Page 9 of Goode Tidings

"I know what it means." He comes away with a dark green glass bottle that makes a tinkling noise as he spins around, heading for his bag.

I peek at the label as he goes by. Multivitamins.

"What did you mean when you told Justin good luck meeting your wife?" He rifles through his bag, finding a place for the vitamins.

"Justin's on his way to Thailand to marry a woman he met online." I say it matter-of-factly, like it's old news. To me, it is. Justin's antics are no longer novel.

Callum gapes at me. "Um. Ok."

I shrug, and turn my attention to the kitchen. It tells a lived-in story. A matte black tea kettle. Fancy coffee maker.

My gaze sweeps the countertop, coming to rest on a large bowl half full with something brown. Orange chunks of carrots stick up, their color dull. This half-eaten portion of food must be what I smelled when I walked in, though I don't see any evidence of Callum having cooked recently.

A throat clears. I spin around and find Callum's hulking frame standing a few feet from me, duffel gripped in a one-handed hold over his shoulder. His eyebrows are angry slashes over eyes that reveal nothing. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, Callum's windows are shuttered. Boarded over, rusty nails poking out. I'm beyond curious to know how someone ends up taking over someone else's cabin, but instead of letting it fall into disrepair, makes improvements. There's nothing in it for him. No upside. No equity. No property value gain he will one day realize. Why did he do this?

"I'll come by soon for more of my stuff," he says, his voice gruff. His free hand runs through his hair, leaving it more rumpled than it already was. "I have some things to figure out."

I study the slope of his shoulders, the down-turned corners of his mouth. "You live here, don't you?"

Callum's eyebrows pinch in confusion. He studies me right back, head moving back-and-forth slightly. "We've been through this."

I shake my head. "I mean, you really live here. Like, fully. This is your stuff? All of it?"

Callum nods slowly. "Yes. But you already knew that."

"I knew it, but I didn't know it. Not until I saw you grab your vitamins. That's so...home-ish."

His eyes narrow. "You peeked at the bottle?"

"I was curious," I defend. "And you definitely don't have any leeway to find my behavior objectionable. I already know far more about you than I need to," I remind him pointedly. Despite my best effort, my gaze drops to his crotch.

Red creeps over his cheeks. It's endearing.

Palming the back of his neck, he says, "Sorry about the, um, flashing." His head shakes regretfully. "Especially in front of your son."

He looks so embarrassed that I feel bad for him. "Don't worry about it," I say, my voice rising in pitch. Almost squeaky. "Honestly. It wasn't a big deal. A non-event."

He scratches his head with two fingers. "I'm not sure that's how I would classify it."

My arm waves as I double down on my assertion. "I definitely would. It was nothing. Zero. Zilch. If I were to write home about something, it wouldn't be that." Oh my gosh. Why can't I shut my trap already?

His upper lip curls on the right side. "I am...not appreciative of those words."

The best thing to do now would be to usher Callum aka Hot Squatter aka Hot Naked Guy from his home that isn't really his, but do I do that? Nope. My hands find my hips. Head tilted, eyes squinty, I ask, "Why? Do you want me to gush about your anatomy?"

He chuffs. "I'm not saying you have to wax poetic, but I'm not sure it qualifies as nothing to write home about."

I swallow my laughter. My sass. The absolute upheaval cresting in my stomach. This is, by far, the weirdest day I've ever had, and that's saying a lot.

My arms lift, acquiescing. "Fine. It was a very eventful day altogether." My eyes widen, imploring him. "Is your fragile ego pleased with that assessment?"

"That'll do," he says begrudgingly.

"Great."

"Great."

We stare at each other, a stalemate for no reason other than I don't think either of us knows how to proceed.