Page 81 of Goode Tidings

Disbelief blossoms on his face, like he's calling bullshit. "Is it?"

"I think so? I don't know. I guess that's between you and Justin."

Callum makes a face at the mention of Justin. He pushes off the counter and comes to stand beside me. "My idea," he says pointedly, letting me know he is changing the subject, "is that I make dinner tonight. Just me. I cook, you watch."

"Are you sure you're ready for that? The dinner I have planned for tonight is a tall order." What will it be like to watch Callum move around this kitchen, prepare dinner for me and Oliver? Has anyone ever done that? The answer is no.

A small smile twists his mouth. "I've had a brilliant teacher."

I grin. "Yes, you have."

Callum sweeps a thumb over my cheek. "You have a dimple."

I smack his hand playfully. "I used to hate it."

"Now you like it?"

"Now I'm indifferent."

A frown works its way onto his face.

"What?" I ask. "You think it's cute? Adorable?"

"Unfortunately for both of us, I find it sexy." He gently elbows me aside until he's in front of the sink. While I'm standing here fighting a losing battle with the heat billowing through my body, he's washing his hands.

"You can't... You're not..." My words die. I don't know what to say.

He distributes the suds around strong, thick fingers. Trimmed fingernails and veined hands. He glances at me, brows lifted, and says, "I'm not supposed to say things like that? I'm aware. But Eden, I don't know how much longer I can care." He rinses, drying his hands on a kitchen towel and slinging it over his shoulder when he's done. Then he faces me, and I mirror him.

"Do you like me, Callum? Or are you"—my voice lowers—"hungry?"

His throat bobs. He reaches for my hand, flips it over and traces the lines in my palm. A tremble works its way over me, and Callum exhales a heavy breath. "Both, Eden. Is that ok to say?"

My chest buzzes. Cartwheels. As much as I like what he's saying, I need to get control of my reaction. Play it safe. Smart. "I won't be used for appetite fulfillment. That's not how I operate. I was dumb and fooled not too long ago, and I won't make the same mistake twice."

Callum nods. Traces my fingers like he's outlining them on paper. "Let me say that again, this time with better clarity." He looks at me, gaze earnest as he keeps my hand in his. "I like you, and I'm hungry for you. And only you."

My pulse pounds at the base of my throat. Does Callum see the thrum? His eyes are on my neck. My jaw. My mouth. His heavy-lidded gaze meets mine.

"I like you too," I admit.

"Are you sure about that?" Callum grins rakishly. It's the first time I've seen him do that. Probably a good thing. It's lethal. "I'm a hermit who lives in a shanty at the edge of a lake. And I need a haircut."

I smile back at him. "You're a good man with a rough and rugged exterior, and the moment I met you I knew there was more to your story. You generously gave up this cabin for me. And the hair? That's an easy fix." I make a scissoring motion with two fingers.

He chuckles. "Are you going to step aside and let me make you and Oliver dinner?"

"That depends. Are you going to let me point out something if I see you doing it wrong?"

"Yes, of course. My end goal is a delicious dinner. I welcome all help needed to reach that goal."

"Great," I answer. "I'll pour myself a glass of wine and pull up a chair."

"Don't drink too much," Callum warns. "I need my hairstylist sober for my haircut."

Is it weird that I'm honored he would trust me enough to let me give him a haircut? "You want a haircut tonight?"

"If that's ok." He pushes it off his forehead. "It's driving me crazy."