Page 61 of Goode Tidings

He nods, gaze on Oliver as he walks away. Taking his glass of wine, he asks, "Do you want to sit around the outdoor fire?"

"There's an outdoor fire?"

"It's a portable one, but yeah. It does the job."

We leave our plates. I gather up the blankets from the living room while Callum tops off our wine.

He holds the back door open for me and my full arms. He carries both our drinks, leading me out to two chairs closer to the water. "I'll be right back," he says, handing me both glasses after I've deposited a blanket on each chair. "Get settled."

When he returns carrying a silver drum-shaped fire pit, I'm wrapped up in a blanket with my knees tucked to my chest.

"Cold?" He sets down the fire pit a couple of feet away from our chairs, closer to the lake. He glances up at me as he arranges the logs, waiting for my answer.

"Thin desert skin."

"This should warm you up," he says, adding kindling. "I'm going to grab a few more logs, and then we'll be in business." He strides away again.

I tip my head up. The sky is a deep maroon and navy blue, bruised. There won't be a moon tonight, and soon only the firelight will reveal what's around us. It's so peaceful, the lapping of the water at the shore. A fish jumps in the distance; a bird swoops overhead.

Crunching pine straw and pine cones signal Callum's return. Logs split perfectly for firewood stack in his bent arms. With his gray T-shirt and jeans, boots, and facial hair, he looks like a lumberjack.

A hot lumberjack.

I turn away from him, and away from the thought. He is my ex-husband's former stepbrother. That has to mean something. I don't know what, but it seems like it should. Like it's not enough degrees of separation.

Callum builds the fire inside the drum, stacking it like he's building a log cabin until it's even with the rim. He produces a box of matches from his back pocket.

"Do you always carry matches?" Maybe Callum is a survivalist. Is there a secret pantry or closet I haven't discovered inside the cabin? A cellar built into the ground somewhere nearby?

"They're in a drawer in the kitchen. I grabbed them when you went for the blankets." Callum swipes a match head over the starter and it sparks to life. He tosses it inside the fire pit, and a minute later, the tops of flames poke up from the logs.

"Man's Red Flower," I muse, watching the fire grow.

"Jungle Book?" Callum asks, settling down into a chair. He takes the blanket and drapes it over his shoulders.

"Yeah. We watched it on repeat when Oliver was little." He was fascinated by the way Mowgli stared at the girl in the village, and loved pretending to be an elephant when they were on screen.

Callum holds out his hand for the wine, and I give it to him. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

I take a sip from my glass. "Here I was thinking we'd covered a few personal topics already in our short time as friends."

Is that what we are? Friends? For now, I'll run with it. Especially since Callum doesn't seem to be immediately disputing the label.

He sits back, crossing a knee over the opposite ankle. "How involved is Justin in Oliver's life?"

"He comes and goes. I would imagine it'll be less now that he's in Thailand."

Callum looks torn.

"Just say it," I instruct gently.

"Do you find Justin's parenting style acceptable?"

"Why do I have the feeling that sentence was heavily edited from what was actually going through your mind?"

He breathes a short laugh. "Because it was."

"That's what I thought. And the answer is no, I do not find his parenting style acceptable. But with Justin, I have to make educated decisions. If I hold him too accountable, he'll stop coming around. It's like he knows he's not doing a good job, but if he's told he's lacking, he'll stop trying altogether. Does that make sense?"