashion, it was adorable and filled with every type of amazing donut you could imagine.

I figured I would totally win over Violet’s sons with some donuts.

So I bought two dozen and got all the fanciest ones—Fruity Pebbles, S’Mores, Peanut Butter cup, and an assortment of gluten free and vegan options, just in case.

Then I stopped at the florist and picked up a gigantic arrangement of Gerbera daisies. They were colorful and wild, a bit like Violet actually.

Already feeling better, I jumped in my car to head over to the farm.

I figured I could catch them, ply the boys with donuts and Violet with flowers, and everything would be okay.

Maybe I could get her phone number too? Just for friendly texts, that sort of thing.

We were definitely friends now, right? I threw up on her lawn, and she drove me to urgent care to get fluids. A friendly gesture was warranted.

I jammed along to music, sipping my coffee as I turned into the farm entrance.

The farm store, petting zoo, and orchard were to the right, but I turned left, toward the houses which dotted the edge of the property.

I knew Rose and Yael lived in one of the larger houses with their kids.

And I assumed Mrs. Thompson still lived here as well.

I was glad I thought to get so many donuts.

As I pulled up the long gravel drive to Violet’s old farmhouse, I was feeling really good.

This was perfect; I looked good, was dressed nicely, and brought gifts.

All would be forgiven, and I wouldn’t have to feel so shitty about what happened.

I could cross Violet Thompson off my current list of obsessions.

Out of nowhere, I saw a flash of feathers.

Something popped up in front of my car. I slammed on the brakes and swerved as something jumped up on the hood.

I jerked the wheel to compensate and ended up going off the side of the driveway into a small copse of trees.

I braked hard, just as I felt the crunch of my car hitting a tree. Fuck.

My airbag deployed, snapping my head back into the headrest. I felt a burning sensation and realized my coffee had spilled all over my lap. I put the car in park and tried to get my bearings.

I looked out my cracked windshield to see small, unripe apples falling onto my car. The plunking sound was a welcome distraction from the pounding of my heart. What happened?

I took a quick inventory of myself. Nothing was bleeding, my vision was fine, I could wiggle my fingers and toes. I just needed to take a breath and get out of the car.

I looked up to see multiple people running toward my car.

“Oh my God, what happened?”

“Mom, that weird man is here again.”

I closed my eyes and wished I could just disappear. Why did I ever decide to come here? What was I thinking?

Next thing I knew, Violet was pulling me out of the door of my car while Yael ran over to help.

Once I was out and standing, she started yelling, “Are you okay? Why are you here? Are you okay?”

Yael put a hand on Violet’s shoulder in a silent plea to calm down.

I looked down at myself. I was covered with coffee and crushed donuts, but there were no visible injuries. My pride, on the other hand, had been smashed to smithereens, and my poor car had seen better days. Who knew a skinny apple tree could do that much damage?

“I’m so sorry.” All I did with this woman was apologize.

“I came by to bring you some donuts. And,”—I reached into the car and pulled out the crushed bouquet of beheaded daisies—“some flowers.”

Violet shook her head as Yael smirked.

“I wanted to say sorry for the other day. The vomiting. It was not the impression I wanted to make, and I am truly grateful for your help.”

“You certainly didn’t have to bring us anything,” she said, crossing her arms.

The boy with the floppy hair wandered over—I think his name was Sam—and plucked a chunk of donut off the sleeve of my dress shirt.

“Are these Fruity Pebbles?” he asked, amused with the situation.

“Yes. I bought you guys donuts covered with them.”

“Sweet. Thanks, dude,” he said, popping a piece into his mouth and walking away.

I stood there, contemplating how to get myself out of this situation as quickly as possible when I heard a strange noise.

“Oh my God,” the other boy, I think it was Henry, screamed. “Mr. Pickles.”

I turned my head and saw what was making the noise. A huge-ass rooster was lying in front of my car, clearly hurt.

Violet rushed over. The thing was enormous. I had no idea a rooster could be that big. He probably weighed more than most dogs. He was moaning and crowing on the side of the driveway. I hope I didn’t kill this kid’s pet.

“Moooom.” Henry was tearing up, cradling the massive bird in his tiny lap.

“It’s okay, sweetie. I think he’s just scared. I don’t see any blood,” Violet assured him.

Henry looked up at me with tearstained eyes behind his glasses. “You tried to kill Mr. Pickles.” He looked at me with total hatred, and I took a step back, terrified of the wrath of a five-year-old.

“I’m so sorry. He jumped up on my car, and I don’t know what happened.”

There was a clutch of chickens nearby clucking and pecking.

Violet put her arm around Henry. “Mr. Pickles was trying to protect his flock,” she said, gesturing toward the hens and chicks. “He must have jumped on Mr. Quinn’s car.”

“Mom, what if he dies?”

“Sweetie. It was an accident.”

“Call the vet, Mom,” he begged through his sobs.

Violet sighed. “I’m not sure we need to call Dr. Ross right now.”

“Call her!” Henry screamed, stroking the rooster. His brother wandered over and shot me a dirty look.

“Okay,” Violet said, taking her phone out of her pocket. “I’ll call Dr. Ross and have her come by and check him out, okay?”

She looked up at me, as if remembering I was there. “I’m sorry if he jumped on your car.”

“It’s fine,” I said nervously. “I hope he’s okay.” Both boys glared at me. Fuck, I hated being the bad guy. I hated when people didn’t automatically like me. And, judging by the frosty glares of these children, they despised me.

“Do you need a tow truck?” Yael asked, typing furiously on her phone. She was probably updating the whole town on my latest humiliation. For a super stoic badass, Yael was a notorious gossip. I bet Jackie and Joe at the diner were already talking about this.

“I have a friend who does towing. I’ll call him. But at least let me pay for the vet, since it was my fault. I really just wanted to come over and say thank you.” I ran my hands through my hair. I was sweating profusely and becoming aware of my coffee-stained crotch.

Henry was crying now, and his brother was kneeling next to him, consoling him.

Violet shifted and gave me a pitying look. “That’s kind of you. But maybe we should just get your car towed.”

Oh. I was acutely aware of how badly she and her kids wanted me out of here. Even the group of chickens was giving me dirty looks. Fucking judgmental chickens.

“Uh. Okay.” My mind was spinning. I didn't know how to fix this, how to make things right. “I’ll call now. I don’t want to get in your way.”

She forced a smile and turned back around to tend to the chicken.

I just couldn’t win.