These people know how to linger. They’ve got nothing on whoever The Cranberries were singing about.
I don’t know what all that weird book stuff was about earlier, but I can pin it as the moment things became tense. Gavin’s face has shown a faint degree of strain ever since. It’s not super obvious—the man is clearly well-practiced in repressing his emotions. If we were in a session, I would be trying to get him to unpack this one layer at a time.
But we’re not. I’m not his counselor. He’s not even my friend…yet?
The fact that hewantsto be was enough of a surprise. Maybe he’s not used to being at odds with anyone. He’s too sunny to have a rain cloud in his house, so he needs me to be all fluffy and cotton and free of rain again. Watching him interact with his family, I get the sense Gavin hasn’t always had it super easy.
I stifle a yawn.
“You must want us out of your hair,” Jean says, stirring more sugar into her tea.
“No, of course not.” I shake my head vehemently. The last thing I want is for all these people to think I desire more alone time with their son. Grandson. Whatever. “Still adjusting to the time change. It hasn’t been as hard as I expected, since Gavin keeps me fed like clockwork.”
“My boy is a good one,” Nessa says confidently, beaming at her grandson. “Always looking out for others. Such a gentleman.”
It’s true. That’s a fitting word for him. I’m the harlot who tried to seduce the man. Good thing my blush isn’t trying to come hang out again, or it might give me away.
“He’s always been that way,” Jean confides. “Even in school, he was so good with the lasses.”
“Remember when he took wee bonnie Penny the flowers for her birthday?” Nessa asks, slapping the table softly. “He couldna been more than nine at the time.”
I glance at both men, wondering whose chivalry he was mimicking. “A charmer,” I say.
“Guard your heart.” Nessa claps Gavin on the arm, then pours herself another cup of tea. “He’s been known to steal a few of them.”
I have a feeling she’s putting it lightly. I also imagine he hates this conversation excessively, despite his golden retriever energy, which makes me want it to go on even longer. It’s easing the tension in a great way.
“What else did Gavin do?”
Jean laughs. “Remember when he wanted to take Blair to the Leavers’ Dance?”
“Mum,” Gavin says, spinning his phone on the table and refusing to meet anyone’s eye. He looks uncomfortable. “We’ll be putting the poor lass to sleep at this rate.”
“Not at all,” I promise.
Gavin shoots me a look, rising to gather dirty pie plates.
I lean toward his mom and put my chin on my hand. “Go on.”
“He wanted her to feel special, so he dressed in his best clothes, had his grandfather help him tie his tie. Oh, he was the sweetest lad. He went to school early and stood at the top of the steps with a sign asking her to be his date.”
“In front of the entire school?”
Gavin grumbles, stacking the rest of the plates and swiping mine with an extra flourish. “Aye. She said yes though, didn’t she?”
“Of course she did. Who could resist you?” Nessa asks, squeezing him on the shoulder.
Why do my cheeks feel warm? In my personal experience, it’s Gavin that’s good at resisting. I’m just like every other girl around him, evidently. Looking at him, though, it’s not a surprise he’s such a charmer. The man is attractive, he takes care of himself, andhe cleans. I mean, his house smells nice. It’s not just the stew and bread, but the house itself has a faint woodsy and leather scent, similar to how Gavin smells. The man probably uses real wood polish and takes care of his leather furniture in a proper way, like a proper adult.
My last boyfriend—if Alex even deserves that title with how on-again-off-again we were—used expensive cologne and shower gel to cover up the fact that he wasn’t great about doing his laundry consistently and never made time to clean his apartment. It wasn’t a priority while he focused on grad school and work and getting his clinical hours in.
I have the same grad school classes, work, and clinical hours, and manage to pick up after myself. It’s not that hard, but what do I know?
“What do you do for fun, Callie?” Jean asks, lifting her mug and taking a sip.
Fun? When was the last time I did something that didn’tspecifically move me forward in some way? Whether it was school- or work-related?
“If you need to think this hard, you might need Gavin more than we thought,” Hamish says, his deep voice taking me by surprise.
