Page 48

Forty-Five

My palm goes sweaty inside of Callum’s. My ears drum with a replay of his words: While you were thinking, I was falling for Fran.

Callum Whitaker—the professional soccer player—has fallen for me?

Did I hear that right?

Or maybe I have misunderstood.

There were so many clues, so many hopes, but never anything definite.

“Fallen for Fran?” I say, arm stretched out as Callum leads me through this crowd. “Fallen for Fran?” We trudge through a sea of people, near Kristina’s fountain, in the heart of this party. “Callum,” I say, my voice strong and loud.

I tug his hand right back, and finally he comes to a stop.

“Is that true? What you said back there?”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple rising and falling, his jaw clenching and his blue eyes peering into mine.

“Is that true?” I say again, this time slow and deliberate.

“Yes. ”

“But you don’t want to fall for anyone.”

“I know. I didn’t. But I have.”

My heart pounds in my chest, and while logic tells me we have an audience, I don’t see anyone. There’s Callum before me and a blur of colors around us.

“You don’t have to reciprocate,” he says—like such an idiot.

I laugh or hiccup—maybe both at the same time. “But I do.”

“You do?” he says, as if it isn’t so very obvious.

A not-so-pretty choking laugh falls from my mouth. I slap my hand over my lips as tears fill my eyes. Well… this isn’t how I imagined this moment going. No, I’m supposed to be composed and beautiful and say all the right things.

Shifting right in front of me, Callum brushes back a strand of my hair. Tears leak from my eyes, and my lips quiver behind my hand. He peers down at the mess I’m becoming right before his eyes.

Cupping my cheek, he traces the skin just below my right eye. “I don’t want a lucky charm, Fran.”

My brows pinch, and I shake my head in question, too afraid to speak.

“I just want you.”

“You want me?” I squeak behind the shield of my palm.

Reaching for my hand, Callum pulls my fingers away from my face. “Are you going to repeat everything I say?”

“Maybe.” I swallow, my throat tightening with tears I’m attempting—and failing—to hold back.

“How am I doing?” he says, his blue eyes sparkling down at me. “Does this remind you of a movie?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” I can’t think—not one movie scene enters my mind .

His left brow quirks upward. “Sorry about that.”

Another choking laugh slips from my lips, my chest heaving. Man, I do not cry pretty. Not even with good news—the best news.

Callum wants me.

I swallow and coil my arms around his back. Through tears, hiccups, and this ache in my throat, I attempt to speak. “Do you know what I want?”

His eyes crease as he studies me, waiting for an answer.

“I want you.” Finally—a sentence without a hiccup, without choking, without a bout of tears.

“Not a movie?”

I shake my head. “Just you.”

“Just me?”

I nod, still trying to decide if any of this is real. This is a scene I never imagined. This is a moment I couldn’t have dreamed up. And it’s better than any movie I’ve ever witnessed.

“Just Fran. Just Callum,” he says, his fingers sliding from my cheek to my neck and into the back of this updo that Kailey spent an hour on. “I like us.” He leans down, bringing his mouth to mine and pecking my lips.

But then—Callum just confessed to falling for me, and I’m not content with a peck. Snaking my arms around his neck, I hold him close, pressing my mouth to his. My body warms with his touch, with bliss and light and the man in front of me.

Inching back, I say, “No more hiatus?”

He pecks my mouth. “No more.”

“And you realize—” I say.

“Oh, boy.” Callum exhales .

“If I hadn’t planned those remakes, we never would have?—”

“We would have figured it out,” he says.

I moan—deliriously happy. “Just admit it—admit that the romcom wins again. Come on. Say it,” I whisper, so close that my nose brushes his and his breath warms my cheeks.

“I won’t say it.”

“Cal,” I whine through a wide, joyful grin. Kristina was right. It’s not about what we do, it’s about who we’re with. But I’m pretty sure my remakes worked some magic and made Cal a believer again. “Just say it.”

“I’m not going to say it, woman,” he says. And then he does the most romcom thing of all and shuts me up with a kiss. Long and deep and ridiculously delicious.