“Shut up.”
“I’m just saying,” she teases, then softens when she sees my face. “Be careful, Rosie. He’s fresh out of something, and you… well, you feel things deeply. Don’t let him hurt you, okay?”
I nod, though I’m not sure I can promise that. “I’ll be fine. It’s just work.” But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie.
After we hang up, I start packing. Not that I need much; camera gear, a couple of outfits, my battered notebook, chargers. I slip my old film camera into the side pocket for luck, then sit on the edge of the bed and just breathe.
The quiet amplifies everything I’m trying not to think about. The fact that he’ll be there. The way his voice sounds when he laughs. The way I felt in that café, when the whole world had narrowed to just us.
My phone buzzes again just before midnight.
Cal: Everything’s sorted. Laura will email you travel details tomorrow. Don’t back out.
Rose: I wasn’t going to.
Cal: Good. Looking forward to seeing you there.
I stare at the words until my eyes ache. There’s nothing overtly flirtatious in what he’s written, nothing anyone could call inappropriate. But the charge in it purrs right under the surface, unobtrusive but undeniable.Looking forward to seeing you there.
When I finally set the phone down, I feel lightheaded, as though I’ve stepped off something solid.
I eventually manage to sleep, but it’s restless and bright, filled with flashes of light off ice, the sound of blades cutting speed, his voice somewhere just behind me. Those steel grey eyes finding me at every opportunity.
The next morning, the official email from Laura arrives.
Hi Rose,
Travel and hotel are covered by the Panthers. Breakfast and dinner are also included but you’ll probably want to grab lunch. You’ll be joining the team coach on Saturday morning. We’ll organise your access pass and email your itinerary later today.
Thanks again, can’t wait to see what you capture this weekend!
Laura
I read it three times, grinning like a fool by the end. It’s happening. I’m going to Glasgow. Before I can overthink it, I open my messages again.
Rose: Guess it’s official. Looks like you’re stuck with me this weekend.
His reply comes instantly.
Cal: Wouldn’t have it any other way.
Something warm and dangerous blooms low in my chest. I put the phone down slowly, afraid that if I move too fast, I’ll break whatever this is.
I spend the rest of the day half in a daze. Editing, re-packing, pretending to eat dinner. Every time I glance at my camera bag by the door, my pulse skips. It feels like standing on the edge of something huge and not knowing if the ground beneath me is going to hold or give way.
Later, when the sky turns navy and the city stills, I sit cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through my photos again. His faceappears again and again; laughing, focused, unaware. In some, he looks untouchable. In others, human in a way that makes my chest ache. There’s one where he’s glancing toward the lens, just a fraction of a smile tugging at his mouth, Lukas is in the background showboating. I don’t even remember taking it. But it feels as though he’s looking right at me.
I close the laptop but the image lingers behind my eyes. His gaze, steady and knowing, and the way he said my name. I try to convince myself this is just work, that the flutter in my chest is nerves, not something deeper. But I know better. Because something has already shifted. Something I can’t undo.
And as much as I tell myself not to fall, it already feels too late.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CALLUM
The bus smells of coffee and too much aftershave. Morning light catches the frost on the windows as the team loads up outside the rink. I toss my duffel into the storage compartment and pull my hood tighter against the cold, trying not to think about the last message she sent.
Can’t believe I get to come. Thank you again, Cal.Two sentences. Harmless on their own. But they’ve been echoing in my skull since last night.
