Page 80 of Goode Tidings

"Go inside," he says, motioning inside with his chin. "I'll see you in there in a minute."

Normally I'd say we're in this together, but it's unbelievably cold. I scoop up his bag of belongings and hightail it inside.

Callum's stepping inside the door when I walk back from a quick change in the bedroom. I've pulled on a new pair of jeans and a sweater. He's awkwardly situating his computer screens on the ground while attempting to hold fast to the knotted towel at his hip.

"Let me help," I say, ducking around him to nudge the screens away from the door so we can close it. We're so close, and there's nothing I can do to keep the delicious smell of him away. It's his natural scent, combined with rain. It's a heady combination.

"What's that smell?" he asks, running a second towel over his hair, and I almost say you before remembering I baked earlier when the storm was just getting started.

"I baked cookies. Chocolate chip with toffee."

"I told you," he says, voice muffled as he drags the towel over his face, "you have a thing for toffee." He takes a surveying look down his front and frowns. "I'm soaked. There's no drying this shirt with a towel."

"You still have clothes in your bedroom. My bedroom," I amend. I take a deep breath. I can do this. Words don't have to be so hard.

He looks down at me. His chest moves with a heavy breath. We're standing awfully close together, tucked up in this little corner of the cabin. It's the second time in the last twenty or so minutes that we've been so near to each other.

I think he's realizing it too, how his chest is only inches from mine, but he doesn't move. Not away, or closer. He's just there. Existing next to me.

An emotion moves over his face. I don't know what it is, but it softens him. He looks content. Untroubled. He was out there in that little structure by himself while the storm raged around him, but now he's in here, warm and with me.

He drags a hand through his mess of dark, damp hair.

"You could use a trim," I say, my gaze following his hand as he winds it around to his jaw and scratches lightly. My fingers itch to retrace that same path.

"True."

"I brought my shears with me from Phoenix," I tell him. "I used to cut Oliver's hair, and I wasn't sure we'd find a barber he liked here."

His gaze rakes over my face. "Are you offering your services?"

A blush steals over my cheeks. "That sounded..." I search for a word, but Callum beats me to it.

"Indecent?" His eyebrows raise. "Sorry about that. I heard it, too."

Thoughts of being indecent with Callum flitter through my mind. I clear my throat and incline my head toward the bedroom that still holds many of Callum's articles of clothing. "I'm going to get some dry clothes for you."

"Alright," he says, his voice coarse.

I steal past him, my heart hammering my chest.

I practically threw dry clothes at Callum, then escaped into the kitchen. I'm overwhelmed by how much I want to press my body against his. How deeply I want to kiss him, to lose myself in him.

Callum stayed away from me too, once he had changed and deposited his dirty clothes into the washer with mine. He feels as I do; I know it, and I can tell he's as conflicted as me.

Last time I checked, he was playing video games with Oliver in his room. I'd stood outside the door for only a moment, listening to Oliver patiently teach Callum about the game. It was cute to listen to him learn, and ask questions. At one point Oliver said, "Use your right button to grab the loot, bro," and Callum said, "Thanks for the help, bro," and then they both laughed. I snuck away after that, an effervescent bubble of happiness roaming around in my chest.

Standing at the kitchen sink now, I gaze out the window toward the lake. The rain has slowed, and I can almost see the deep blue of the lake water. According to my weather app, the weather system will bring snow overnight. My little desert heart is unbelievably excited about this. I can't wait to wake up to a winter wonderland.

"Hey," a voice behind me says. "I have an idea."

I turn to look at Callum. He's in the forest green hoodie I brought him, and a fresh pair of jeans. No socks or shoes. He leans against the counter, arms crossed as he waits for me to ask him about his idea. I must have some kind of look on my face, because he asks, "What's wrong?"

"You look so at home here."

He flashes an ironic smile. "It was my home."

"It still is."