He lifted our joined hands and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, the gesture so tender it made my throat tight. “My pleasure. Though I really wish you’d stop thanking me.”
“N-not today. I c-can’t.”
“Fair enough.”
We made our way back inside, where our coffee had gone cold and the morning’s peace had been thoroughly shattered. But Fraser dumped our mugs and started fresh, moving around my kitchen with the easy familiarity of someone who belonged there.
Because somehow, he did.
14
FRASER
The Friday night after the storm, I stood in front of my bathroom mirror trying to tame my beard into something presentable. At least I didn’t have to worry about my hair, one of the benefits of being bald. Back when I’d discovered my hair was thinning rapidly, I’d decided to preemptively shave my head, and I had never regretted it.
But as an active firefighter, a beard had not been allowed. Sure, a little scruff was unavoidable since we didn’t exactly have time to shave when we were spiked out, but ever since my involuntary retirement, I’d let my beard grow. It was an unexpected source of pride now, evidence of me embracing a new piece of my identity I hadn’t been able to develop before.
Calloway and I had seen each other every day this week for coffee, dinners, book club, and nights spent reading side by side. We’d kissed, a little longer and deeper each time. He hadn’t asked me to spend the night again, and so we’d gone our separate ways each night. I’d had to take matters into my own hand, so to speak, to bring some much-needed relief to my aching balls. No way was I putting pressure on Calloway.
But tonight was different. Tonight was our first official date.
“It’s dinner,” I told my reflection, who looked unconvinced. “You’ve had dinner with him dozens of times.”
But this wasn’t dinner. This was me picking him up, taking him to Seattle for a poetry reading at Elliott Bay Books, followed by reservations at a restaurant Brianna had recommended with a knowing smile. This was intentional, declared, a real date with all that implied.
My phone buzzed with a text from Calloway.
Still planning to pick me up at 5?
Wouldn’t miss it.
Looking forward to it
Three simple words that made my belly tickle with a mix of nerves and excitement. I’d watched him slowly open up, each small bravery adding up to something beautiful. The way he’d left his hand in mine when we’d walked to Brianna’s last Tuesday. How he’d begun suggesting activities instead of waiting for me to lead. The soft smile that appeared more frequently now, usually when he thought I wasn’t looking.
I pulled on the sweater a helpful sales guy had helped me pick out after I’d told him I needed something for a date—a navy-blue lambswool that he’d insisted brought out my eyes. “No matter how hot you look in flannel—and trust me, honey, you do—you want a different vibe for a date,” he’d told me, and a couple of hundred dollars later, I was all set with various options to choose from.
The drive to Calloway’s house took the usual three minutes, but I’d left early enough to sit in his driveway for two more, also a habit by now. Through the window, I could see him moving around, probably changing shirts for the third time. The thought made me smile. At least I wasn’t the only nervous one.
When he opened the door, my brain short-circuited momentarily. He wore charcoal gray slacks that fit perfectly, a burgundy sweater that made his skin glow, and a soft smile that hit me right in the heart.
“You look…” I paused, searching for words that wouldn’t sound like a bad romance novel. “Really good.”
Pink crept up his neck. “Th-thank you. You too.”
The drive to Seattle took seventy-five minutes, traffic cooperating for once. Calloway had control of the music, introducing me to musicians I hadn’t listened to much, like Iron & Wine, Sufjan Stevens, Billy Eilish, and Lorde. They were artists who crafted words like he did, carefully and with purpose. We talked about everything and nothing, the conversation flowing more easily now that we’d learned each other’s rhythms.
“When was the last time you were at Elliott Bay?” I asked as we entered the city proper.
He snorted. “Three w-weeks ago. I t-tell myself to stay away, but I can’t.”
“Why would you want to stay away?”
“B-because I’m running out of sp-space for new books.”
I gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Pretty sure you could easily fit in another bookcase in your study.”
He playfully slapped my shoulder. “You’re an enabler.”
