Page 26

Twenty-Four

I missed him.

He was gone two days, playing back to back games out of town. And I felt it.

So, when he suggested a practice date the day after his return, I happily accepted—not caring that it meant procrastinating working on my research paper for Ellington.

Only Callum may need to be eased into my way of dating…

So, I’m holding back tonight. I hope he appreciates it.

I don’t just want to be his lucky charm; I want to make him believe in love again. What better way than a remake?

“I would have bought you dinner,” he says.

“You did buy me dinner, Callum.” I hold up my bag of Wendy’s—with a Frosty to boot.

“Um,” his nose wrinkles, “I don’t think this counts.”

I look at his salad and water, no Frosty in sight. “Well, yours doesn’t.”

“Hey, I ordered it with extra chicken. I’m in season. I can’t eat… that.” He nods toward my delicious but very gr easy burger. “And you’re certain we can’t go inside? We have to eat from the car?”

“This will be easier. We can eat, list, and drive?—”

“Fran, you realize that makes no sense to me.”

“Right,” I say. “Context. Here’s what we’re doing.

” I can’t even say the words without smiling because, man, I am so good.

I am going to make Callum Whitaker a believer again.

He was meant for love, and when I am done with him, he’s going to know it.

“We are going to make a list of things we’ve always wanted to do but haven’t yet.

And then…” I pause for dramatic effect. “We are going to do them!”

His brows furrow, unimpressed, and he takes one bite of his chicken salad. He chews slowly, then asks, “How long is this going to take?”

“As long as it takes. You can’t rush goodness.”

“I have practice tomorrow.”

I huff. I’m going easy on him. I am trying to fix his sad views on love. Does he not appreciate it?

“I’m just saying, if I write down a dozen things on a list that I want to do, it’s going to take a while. That’s not very realistic. We can’t accomplish twelve things in one night.”

I let out a sharp exhale, my shoulders sagging. “We could if you’d quit talking about it.”

“Fran—”

“Fine. Two things?—”

“Even two,” he says, because he has to make this difficult. “What if one of my things is skydiving? It’s seven o’clock at night in Tesoro, so how will we skydive?”

“Oh my gosh. You do not appreciate this at all. Do you have any idea which remake I could have done? Have you ever seen Joe Versus the Volcano ?”

“It’s a legit concern,” he says .

“Ugh. Come on. Put two things on your list, and I’ll put two things on mine. Then we’ll accomplish them.” I pull out my trusty notepad, the one I stole from Stacks.

“Okay. So, I need to write down doable things…” He sighs. “What movie is this from because?—”

“ Doable ? Cal, this is supposed to be adventurous, heart-pounding, deep desires of your heart. Not doable .” My nose wrinkles with the word. Callum Whitaker might be in worse shape than I thought.

He studies me. “That’s… a lot. And you know very well that we cannot go skydiving tonight.”

“Fine. But eat fast, and you need to make your list while you’re eating. I’ve already made mine.” I tug my list from a second Stacks notebook and peer down at my ten items. I’ll need to cut eight. Darn.

“Holy smokes, Fran. You expected us to do all of that tonight?”

“It’s supposed to be fun. And as for the movie, I’ve decided rather than me telling you, you’ll need to watch them.”

“But—”

“I know, you can hardly stay awake during a movie. That’s all going to change, Callum. Your luck is changing, and I’m going to change your outlook on love?—”

“I don’t need to change anything. I have nothing against love,” he says.

“Except when it comes to yourself. Taking a hiatus for eternity isn’t okay.”

He blows a raspberry through his lips and stabs another bite of lettuce. “Give me a pen.”

I eat my burger that smells a million times better than Callum’s salad while he stabs lettuce leaves and makes his own list. It takes him a whole lot longer than it should—it’s only two items. But his salad is long gone by the time he’s ready.

I have eight crossed out, leaving my remaining two. It was horribly sad to cut “Join the Peace Corps,” but that one would have been tricky.

When he sets his pen down, I swivel in my passenger seat to better face him.

6:28 p.m. Blood pumping. I’m excited for this, for Callum to experience this. I hope he is too.

“All right,” I say, beaming. “What’s on your list, Callum Whitaker?”

He presses his lips together and peers down at his paper. “One random act of kindness.”

I lift my brows. “Ooo, I like it.”

“And one scoop of chocolate chip ice cream.”

“Cal,” I groan, unimpressed.

“Hey, I’m in season. I don’t eat ice cream in season. And I’ve been craving chocolate chip ice cream since January.”

I smirk at the longing on his face. He is completely serious, which means I am going to find that man the most gourmet ice cream I can. Look out, Baskin Robins. I’m talking Salt and Straw.

“What’s on your list?”

I bounce my brows twice, ready to show him my Walk To Remember two. “Number one: Get a tattoo.” I grin and drag my eyes to his.

“I already have one. I’m not getting a—” He swallows. “Fran, that’s just for you, right?”

“No! We both have to do all the list items.” I ignore the glare he’s giving me. “Number two: Be in two places at once.” I feel so clever, and yet Callum looks at me as if I possibly need to see a psychiatrist.

“Fran… I really do have practice tomorrow.”

“And I have class. Calm down. What should we do first?”

Air blows from Callum’s lips, and his hair fluffs upward.

When he says nothing, just sits there looking despondent, I step in. Oh, sweet Callum, I am really going to have to show you how to have fun. Step by step. “Tattoos!”

“Fran, I’m serious. I have one already. I’m thinking one is enough. Besides, we don’t have appointments or ideas… or a desire.”

“Stop,” I say. I pull the handful of temporary tattoos from my purse. “Take your pick.”

A sigh falls from his chest as he peers at my non-permanent options. He pokes through the few I’ve brought, nose wrinkling. “Live, laugh, love,” he says, holding up a flower framed in curvy script.

“Good choice.”

“Oh, no. I don’t want that one. I’m just unimpressed it made the cut.”

I try to scoff in mock offense, but he’s funny, and my scoff comes out more like a titter. “Fine, what about…” I riffle through the pack I bought and pull out exactly what I’m looking for. The bubble letters read “Girl Power,” and the o in Power is a soccer ball.

“Um…”

“It’s perfect. Where do you want it?”

“I have practice tomorrow,” he mutters.

“So, your arm?” I ask.

“No.” He sighs, already giving in to me. I can see it. “Ankle. Low ankle. ”

“Classy,” I say. Then I pull out some wet wipes and tap the center console of Will Baxter’s Audi. “Give me your leg.”

Callum sighs. And I’m not stupid. I clearly understand that his sock will cover up this Girl Power tattoo for tomorrow’s practice. But I’m giving in to him because he’s going along with my plan when I wasn’t sure he would.

Callum’s legs are much too long, and it’s awkward getting his leg up and that tattoo on his ankle, but the man will not relent and give me his arm.

“I’m picking yours,” he says, once situated again.

“Great. Find me something pretty.” I grin—because I am the best sport ever. Sure, this was my idea, and I had a tattoo all picked out for myself, but I can compromise. I go with the flow. No matter what Rosalie says.

“This one.” He picks up a crochet hook with yarn wrapped around it that says “Part-Time Hooker.”

“Callum.” I glower. I mean, there is a perfectly adorable kitten with big eyes on top of that pile, and he picks the crochet hook with the off-color comment?

“I think your shoulder. It’ll look perfect there.”

I glare at him—for fun. Because I am having fun. Wait—what time is it? Is fun a feeling? I shake my head; I’ll track for my paper later. “Put it wherever you want, Superman.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he says as he pulls a wipe from my stash.

I rest my arm on the console, and Callum adjusts in his seat, focusing on my arm. Leaning close, he lifts my shirt sleeve. Soft fingers trail over the skin on my shoulder before he presses the decal to my skin. He holds the wet wipe over the paper, massaging it over my shoulder.

Minty breath wafts into my senses, and I peer at Callum, so near and warm and minty. My heart palpitates with his closeness, and for a second, I forget myself, even my plan for the night.

Pulling back on the transfer paper, Callum’s lips form a tight ‘O’ as he blows cool air over the section of skin with my new tattoo. And all at once, I am one lightheaded part-time hooker.

“Perfect,” he says, his blue eyes bouncing up to mine. “What’s next?”

“Ice cream?”

“I’m not hungry yet. How are we knocking out two places at once? Because I know you’ve got a plan.”

Oh, man, do I ever have a plan. I check my smittenness at the door and call up the scheme. Tesoro is perfect for this one. Half of the town resides in Nevada while the other half is in California. I looked up the coordinates earlier. Because I am the best Boy Scout ever.

I add my directions to Callum’s phone, and he starts up his borrowed car. “I’m not sure how this is going to work,” he says.

“Just drive.”

We make it to the edge of the lake. Callum stops at the end of my directions and peers at me. “Now what?”

“The state line—Nevada and California. Two places. We can straddle the state line!”

“Uh, Fran. The state line is in the middle of the lake.”

I peer out at the water—dark and quiet. Well, shoot. I think for a minute. Then, with my hand on the door handle, I open up my passenger side. Cal’s right behind me. I’ve kicked off my shoes, and we’re doing this!

Only one foot away from the water, a hand snags my own, and I am yanked back. My chest bumps Callum’s, and he wraps one arm around my back. “You’re not going out there.”

I whip my head around, ready to protest, but he’s serious.

“No. Not a good idea. Not tonight. We’ll come back another day with life jackets and sunshine, and maybe a boat. Okay?”

I can’t decide if the chills running down my back are due to the cool breeze on my cheeks or Callum’s arm around me. I nod, giving in to him more easily than I should. He might be right, though.

“Okay, then,” I say, my mouth dry and my pulse racing. “Time for a random act of kindness.”