Page 45 of Goode Tidings

"Quit trying to talk me in circles." Callum chews through a bite. "It's your turn to tell me why you're in Snowflake for a year. A year is a very long time to go somewhere, Eden."

I like the way he says my name. Rough, but amused. Like he's in the conversation, not a hapless bystander. He's not talking to me because of proximity; he wants to be where he is.

I tap a fingernail on my plate as I gather my thoughts. "I know time passes at the same rate of speed no matter how it's spent, but that's not how it feels. I've always thought that when it comes to raising kids, the days are long, and the years are short. But that's only partly true, because they become teenagers, and then the days are short, and the years are short, too. I guess I wanted to slow life down a little. Hold onto my little boy a while longer." My gaze strays to the large window that faces the street, and beyond, to the movie theater where Oliver is with a group of friends I've never met. "But it seems it was inevitable."

"What was?"

I nibble the inside of my lip, corralling my thoughts into something presentable. It's hard when they're all over the place. "That he would leave me."

I feel like an idiot now that I've said it. I wish I could take it back, reel in the words like a fish on a hook.

If Callum is judging me, it's not apparent in his expression. In an even tone, he asks, "Were your parents this way with you?"

"What way?" I ask.

He appears to be searching for a word. "Attached," he finally says.

"All parents are attached to their kids. Or, all good ones are at least. My mom was." But...was she? Maybe not. She worked long hours to ensure Klein could go to a special school for children with dyslexia. The tuition was exorbitant, even with the state-funded aid he received. My mom was very loving, but she was absent by necessity. "My dad left when I was eleven. I haven't seen him since."

Callum's dark eyes squint as he takes in this information. "I'm sorry you had to experience that."

I finish my burger in silence, downing half my second beer between bites. Something uncomfortable sits in my chest. I don't like talking about my dad. Or thinking about him, either.

"Are you ok?" Callum asks. He's pushed his plate away, and now he's nursing his beer.

"Yeah," I say softly. "I guess I don't love being vulnerable."

"Same," he admits.

We stare at each other across finished plates and balled-up napkins. His brows furrow, a line forming between them.

"What is it?" I ask.

He lifts a lone finger in the air, making a small circle. "This song. It makes me think of you."

My mind quiets, pushing out my self-conscious thoughts so I can hear the music. "Baby's Got Her Blue Jeans On?"

Callum nods. The tips of his ears redden.

The discomfort leaves my chest. Something different, more pleasant, settles in my belly. "More vulnerability?"

Callum shrugs, but he's not indifferent. He's bashful.

"Why, Callum? Why does this song make you think of me?"

The tip of his tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek. I can tell he's turning over his words carefully. I understand the desire to make sure the words you speak are the right ones. "You wear jeans all the time. Except that first day, when you looked like a mint."

The corners of my lips curl upward as I think about that first day. The shock we both felt at one another's unexpected presence.

"And these jeans..." I run a palm over my thigh. "You like them?"

Callum leans his forearms on the table. Wraps one hand around his beer, nonchalant. I see it, though. The way his fingers squeeze the bottle.

"It appears I do." His voice is deep, rough and rugged.

Heat builds in my limbs, coming from a fire in my core. This is dangerous, I know, but it's nice, too. Callum is a man. Wounded and reticent and gruff, sure, but kind and authentic. And I'm a woman. Wounded, too, and uncertain. But here, right now, I'm just myself. Sharing dinner and beer with a man who likes the way blue jeans look on me. It's beautifully simple, and I want to lean into it. So I do.

"Do you dance, Callum?" People move on the small dance floor now.