"Ithoughtwe were. I had told him about this girl I had a crush on back in high school. He encouraged me to tell her, so I did. I wrote her this dumb letter confessing my crush and put it in her locker. She played along, acting as if she liked me too, but she and Paul and all their friends were just laughing at me behind my back. She told me to meet her at the park, that she wanted to tell me something. It was just an ambush. Paul and all his friends were there. She read the letter out loud in front of them, and I ran away."
My heart hurts for Callum. I rub at my chest trying to relieve the ache, but my mind keeps picturing teenage Callum—sweet and round-faced with the same warm smile—being humiliated in front of everyone.
And God, does it make me pissed at Paul.
How could he do something like that? Something so cruel and vicious?
Paul always said he was the golden boy, beloved throughout Starling Cove, and I had seen evidence of that from therestaurants, bars, and shops we'd visited. Everyone always said hello to him, asked about his parents, and he would introduce me with pride. They would fawn over me, telling me what a great kid Paul was growing up.
I honestly could never picture Paul as a bully—that was never the Paul I knew...
But I believe Callum.
"I am so, so sorry, Callum," I say, my voice hoarse and heartbroken.
"It's okay, Sophie," he grins at me, squeezing my hand gently. "It's schoolyard stuff. I honestly had forgotten about it until..."
"Until I walked intoRivers & Rhodes..."
Callum then grins, bright and true and happy. "Until you walked into my life."
"Do you..." I start to ask hesitantly, worried about his answer. "Do you feel some type of way about me? I mean, I was with your bully for six years. There should have been signs for me to see. I keep asking myself if I was willfully ignorant or—"
"No!No, Sophie," Callum says, his voice sharper than I've ever heard it. His eyes are blazing now, lit with a fire that startles me. "I didn't know Paul as an adult, but you did, so I have to believe that there were good qualities in him for you to be with him like that. Because you, Sophie, areextraordinaryand any man would be lucky to be with you."
My breath catches in my throat at the passion in his voice, his hand tightens around mine just a fraction, reminding me that we're still connected, and I turn my palm over so our fingers can lace together.
"Mom always says no one is all good or all bad. It's the choices that we make that truly define us. Paul chose wrong with me, and Paul chose wrong with you. That's that. I don't think Paul issome terrible, awful, evil monster, but I do think he makes the wrong choices when it counts."
Choices. We are defined by our choices.
Our choice to stay, our choice to leave. Choices we make out of love, out of desperation, out of fear, out of pride. Some choices seem right, but they end up ruining us. Some choices may seem wrong, but ultimately lead to a better path. Ultimately, everything comes down to a choice.
In the end—in love, in life, in happiness—it all comes down to what we choose.
"But, when Paul and I weren't around our classmates, I probably had a peek at the person you were engaged to, because that Paul was funny and he could be really nice," Callum smiles fondly. "His mom would pack him thoseHostesscupcakes for lunch, and he would split one with me on the walk home sometimes without making a barb about my weight like other kids did. I think that was the Paul you saw, because I think you seek out the kindness that you give so freely."
"I wish I had met you sooner," I confess in a whisper, smiling at his words. I know meeting him sooner wouldn't have been possible, at least without Paul bringing me to this town.
Huh, guess I can at least thank him for that.
Callum smiles at me, squeezing my hand in his.
"I think we came into each other's lives at just the right time."
I don't think I can speak through my closed throat, his words hitting me in my chest like a physical blow. So instead, I choose action. I lift his hand up and place a kiss on the back of it, his skin warm under my lips. His pupils dilate at the contact, and I grin at him as I brush my thumb against the back of his hand. He keeps his eyes on our joined hands for a long time, but I just keep my eyes on him.
A couple of minutes later, he checks his watch and downs the rest of his coffee. We reluctantly break our contact, and hestands up, rinses the mug, and places it in my dishwasher before I can even open my mouth to tell him that I'll get it.
"I gotta get to the store," he tells me when he turns back around. "Wanna shower beforehand. I probably reek."
"I think you smell good," my mouth moves before my brain can catch up, and I close my eyes, cringing at myself. I mean, it's true—he smells fantastic, but I didn't need to just blurt it out like a starstruck moron.
He pauses, turning his head to look at me with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," I answer, my voice a little breathless, but honest. "You always smell good."
He doesn't move at first, and then suddenly he's bending down, leaning in until his face is level with mine. His eyes, warm and steady, catch mine, and he smiles. "You always smell good, too, Sophie."
