“Thank ye for showing me your country.” Callan reached across the table to take her hand in his, the calluses rough on his palms as her heart sped up.
“It’s been wonderful spending time with you. This fall we’ll have to go to all the festivals and antiques fairs. I’ll buy tickets when we get back.”
But when he didn’t say anything, she bit her lip, wondering if she’d pushed too far. He was so old-fashioned that sometimes she worried she was coming on too strong.
After they’d stuffed themselves, finishing dinner with lemon sorbet, they made their way across town to the doggy day care to pick up Frankie.
Callan stopped outside the door.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“Where are you going?” She stood there, looking at him, her hand on the door handle.
He only smiled. “You’ll see. I will see ye back at the van.”
“Do you even remember where we parked?”
He only nodded as he walked away, leaving her there watching him go. By the time she and Frankie got to the van and were ready to leave, she was frantic. Where was he? Had she been too clingy and he’d decided he’d had enough and left her?
She was inside giving her fur baby his dinner when Callan returned.
“Where were you?”
Taken aback at her tone, he arched a brow. “I had to take care of a thing.”
“I thought you left me.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, suddenly chilled even though it was hot outside.
Callan pulled her into a hug. “Where would I go, lass? Why do ye always think I will leave?”
She leaned back to look up at him. “Because everyone leaves. My parents, the men I date, even my best friend.”
“Come. Sit.” He sat at the small table, pulling her onto his lap as she bumped her knees against the table, and only then did she notice the bag beside him.
“What’s that?”
He shook his head. “It will keep.”
With a finger, he tilted her chin up. “I willna leave ye. Ye must not worry so,” he said, but he didn’t fully meet her eyes.
Then he smoothed her hair back, patted Frankie, who was sitting by their feet, and slid the bag across the table.
“A gift.”
Blowing her nose, she sniffed. “I like presents.”
That got a smile out of him. “Aye, all women like gifts. Open it.”
It was an apron with a 50s looking picture of a woman that said,Baking, because murder is wrong.
“Like your shirt you wear all the time.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “Ye are vera messy. I thought mayhap an apron would keep your clothes cleaner.”
And just like that, she laughed, the worry gone.
“I love it, thank you.”
He wouldn’t have bought her a gift if he was planning to leave. She was simply overreacting. As usual.
“Ready for our next adventure?” she asked, her voice rough.
