He tilts his head, pretending to consider it. “Maybe. But I’m not complaining.”
I arch an eyebrow just inches away from him. “You think you can handle all this ‘feistiness’?”
His hands slide to my hips, firm as he pulls me closer. “I think I’ve been handling it just fine, Sunshine.”
I laugh softly, my fingers trailing up to rest against the beat of his heart. “Kiss me,Prince Charming. And then I need to go get ready for whatever it is we’re doing today.”
“As you wish, my lady,” he replies, his tone dripping with mock chivalry. When he leans down, there’s nothing mocking about the kiss that follows.
His lips claim mine as his grip turns possessive on my hips, anchoring me against him like he has no intention of letting go. The kiss is slow, his tongue teasing mine in a way that’s almost maddening. He’s taking his time, savoring every second and every reaction.
I let out a quiet sigh against his lips, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt to keep myself grounded, even as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. My thoughts blur into a single, all-consuming focus—him.
God, I missed the way he kisses me like I’m the only thing that matters, like he’s trying to memorize every detail, every sigh, every shiver. His lips move against mine with a deliberate intensity, all hunger and tenderness that makes my knees weak. Each brush of his lips, every subtle shift, sends a wave of heat coursing through me, melting away the time and distance that kept us apart.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless, my lips tingling, my thoughts completely scrambled. Callan’s dark eyes lock onto mine, smoldering with a desire that makes it hard to focus on anything except the idea of dragging him back to bed and letting the rest of the day disappear.
He takes a step back with restraint that’s as frustrating as it is endearing. “Go on, get ready,” he says. “As much as I’d love to keep you here all day, I think some fresh air will do us both good.”
I give a reluctant nod, even as my body protests the distance between us. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
We’ve been wanderingthrough the local farmer’s market for a while now, and Callan’s enthusiasm is borderline contagious. He’s like a kid let loose in a candy store, stopping at every stall with wide-eyed curiosity. His excitement doesn’t discriminate. He’s just as enthralled by jars of local honey as he is by handmade candles.
He’s carrying a bag stuffed to capacity with a loaf of sourdough, a jar of strawberry preserves, and, inexplicably, a knitted hat he insisted I needed. Even though it’s May, and I’m currently sweating in the afternoon sun.
He halts abruptly at a booth overflowing with jars of spices, his face lighting up like he’s just discovered treasure. Grabbing one, he twists the lid and sniffs dramatically. “This one smells like trouble,” he declares, holding it out to me.
I take the jar from him, laughing as I read the label. “Cajun seasoning? Yeah, I can definitely see you causing a kitchen fire with this.”
He tosses the jar into his already overflowing bag. “Or creating a culinary masterpiece. You’ll thank me later.”
I shake my head, biting back a smile as I watch him move on to the next stall, where he immediately strikes up an animated conversation with the vendor about beeswax candles. Life with Callan, I realize, is going to be anything but boring.
After a few more stops and a bag that’s probably pushing its limits, he looks at me sheepishly. “I think I’ve got more than I can carry. You ready to head back?”
“Yep,” I say, nudging his arm. “Let’s go unpack all yourgoodies. Though I’m starting to think we’ll need a second kitchen just to store your spice collection.”
He chuckles, adjusting the bag on his shoulder as we start walking. “All part of the plan to keep you well-fed, Sunshine. My grandmother would be so impressed with me right now.”
“Mission accomplished,” I tease. “Though I should probably call my parents when we get back. I kind of bailed on dinner last night.”
He raises an eyebrow, a sly grin creeping across his face. “And what’s your excuse going to be? Sorry, Mom and Dad, I fainted, and my ridiculously handsome Scottish boyfriend showed up and distracted me?”
“Something like that. Minus the ‘ridiculously handsome’ part.”
“Please tell me I get to meet them.”
I blink at him. “You’re excited about meeting the parents? Whoareyou?”
“They’re the people who made you who you are,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Why wouldn’t I want to meet them?”
Well, hell. That was awfully fucking sweet.
I loop my arm through his. “Well, my dad’s a bit of a jokester, so prepare yourself for somequestionablehumor.”
“Questionable, how?” he asks, glancing down at me with a look of amusement and curiosity.
“You’ll see,” I say. “Oh, and my mom? She’ll absolutely ask you a million questions. So maybe think of your top three proudest accomplishments in life because she’s going to want to know them all.”
