Page 128 of The Havenport Collection

Violet

“ D o you ever just chill?” I asked, throwing a Swedish Fish at Callum’s face. After a long day of farm planning, we were kicked back in front of the fire. Ever the gentleman, Cal had brought me beer and candy.

He ran his hands through his hair. “No. I’m just not a chill person.”

“Really? I had no idea.” He did not seem amused by my sarcasm.

He continued to stare at the fire. “I like setting goals and achieving them. That’s what relaxes me.”

“Spoken like a true overachiever.” I popped another fish into my mouth. Callum was here with me, sitting by the fire, but he wasn’t here. He was somewhere in his own head, probably stressing and overthinking.

“Look around. It’s a beautiful night. We’ve got crickets chirping and the fire blazing. The moon is glowing, and we can see the universe up there. We’re just tiny specks floating around in space. Enjoy this moment with me, Cal.” I grabbed his hand and squeezed.

He squeezed back and smiled at me. We sat silently, staring up at the universe while the fire crackled.

“I got you something.”

He looked at me strangely, and I lost my nerve a bit.

I dug in the pocket of my dress to retrieve the stone. I handed it to him, and he stared at it in the firelight.

“It’s amethyst,” I offered, and he turned it over in his hands.

“It’s known as the anxiety alleviator. It helps dispel negativity and attract positive, calming vibes.

” Only as the words were coming out of my mouth did I realize how truly dumb they sounded.

“I doubt you care much about the healing power of crystals, and I don’t really buy it myself, but it’s beautiful and interesting and I want you to have it.

” I was babbling, but his serious expression was unnerving me.

What had started as a fun night between friends had grown serious.

He looked up at me. “How did you know?”

I shrugged. “I see you, Callum.” I held his gaze for a moment before he dropped his eyes to the stone, which he cradled gently in his hand.

“Tell me something. Do you miss traveling? Do you ever feel stuck here?”

I squeezed his hand again. It felt so good, so strong. “I don’t feel stuck. I feel lucky to be here, lucky to be given a fresh start.”

“But…”

“But sometimes I miss my old self. My pre-kid self. This may be hard to believe, but I was interesting, once upon a time.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yup. I was a cool shit. After college, I got a job waiting tables in Greece and then backpacked over to the UK for a bit and stayed with my college friend who got a job there. Then I got really into yoga and went to teacher training down in Central America. I ended up teaching English in Nicaragua for a few months. That’s where I picked up most of my Spanish.

Then I came back to the states and studied reiki for a bit and was teaching yoga and bartending in New Zealand when I met my ex-husband. ”

“Damn. You really were interesting.”

I punched his shoulder lightly. “I told you. I don’t miss the traveling, per se, I just sometimes miss the freedom, the lack of responsibility, and waking up each day and not knowing what was going to happen. You know?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never felt that. I feel like I’ve been carrying around crushing responsibility my entire life.” He continued to stare at the fire, and I didn’t know what to say. I loved that he was opening up and letting me in, but I wanted to give him space.

“I spent my twenties working. I had a lot of student debt to pay off, and I knew I wanted a home, a family, a future. So I skipped all the twenty-something experiences—travel, music festivals, multiple gig jobs, fun hobbies. All of it.

“I worked and worked some more,” he continued.

“Paid off my loans, funded my 401k. Saved for a house. Built the foundation from the bottom up so I could lighten up the workload when I had kids. I wanted to coach sports and attend parent teacher conferences and be home for dinner every night. My dad set a larger-than-life example. He worked seven days a week but always made time for us and for my mom. He did everything for everyone and never complained and never slept in. I wanted too much to be like him. To be the dependable, steady guy you rely on.”

“You are that guy, Callum.”

He shook his head. “I’m not. I thought I could be that guy, but I’m not. Anyway,”—he cracked open a second beer—“enough about my baggage. Tell me a crazy story from your travels.”

He handed me the open beer before getting one for himself.

I wanted to keep probing, to ask him more and learn as much as I could about him. I wanted to know who hurt him and how I could make it better. But he clearly needed a friend right now, and I could easily give him that.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I ate a snake heart?”

That got his attention. “What?”

I took a big sip of my beer, enjoying the clear shock on his face. “Vietnam. I was with some friends, and we went to this restaurant where the special is cobra. They slice open the snake in front of you and drop the still beating heart in a shot of vodka. So, I did it.”

“But you’re a vegetarian.”

“Yes. But there are certain cultural circumstances where it is not appropriate to turn down meat, so I make do.”

“But it was the heart.” He shuddered.

I shrugged. “It seemed like an opportunity to be a stone-cold badass, so I took it. Plus now I get to brag about it to my kids.”

“Wow.” He took his hat off and ran his hands through his hair. I noticed it was his nervous tic. And what a head of hair it was—thick, medium brown, with a few discreet grays at the temples. It was longer than usual, a little messier, and it suited him.

“So you have traveled the world, having all kinds of adventures and eating snake hearts, huh?” He laughed heartily. “I don’t know what I can contribute to this friendship.”

I punched his arm. “You contribute the handsome, I contribute the stories.”

As the night went on, we threw more logs on the fire, and eventually I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the barn that I had bought for emergencies a few months ago. We were laughing and sharing, and I felt so close to him.

“So, I haven’t had sex for a while.” I instantly regretting saying that out loud. Damn this liquid courage.

“What’s a while?”

“I don’t remember exactly but, like, five years, maybe four and a half?”

He almost fell out of his chair. “What?”

“I was really busy divorcing my felon husband while caring for twins. Sorry I wasn’t able to make time for dick.”

Callum laughed so hard he snorted. “You should always make time for dick.”

“If I could find some good dick I would. I’ll let you know when I find some.

It’s just that I’ve spent so many years in survival mode.

And things are good here. The boys are healthy and happy and loving Kindergarten.

And the farm is stressful, but I am getting the hang of it and starting to really enjoy it.

I just don’t want to be sexually washed up at thirty-five. ”

“You are anything but washed up.”

“I enjoy sex. I miss it. In my younger days I had a lot of sex.” I drained the last of my whiskey from the coffee mug I had snagged from the kitchen.

“Oh really?” he asked, his interest clearly piqued.

“Do I detect judgment?” I asked, hackles raised.

He put his hands up in surrender. “No, of course not,” he blurted out, clearly offended by the suggestion.

“Good, because I hate men that get hung up on purity and all that patriarchal bullshit. Men are allowed to have sex and enjoy it. Why can’t women?”

“I totally agree. I am all for equal opportunity.”

I glared at him. “Good. I would hate to think you were a prude.”

He laughed. A big, wild, silly laugh. “Oh, Violet, I may be uptight, but I am definitely not a prude.”

He was so complicated and kind and handsome, and I was experiencing feelings and urges for the first time in years.

I decided to take a risk. “Good. Because I definitely wouldn’t sleep with you if you were.”

He stopped laughing and pinned me with a serious look. “What are you talking about, Violet?” His voice was low and quiet, the laughter of a few moments ago totally forgotten.

“I was just saying,” I trailed off and took another sip of whiskey for courage, “if maybe you were interested, I could be interested and then maybe we could, you know, have sex. Since it’s been so long for me.”

His face was clouded with confusion. “Now? Here?” He looked around, and my heart sank. Apparently I had been misreading the signals tonight.

Thankfully it was dark, and he probably couldn’t see that my face had become a tomato.

I held my breath; what was I thinking? I blamed the whiskey.

And my stupid lady boner. And his stupid handsome face.

And his large strong hands. I’d spent a lot of time thinking about those hands, and clearly, they were at fault here.

Oh God, the awkwardness was so overwhelming I wanted to run into my house and just flee the scene of this crime against sexuality. What had I done?

“Violet, I’m sorry. I was just thrown for a loop by what you said.”

I nodded, afraid to open my mouth and make things worse.

“Violet, I’m flattered,” he continued.

“You can stop there.”

“No. Listen to me. I’ve thought about it.” He tipped my chin up so I was looking him in the eye. “A lot. That night of the fireworks, I felt something I haven’t felt in a while.”

“But…” I offered. I knew there’d be a but.

He softly stroked my face, and my heartbeat sped up. “I’m in a weird place right now. You’re my friend. I care about you. I care about your kids. I can’t give you what you deserve right now.”

I pulled back, slightly offended. “What I deserve? I think you’re misreading me, Quinn. You are a great friend, and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I am not looking for a boyfriend.”

I stood up, trying to get some distance from his stupidly handsome face. “I am a single mom. My life is a mess. There is no time for dating. And I certainly can’t date in this small town.”

He nodded. It was dark, but I saw a look of disappointment flash across his face.

“And I’m in my sexual prime. Everyone knows this is the best time for women—your thirties are when you hit your sexual peak.

And here I am, all alone at my peak looking around for someone to share this with.

” At this point I was full-on ranting, but I was sexually frustrated and overcome with attraction and had maybe had one too many drinks.

“I’m stressed, and I’m trying to juggle all the things.

Just a couple of man-made orgasms would really help me out. ”

Callum stood up and put his beer down. He walked slowly but assuredly toward me. “So you’re saying you’re not attracted to me? You just want me to scratch an itch?” he asked, brow cocked and lips smirked.

I laughed. Not a cute laugh, but a big rolling roar. “First of all, I don’t need a man to scratch the itch. I have several battery-operated companions for that.”

He flinched, his confidence wavering.

“Second, of course I find you attractive. Have I not made that clear? Perhaps when I was eye fucking you while you were shoveling pig shit. Or when my ovaries were exploding while watching you play soccer with my kids? Or when I molested you on a public beach in the name of sun safety? Clearly I am very, very attracted to you. Please don’t play coy with me.

I have never, and would never, sleep with someone I wasn’t attracted to. ”

The smirk was back, and I was having a full-on meltdown.

“Sex for me is about connection; it’s about passion. If I didn’t feel those things between us, I wouldn’t even consider it, never mind work up the lady balls to ask you.”

He stood, staring at me with a feral grin.

“And I want you, Callum Quinn.”