Anticipation thrums in my veins, hot and desperate, when I hear the distant sound of the front door opening and closing. I haven’t seen much of Callie since our cuddle session earlier in the week, and I’m itching for another fix. Atticus stretches out of his box beneath my desk and saunters out of the room. I follow close behind.
All the air whooshes from my lungs when I spot her. She has her nose buried in a large bouquet of flowers, and there’s a soft smile plastered on her face. They’re not just any flowers—they’remyflowers. Black-and-white anemones mixed with a variety of other ones. Who the fuck bought her flowers? Was it that dipshit, Clint?
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, it’s a struggle not to snatch them from her hands. Can I get away with feeding Clint to the pigs?
Callie distracts me from the thought.
“Hey.” She bites down on her bottom lip and holds out the bouquet. “These are for you.”
“For me?”
“Yeah. You said nobody’s ever given youflowers before, and…”
She doesn’t get to finish before I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her into my chest. It takes her a moment to relax, but when she does, she practically melts into me.
“Thank you,” I murmur against the shell of her ear. An unexpected wave of emotion swells inside of me.
She bought me flowers.
Nobody’s ever accused me of being emotional, but fuck if this isn’t getting to me.
Atticus paws at her legs, demanding attention. I silently curse him for interrupting our moment as she abandons me to scratch him behind his ears.
I make a mental note to check which flowers are toxic to cats and keep them away from Atticus just to be safe. He won’t like being locked out of my room, but I couldn’t live with myself if Callie’s thoughtful gift inadvertently hurt Atticus in any way.
“This is way better than a jar of pickles.”
She laughs and the sound goes straight to my dick. “I think we’ll have to agree to disagree on that one.”
My mind automatically conjures the ridiculous image of Callie walking down the aisle with a bouquet of pickles and a smile overtakes my face. “You’re somethin’ else, Callie Cooper.”
“Do you have anything we can put them in? I didn’t think to get a vase.”
“I’m sure there’s a jar around here somewhere.”
I chart a path to the kitchen and search through the cabinets while Callie takes a seat at the island. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the sight of her in my space. It’s jarring, like a walking daydream.
I find a large mason jar and fill it with water while Callie unwraps the bouquet. There’s a packet of plant food tucked between the stems. She reads the instructions, then sprinkles it into the water.
“I think we might need to cut them down,” she says.
I reach into my junk drawer and pull out a pair of scissors. She measures, cuts each stem to size, and arranges them perfectly in the jar. I’m enraptured by the way she nibbles on her bottom lip while she works, and the subtle crinkle of her nose when she doesn’t like the placement. She’s adorable, and I can’t seem to look away.
She fluffs them one last time and tilts her head to the side. “Perfect.”
Yeah. She is.
“Do you have dinner plans tomorrow?” I ask.
She grimaces. “I have that double date with Mo.”
And Clint—the fucker.
“More pickles for me then. I was gonna go to Catalano’s.”
Her shoulders slump, and she pouts. I want to bite into that perfect bottom lip. “Maybe we could have dinner before I leave.”
I take two measured steps into her space and cage her against the counter. Her breath hitches. “I’m not gonna be your opening act, Callie baby.”
