Page 109 of The Havenport Collection

Callum

I was sitting with my laptop at a sidewalk table at High Tide Coffee.

The café was perched at the top of Water Street and afforded a lovely view of the bustling harbor.

With my earbuds in and laptop open, I was digging into some much-needed work when my screen fell into shadow.

I looked up to see Mark Fishman, a former client of mine, standing next to my table.

I removed my earbuds and stood. “Mark,” I said, offering my hand, “great to see you.” It wasn’t great to see him. I couldn’t stand the guy, but business was business.

Mark Fishman was a big deal in Havenport.

He was a property developer with a take-no-prisoners attitude who had contributed significantly to the revitalization of the downtown area back in the eighties.

That success had gone to his head, and he was now a blowhard in his sixties whom I would rather avoid.

We worked on a real estate deal two years ago, and I swore I would never work with him again.

“I’ve been in Florida.” He stared at me as he pushed his Ray-Bans up his nose. “I own a dozen properties there, but I’m back for the summer.”

He sat down at my table, uninvited, and proceeded to fill me in about his divorce from wife number three and how much money he made selling some condos last year.

Leah, the purple-haired proprietress of High Tide, came over to deliver his iced macchiato with whipped cream, and I cringed when I realized he was planning to stay and keep talking to me.

He kept going while scrolling through his phone. “I’m glad I ran into you. You did a great job putting together that investment a few years back. The other investors and I were really pleased with you, kid.”

I nodded my thanks, hoping he could pick up my “get the fuck out of here vibe.” Sadly, he was immune to my reverse charm.

“A few other guys and I are putting together a group to buy the Thompson Farm. I want you to work with us.”

“I didn’t realize the Thompson Farm was for sale,” I said. Honestly, I wouldn’t know if something was brewing, because it’s not like Violet and I were close, but I got the sense she was here to stay. She certainly seemed committed to her family’s legacy.

“It’s not,” he said, picking something in his teeth.

“Yet. Things are bad over there, so they are going to have to sell soon. I’m putting an investment group together and I’ll be passing papers by the end of the year.

” He leered at a young woman walking by, and I visibly shuddered. I hated this guy.

“That will be great for you, but I am not doing any real estate work right now. Thanks for thinking of me.”

“Oh, come on, kid. There is a ton of money to be made here. All that acreage? I have some contacts in the boutique hotel biz. I’m thinking sell a parcel to build a hotel—Havenport needs one—and then turn the rest into luxury condos.”

I sighed. As much as I wanted to tell him to fuck off, I couldn’t. I couldn’t alienate a former client, especially one as connected as Fishman. I had to play nice, like I always did. “That certainly sounds interesting. Keep me posted as things develop.”

He continued to chatter away while noisily sipping his drink.

Since he wasn’t leaving, I clearly had to.

I closed my laptop and packed up my backpack while he droned on about how much money he could make off the property.

I didn’t really care, but I needed to get out before I said something and ruined another professional relationship.

This wasn’t like me. I was all about self-control, and I had maintained a pristine professional reputation for the last decade.

But lately I was getting more and more fed up with all the bullshit.

The last thing Havenport needed was more luxury condos. Real estate had become so expensive here that it was forcing out longtime residents. And this guy was printing money from displacing families.

“Think about it, Callum. I’ll have my girl email you some details.”

I nodded, grabbed my coffee, and took off down the street, trying to put as much distance as possible between us.

Mark Fishman was the worst kind of businessman—unscrupulous, dishonest, and fairly stupid.

It was a combination I couldn’t stomach.

I had spent years forced to work for all kinds of shitty people, and now I was doing my own thing. I wasn’t going backwards.

But I couldn’t shake the idea of the farm. I couldn’t imagine Violet selling. Yes, it was valuable property, but it was a local landmark and a huge asset to the town.

I walked quickly down Water Street, figuring I would head over to the shipyard to see Declan. I had to review some numbers with him, and I knew there was at least one empty office there where I could buckle down and get some actual work done.

I was texting him to see if he was in his office when I walked smack into someone on the sidewalk.

I was so startled that I dropped my phone. “I’m sorry,” I said reflexively, holding my arms out to steady the person.

I looked down and saw a shock of red hair and wide brown eyes staring up at me. “Callum?” My heart stopped, and I temporarily lost the power of speech.

“You shouldn’t walk and text, Callum. You almost ran over Violet.” I turned around to see Nora Rossi standing on the sidewalk next to Violet with her hands on her hips.

I waved. “Hey, Nora.” They were all decked out in workout gear standing in front of the fitness studio.

“We were at Krav Maga class,” Nora said, looking at me suspiciously.

“Oh right,” I said, trying to calm my racing heart. “So sorry again. I was trying to get away from Mark Fishman.”

Nora made a gagging noise. “Oh, shit. Don’t let him see me. He comes into my store all the time and tries to flirt with me. I think he wants me to be wife number four.”

Violet laughed.

Nora started looking around. “Where is he?”

“He’s at High Tide,” I offered.

“Aw shit,” Nora complained. “There goes my post-workout coffee.” She turned on her heel and headed off in the other direction, waving as she went, leaving me standing on the street with Violet.

I couldn’t help but notice that Violet was not dressed in her usual long dress but skintight yoga pants and some kind of strappy crop top instead. Her hair was up in a wild ponytail, highlighting her neck and shoulders. She was so tiny and curvy and sexy, with all that manic energy bubbling up.

She stared at me awkwardly. “My sister-in-law owns the place.” She gestured to the sign. “I’m trying to change things up a bit, you know? Try something new to get my creative juices flowing.”

Her face immediately turned beet red. I looked at my shoes, suppressing a chuckle.

“Sorry, that sounded weird. I’m not a violent person. I don’t like to fight or anything. But it’s a good workout and very empowering. And I like the other women. There is a real sisterhood, you know?”

We stood there staring at each other, and I knew I had to say something.

The words started falling out of my mouth. “I’m so sorry. For everything. How is Mr. Pickles?”

“He’s on the mend. Dr. Ross did some X-rays, and he is a little bruised but that’s all. Nothing serious, but we had to remove him from the flock for a bit. He’s recuperating in our house for the time being, so as you can imagine it’s total insanity.” She laughed, showing off her gorgeous smile.

“I’m sorry again. I will pay for the damage to the apple tree and your vet bill. I truly was just trying to make amends for last week and I made things worse.”

She grabbed my hand, and I instantly stopped babbling. A sense of calm settled over me as I looked into her deep brown eyes. “Callum. It’s fine. We all make mistakes. You don’t owe me anything.”

“But—” I started, and she silenced me with a look.

“We’re all just doing our best. It’s fine.”

She dropped my hand, and I instantly missed the warmth of her touch.

I cleared my throat. “Can I get your number? So I can check in on Mr. Pickles?” Real fucking smooth, Cal.

She shifted on her feet. “Sure.”

I carefully typed her number into my phone, avoiding making eye contact. “Thanks.”

“Anyway, I have to go. We have a goat in labor, and I’ve got to pick up my kids at some point. Human kids, not goat kids.” She smacked her forehead. “Sorry, that sounded dumb.”

I smiled. “Okay then, have a good day.”

She turned around and headed up the sidewalk before turning around. “My car’s parked over here.” She pointed in the opposite direction, walking by me again and giving me a view of her round ass in those pants as she made her way up the hill.

Forget spreadsheets. I needed to work off the nervous energy that consumed me. My mind was racing. How could I have walked into her? I am such a dumbass. And I didn’t even say anything intelligent. I couldn’t even apologize properly. She clearly thought I was a weirdo.

Fuck, I should go for a run.

No, I should go to the gym and lift weights. Okay, I’ll do that. I’ll text Trent to meet me at the gym. Then I’ll run.

I felt the familiar swell of anxious energy and needed to do something with it.

I wasn’t feeling any better after a long run with Trent.

I was out of sorts and couldn’t stop thinking about my interaction with Violet today.

Should I have invited her out for coffee?

Made some kind of overture to apologize?

I wasn’t usually like this. Women didn’t generally knock me totally off my game.

I was charming, suave, and usually fairly successful when it came to women.

After my divorce, I dated a lot and never had trouble making conversation and turning on the charm.

But with Violet, every time I saw her I came off like an idiot.

I hated this version of myself and needed to figure out how to fix it.

I wanted her to like me. Actually, it was more than that. I wanted her to forgive me for the vomiting. And almost killing her rooster. And for bumping into her on the sidewalk. But most of all, I wanted her to forgive me for being a jackass in high school.

This went beyond my usual desire to be liked and respected. There was more to it. It was about her. About who she was and what she meant to me. I needed to make amends.

I’d meet her casually, apologize for my recent behavior, make sure I was dressed well, and move on from there. No big deal. And then all would be right with the world. She wouldn’t think of me as some sad sack with a whiskey problem, and I could go back to my life.

My hands were sweating, and I could barely grip my phone. But I had to do this.

Callum: Hello Violet. I wanted to apologize again. I was hoping to buy you a coffee to make amends and give us an opportunity to catch up properly.

There. Short and to the point. I always texted in full sentences; it drove me insane when people texted in shorthand, symbols, and emojis. My brother Declan was the worst, which wasn’t surprising as he spoke mainly in grunts.

I paced around my apartment while I waited for her to respond.

I felt like I was in high school again. Which was not a time I was interested in reliving.

On the surface, I had it all. I was smart, athletic, had a loving family and loads of opportunities.

But on the inside, I was a mess. Completely debilitated by constant, unwavering anxiety.

Every test, every debate tournament, every soccer game sent me into a spiral that lasted weeks.

I didn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, and the wheels in my head would not stop turning.

Not that I was much better now, but at least I wasn’t staying awake at night, my heart pounding through my chest, visualizing the disappointment my parents would feel if I didn’t get into a good college.

Now as an adult, I was self-aware enough to understand my triggers and manage things a bit better.

My phone rang, and a shiver of hope ran through me. Maybe she was calling me?

“Hey, Callum.” Her voice was so light, so effervescent. I sank deeply into my couch and just took a breath.

“Hi, Violet.”

“Sorry, I saw that you texted, but I’m driving. What’s up? Do you need some ginger ale or saltines? Maybe some ibuprofen?” I closed my eyes, and I could almost see her eyes twinkling through the phone as she teased me.

“No, I’m feeling much better now. That won’t be happening again.” I hesitated. It was much easier to reach out via text. I wasn’t ready to talk on the phone. Jesus, Quinn, find your balls already. This poor woman has already seen you at your worst. How much more could you screw up?

“I texted to apologize again and offer to buy you coffee. I am so ashamed. I can’t imagine the impression I left on your sons.”

She laughed, a tinkly, magical laugh that immediately made me grin. “Don’t be. Those boys live on a farm. They have seen it all and think it’s mostly hilarious. We all have bad days, Callum. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

I considered her words. Maybe she was right.

“Regardless,” I continued, “I am embarrassed, and I’d love to make amends.” Way to sound desperate, loser. God, she was probably going to get a restraining order.

“There is no need.”

“But I insist. As a friend.”

“I don’t need your friendship, Callum.” I was starting to sweat. Why was she making this so difficult? I was just trying to do the right thing, be the good guy.

“Listen, Violet. I know you don’t. But I’m offering it anyway. You’ve lived here almost a year, and we’ve never even spoken. Let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

She paused, and I assumed the worst. “Okay, fine. Let’s get coffee.”

I sat up and almost dropped the phone. “Great. What’s your schedule look like tomorrow?”

“Let’s see. Hmm…basically I have to keep my tiny humans alive and figure out how to run a farm and not lose my mind. How about you?”

I smiled. I liked her sass. “How about we meet at High Tide around ten? Does that work for you? I sometimes go over there to work.”

“Sure. Oh, wait one second. Actually, do you mind meeting me at the farm first?”

“Of course I don’t mind.”

“Gotta run. See you tomorrow.”

I hung up and lay back on my couch, feeling pretty proud of myself. She clearly wasn’t holding a grudge. I would dress well, take her for coffee, dazzle her with my charm and wit, and all would be right with the world.