Rock. I was recently considering spreading my wings a little, but then my dad died and, well, now I’m needed at home. At the distillery.” Which was what he’d always wanted—he just hadn’t wanted his dad to be pushing up daisies in order to make it possible.
“Were you and Miss Sawyer going to move?”
Truth was, Chelsea was the first person he’d confessed to about the fact he’d been considering leaving the family business. Guilt made his gut heavy at the thought. “We were in discussions,” he lied.
Silence reigned a few more moments as they both kept their eyes on their surroundings, then, when they neared a famous chicken fast-food joint, Callum’s stomach rumbled so loudly he felt certain Chelsea must have heard it too. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and he guessed she hadn’t eaten in hours either.
Without a word, he pulled into the drive-through.
“Hey,” she exclaimed, “what are you doing?”
“Ordering us some dinner. What do you want?”
* * *
All Chelsea wanted was her dog back and she thought she’d made that perfectly clear, but now that Callum mentioned it, she was starting to feel a little light-headed. Maybe she needed food. Or maybe the dizziness was because of being in a confined space with six-feet-plus of sexy McKinnel. Either way, she found herself asking for a fried chicken sandwich and a serving of french fries. Callum ordered the same, but added some coleslaw. The teenager behind the speaker who took their order giggled ridiculously at the sound of his deep sexy voice.
“Did your mom tell you that you should have veggies with every meal?” Chelsea asked as they waited in front of the window for their food. She thought it kinda cute the way he’d mentioned his mother a few times.
“Something like that.” He almost smiled and something inside her quivered so that she had to glance away. Looking out the window made her realize she hadn’t thought of Muffin in all of two minutes. Not that she wanted to forget him—she desperately wanted, needed to find him—but Callum had given her a few moments’ reprieve from her anxiety.
When their orders were ready. Callum took their food from the teenage attendant and passed it over to Chelsea. The smell of hot, greasy goodness filled the car, making her want to moan out loud. She rarely ate takeout—years of not being able to afford such luxuries had become a habit.
“Let me give you some money for this,” she said, snapping back to reality and realizing she was sitting in a stranger’s car—a client’s ex’s car more to the point—and he’d just paid for her dinner.
He waved a hand in dismissal as he drove away from the restaurant. The warmth of the food seeped through the paper bag, making her thighs hot. She inhaled again and her taste buds begged her for a fry, but Callum couldn’t eat while driving and she couldn’t very well eat hers in front of him.
“We can pull over somewhere a few moments if you like so you can eat,” she suggested.
“Or we could go back to your place and eat there.” His tone was innocuous and it wasn’t that she thought he was about to take advantage, but the idea of eating dinner with a guy in her house was so alien it made her nervous.
“But we haven’t found Muffin yet.” She hated the neediness in her tone but couldn’t help it.
“Look, Chels,” Callum began, turning to look at her so that his deep green eyes sought hers and made her skin hot. Or that could simply be the way he’d used a nickname for her, as if they were friends, rather than recent acquaintances. She was loath to admit it, but she liked it. “I know you’re worried about Muffin, but we’ve both searched high and low. I’ve called every dog refuge in a three-hundred-mile radius of Bend. I think maybe it’s time to call it a night. What if Muffin comes home while you’re not there?”
And with that one simple question, he got her. The thought of her dog finding his way back to the house and her not being there to welcome him tore at her heartstrings. “Okay.” She gave one nod of defeat. “If you could take me home, that would be great.”
He gave her a warm smile and turned the SUV in the direction of her place. The closer they got, the more nervous she began to feel. Not nervous that maybe she would never find Muffin, but nervous about Callum McKinnel coming into her house. Granted, he’d already spent a good deal of time there earlier in the day, but this now felt like the closest thing she’d had to a date in months.
Don’t be ridiculous, came a voice inside her head. The man just got dumped by his long-term fiancée.
Actually you dumped him, said an opposing voice, but she blocked her ears—that was simply semantics. Besides, he likely wouldn’t stay long—just enough time to scarf down his dinner and, as he was a guy, that could be merely a matter of minutes.
Ten minutes later, Callum parked in her driveway for the third time that day. Chelsea got out of the vehicle and carried their takeout up the path to the front door, all the while trying to act calm, cool and collected. Callum was a few steps behind her and only when she read the note he’d stuck to her door did she remember he had her new house keys. She spun around and almost slammed right into him.
“Sorry,” she mumbled as his hands shot out to steady her.
“Not a problem.” That smile again. Quite aside from the fact Callum was a client’s ex, as a McKinnel, he was also way out of her league.
She swallowed a groan of disappointment as he let her go and then retrieved a bunch of shiny keys from his jacket pocket. Stepping past her, he selected a key and slid it into the lock, then turned it and opened the door to her house for her. Bamboozled by his touch, she let him usher her inside and take the lead.
“Shall we eat in the kitchen or do you prefer the couch?” he asked, shutting her door behind them.
Silence echoed around the house, reminding her of Muffin’s absence, but in spite of the aching hole in her heart, she couldn’t help notice the state of her house. All clean and tidy now, barely any evidence of the burglary. “Did you do this?” She gaped around and then turned her attention on him.
He nodded and shrugged. “Had to do something while I waited for the security company.”
No, actually, he did not. He owed her sweet eff all, but for some reason unknown to her, he’d gone out of his way to look out for her today. That Bailey Sawyer needed her head read. Who cared if Callum wasn’t all that between the sheets? He was kind and thoughtful, not to mention hotter than the sun itself; these traits weren’t ones to be scoffed at in a man. All she could think to say was “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She looked away because she could no longer handle his intoxicating smile. “Let’s eat in the living room. It’s more comfortable there.”
He followed her to the couch, where he sat beside her as she handed out their food. She’d taken a bite into her sandwich before she remembered her manners. Dammit, she wasn’t used to hosting guests. “Can I get you a drink?” she asked, putting the sandwich on the coffee table and shooting to her feet. “I’ve got club soda or cola.”
“I’ll have a cola, thanks.” He smiled again and then sank his teeth into his own sandwich. It was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen in her life. Maybe I’m the one who needs her head read? With that thought she scuttled away to the kitchen, wishing it was farther away so she’d have a little more time to pull herself together.
Chelsea opened the fridge, pulled two cans of cola out and pressed one against her forehead, thankful Callum had his back to her. She could see him from the kitchen, sitting back against her couch as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She shook her head—was this some kind of weird dream? Nightmare? Maybe she’d wake up and discover Muffin sleeping by her feet as he always did and find out Callum McKinnel was nothing but a figment of her imagination. Yet the pain when she pinched herself to check this spurred her into action and she carried the cans and two glasses back