Callan laces his fingers in mine when we get outside. “Is this okay?”
My hand grips his tighter, relishing the warmth soaking into my flesh. “Yes.”
We share a look, and butterflies swoop into my chest.
We don’t talk as we walk the trail behind the house leading to the other side of the lake, but it’s not awkward. The sun is shining, birds are singing a melody, and the minty freshness of the woods mingles with the floral scents emanating from the garden and the smell of minerals rising from the lake. Callan’s hand is solid in mine, his gaze intense, his protectiveness familiar.
He raises our conjoined hands, dusting a kiss against my knuckles I feel ricocheting up my arm. No one has ever made my body tingle from the barest touch like he does. “I love that you’re here. This place feels like a real home now.”
I rest my head against his arm as we walk along the wooden dock toward the boat. “I love living here. It’s idyllic.”
He stops at the end of the dock, turning to face me. “Are you happy, Astrid?”
I cup his face. “I am.”
“Have you given any thought to what Dorian suggested?”
I nod. “I have, and I discussed it with Ginger. She thinks it’s a great idea, so let’s do it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” I run my fingers through the stubble on his chin and cheeks because I’ve been longing to do it for weeks. “Couples counseling makes sense. Gwen ripped us apart in the cruelest way. We didn’t end because our love died. We were forced to move on with our lives, deploying different strategies to deal with the aftermath and the realities we were both facing. We have a lot of unresolved feelings that need to be addressed. I don’t think either of us can fully heal without it.”
“I agree.” He presses a lingering kiss to my brow, and I close my eyes, resting my hands on his chest, soaking up his warmth and the spicy scent of his cologne. “Come on.” Taking my hand, he helps me onto the boat, settling me into a seat at the back around the small table. “You asked me once how I’d romance you, do you remember?”
I beam at him as he pops the top off a bottle of champagne he has chilling in a cooler bucket. “I do.”
“I don’t have a luxury yacht or a jacuzzi, and we don’t have eggs Benedict or steak”—he pours champagne into two flutes—“but we do have mimosas, strawberries, cake, and a picnic lunch, and I’m going to take us out on the lake.” He pours orange juice into the flutes and hands me one. “To us.”
I clink my glass against his. “To us. To living the dream even if it looks a little different now.”
His eyes swim with adoration as he leans down, bringing his mouth close to mine. My heart is jumping cartwheels, and butterflies are running amok in my chest. “The dream was always you.” He kisses the corner of my mouth, maintaining eye contact before he walks to the bow and starts the engine.
I tie my hair back and pop on my sunglasses, when we pick up speed and bounce over the gentle rolling water as Callan steers us toward the northern part of the lake. I sip my mimosa and watch him. He looks good in denim shorts and a white teebehind the wheel. Strands of dark hair blow across his brow when he looks over his shoulder to check on me, his smile bright when he catches me staring. His eyes are hidden behind designer sunglasses, but I know they’re smiling.
Callan brings us to a stop along the most stunning part of the woods, throwing the anchor overboard to hold us in place. “I hope you’re hungry.” He places a picnic basket on top of the table.
“Is that a trick question?”
“I love that you still love food.”
“My hips don’t thank me for it.”
He stops removing packages and shoves his glasses onto the top of his head. “You’re fucking stunning, Astrid, even more so now. Please tell me that was a joke.”
“I was joking. I’m comfortable in my body.”
His gaze rakes leisurely over me, lingering on my larger chest, more shapely hips and waist, and the legs he was always obsessed with. Well, that and my ass, of which there is certainly more for him to grab hold of now.
“As you should be.” His voice sounds a little strained.
Callan plates out tons of sandwiches, salads, dips, and bread before handing me a fresh mimosa. He sits beside me, stretching his arm out along my back, and I lean against him, staring at him in awe as we chat in between eating. Music plays low in the background, and it’s the most perfect date.
“Room for cake?” he asks.
“Always,” I say as I clear away the plates and pack up the leftover salads.
“So, we have chocolate cake and strawberries, or if you’re feeling brave, you could try maple cake.” My eyes lower to the containers of cake. “I feel it’s only fair to warn you, it was my first attempt at baking it, so I can’t promise it’s up to the standards you’re used to.”
