Page 28

Twenty-Six

I let out a breath—one that my whole body feels. “And then, we ate ice cream.” I bobble my head. “Well, mostly I ate ice cream. Callum got one scoop, had two bites, and then dumped the rest into my bowl.”

“Ew,” Rosalie says, her nose wrinkling.

“I’ve kissed the man, Rose. I’m not afraid of his germs.” Nope, not at all.

“I’m sticking with ew .” She folds her hands around her morning coffee mug and adjusts her cross-legged position on our couch so that she’s facing me head-on. “So, it was a good date, then?”

I clamp my jaw shut, rein in my grin, and answer in a tone that says— meh . “It was fine.”

“ Fran ,” she says. Why does she sound like she’s hitting me with a backup alarm lecture? BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Fran, don’t screw up your life.

“What?” I say, but there is way too much defense in my tone .

“You like him. He has basically blacklisted love, and you like him.”

“It was one date. We’ve got a thing going—you know that. He’s helping me. I’m helping him. I don’t hate him.” My pulse quickens. Nope, I don’t hate Callum. Not even a little. “What’s the problem?”

Rosalie groans, her head falling to the back of the couch cushion.

“I’m going to work,” I say. And sure, I’m going to be twenty minutes early, but I’m all hyped up, and we’re through here. Rosalie is just going to fret. And I want to enjoy the memory of this remake. It’s my best yet.

“Wait! Fran, I just worry about you. You’re the sweetest, and I don’t want anyone messing with you.”

“Cal isn’t messing with me.”

“Maybe not intentionally, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t messing with your heartstrings.”

I roll my eyes because she is being all dramatic and that’s my department. Plus, I can’t have her threatening Callum again. It has nothing to do with the fact that her words hit way too close to home.

“I’ll see you tonight,” I tell her. “Love you!”

Lester drums his fingers over the countertop, swiveling slightly on his stool. I refill his mug for the fourth time—half a cup of coffee, half a cup of milk, one hazelnut creamer. “Has that boy been back in?”

My brow furrows. “What boy?”

“The one giving you the come-hither eyes. ”

I choke—on nothing. “Excuse me?”

“You know, tall, dark hair, broad shoulders, plays games for a living.”

“Callum?”

“I don’t know the man’s name, doll. Dorothy might. She was always one to watch over things like this.” Lester takes a sip of his coffee-milk. “He was good-looking enough.”

“Good-looking enough for what?” I say.

He nods his answer. “To be your beau.”

I swallow and peer past Lester to the couple whose order I have yet to take. “He isn’t my beau. We’re dating. Sort of. But not a beau. A friend.”

Lester’s bushy white brows pull together, his blue eyes studying me. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Ah…” I stare at my elderly friend. “I don’t—I don’t really know.”

“You don’t need a perfect man, Fran. Perfect expects perfection. Where’s the fun in that? Do you have any idea how many freckles Dorothy had on her stomach? Some would have said that wasn’t perfection, but I loved connecting those dots. When she comes back, I hope she comes with freckles.”

“Oh gosh.” My throat tightens. “Thanks for that image, Lester. I actually need to take an order. You’re set, right?”

“I’m serious, Fran. Think about it.”

“Oh, I will.” I am pretty sure I will never get the vision of Lester connecting dots to fade from my memory.

“Nobody wants perfection,” he says.

That isn’t the problem here. I don’t want perfection. Dorothy probably knows it. I just want someone to make memories with. Someone to love and to be loved by.

I want to experience love, but I’d rather not get my heart broken, and for the first time in my life, it’s in very real danger.

I don’t want perfection. Truly, I don’t.

Rosalie’s right, I want Callum. A man who doesn’t even believe in love.

At least not for himself.