He shakes his head at me, but there’s the tiniest flicker of amusement in his brown eyes. “In his room. I told him you were coming. He’s excited.”
I follow him up the stairs, my gaze drifting as we pass through his living room. It’s stylish but masculine—charcoal greys and deep blues, a large corner sofa, and a few houseplants thriving on the windowsill. The shelves lining the walls surprise me with their mix of football trophies and hardcover novels. There’s a soft, comforting scent in the air—like cedar and something clean, maybe his laundry detergent.
Fergie’s room is the complete opposite, with vivid colours and the enormous bird cage taking up a large portion of the room. His little lair is filled with vibrant toys, perches, a swing, and what looks like a tiny plastic tambourine. Fergie himself is clinging to a perch on the far end, but the moment we step into the room, he spreads his wings and flies straight toward us, landing gracefully on one of his wooden perches.
“Millie! Millie pretty,” he calls, bobbing his head as if dancing for joy.
“There you are, little guy. Oh, you’re so cute,” I say, passing my hands through the cage. He immediately bows his head to let me pet his soft feathers.
“So cute,” Fergie repeats. “Cuddles, please.”
I giggle, continuing to gently scratch his head, and his eyes flutter half-shut in delight.
“Yeah, this is not normal,” Callum says, arms crossed and frown firmly in place. His bulging biceps seem to stretch out his jumper. Swallowing hard, I force myself to look away. The man is built like a Greek statue, and it’s deeply inconvenient.
“Of course it is. It’s called instalove.”
He lifts his eyebrows. “Should I let him out for a minute? He could—”
“Oh yes, please!” I almost jump in place. “I’d love that.”
“Out! Out!” Fergie chants, wings fluttering with anticipation.
Callum opens the cage door, and Fergie steps out calmly onto his forearm. My breath catches. The man looks like something out of a nature documentary—confident, comfortable, and somehow gentler than I expected. The contrast between Callum’s sheer size and the small bird’s delicate claws might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hold out your arm,” Callum says, his voice softer now.
I extend my arm, and Fergie hops onto it. He’s even more beautiful up close—vivid green feathers that shimmer with hints of gold, ringed eyes that are bright and curious, and tiny claws that are surprisingly warm against my skin.
He dances from foot to foot, then says, “Cuddles!”
A laugh bursts out of me as I begin scratching his head again.
“Yeah, he’s a little bossy,” Callum says, leaning against the doorframe. The way he looks right now, completely relaxed and—dare I say it, almost happy—is doing weird things to my stomach. I always knew he was attractive, or at least, notunattractive, but for the first time, I notice just how good-looking he is. Chiseled jaw, corded arms, deep brown eyes with hints of caramel, and the ghost of a smile I’m dying to see.
“Again!” Fergie demands, jolting me out of my thoughts.
“Easy,” Callum says. “Be nice.”
I glance back at Callum, and suddenly, this whole situation feels a little too intimate. Here I am at his place, in one of his rooms, cuddling his parrot when I’m supposed to be here for work.Don’t get me wrong—this is way more fun. But it’s not why he asked me over. No matter how adorable this bird is, I have to focus on my job. Especially now that Callum is finally letting me do it.
As if reading my mind, he clears his throat and says, “So, should we get started, Millie? I amveryeager to develop my social media accounts, as you know.” His lips twitch more than ever, but I’m not rewarded with a smile just yet.
I bite my lip, chuckling. “My my, how the tables have turned. I knew deep down you were a social media star in the making.”
He shakes his head, but a chuckle escapes him, and then I see it. His smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, and his whole face shifts, becoming less guarded, more open. It’s like seeing sunshine after a stretch of grey skies, and the moment catches me off-guard.
I drop my arm, and Fergie squawks loudly. He flaps wildly as he launches upward, smacking me in the face with a full-on wing slap.
“Och!” Callum calls, stepping forward and placing his hand on my elbow. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, swallowing hard at the sudden proximity. “I lowered my arm.”
Fergie is now standing on a perch affixed to the wall, looking betrayed.
“He doesn’tlike to be taken by surprise,” Callum says, holding out his own arm. “Aye, right then. Time to get to work. Come here, you little monster.”
Fergie flies to his forearm, and Callum helps him back inside his cage.
