“What?”
The word is barely out before he’s closing the distance between us, the tips of his pristine white sneakers touching my own worn-out boots. He’s not touching me, but I can still feel his body heat radiating off him. He’s standing so close I have to tip my head back to meet his hard eyes.
“I wouldn’t have.”
I open my mouth, ready to ask him what he’s talking about, but he continues.
“I wouldn’t have made it without you, Clover. And don’t even bother trying to change my mind about it because you can’t. I got where I am because of you. Because whenever I didn’t believe in myself or the dream anymore, you did, and that was all that ever mattered to me.” He drags his tongue over his bottom lip before adding, “It’s still all that matters to me.”
Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
My heart hammers against my ribs, and I feel like I’m eighteen all over again, waiting for him to walk into class and flirt with me. I’ve tried so hard to rid myself of the butterflies he seems to conjure whenever he’s near me, but it was always such a fruitless effort. Callum Keller will always make my heart beat in double time, and no matter what is happening between us, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
He takes a step back, putting distance between us that I wish didn’t exist in more ways than one, and I gulp in a breath, not realizing I needed it so damn badly. We walk a few more laps around the park before we decide to leave. Callum suggests we head back to his apartment and order something to eat, and though I know deep down I should say no and walk away because this day has already been emotionally taxing, I can’t seem to stop myself from agreeing.
Because if I’m being honest, I missed this. I missedhim. I’m not ready to give it up just yet.
“I know a spot that has the best dumplings and delivers,” he says as we make our way back to his building, and my stomach rumbles at the thought of them.
Callum laughs at the audible noise. “I had a feeling that muffin wasn’t going to cut it.”
For a moment, I think of Dirk’s words the other night when he poked fun at me for eating so much pasta. Then Iremind myself that throughout the years, my eating habits have never bothered my husband, and I’m not going to let intrusive thoughts try to tell me otherwise.
He points out buildings and rattles off facts about the city—like how it’s essentially built on top of another one—as we walk, and before I know it, he’s opening the door to a modern high-rise. Suddenly, the idea of spending time with Callum in a confined space becomes very, very real, and my palms begin to sweat in a way they haven’t in years.
I’m nervous. To spend time with my husband. How ridiculous is that?
He waves to the security guard—a different one than the other day—sitting behind the front desk, and they return the gesture, though I can’t help but notice the surprise when their eyes land on me.
“Oh,” the older man says. “Another guest, huh?”
“Yep. I’m ordering some food too. Should be around in about thirty minutes.”
The guard nods. “Noted, sir.”
Callum steers us to the elevators, and we step inside, where he presses the button for his floor, which I was on just two days ago. Images of various women stepping into this very elevator assault me, Callum looking at them the way he used to look at me. I hate it, and the thought of it makes me feel not so hungry after all. In fact, I feel like I want to puke.
I move to the wall farthest from my husband that I can get to. Taking my cue, he leans against the wall opposite me, crossing one long leg over the other. There’s a soft smile playing on his lips, and it’s one of those same grins he’d give me all those years ago—an arrogant one. It makes it that much more annoying that I like it.
“What?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything.
“You’re cute when you’re jealous. You always were.”
“I am not jealous.” But I sound like what he’s accused me of being. “I’m not,” I repeat, softer this time. “Whatever you do and whoever you do it with is none of my business. I…I lost that privilege a long time ago.”
He lifts a single brow. “Is that what you think?”
“It’s what I know, Callum,” I say, the bite back in my words, mostly because I can’t stop picturing him with other women.
I hate it. I want to cry. I want to scream. This elevator is too small, my feelings are too big—and I have absolutely nobody to blame but myself. I slam my eyes closed, trying to block it all out, but it won’t go away.
Something tickles my chin, and I jump at the sudden contact, peering up into two pools of cognac.
When the hell did he move over here? And why is he still smirking at me?
I try to move, but he blocks me in, not letting me run like I so desperately want to. Holding my chin between his fingers and thumb, he tips my head back ever so slightly, not allowing me to look anywhere but at him.
“He was talking about Stefan.”
