“Oh, he did. He said it with this smug, dimpled smirk that made me want to punch him—and maybe kiss him—but mostly punch him. And Beth just stood there like she was watching a tennis match, eyes bouncing back and forth. Neither of us would back down.”
I can’t hold it in anymore. I burst out laughing. “Tina!”
“Don’t laugh!” she says. “You didn’t see him. That stupid Callahan face, those blue eyes, those dimples. He’s basically Cal’s evil twin with extra sarcasm.”
“Beth must’ve loved every second.”
“Oh, she did,” Tina huffs. “She stood there sipping her drink like she’d paid for front-row seats. The only thing missing was the popcorn. Part of me wanted to apologize, the other part wanted to kick him—but I just stood there, because I was too distracted by his stupid… handsome face.”
I wipe my eyes, still laughing. “So what you’re saying is… you met your match.”
“We’ll see about that,” she mutters. “We’ll just have to see about that.”
Chapter 20
Cal
By the time Dad drops me off at home, it's past nine o'clock. I’m sore, tired from the flight, and looking forward to sleeping in my own bed. I drop my bag just inside the door and head straight for the kitchen. Nate’s there, standing by the window with his arms crossed, wearing one of his usual worn-in flannel shirts and a look that says he’s two seconds from telling someone off.
He doesn’t say anything when I walk in—just grunts and gives a nod. Classic Nate.
I pour myself some coffee from the pot he must’ve made. “Did Hannah go to bed on time?”
“She wanted to wait up for you, but she was out by eight,” he says. “Bethy’s in the bedroom with her.”
"So. Manhattan didn’t chew me up.”
“Shame,” he mutters. “Would’ve saved you the trouble of moving.”
I chuckle. “It went well. Brewer’s offering a full partnership—five custom pieces for his gallery, commissioned, top-dollar clients. He wants exclusivity.”
That finally earns a glance. “So, you're doing this.”
“Yeah. I am.”
“Good,” he says simply. Then, after a beat: “How many zeroes?”
I grin into my mug. “Enough.”
I set the mug down and lean back. “And get this—he wants to license a few of my original designs. Said he knows a handful of boutique retailers who’d pay royalties just to reproduce limited editions under my name. Custom craftsmanship, mass-scale exposure. I keep the rights, they do the work.”
Nate lets out a low whistle. “That’s not just a paycheck. That’s a legacy.”
“Exactly. I’d get to focus on the pieces I love, not just the ones that pay the bills.”
He nods slowly, absorbing it. “I can see why you’re thinking of making the move.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s the kind of shot you don’t turn down.”
He nods once but doesn’t say anything more. Which means his thoughts are on something else. He doesn’t get quiet unless something’s festering.
I lean against the counter. “Everything go okay while I was gone?”
He shifts his jaw. “Hannah was fine. Beth had things handled.”
“But?”
He uncrosses his arms and drags a hand down his face like the memory physically irritates him. “But your neighbor…”
