WHAT HURTS US

A SMALL TOWN FAKE ENGAGEMENT ROMANCE

MAGGIE GATES

Copyright © 2022 Maggie C. Gates All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, information storage, and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in book reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real places or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author or is used fictitiously.

The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products, brands, and/or establishments referenced in this work of fiction. The publication/use of these trademarks is not associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This book is intended for mature audiences.

ISBN: 9798847383509

Editing and Cover Design by C.L. Book Services; Jordan Loft.

The digital version of What Hurts Us is available exclusively on Amazon and the Kindle Unlimited program.

If you acquired this book through unauthorized means, please click here to purchase a copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by imprisonment and/or a monetary fine.

For Annabelle, Chief Laura, the instigators of Pig Gate, and small towns everywhere that make people shake their heads and ask, “What the fuck?”

1

LAYLA

The population of Falls Creek, North Carolina, is a collective menace to society. I snorted a laugh and reread the sentence. Hell of an opening line for an orientation packet. This town was barely a blip on the map. Cows outnumbered residents three-to-one, and most of those citizens were north of sixty-five years old.

How much of a menace could they really be?

Oh well. No turning back now.

Day one had arrived. New job. New town. New everything. After years of working my ass off in level-one trauma centers and emergency departments, I’d finally gotten my CFRN specialization and landed a job as a flight nurse.

No more twelve-hour shifts plagued by sniffling noses, weird rashes, and foreign objects shoved up rectums. No, you did not ‘fall’ on that bulk-size shampoo bottle in the shower, Jim Bob.

I would be pulling twenty-four hours at a time at the base, but the calls would feed the part of me that craved the rush of a life-or-death case. With nothing keeping me there, I had packed up and left my nursing job on the coast. I had dumped my minimal belongings in my shoebox of an apartment, then took a much-deserved vacation. After a few days of umbrella drinks and R&R, I crisscrossed the country for a week of AirCare orientation and flight training in Colorado, followed by cadaver labs in Florida.

Finally back in Falls Creek, I was ready to seize the hell out of my first day.

“This is your bunk. Make sure you put all your bedding back in your storage bin when you get off shift. Rah-Rah crashes in this one when she’s working.” AB opened the wafer-thin door and flipped on the light. “That’s her stuff over in the corner. If y’all work the same shift, just rock-paper-scissors for who has to move their shit into a new bunk.”

The crew quarters at the Falls Creek AirCare base were functional but bare bones. I grabbed one side of my oversized Rubbermaid bin while AB grabbed the other. Together, we hefted the tote onto the bare twin bed. The metal frame creaked and groaned under the weight. There was a nondescript particle board cubby unit for my helmet and boots. At the top of it was an attached metal bar to hang my flight suit.

AB—short for Annabelle—blew her straight-cut blonde bangs off her forehead and popped her hands onto her hips. Her navy blue AirCare flight suit was halfway on, the arms tied in a knot around her waist. Sweat stained her cotton tank top.

North Carolina humidity had a way of humbling even the most seasoned of locals. I was already missing the cool ocean breezes that helped tame summer swamp ass. But my time in Beaufort was in the past. No sense in looking back.

“You’ve got that deer-in-headlights look on your face,” she said, snapping her gum with a loud pop. “Don’t worry. We’ll scuff up the shine on your boots in no time.”

AB was the base lead. Although we all had years in emergency nursing under our belts—topped off with boring HR drivel about company culture—there was nothing like real-life experience to get you acquainted with a new unit.

Melissa, the nurse preceptor at my last job at Carteret Presbyterian Hospital, and I had gotten along great. I crossed my fingers that AB would be just as helpful.

“Odin’s our pilot on shift today,” she said, turning out of the tight bunk room and motioning for me to follow her.

I raised my eyebrows. “Odin?” No way was that his real name.

We weaved down a narrow hallway, passing showers and a decades-old washing machine and dryer. AB pointed to the dog crate that was wedged between two recliners. “That’s Loki, the pilot’s dog.”

I laughed and squatted to scratch the goodest boy behind his ears. “Loki, son of Odin.”

“Call signs, sweet cheeks,” AB said with a chuckle as she yanked the glass coffee pot out from under the percolator and shoved it under the kitchen faucet. “Annabelle ain’t my real name. The last base lead gave it to me. Said it was because I came off sweet, but I’d cut a throat if a bystander got in my way on scene. Like the creepy-ass doll from that horror movie. Just remember that when we’re all crammed in the bird together.” She slammed the coffee pot back in the maker and piled grounds from a bulk tub into the filter. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head—you’ll get a good one.”

The door to one of the other bunk rooms opened and slammed shut. A white man with a very apparent bald spot sauntered out, dressed in gym shorts and a too-tight undershirt. He wiped sleep from his eyes.

“New girl,” he said. A grunt accompanied his chin tip.

AB glared at him. “You’ve been house-trained, Frodo. Act like it. You’d know her name is Layla if you paid attention during the base meeting last week instead of watching ESPN on your phone.”

The other medic—Frodo, apparently—grunted something unintelligible, removed the coffee pot, and stuck his mug under the coffee maker instead. “Not my fault that you decided to have a staff meeting that could have been an email. I gotta keep up during preseason. Gotta see how Gideon Carmichael is playing so I can stack my fantasy team.” He shrugged. “Welcome to the dysfunctional AirCare family.” When the mug was full, he put the pot back and lumbered away to his bunk.

The door slammed shut, and I turned to AB. “Why do you call him Frodo?”

She snorted. “Let’s just say he did you a solid by wearing socks. The man’s got hobbit feet.”

We both shivered.

“The kitchen’s communal,” AB said, motioning around the cramped L-shaped countertop. “You make a mess; you clean it up. Label anything you put in the fridge. Usually, we’ll do simple stuff for breakfast and lunch, but someone on shift will cook dinner for the crew. There’s a chore wheel for everything else.”

I followed her silently as we walked through the base. The grand tour was significantly more lackluster than an emergency department. The crew quarters were a combination of a smelly EMS station with fart-filled couches and a TV that looked like it was from the seventies, paired with military-style living quarters and an office. After a brief introduction to the charting and filing system, AB led me into the hangar that was attached to the base building.

The H145 helicopter gleamed in the sunlight filtering through the open hangar doors. Refrigerated units held drug vials, while metal cabinets were chock full of anything and everything we would need while on call.

“Not bad,” I said as I stuck my head into the open chopper door. During flight training in Colorado, my training class had gotten well acquainted with the ins-and-outs of the company’s aircraft fleet.

AB sided up to me and patted the black-and-white stripes that crisscrossed the tail. “Zebra Cake’s a beaut. We do our part to keep her in tip-top shape. It’s a tight fit with three of us on shift today, but usually it will just be two of us and a pilot.”

AB prattled on about all the calls they’d gotten during her last shift as I loaded up my flight suit. The trusty stethoscope I’d had since nursing school. A three-mil syringe. A ten-mil flush. A fourteen gauge and a ten gauge to keep on me—we had more in the chopper. Pens and a permanent marker. Trauma shears. Kelly clamps. A flashlight and a pen light. A carabiner. Most importantly: a phone charger. I double-checked that the AirCare app on my phone was front and center, and took a moment to peruse the nursing protocols and drug reference guide.

Ear-bursting beeps echoed through the metal hangar like the screech of a dial-up internet connection.

“Tones are dropping,” AB snapped as she untied the arms of her flight suit and shimmied it on. Her badge read Joy Faison. No wonder she went by AB. She didn’t particularly strike me as a Joy.

I could hear Frodo—whose real name was still to be discovered—thumping around as he jumped into his boots and suit. “Weather’s pretty good. Odin will probably give dispatch the go-ahead. Remember—three to go, one to say no. Although today it’s four to go. Everyone has to be on the same page. If you think flying to a certain scene is unsafe, speak up.”

It was protocol for pilots to receive calls and decide if conditions were safe enough to spin up. If things looked uncertain, the entire crew had to agree on whether to go or not. Dispatch would give the pilot the location of the call and the hospital we would transport the patient to. If the radar was clear, we’d be in the air in less than ten minutes. Only then would dispatch relay what type of medical emergency or trauma it was that we were responding to.

Procedures like that kept the guilt at bay.

Mother nature was unpredictable and made flying in a helicopter extremely dangerous in certain conditions. Crews would be more likely to risk operational safety if they knew a child was in trouble or a trauma was close to home.

The Falls Creek base was stationed thirty minutes outside Durham and Chapel Hill. We could get to rural calls faster and treat patients, working at the top of our licenses while transporting them to higher levels of care.

Flight nursing was science, art, and a little insanity.

The mic on my shoulder radio clicked, and AB gave me a nod as we ran back inside to grab our helmets. “Thirty-three-year-old male, approximately ninety kilos. Possible head trauma. No loss of consciousness. Pulse is strong. Vehicle versus vehicle, and vehicle versus tree. Vehicular entrapment. Fire and EMS are on the scene for driver and cow extractions.”

I shoved my white flight helmet on and positioned the mic in front of my mouth. “I’m sorry. Did dispatch just say there was a cow extraction in progress?”

Frodo—whose flight suit read John—laughed as he ran toward the airfield. Odin was on his heels after giving Loki a scratch and a doggie biscuit. The two of them grabbed the dolly and towed the chopper out onto the airfield.

AB jumped into the bay of the helicopter with me while Odin and Frodo rode shotgun. An ear-to-ear grin was plastered on her face as the heavy thump-thump of the rotors whirred. “Welcome to Falls Creek.”

The view from the air was exquisite. Rolling green hills, the thick forest surrounding the Eno River, and farmland as far as the eye could see.

Pate Chapel Road was a two-lane strip of asphalt that wound through two neighboring farms a few miles outside Falls Creek. The blacktop was a logjam of emergency responders. Even in the middle of the day, strobes of red, white, and blue filled the sky.

Odin, our tattooed, ex-military man with the disposition of Ted Lasso, dropped the helicopter into a bright green pasture as if it was light as a feather.

“Once we assess the scene, you and AB will lead this circus,” Frodo said through the headset as we unbuckled from the jump seats.

I yanked my helmet off and dropped it in my seat. AB was already out, popping the bay open and pulling the stretcher through the back. I grabbed the bright red med bag while Frodo grabbed the secondary. “Nothing like jumping in with both feet,” I grunted as I slung the canvas straps over my shoulder.

“I like your style, kid. You and AB check in with ground transport. I’ll see what’s happening with the hotshots.”

I wasn’t sure if I had earned the right to call him Frodo or if I should stick with John, so I just nodded and headed off to the ambulances while he caught up with the firefighters.

“Hutch,” AB said, acknowledging a paramedic with a chin tip.

Hutch—an unfairly gorgeous man with deep-set dimples, thick lashes, and a broad chest—offered a smile that would make anyone of the female persuasion weak in the knees. “You must be the rookie. Heard AirCare was getting fresh blood. First day?”

“Layla Mousavi. First day and ready to rock and roll,” I said, offering my hand.

His handshake was firm, and his stance screamed former military. “Shane Hutchins.”

“What do we got?” AB clipped.

Shane laughed. “Fuckin’ Creekers is what we have today.” He pointed out at the cluster of emergency vehicles. A paramedic was treating the driver of a second vehicle while cops assessed the scene. The teenage boy had a busted nose and burns from the airbag deploying in his second-hand truck. Firefighters had the jaws of life out, the compressor roaring as it pried open the mangled metal door to a Falls Creek Police cruiser.

Police officers were busy taking statements and rerouting a line of slow-moving traffic onto the grassy shoulder. Two wreckers were lined up to tow the disabled vehicles away from the scene. Standing in the middle of it all, an old man in worn overalls and a John Deere hat was arguing with a black-and-white cow.

AB shook her head. “Fuckin’ Creekers…”

One firefighter, decked out in full bunker gear, killed the power to the hydraulic cutters. Two sets of gloved hands yanked the cruiser door, finally freeing the driver.

“Cal was on his way back into town after getting another call about Muriel. A cow from the McMann farm found a break in the fence and wandered out onto the road. The kid in the pickup truck swerved to miss the cow but ended up clipping the darn thing, crossing the center line, and hitting Fletch head-on.”

AB blew out a breath. “Shit.”

There was something to be said about the gravity of working on someone you knew, even if they were barely an acquaintance. In a hospital setting, you could switch patient assignments with another nurse. But out here? There was no pool of nurses to swap with. Emotion had to be put on the back burner. Relationships had to take a backseat. I touched AB’s arm. “You good?”

“Yeah. Let’s roll.”

Shane jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “We’re taking the kid to the hospital in the Band-Aid Box. You got Fletcher?”

“We got it,” I said, stepping up and trying on my new flight nurse shoes for size. It felt good. All the nerves washed away in the chaos. I found purpose in the stress, and in that purpose was calm.

Our thick-soled boots crunched through shattered glass as we jogged across the scene to the police car. Frodo had the stretcher ready to receive the police officer.

The front of the car—even with the cattle guard—was crunched up where the engine should have been. The kid had to have been distracted, speeding, or both before seeing the cow to cause that much damage.

“Nice day, ain’t it, Fletch?” AB said with a snap of her gum as she positioned herself at the officer’s knees. John stood just behind the seat and wedged his arms around the man’s back. The firefighters had either cut the seat belt, or Officer Fletcher had removed it himself when he tried to free himself from the car.

It was shocking that he was still conscious, and I said a silent prayer of thanks for small miracles.

Seat belts were one of those daily miracles we all took for granted.

“On three,” AB said before skipping one and two and going straight to it.

John, apparently used to her peculiar method of counting, wasn’t fazed. They cautiously lifted Officer Fletcher out of the car and onto the stretcher.

“Rookie—get his duty belt off,” AB clipped as she pushed his shirtsleeve up and salivated over the largest veins I’d ever seen.

They were glorious.

Snapping out of my vascular daydream, I returned to the task at hand.

His belt. Right.

I grabbed my trauma shears and found a spot on the strap that was open enough to cut through the tough nylon. Just as I was sliding the blades through the other side of his belt, Officer Fletcher opened his eyes.

2

LAYLA

“Pretty sure you’re supposed’ta buy a guy dinner before you start rippin’ his clothes off,” Officer Fletcher said with a pained groan as he tried to lift his head off the cushion.

“Ha. Original,” I said with a snort as the shears broke through the last of his belt. If I had a nickel for every time I heard that joke, I’d have enough money to pay off my nursing school loans. Thirty pounds of equipment fell from his narrow hips. “Sorry, Officer. You’re not my type.”

“You must’ve smacked your head hard if you’re hitting on the new girl and cracking jokes, Cal.” AB snickered as she placed an IV into one of those sinuous veins.

Officer Fletcher lifted a dark eyebrow. “New girl?”

“Rookie, meet Callum Fletcher. Most of us call him Cal or Fletch,” Frodo said.

I pulled his duty belt free and spotted a police officer who looked like she was waiting for someone to give her a task. I whistled, and she hustled over. “Make sure this gets back to your station,” I said, carefully handing over Officer Fletcher’s gun before slapping the two halves of the belt in her other hand. “What’s your name?”

“Officer Lauren Mitchell,” she squeaked. Her platinum blonde hair was tied back in a tight bun.

“Nice to meet you, Lauren. I’m putting it down in his chart that those items are your responsibility. We good?”

“Right as rain,” she said with the fake confidence of someone wanting to seem in control. But her eyes told a different story. Her mousey voice dropped to a near-whisper. “Is Fletch gonna be okay?”

Rule number one of emergency medicine: don’t make promises. Ever.

“He’s a tough guy. Don’t worry.”

The fear seemed to dissolve from her face.

“You sure you’re good with that?” I asked, pointing to the duty belt.

She nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent.” I turned back to the stretcher. If AB wanted me to take the lead on this one, I was going to crush it. “Officer Fletcher, what’s your pain on a scale of one to ten?”

“Three,” he grunted. Lies.

“Chief complaint?”

Cool gray eyes glared at me through lowered lids. “That I’m strapped to a stretcher.”

Oh great. Another mule-headed alpha male who wanted to pretend that getting hit by a four-ton chunk of metal at fifty miles an hour didn’t hurt. “Don’t make me play a guessing game.”

He huffed and closed his eyes. “Left leg. Hurts like a motherfucker.”

AB cut his uniform pants into shorts, just above his knee. Blood had already stained the dark blue fabric like a slick oil spill.

“Looks like a compound fracture in your tibia,” I said to no one and everyone as I worked with AB to stabilize his leg so it wouldn’t jostle during the flight. There was something horrifically fascinating about seeing a bone poke through the skin. “Were you on with dispatch when you got hit?”

He tipped his chin in a silent yes.

I grinned. “Be straight with me, Fletcher. How much did dispatch hear you swear?”

He didn’t open his eyes, but I caught the crack of a smile.

I snickered. “Seems like your memory’s okay. And look at that—you’re getting off work early!”

He cut his gaze to AB. “She’s really new. And too … chipper.”

“First day as a flight nurse, Fletcher,” I said as we packed up and wheeled him back to the bird. “Worked as a CNA through my undergrad, then two years at a local ED and five years doing travel nursing in ERs with a trauma specialty. Now I just get to do it a few thousand feet in the air.” I punctuated it with a saccharine smile. “Up you go.”

AB and I lifted and collapsed the stretcher into the back of the helicopter.

He grimaced and groaned at being jostled into the aircraft. “You got ibuprofen or some shit?”

I laughed. “You could take the entire bottle, and it wouldn’t do a damn thing for you.”

“Don’t you worry, Cal,” AB said as she slammed her flight helmet back onto her head. John closed the bay doors before jogging around to sit up front with Odin. “We’ll get you set up with something better.”

“Don’t like taking drugs,” he said, wincing as the rotors started spinning. The chopper lifted into the air. “Fucking motherfucking shit!” he shouted, swearing bright and loud as gravity pushed against his broken leg.

“One question,” I asked as I grabbed a vial and double-checked the label. The giant black-and-white helmet on my head made simple tasks exponentially harder. “Are you a Duke or Carolina fan?”

“Carolina,” he hissed through gritted teeth, balling his hands into fists to stave off the pain.

AB clicked her tongue. “Well, I’m sorry to make your day worse. We’re taking you to Duke. Their hospital has an open bed and an excellent orthopedic team ready to put you back together like Humpty-Friggin’-Dumpty.”

He groaned. Whether it was from pain or the losing end of a college sports rivalry, I wasn’t sure. Gingerly, he turned his head. “Just fuckin’ sedate me.”

We didn’t sedate him, but we pushed some happy drugs to lessen the discomfort until the team at Duke University Hospital could meet us at the helipad to take him into their care.

Callum’s head lolled to the side as I checked his vitals. His eyes were heavy. Morphine always hit people differently. For Officer Fletcher, it made him as loopy as a hippie at Woodstock. On the upside, he was a lot less cranky.

“Who are you?” he said in a half-slur as Odin began his descent.

I cracked a smile. “Layla.” I pushed the visor on my helmet back and pulled the microphone away so he could see my face a little more.

His eyes drifted shut again. “Are you … an alien? Am I being…” His voice faded and he closed his eyes before eventually coming to again. “Am I being abducted by aliens?”

Flight suits and helmets in an aircraft—mix in a little head trauma and some low-dose morphine, and it wasn’t a far leap.

AB let out a hearty laugh as she charted—likely adding ‘patient thinks he was being abducted by aliens’ to her notes. Through the radio headset, I could hear Odin and John cackling up front.

Callum pried his eyes open and looked at me once more before closing them again. “Prettiest alien I’ve ever seen.”

* * *

The hospital staff whisked Callum into surgery the moment we touched down on the blue-and-white helipad. The four of us hung out in the hospital’s EMS lounge, grabbing a bite to eat from the vending machines while we finished entering our reports.

We left Durham and cruised in silence back to the base. I could see the remnants of the accident. The wrecked cars were gone, the glass had been swept away, and the ornery cow was happily grazing in its pasture. But the black tire tracks streaking across the asphalt would be there as a constant reminder of the close call.

The rest of my twenty-four hours on shift was much of the same. I got acquainted with the base, took a nap, and ate the Salisbury steak John whipped up for dinner. In between, we transported a patient from Martinsville to a hospital in Raleigh, then responded to another car accident. The critical pediatric patient had my nerves on a hair trigger.

By the time the sun rose again and the clock struck seven, I was dead on my feet and emotionally drained.

In the ER, nurses have so many responsibilities that you compartmentalize the emotions and human connections. It’s about treating injuries or illnesses or moving the patient to a different level of care. Rarely did I know all the details of how they got to the ER. Instead, I focused on the task at hand. Flight nursing was a different beast altogether. Seeing the gore of car crashes. The extractions. Bystanders watching in horror. Parents screaming in agony for you to save their kid.

Compartmentalization in a hospital setting was far easier. Flight nursing offered the autonomy I craved as a medical professional, but the emotional toll was higher.

So, I did what I had done ever since taking my first nursing job. I slapped on a smile.

“You coming, Rookie?” John called over his shoulder as we filtered out of the base into the bright morning sun. The next shift had come in a few minutes before seven. After packing up my pillow and comforter, giving our reports on the previous shift, and making sure that the helicopter was stocked and good to go, we clocked out.

“Yeah,” I said, shouldering my bag. I had changed out of the heavy boots we all wore and slid my socked feet into a pair of black-and-white athletic sandals. “Just a sec.” I slapped the velcro straps across the top of my feet and hopped up.

AB was waiting in the parking lot next to a Harley. She had traded her flight helmet for a bike helmet. “Ya did good today, kid.”

“Thanks.” I tossed my gear into the back of my car. “Felt good to get at it, not just training. You know?”

John leaned on the side of his minivan and scrolled through his phone. “Wanna grab a bite before we call it? Hutch said they’re heading over to the tavern after shift change.”

AB swung her leg over her hog and cranked it up. “I’m down.”

John, AB, and I caravanned back to Falls Creek. The drive was peaceful—quiet farmland, grazing livestock, and a warm breeze. It would be blistering in less than an hour, but for now, I let my fingers hang out the car window and surf the wind.

Downtown Falls Creek consisted of a single road sandwiched between a strip of brick businesses. The only reason the town hadn’t died off was that drivers had to pass through on their way to get onto one of two major highways.

I swung into a parallel space when I saw John and AB park, and dutifully followed them across the street.

The Copper Mule was a quaint eatery with an outdoor patio. Red canvas umbrellas shaded the growing crowd from the brutal July heat. I wished I had changed out of my flight suit at the base, but I didn’t exactly want all my new peers to see the ratty cotton shorts I had on underneath.

Nomex was great for battling flames, but North Carolina summers were the equivalent of an inferno. High temperatures made the fibers of the suit constrict to keep fire from eating at my skin in the event of a helo crash. That also meant it sealed all my body heat in. I relegated to tying the arms around my waist to battle the sweltering temperatures.

“Ay!” Shane Hutchins was seated at a patio table and raised a cup of coffee our way. “She survived!” A menagerie of first responders filled the rest of the patio, waiting patiently as a chipper waitress with dark brown skin and long braids pulled back in a ponytail bounced around, taking orders.

Officer Mitchell was among the post-shift party. “Hey, Lauren,” I said, latching on to one of the few people I’d met. There was something to say about the first responder community. It was a tight-knit bunch.

Lauren took one look at my tank top and grinned. “Wonder Woman. I like it.”

“You here for breakfast?” I asked.

“Grabbing it to-go. Gotta get to the station.” She shrugged. “Shane sent out a text that they were gonna be here when they clocked out. Figured I’d swing by and see how the rest of your shift went.”

I blew out a breath. “Good. It, uh… It was good. Just getting into the swing of things, you know?”

She nodded and took a seat beside Shane. “Yeah. I graduated from the police academy six months ago. Every day still feels like the first.”

Shane raised his mug in a toast to her. “No two days are the same.”

“I’ll drink to that,” AB said, plopping down beside them and pulling a chair out for me. “Take a load off, Dubs.”

I raised an eyebrow but slid into the seat. “Dubs?”

“Yep,” John said. “Wonder Woman. WW. Dubs for short.”

I closed my eyes, rubbing the tiredness away. “At least it’s not Frodo.”

The crowd burst into peals of laughter.

“Had to be a fuckin’ superhero to have Fletch cracking jokes and calling you pretty,” AB said. “I didn’t know there was a human in there. Always assumed he was a robot programmed to police the town.”

I snickered. “That was just the morphine talking.”

“I like her,” a guy in a Falls Creek Fire Department t-shirt said. “Elijah Fisher.”

I shook his hand. “Layla Mousavi.”

“Welcome to the team, Dubs,” Elijah said.

The waitress bopped around to me and took my breakfast order. Before she zipped off to the next hungry customer, Shane looked at me and asked, “Do you drink?”

I shrugged. “Sometimes.”

The waitress assessed my flight suit and cracked a smile. “Let me guess. Your first shift with AirCare?”

I nodded. “How could you tell?”

She laughed. “I serve these animals nearly every day. You’re the only one I haven’t seen before. Don’t worry, we’ll treat you right.” And with a wink, she was off.

“So, what’s your story?” Missy—an EMT asked.

“My story?”

“Yeah,” Elijah chimed in. “How’d you end up here?”

“Ended up back here is more like it,” I said. “I was born in Iran, but I grew up in Jersey. I had some aunts and uncles down here, so my family moved down when I was in high school. Pretty much everyone I’m related to still lives around here. My aunt actually lives in town, though. She owns the bed-and-breakfast off Highway 86.”

“Where were you before this?” Shane asked.

“I did travel nursing. Worked in Georgia, a longer assignment in Florida, did some in Hawaii, Colorado, New Jersey, Missouri, Ohio, a hellish stint in Tennessee with Vandy, then I took an assignment in Beaufort—a little town on the coast.” I paused and realized I had been mangling my straw wrapper.

“Nice,” Shane said, looking over his shoulder at the returning waitress.

Her tray was piled high with every kind of breakfast food imaginable and the biggest Bloody Mary I’d ever seen. The waitress set it in front of me and plopped a party hat on my head.

I was too tired to be embarrassed and laughed instead. The Bloody Mary was served in a quart mason jar with garnishes piled four inches high and secured with skewers. It wasn’t just a celery stick. Nope. The monstrosity came with a celery stalk, a whole pickle, a fried mozzarella stick, olives and cocktail onions, a piece of shrimp, and a jalapeño popper.

“Cheers,” I said, picking up the overgrown cocktail and toasting the rest of them.

The crew clinked coffee mugs, screwdrivers, and Bloody Marys before digging into their plates.

Lauren pulled out her phone and read an email while she waited for her to-go order. “The chief just sent an update on Fletcher,” she said gleefully.

Shane raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“What’d it say?” John asked.

“Bet he’s already bitching and moaning about being laid up in the hospital,” AB said.

Lauren skimmed the email. “He’s out of surgery. Looks like he’ll be out for a few weeks, then on desk duty until he gets cleared. The Ladies Auxiliary is organizing a meal train for when he gets out of the hospital.”

Elijah snickered. “He’s gonna hate that.”

3

CALLUM

Six Weeks Later

“Fuckin’ hell,” I muttered and slammed my palm into the countertop. All I wanted was to get in, get out, and not be seen. Six fucking weeks of casseroles and well wishes and nosy busybodies swarming my house. What I wanted was a Cuban sandwich and a friggin’ minute of peace.

Thanks to delivery apps that brought groceries to my doorstep, there wasn’t a need for me to be spotted hobbling around town. The minute the tech in the doctor’s office cut off that godforsaken cast, I tossed the crutches in the dumpster behind the medical park.

I regretted it now. I had a short stint of department-mandated physical therapy ahead of me and probably could have used the aid.

Raucous voices filtered in from the patio of The Copper Mule. The crew—a random assortment of cops, firefighters, nurses, and paramedics—were out there grabbing a bite. I knew most of them. Had worked with them for years. And, in my early days as a cop, I had even joined them a time or two. The shine had worn off and the effort it took to socialize wasn’t worth it.

Friends were needy. They had expectations. I didn’t have the time or the energy to care about anyone else.

I just wanted to go home and eat my sandwich in peace.

“Officer Fletcher!” Tiffany, The Copper Mule’s head waitress, said in an eardrum-shattering squeal. “I haven’t seen you here in so long! How are you?”

“Fine,” I clipped. “Called in a to-go order.”

She flipped through the stack of tickets until she found mine and matched it to a grease-soaked paper bag. “It’s so good to see you!” she said as she took my card and swiped it through the register. She tipped her head toward the patio. “Want me to pull an extra chair out there so you can put your leg up?”

No-the-fuck-I-do-not.

“I’m not stickin’ around,” I said as I scrawled my name across the bottom of the receipt and added a tip. I snatched the bag off the counter and, less cautious than I should have, put weight on my left leg.

I clenched my jaw and swallowed the ache and discomfort. “Thanks.”

I pulled my ball cap low and kept my head down as I made my way onto the sidewalk. The same melodic laugh that haunted my dreams floated from the patio.

I thought I had dreamed that voice.

Long black hair feathered in the wind. Mile-long legs were stretched out in an empty chair, glowing in the sunshine. She swirled her straw around a glass of tea, turned her chin, and glanced at me as if she knew I was watching. Big brown eyes widened. Her cheeks were pink from the sun. Rosy lips parted in surprise, but she said nothing. Didn’t draw attention to the weird lurker staring at her from the sidewalk.

I snapped my attention away from her and limped to my car. Was I still hallucinating a month and a half later?

I chucked the takeout bag into the passenger’s seat and eased in, dropping my head back and closing my eyes the moment I shut the door. For six weeks, I had blocked out the world more than I usually did. The well-intended intrusions got so bad that I had put a cooler on my front porch so I didn’t have to answer the door when someone from the Ladies fuckin’ Auxiliary came by with a meal I didn’t ask for.

Leaving the mysterious stunner of a woman behind, I pulled out of my parking space and headed down the block. Before the AC could even kick on, I was pulling into my driveway. That was another thing that annoyed me about having a fucking broken leg. My house was just outside of downtown. It was close enough that I usually walked into town if I wanted to pick up something from the tavern. Now I had to put my ass in the car and find a damn space to park in.

But that wasn’t the worst part of my day. Nope.

Awful had just taken a dive toward hell.

Brandie Jean Palmer was waiting on my porch. All five-and-a-half feet of boobs and fried blonde hair teetered on glitter-covered heels. She was wearing a mini skirt and tube top that I hadn’t seen women in since Y2K.

I cursed under my breath as I cut the engine and snatched up my sandwich from the tavern.

“Hi, Callum!” she cooed. The stench of her Love Spell body spray suffocated me even though I was still in the driveway.

Some spell… More like man-repellent. It made my eyes water worse than pepper spray. Someone could weaponize that shit.

I could turn and go in the back door. The asshole thought slipped in before I could swat it away. Against my better judgment, I slowly trudged to the door. “BJ,” I said with a chin tip.

Brandie Jean and I had gone to high school together. Her look hadn’t changed since then. She still favored a spray tan in the shade of Cheeto. Still kept her lips coated with a sticky gloss that was probably meant to snare men like a Venus flytrap. Still wore fake lashes that looked like brooms. Her brows hadn’t survived decades of over-plucking. Now, she painted them on. She had disco-ball glitter across her eyelids.

And rumor had it, her boobs and rear end were ten years younger than she was.

I believed it.

A casserole dish of something that smelled like roadkill was perched precariously between inch-long fake nails.

“Scuse me,” I grunted as I dragged my leg up the three steps leading to the porch, fishing around in my pocket for my keys.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she said with an animated sigh, as if I was a wounded puppy. “Here, let me get the door for you.”

I already had my key in the lock. “No need. I got it.”

“I’ve been tryin’ to catch you for a week now.” She lifted the casserole dish. “I made you some dinner. Figured you wouldn’t wanna have to get up and cook for yourself.”

I knew she’d been loitering around my property. I had been able to smell her sickeningly sweet odor for three days. I’d just gotten good at avoiding her. And the world.

Damn craving for a Cuban sandwich…

She wedged herself between me and the door. Her boobs nearly popped out of the glorified headband she wore around her chest in place of a shirt. “How ’bout I warm this up for you?”

I stared longingly at my empty, quiet house. “I, uh… I’m not really up for company.”

She waved me off with a toothy grin. “That grumpy face is too cute to scare me off, Callum!” she sing-songed as she let herself into my house and started cutting on lights like she owned the damn place.

I was still on the porch, staring into the open door, when I heard the beep beep of Brandie Jean punching buttons on my oven.

“Fuck my life,” I muttered as I hobbled inside.

Brandie stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her tangerine hands on an apron. When did I get an apron? “You know, I was hoping we’d get our second date before the Ladies Auxiliary auction came back around.” She batted her fake eyelashes at me. The left one sagged, probably from the humidity.

That fucking auction fundraiser…

Once a year, the Ladies Auxiliary would put on a fundraiser for the Widows and Orphans Fund. They raised a hell of a lot of money, and it went to a noble cause.

They managed to raise that money by having the single men and women from the police department volunteer—against their will—to have bidders win dates with them.

Even for an asshole like me, I could admit it was all in good fun. Usually, one of my grandma’s blue-haired friends would bid on me, and I’d show her a good time. Two years ago, Maribel Gonzales—the town’s seventy-eight-year-old librarian—won a date with me. She wanted to ride around town on the back of my Harley, and I was happy to oblige. I took her on the scenic route, ending back at her house, where she taught me how to make arepas. It was one of the best dates I’d ever been on. Even if it was fake.

But last year… Last year was when it all went south.

Fresh off her fourth breakup in three months, Brandie Jean bid on me.

And won.

I tried to keep things proper, but the woman was clingier than an octopus with separation anxiety. She felt me up twice before we even made it into the restaurant. She wanted to sit on the same side of the table. Wanted to feed me with her fork and have me reciprocate with mine.

It was fucking terrifying.

When I dropped Brandie Jean back at her place, she practically clawed my dress shirt off, then cried when I pushed her away. I still had a scar on my chest from those talons she called nails. It took some de-escalating to convince a wine-drunk BJ I’d had a nice time. For ten months, she’d been pestering me about a second date that sure as hell wasn’t going to happen.

I snapped out of my mental haze when I heard her opening the oven again. She plopped the casserole dish onto a crocheted hot mat and tucked my oven mitts back into the drawer. How the hell did she know where my stuff was?

“Your kitchen is so well organized,” BJ gushed. “It’s like I could just move in tomorrow and not have a single problem figuring out where everything is!” She peeled back the aluminum foil that covered whatever it was she had murdered. What I assumed used to be edible was now charred. “But like I was saying—I just think we’d have a grand ol’ time together. Maybe we could combine dates two and three into dinner and breakfast.” I think she winked. That or her lash had completely fallen off and gotten trapped in her eye.

“BJ, I—”

She cut me off. “Well, that or I’ll just have to win another date with you! And trust me, I’m prepared to pay top dollar for a night with Officer Callum Fletcher.” She giggled. “I’m not about to let some little old lady steal you out from under me!”

The thing was, Brandie Jean had those dollars to spare. She didn’t have to pay a dime for those plastic boobs. When Old Man McCuller was still alive, he was her sugar daddy. The day he kicked the bucket and a lawyer read his will, the rest of the McCullers nearly died too. He had left every cent of his multimillion-dollar fortune to Brandie Jean.

Now, she was Exhibit A in the argument for why money couldn’t buy class.

I wasn’t one for dramatics, but another evening with Brandie Jean would hurt worse than having my shin bone snapped in half in a car accident. Mainly because, at the moment, I couldn’t actually run away from her. I needed a way out of that fucking date fundraiser.

“Good thing you didn’t go off and get engaged this year or something silly like that,” she babbled.

A lightbulb flickered in my mind as Brandie scooped out a helping of charcoal and plopped it into a bowl. The odor made my stomach turn.

Brandie Jean stuffed the putrid concoction into my hand and squeezed my bicep; her nails nearly drew blood through my t-shirt. She let out a dreamy sigh. “September can’t come soon enough, sweet pea.”

I wrenched my arm out of her grasp and forced a polite grimace. “Thanks—uh…” I lifted the bowl. I was pretty sure the sizzle wasn’t from the heat. It was the type of crackle and hiss that happened in cartoons when something fell into a vat of simmering toxic waste. “For this. Very … kind of you.”

She beamed. “I’ll drop in tomorrow to get the casserole dish and check on you. Such a shame you’re here all alone.” BJ hit me with Bambi eyes. “I could stay and help you out. You know … take care of you. Nurse you back to health.” She winked again.

Hell no.

“You know, BJ, that’s real thoughtful of you.” I set the bowl on my coffee table, only slightly concerned that the contents would eat through the glass, and steered her toward the door. She could keep my apron. “But my Gran said she’s stopping by, then I’ve got to head into the station to get some paperwork squared away.”

Brandie pouted with artificially plumped lips.

The door was still open, and I all but shoved her through. “But I’ll wash your dish and set it on the porch. You’ve been a real help.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but I shut the door in her face and didn’t feel an ounce of remorse.

I waited for her pink Volkswagen Beetle to peel out of my driveway before holding my breath and disposing of the necrotic mess she’d cooked. I doubled up the trash bag to contain the stench and tossed it into my garbage can. Thank fuck tomorrow was trash pick-up day.

Brandie Jean didn’t know it, but she had been a help. Albeit, a small one. That little comment about her being thankful I hadn’t gotten engaged this year had my wheels spinning.

There was one condition that would make me exempt from the date fundraiser.

One very specific condition.

4

LAYLA

Those eyes. Steel-gray and brooding. Full of pain, complex and deep. Dark brows furrowed as he stared at me, frozen on the sidewalk.

I knew it was him. He was all the town had talked about for the last month and a half. I’d barely seen the outside of my apartment or the base, but even as a newcomer, I was privy to every detail of Callum Fletcher’s recovery.

He looked at me for a moment, jaw clenched and lips pursed. His hand gripped a paper bag from The Copper Mule.

I couldn’t help but stare. He was painfully attractive. Tall, toned, tanned, and tattooed. Part of a design peeked out from the edge of his t-shirt sleeve, wrapping around his wide bicep. A sharp edge of stubble shadowed his strong jawline. His lips were turned down slightly, as if he was deciding what he thought of me.

Did he remember me being in the helicopter with him that day? From how intently he studied me, it was as if he couldn’t tell if I was real or a figment of his imagination.

There was something dark beneath the façade of the all-American boy. Something haunted.

Something inside me drew toward him like a magnet. Go to him, the little voice whispered. See that broken man? He needs fixing.

Nursing had been an obvious profession for me to go into. I enjoyed fixing people. Putting them back together. But that proclivity bled into my personal life. I had a habit of reacting to men the way I reacted to rescue puppies. All it took was a single wounded look, and I was lining up to have my heart steamrolled by someone who needed to deal with his problems in therapy, not a relationship. Cue the Sarah McLachlan.

“Have you met your neighbors yet?” Lauren asked as she dipped a corn fritter in sour cream and took a bite.

I stuffed my face with a fried green tomato and shook my head. “Nope,” I mumbled. “I’ve seen them, though. I think they’re like … gym junkies or something. They’re always blasting music and running blenders ridiculously early in the morning. I don’t even have to set alarms to get up for work. They’re making power smoothies at five in the morning and rolling out with stuffed gym bags.”

I looked back at the sidewalk and caught a glimpse of Callum’s back as he shuffled down the sidewalk. The bedrest clearly hadn’t been a problem for his physique. Holy cheese and crackers. The man had the greatest ass on planet earth.

Shane came back from his bathroom run and plopped back into the third seat at our table. “What are we talking about?”

“Layla’s neighbors,” Lauren sing-songed.

“My loud neighbors and their thin walls,” I corrected.

Shane grimaced. “Sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” I grumbled into my sweet tea. “Thank goodness for blackout curtains, sleep masks, and earplugs.”

“And melatonin,” we all agreed in unison, then laughed.

Shane tipped his beer toward me. “I’ll drink to that.”

Lauren nodded in agreement. She had been pulling night shifts with the police department and was feeling the zombification that came from nocturnal sleep patterns in a diurnal society.

The weather today was glorious. The breeze was a filthy liar, though. It gave the impression that fall was right around the corner, but summer would hold out for another month or two.

The side door of The Copper Mule swung open, and Tiffany, the head waitress, stepped out. “Is this table okay for y’all?” she asked the two patrons she was leading out onto the patio.

“That’s great,” the man said.

That voice was oddly familiar. A faint reminder of a previous life.

I turned and looked as the customers took their seats.

Che halâl zâdeh! Speak of the friggin’ devil. If he hadn’t been wearing a Beaufort Fire Department shirt, I wouldn’t have believed it.

“Austin?”

Austin Hale was a firefighter back in Beaufort, North Carolina. We didn’t see each other much when I lived and worked there, but we ran into each other from time to time when he’d come into the ER after getting banged up in the line of duty.

He was enormously tall, built like a tank, and was as sweet as Yazdi cakes. He looked like Thor but had the temperament of a golden retriever.

Austin whipped around, obviously not expecting someone so far from his home to know his name. He took one look at me and bolted out of the wrought-iron chair. His knees caught on the edge of the table, and he tipped the ketchup bottle over. “Layla?”

Big muscular arms enveloped me in a hug before I could get another word out. He squeezed a laugh from me as he nearly lifted me off the ground.

“What are the odds? Mel Jacobsen told me you moved out here a while ago.” He set me down and took a step back. “Didn’t expect to run into you as soon as I got into town.”

I gave his bicep a squeeze under the guise of friendliness, but the muscles had actually hypnotized me. “What are you doing here?”

Austin stepped to the side and draped his arm over the shoulders of a woman who held an uncanny resemblance to him. “Layla, this is my little sister, Bethany.”

Austin Hale made a gorgeous woman.

Bethany had the same brilliant smile, bright eyes, and blonde hair. She shook my hand. “Just Beth. It’s nice to meet you. How do y’all know each other?”

Austin looked down at his sister. “Layla used to work at Carteret Presbyterian. She, uh … patched me up a time or two.” He winked at me.

I laughed. “I think you even dragged me out on the dance floor at Jokers a time or two.”

“Yeah, when you weren’t all moon-eyed all over Brannan,” Austin quipped with a good-natured wink.

The comment stung like a thousand murder hornets.

Beth raised her brows. “You were with Chase Brannan?”

I could feel Shane and Lauren’s eyes on me. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck, and heat blazed across my cheeks. What I wouldn’t give to go back in time, get my dinner to go, and hide in my apartment listening to a symphony of blenders roaring through paper-thin drywall.

“Oh, me and Chase? We weren’t serious.” I waved it off as though it was nothing. And to Chase, it hadn’t been anything. But me…

I hadn’t been lying when I jokingly told Officer Fletcher that he wasn’t my type.

I didn’t date cops.

Not anymore.

Still, that didn’t mean I wasn’t a glutton for punishment. I prided myself in having brass ovaries, but my willpower only went so far. When presented with the temptation of getting a little gossip about an old flame, the answer was always yes. “How, um… How’s he doing?” I asked. “Chase, I mean.”

Austin shifted uncomfortably. Way to go, Layla. It’s totally normal to ask a nearly random stranger about a former fling. He studied his shoes. “I think he’s doing alright.” Almost reluctantly, he added, “Things with Bridget are … they’re tough. But she’s tough, too. Bridget finally left Kingsley a few weeks ago, and she and Chase are together now. She’s got a long road of recovery ahead of her, but it looks like things might finally fall into place for them.”

“Good. That’s good.” I forced a thin smile and turned to Beth. “So, what are y’all doing in Falls Creek? Are you guys just visiting?”

“No, I moved here a few weeks ago. I got a job at the university in Chapel Hill while I finish my master’s degree.” She elbowed Austin in the gut. “Overprotective ogre of a big brother had seventy-two hours off from the fire department and came to make sure I was staying out of trouble.”

“Brothers are annoying like that,” I said with a laugh, thinking about mine. “But you live here in Falls Creek?”

She nodded. “It’s adorable here and so much cheaper than renting in the city.”

While Tiffany stopped by to take their drink orders, Beth and I exchanged numbers. It would be nice to know someone else in town.

When I returned to my seat, I didn’t miss the way Shane was studying Beth. Lauren smacked her hands on the table. “Spill.”

Playing dumb, I asked, “Spill what?”

She scoffed. “The hunky firefighter? That look on your face when he brought up whoever the hell ‘Brannan’ is?”

“It’s nothing,” I said all too quickly, but my denial didn’t stop the memories from floating through my mind.

I was the one who had been naïve, thinking I could make him fall for me even though he was clearly hung up on someone else.

To him, it had been a few months of stress-relieving hook-ups. To me, I saw a potential future. But the writing on the wall was there. He was in love with someone who wasn’t me. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I cared or listened, I would never have been able to change that.

I left Beaufort with a raw, aching heart and a resolution to spend the next few months falling back in love with myself.

Yeah, yeah. It was cliché as hell. Still, swearing off men—and more importantly, penises—had actually done me some good.

I felt lighter. Happier. More focused at work. I was more comfortable being alone with my thoughts. I wasn’t trying to decode what a certain text meant.

Everyone knew that the letter “K” with a period as a text meant the sender was pissed. But what about “kay” without the ‘O?’ Had he been on duty and couldn’t type “okay?” Was he blowing me off? Had I come on too strong?

The overthinking left me perpetually exhausted.

When the conversation with Lauren and Shane wrapped up, I said my goodbyes and waved at Austin and Beth. My phone rang as I slung my bag across my body and walked down the sidewalk to my car. I smiled as I pressed it to my ear. “Khale joon!”

“Layla joon!” my aunt sing-songed before exploding into rambling Farsi, demanding to know why I had been in town for over a month and hadn’t come by the Ballentine House yet.

My Aunt Sepideh ran a quaint bed-and-breakfast in an unincorporated part of the county, just outside of Falls Creek. When I was younger, I loved leaving the hustle and bustle of Chapel Hill and going to visit. My brother and I would race through the fruit trees that dotted the sprawling fields, then cool off by swimming in the creek. We would help turn over the rooms, cottages, and cabins when guests checked out. Sometimes I would pitch in to prepare meals and snacks in the kitchen. The property looked like it was straight out of a storybook. A wave of nostalgia crashed into me.

I had crisscrossed the country more than I could count; traveled internationally when I was between assignments. But for the first time in a long time, I was back home.

My family was as close as they could possibly be. Some kids I grew up with would differentiate between their immediate and extended family, but for me, my entire family was immediate.

Second, third, and fourth cousins, aunts of aunts, random friends who had been around so long I just assumed we were related somehow—it didn’t matter. Gatherings were always loud and full of love. But there was little independence to be had when you were a fraction of a whole.

Guilt plagued me for months after I chose to live on campus in college. After I graduated, that guilt was amplified when I got an apartment with some friends rather than moving back home. My parents were less than thrilled when I started travel nursing but always had my bedroom ready when I wanted to come home for a visit.

“Be omide didâr,” I said as my aunt finished her spiel, having filled me in on all the local gossip. She was a leader in the local Ladies Auxiliary and had been rambling on about the committee meetings for some fundraiser coming up.

“Be salâmat,” she chirped. “Promise me, Layla joon. Don’t work yourself to death.” She clicked her tongue as if knowing I wouldn’t take her advice. “Make a life, not just a living.”

I laughed. “I will.” I trapped my phone between my ear and shoulder as I fiddled with the keys to my apartment.

It must have been my lucky day. The noisy neighbors weren’t home. Good thing tomorrow was garbage day. The neighbor’s trash cans were overflowing with empty jugs and cat litter bags. That was weird. Since I had moved in, I’d never heard a cat meowing or seen one sunning itself in the window. Then again, they had blackout curtains like I did.

I ran through my mental to-do list. I’d do a little tidying up, catch up on a show, meal prep, then hit the hay early before my shift started in the morning.

But my luck was short-lived. The moment I got my door open, my neighbors pulled up, gave me a wary look, and hustled inside. A cloud of something god-awful that smelled like ammonia and rotten urine wafted from their unit. It was more putrid than necrotic flesh. I cupped my hand over my mouth and hustled into my apartment.

I peeked through my curtains and caught a glimpse of them staring at my apartment before retreating into their unit and slamming the door shut.

5

LAYLA

The pit of despair in my stomach grew to exponential proportions as I navigated the tight curve that led to my parents’ house. I turned up the radio, letting Maren Morris drown out the incessant loop of questions I knew were going to be thrown at me.

You’re working too much. Why did you get that terrible apartment when you have a room here with us? You’re getting too much sun. You’re not eating enough. You should really look for a nine-to-five nursing job at a private practice. The long, stressful flight nursing shifts aren’t doing anything for the bags under your eyes.

Well-meaning as they were, the questions always erred two degrees shy of “settle down and get a husband.”

Not that my parents were any kind of old-fashioned. My mother was the primary breadwinner in our family and had never been a stay-at-home mom. Even the years before my brother and I had hit preschool age, we went with her to the office and used recycled first-draft legal briefs as coloring pages.

Still, they insisted that I needed a man to make an honest woman out of me. But at this point, I was done with men. I had sworn off all members of the penis-wielding variety. Maybe I’d give women a try.

Eh, boobs didn’t really do it for me, and I would miss non-silicone penetration … eventually.

I pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, stealing a moment of silence before the well-intended smothering began. A latent notification on my phone caught my eye. That little red bubble was hard to ignore.

But ignore it, I tried, because I knew exactly what it was.

Ah, screw it. I was a glutton for punishment. I knew I’d obsess over it anyway. What was the point in delaying the inevitable? I swiped through, opening the app and staring at the post one of the nurses I used to work with in Beaufort had sent to me.

Chase wasn’t smiling in the photo. He wasn’t even looking at the camera. He was staring at her.

Part of me had always had a girl crush on Bridget. Not because I was into her, but because I wanted to be her. Hook-ups be damned, Chase had never been mine to have. Not when he never looked at me with even an ounce of the affection he had for her.

I was happy for them, I reminded myself. Things were falling into place for two people who really loved each other.

He didn’t love me, and I didn’t take offense to that. It was what it was.

Part of me wanted a man who would tell me to stay when it was selfish of him to do so. Toward the end of my situationship with Chase, I broke the news that I had officially earned my CFRN specialization and had started applying to flight nursing positions.

Part of me—a rather large portion—wanted Chase to tell me to apply to a crew close to Beaufort so we could keep seeing each other. Maybe he’d move on from the woman who was engaged to someone else.

But he didn’t. He was genuinely happy that I had passed the exam and was one step closer to the job I had always wanted. But instead of asking me to stay, he congratulated me and offered to help me pack.

I had been good enough to fall into bed with, but not good enough to ask me to stay. The intrusive thought stung.

I pocketed my phone and got out of the car, grabbing the pastry box out of the passenger’s seat.

“Layla joon,” my grandmother—maman bozorg—said with a wrinkled smile as she held the front door open.

I bent and kissed her on the cheek. “Delam barat tang shode.” She pulled me down into a hug. My face was buried in her shoulder, where the soft cream-colored fabric of her hijab pooled. “I missed you,” I said again, tears welling up in my eyes.

“I missed you too, joonam.”

“Come in.” She wrapped gnarled fingers around my wrist and pulled me into the house. “You look like you haven’t eaten in weeks. Come—we’ll fix that.”

Before I could get my shoes off, I was dragged into the dining room. My mother was busy whipping up every food known to man. A little excessive for a weeknight family dinner, but that had never stopped them before.

Karim thundered down the stairs, yanking on a t-shirt. My mother took one look at him and clicked her tongue in a wordless scold.

“Nurse Ratched,” he teased as he stole the bakery box out of my hand and pawed through the spoils.

“Judge Judy,” I shot back, yanking the box out of his hands.

Karim had already snagged a pinch of pashmak and popped it into his mouth. “Dude, do you know how awesome it would be to be Judge Judy? She’s worth like five hundred million.”

Our mother rolled her eyes. “Your sister is not a ‘dude,’” she said, finishing with her best American accent. “And you are not making a farce of my law practice by going on television and yelling at people. Being the smartest person in the room and keeping your mouth shut is much more effective than quippy zingers and pounding things.”

Karim and I both choked on our laughs. We were grown adults, but there were few things funnier than having a parent make a sexual innuendo and them having no idea they had done it.

“Azizam,” my dad said as he walked in the front door and dropped his messenger bag. It was chock full of papers that would be graded after dinner with the TV on in the background. He would probably watch something like Man Vs. Wild or an ultimate survival challenge. Dad liked to live vicariously from the comfort of the couch.

“Baba joon,” I threw my arms around his willowy shoulders and squeezed.

“Ah!” my aunt said as she sashayed into the house. “Layla joon! You have some explaining to do!” Sepideh Nazari—or as I called her, khale joon—was my favorite aunt. Not that I told the others that. My uncle had passed away when I was little, leaving her as a young widow. Now, she leaned into being a zany single lady and had opened a bed-and-breakfast on the outskirts of Falls Creek years ago. “My friend, Doris, said that you airlifted her grandson! I’ve known Callum for years. He’s not married, and he’s gorgeous!”

A serving spoon fell out of my mother’s hand, clattering against the granite island. “You airlifted a single man and didn’t get his number?”

“I can’t ask an unconscious man for his number!” I shrieked in disbelief. The women in this family…

“Doris said he was only partially unconscious,” Khale joon argued.

“You could have at least asked,” my grandmother muttered under her breath as she stirred the pot on the stove. “Maybe you could have written your number on his body. You should start carrying a permanent marker with you, just in case you run into any other hot, comatose men.”

I did keep a permanent marker in my flight suit, but I wasn’t about to tell them that. Sharpies and medical tape were indispensable. I’d rip off a piece, slap it to the top of my thigh or the top of my forearm and scribble patient weight and medication shorthand so that I could titrate drug doses on the fly.

“Address labels!” my aunt chirped. “Print a few sheets of mailing labels with your name, phone number, and maybe your height and weight and hair and eye color. Then you can just put it on the men like stickers!”

“But then they could just peel it off. Permanent marker is a better option,” Karim said, egging them on with a grin.

I slammed my hands on the kitchen island with an exasperated huff. “I am not vandalizing anyone’s body!”

“You know, joonam,” my dad said. “There’s a teacher at the school that would be a good match for you. Perhaps we could have him over for dinner next week and introduce the two of you.”

“Baba,” I whined. I really didn’t want to get into all the reasons I wasn’t dating right now. Not while I was still feeling a little raw.

“He’s tenured!” he argued. “He makes a respectable salary and has good job security.”

My eyes narrowed. “How old is this man?”

My dad thought for a moment. “Well, let’s see. His birthday was last month, and there was a cake in the teacher’s lounge for him. If I remember correctly, the frosting said sixty-something. My guess is sixty-five, but it could have been sixty-four. That half of the frosting was gone by the time I got a slice.”

As if the difference between sixty-four and sixty-five was the problem.

“Dad, that’s older than you!” Karim laughed.

He shrugged. “It was worth a shot. Maybe my daughter likes older men.” Pausing, he shook his head. “Nevermind. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”

“There’s a difference between being into older men and being into old men,” I clipped as I helped arrange the large serving dishes. “Do y’all give Karim this much crap? He’s single, too!”

“Ah, but Karim goes on dates,” my mother said with a soft smile.

“What was the name of the young lady you were with last night?” my grandmother asked.

Karim sputtered on the sip of water he had just downed. “Uh,” he said, coughing. “Candie.”

A wicked smile crossed my face. “And what does this … Candie do for work?”

My brother glared at me. “She’s a Ph.D. candidate.” My mother, aunt, and grandma swooned.

I raised an eyebrow. “A Ph.D. candidate?”

Karim swallowed. “Yep.”

I lowered my voice. “That stands for pretty hot dancer, doesn’t it?”

“Fuck off, I just spent three years of my life without any fun because I was studying my ass off for the bar exam. I deserve to blow off a little steam now and then,” Karim hissed.

“Turnabout’s fair play, buddy. You let mom and dad set me up with a balding geometry teacher, and I will sic them on your love life.” I pointed two fingers at my eyes, then back at him.

He raised his hands in surrender, then muttered, “Bitchy.”

I shrugged innocently. “In a world full of bitches, be a bad one.”

We crowded around the table and gorged ourselves on dinner. Karim lobbed softball questions to keep them off my back, and I did the same for him.

I loved my family with every fiber of my being, but sometimes they could be a bit much. They meant well, but the well-intended smothering left me gasping for air.

I volunteered to do the dishes just so I could have a little breather from intrusive conversations.

“How is work?” my mom asked as she sided up to me with a dishtowel, plucking a plate out of the drainer to dry off.

“Good,” I said as I scrubbed a piece of fused chicken off a serving dish. “Busy.”

“You know, joonam, you have to go after love just as hard as you went after your degree and your job. It won’t just fall into your lap.”

“Maman,” I said with a frustrated sigh.

“At least go on dates,” she pleaded. “It doesn’t have to be a love connection right away. Or, you know, you could let us set you up like maman bozorg and your baba’s maman did for your father and me. Sometimes your elders know best. They see what you can’t. Maman bozorg knew that I needed a husband who wouldn’t be threatened by my career. In the second Khastegāri meeting, your father told me about his dream to immigrate to America. I told him that my dream was to be an attorney. It wasn’t a love connection at first, but it was a partnership. We trusted each other enough to share our dreams and our goals. Find someone you can trust, azizam. Love will flow from that.”

I leaned into her side. “Thanks, mom.”

“Dooset Daaram,” she said, dropping a kiss on top of my head the way she had when I was little.

“I love you, too, Maman.”

She grabbed a platter out of the dish drainer and began drying it off. “But if you don’t bring a man with you the next time you come for dinner, I will rent the biggest billboard I can find on I-40 and put your picture on it.”

Great. I would have laughed, but I knew she wasn’t joking.

6

CALLUM

“Get your lard ass in the car, Muriel.”

Muriel snorted and wobbled her three hundred and fifty pounds of ornery should-be-bacon rear end in the opposite direction of my open cruiser door.

This was my life now. The most action I got outside of physical therapy was riding a desk. That, and the occasional L-and-A.

Livestock and agriculture.

Fuckin’ Creekers…

Muriel—a hefty lady in her prime—looked at me through thick, curly lashes. I pinched the bridge of my nose, willing the impending migraine to stay away until I could get this bitch back to her man.

“In. The. Car,” I gritted out, pointing her in the direction of my open cruiser. I was pissed that Muriel was getting in the backseat of my shiny new department vehicle. She’d muck it up just like she had my old car.

Muriel let out a hearty oink that was more of a whonk.

I pointed down to my bum leg. “I know you like the chase, sweetheart. But it ain’t happening today.”

She stamped a cloven foot into the soft soil on the shoulder of Pate Chapel Road and let out a blustering breath that smelled a lot like slop.

For a moment, my eyes left the pig who thought she was a house pet and lingered on the black tire marks that streaked across the asphalt.

I tried to swerve, but that kid caught the front corner of my cruiser when he crossed the center line and crushed it like a tin can, pinning me in.

The sickening sound of crumpling metal played in my mind like a horrific soundtrack. The crescendo was the crack of my tibia, snapping like a tree branch. My spine shuddered, the horrific memory rattling my bones as bile lodged in my throat.

Bored with the standoff, Muriel blustered and slowly lumbered toward my car. She squeezed onto the seat and looked at me through those big pig eyes as if reading my mind. Stop thinking about the girl, dumbass.

That woman—the flight nurse. Her eyes staring at me through her flight helmet. Those legs stretched out onto a chair at The Copper Mule. Her lips, her smile. That laugh.

The vision that had been teasing me in my dreams was burst by Muriel’s rip-roaring hog flatulence. I slammed the back door and limped into the driver’s seat. “I’m getting a fucking BLT on the way.”

It was a little too early for a lunch sandwich, but I did hit up a drive-through on my way to return Muriel to Lester O’Malley’s farm. I even turned and looked Muriel dead in the eye when I requested extra bacon on my bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit. If she was perturbed by me chowing down on the spoils of one of her ancestors, she didn’t show it. I pulled up to Lester’s farmhouse and popped open the door. Muriel squealed and waddled back inside. I saw Lester grab a treat from a pig-shaped cookie jar and toss it her way as she settled on the top-of-the-line dog bed wedged on his kitchen floor.

He gave me a smile, warped with age, and a grateful wave as I put the cruiser in reverse and backed away from his property.

That was the thing about policing in Falls Creek. It was a lot more serving than protecting. And the protecting we did do was usually protecting the citizens from themselves. Or from livestock that had no business being housepets and were too damn smart for their own good.

I rode back to town with all four windows down, trying to air out the stench of farm animals out of my car. Unfortunately for me, my next assignment was even less appealing than wrangling a wandering pig like it was a rebellious teenager.

I pulled into the lot at Falls Creek Elementary at exactly 9:01 AM. A fire engine and a ladder truck were already parked catty-cornered on the far side of the cordoned-off section of blacktop. A few guys from the crew were pulling on the last of their bunker gear. To their right, Shane Hutchins was opening the back of an ambulance, fully decked out in a gray Falls Creek EMS polo and tactical pants. I pulled in beside the other cruiser from the police department and hopped out, careful to steel my features of any physical discomfort.

The annual elementary school first responder’s day gave the kids of Falls Creek a chance to see emergency vehicles up close and personal. For some, it inspired them to pursue careers in public service. For others, it gave them a chance to see first responders without an emergency in progress.

It let them see the firefighters underneath all the protective layers that kept them safe in a blaze. Whoever drew the short stick and showed up from the police department let the snot-monsters see all the equipment that was packed onto our duty belts. Today, I held the short stick. The EMS team went through basic first aid and let them check out the inside of the ambulance.

It was little things like that that made a real difference in an emergency. If a Falls Creek kid had to be taken to the hospital in the back of an ambulance, chances were, Shane was going to be the one caring for them. It would help them stay calm if they remembered him from the touch-a-truck day at their school. That, and the fact that he memorized songs from Disney movies to sing at the drop of a hat.

Kids from Pre-K to fifth grade stood in straight lines as their teachers held them back from flooding the pavement. In the distance, the low whump-whump of rotors filled the air.

Lauren Mitchell—a whip-smart rookie who crushed the Raleigh police academy—stood beside her training officer, Wyatt Jepson. I gave them both a chin tip as I downed the rest of my fast-food coffee. Apart from the incoming chopper, the parking lot was silent. We would turn the lights and sirens on after the demonstrations. Teachers and assistants were instructed to let the little ones with sensory sensitivities check out the apparatuses and equipment first, then take them back inside before things got loud.

Gasps of delight and awe filled the air as the AirCare 1 helicopter hovered overhead before touching down with a feathery landing right in the middle of the parking lot.

“Fucking flight nurses stealing all the glory,” Elijah, a firefighter, said as he shook his head.

It was true. Kids grew up wanting to be firefighters or police officers, but the moment they saw a flight nurse in action, it all went out the window.

The AirCare team hopped out of the bird, looking like emergency response rockstars in their flight suits and helmets.

Odin—whose actual name was Travis—flew Apaches for the Army in the early years of the war in Afghanistan. As cool as that was, the claim to fame he was most proud of was an appearance in a documentary filmed on a forward operating base while he was deployed. Now, he spent his civilian days chauffeuring the AirCare team from one call to another in rural North Carolina.

The back of the helicopter opened, and AB hopped out, hauling the stretcher out behind her. Gasps of shock and awe rose up from the mass of kids. Right before the propellers slowed to a stop, the side door rolled back. Long legs covered in blue Nomex leaped out. She pulled her helmet off and shook out her long, raven hair.

Wyatt let out a low whistle. “Damn.”

Lauren rolled her eyes, but it jogged my memory. Lauren had been at The Copper Mule when I spotted the new girl—Layla. Were they friends?

I glanced at Lauren and tipped my head toward the chopper. “Y’all know each other?”

She nodded. “Met the day of your accident.”

Just the mention of the crash had pain shooting up my leg.

Wyatt walked to the center of the parking lot as the principal of the elementary school called everyone to attention. She introduced the different departments and their respective representatives. While Elijah, Shane, AB, and Wyatt passed the microphone around and gave their speeches, I shoved my hands in my pockets as casually as a nervous wreck could and walked over to stand beside Layla.

She raised an eyebrow and looked out of the corner of her eye, still keeping her attention on the hundreds of kids watching us. “Morning, officer.” Her lips, painted with a gloss the color of warm autumn leaves, curved up in a coy smile.

I cleared my throat. “Layla, right?” I used my peripheral vision to double-check the patch on her flight suit.

L. Mousavi.

CEN, CFRN

FLIGHT NURSE

AIRCARE

She blinked, taken aback. Whether it was a surprise that I knew her name or just being weirded out that I’d joined her like a fucking creep, I wasn’t sure.

“I didn’t know if you remembered me.” Instantly, she cringed. “Oh god. That makes me sound so whiny. I just meant with the accident… You were in and out. I didn’t know how much you were aware of what was going on or who was around you.”

I shifted my weight between my feet and rested my hands on top of my duty belt. “I remember you.”

She laughed under her breath as she switched her flight helmet from her left arm to her right, putting an additional foot of space between us. “I suppose being abducted by aliens is pretty memorable.”

I, Callum Anthony Fletcher, was cold as stone. I prided myself on my affinity for compartmentalization. I existed in a constant state of disassociation.

The concrete fortress I’d built around my life was no match for a single deprecating joke and warm laugh from Layla Mousavi.

I had made lists. Written pros and cons of all my options. Tried to come up with an alternative to get me out of that friggin’ date auction. I lost sleep trying to exhaust any alternative to asking a near stranger to do something asinine.

But Layla was my best option. The fact that she was new to town was even better.

I steeled my expression as best as one could in the midst of her unbearable sunshine and tipped my head down towards hers. “You on shift today or just doing PR?”

There were tired circles under her eyes. Her fingers twitched like she had just shotgunned a Red Bull after a night of zero sleep. “Getting off shift after this.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been on for twenty-four already?”

Layla nodded.

“Busy night?” I guessed.

She nodded again. “You could say that.”

“How many calls did you get?”

“Four.”

“Anything fun?” Fun was relative to people like us. Fun didn’t mean enjoyable. It meant interesting. Challenging. Trying. Testing. Fun was rarely a good thing.

She dropped her shoulders just a hair, slowly easing the tension between us. “Transport of a cardiac patient from Danville to Duke. Second was a perforated bowel. Third was a house fire outside of Hillsborough—smoke inhalation and burns. Last one was an overdose. EMS brought him back with naloxone, we got him in the bird, and he coded. Endocarditis and septic shock. Brought him back enough again to transfer care when we touched down at the hospital in Chapel Hill. Pretty sure he’s not gonna make it, but you never know.” She rattled it off like a grocery list. Unattached. Unemotional. Unaffected.

Seeing shit like that leaves a mark. Sometimes the cut is no deeper than the nick of a razor. But eventually, the right—or wrong—call will connect those hairline cuts and make you bleed.

“Going home after this?”

“Back to the base, then home, yeah.”

There was my opening. She’d have at least a day before her next shift. The clock was ticking if I was going to convince her to help me out in the ruse I had cooked up.

This morning, Brandie Jean had sent four dozen doughnuts to the precinct with a card covered in glitter. She’d signed it with a lipstick kiss and “BJ” in neon pink gel pen. Our civilian administrative assistant, a twenty-something redhead named Kate, had managed to pry the pastry boxes out of BJ’s manicured hands without letting her anywhere near my desk.

I had to get out of that fundraiser.

The principal announced the rotation of each class visiting the trucks, cars, and the helicopter, trying to stave off a mosh pit of excited children. While she gave instructions for keeping hands to one’s self and not touching anything without asking permission, I turned to face Layla. “Would you, uh... Would you wanna grab a drink tonight?”

She mimicked my position, turning to face me as she raised flawlessly arched eyebrows. “A drink?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged as if I did this all the time. The truth was, I didn’t. Not ever. “There’s a little bar over in Hillsborough—The Tipsy Goat. Decent place. A little pretentious. Or if you don’t drink, we could get coffee. I probably should have asked if you drank… Some people don’t.”

“I do,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Drink, I mean. You know—for the record.”

“How’s eight? It’ll give you a chance to get some shuteye. I’ll be off at seven, get a quick shower and meet you there.”

Layla took a step back. “That’s sweet, but no.”

I frowned. “No?”

“No,” she confirmed. “Thanks for the offer, though. I’m just not dating right now.”

“It’s not a date,” I countered. “Just a drink between… Colleagues.”

“You’re not my type, Officer Fletcher.” There was conviction in her voice. Resolve.

Something niggled in the back of my mind—like she’d said that before, but I couldn’t quite place it. My mind swirled like I’d been thrust back onto that stretcher, strapped down, and loaded into the back of the helicopter. In my mind’s eye, Layla hovered above me, competent hands checking my vitals. The warmth of her touch was reassuring.

“You said that to me in the helicopter.”

She pointed to my badge. “I don’t date cops. Nothing personal.”

“Seems pretty personal if you ask me,” I muttered. “But like I said, this wouldn’t be a date.”

Her quiet laugh was caustic and, if I had to guess, a little heartbroken. “That’s what the last guy said.”

Before I could get another word in, a hoard of fifth graders flooded around the helicopter. Layla’s tempered demeanor exploded like a firecracker of excitement. “Hi, everyone! Who wants to go inside the helicopter first?”

A chorus of me, me, me! erupted.

I waded through the melee, watching her over my shoulder as I worked my way back to my squad car. Layla helped a pint-sized person into one of the jump seats, then fitted her helmet over his little head.

Her smile was infectious. If she hadn’t just wrecked all my carefully laid plans, I would have smiled, too.

7

LAYLA

I dragged my exhausted ass through my apartment door, all but dead on my feet. My stomach growled from the lack of breakfast and lunch, but I couldn’t find the energy to open the fridge.

Answering the same damn questions over and over again from a legion of hyperactive children removed every fuck from my fucks-to-give jar.

My feet ached as I peeled my slides off and dropped them by the door. The gym bag holding my helmet, flight suit, and boots hit the peeling vinyl floor with a thump.

A new piece of clothing fell off me with every labored step toward the bed. My cotton shorts didn’t make it past the entryway. The tank top I wore under my flight suit landed on the stained loveseat I’d tried to dress up with a fresh slipcover. My sports bra caught on the particle board kitchen table. I made it to my bed before changing out of my underwear and grabbing the last clean pair out of the tattered dresser.

I really needed to invest in some new furniture.

The thought that I would be in Falls Creek for the long run didn’t sit well with me. I enjoyed moving every few months and thrived on constant change. It simplified things.

I made great money as a flight nurse. Maybe the hesitancy to put down roots was the reason I’d taken a crappy apartment on the outskirts of town rather than a nicer place. The crappy space came furnished, so I could pack up in less than an hour if I wanted to skip town.

Although my landlord and I didn’t exactly agree on the definition of “furnished.” But that was a problem for a well-rested Layla to think about.

I wanted to sleep like the dead.

I grabbed the bottle of melatonin from my bedside table and dry swallowed a capsule because walking back to the kitchen for water was obviously out of the question. My head hit the pillow, and I waited for sleep to take me into the peaceful abyss.

It never came.

Instead, I tossed and turned for hours, haunted by eyes the color of storm clouds. Dark hair pushed away from his face. Latent scars from being nicked by shattered glass. The intensity when he asked if I wanted to meet for a drink.

No wonder Callum Fletcher was a man of few words. When he spoke, the sound of his voice set the air on fire like a spark exposed to pure oxygen.

He was the type of man that women made bad decisions for.

His brooding eyes and full lips. The way his uniform wrapped around bulging muscles. Tattoos that peeked out from under his sleeves, making me want to see where else the ink traveled across his body.

All those sayings about knowing better drifted through my half-awake mind.

Once bitten, twice as shy…

Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice…

Maybe it was stupid to refuse to date an entire subset of the male species because of their career choice.

But I wasn’t going to be a fixer anymore.

I had no desire to be on the receiving end of the issues caused by the “protector gene” in men that should’ve been seeing a damn therapist.

Tires screeched to a halt outside my window, yanking me back from the edge of REM sleep that I so desperately needed. Doors slammed, dogs barked, and voices roared in a cacophony of chaos.

I huffed and glared at the headlights and shadows dancing across the window. Like any good neighbor, the commotion tempted me to creep through the blinds at whatever the heck was going on. But sleep appealed to me more than my desire to snoop. I shoved in a pair of headphones and let a meditation app lull me to sleep.

* * *

“Police! Open up!”

I groaned and curled deeper into my comforter. I should have paid for the premium, ad-free version of the app. What developer or marketing person thought that an ad for a police procedural drama was a good idea in the middle of meditation?

Fists pounded on my door. “Falls Creek PD! Open up!”

Fuck. Not a commercial.

I kicked back the covers and blindly felt around for a pair of pajama pants or a robe to throw on.

My hand landed on the red and white floral robe that I’d left crumpled on the floor. “Coming!” I shouted as I yanked it on and tied the sash around my waist. “Damn perky nipples,” I muttered when I looked down to see my nips poking at the thin fabric.

The cop on the other side of the door rapped their knuckles impatiently.

Ah, fuck it. They were just nipples. Everyone had them. Who even cares anymore?

I hurried like a drunken zombie through the lunchbox-sized apartment and yanked open the door.

Wyatt Jepson and Lauren Mitchell stared back at me. Wyatt’s hand was still raised in a fist, about to knock.

“This had better be good,” I said with a searing glare. I’d just seen the two of them at the elementary school’s first responder event this morning. They were back on duty, but I wasn’t. I didn’t care if they’d just found a decapitated body in the ditch. I didn’t care if a hippopotamus escaped from the zoo and was stampeding down Churton Street. Short of a ticking time bomb, I was not about to have my sleep interrupted any more than it already had been by thoughts of a moody, grumpy cop.

“I didn’t know you lived here,” Lauren squeaked.

Wyatt jerked his thumb to the left. “Sorry to catch you like this, but you have to evacuate immediately. I’ll give you a minute to pack a bag, then we have some questions about your neighbors.”

My eyebrows shot up. “What the ever-loving fu—”

“Layla?”

I looked over Lauren’s shoulder and saw Callum Fletcher standing at a distance.

It was as if he didn’t realize my name had slipped from his mouth. He stood beside his car, stone-faced and silent as he stared at me with the hardened expression that I was slowly learning was his default.

What was the male version of resting bitch face?

Resting dick face?

I squeezed my eyes shut and rolled my fingers into fists. “Someone explain in simple terms what the hell is going on, or I’m going back to bed.”

“What do you know about your neighbors?” Wyatt asked.

It was then that I saw the man and the woman next door being led across the tight parking lot in handcuffs. The woman was dropped into the back of Callum’s car while the man was put in a different one.

I stammered. “I, uh … not much. I’ve never actually talked to them. Just that they come and go at weird hours, keep to themselves, and are way too cool with being loud.”

“Any suspicious activity?” he asked.

I looked at Lauren. “No. I’m really just here to sleep between shifts.”

A truck with SBI emblems on it rolled up, and doors flew open. People in hazmat suits and bright yellow PPE jumped out and started unloading gear. Hot on their heels, a clunker of a station wagon barreled into the parking lot. A staunch lady with a silver beehive hairdo jumped out and started arguing with one of the police officers. I pitied the officer. My landlord was sweet as pie but scary when she wanted to be.

Wyatt cut his eyes to the figures that looked like they were straight out of Monsters Inc. I waited for someone to start shouting, “Twenty-three nineteen!”

“We just arrested the husband and wife who lived next door. They were running a meth lab out of their apartment. From the looks of it, they’d been doing it for years.”

I huffed. “Sorry, I was never into Breaking Bad. How exactly does that affect me?”

“All that chemical contamination travels through the air and seeps into the walls,” Lauren said. “Your apartment units share some HVAC ductwork. Your landlord—” she cut her eyes to the surly lady chewing out the now arrested tenants as they sat in the back of separate cars “—will have to have everything decontaminated and repainted. She might even have to have some of the drywall replaced. Once all that gets done and someone inspects it all, you can move back in. But until then, you’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.”

I raked my fingers through my hair, stifling the urge to let out a guttural war cry as I pushed the strands out of my face. “For how long?” I hissed through clenched teeth.

Wyatt sighed. “Well, I can’t really say. Your landlord can’t get a crew in here until the county’s narcotics division has everything documented and transferred to evidence. The initial investigation could take about a week, then it’ll be up to her and whoever she hires to do the work.”

Great. Just great.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Callum watching us as he sat on the hood of his car, discreetly taking the weight off his leg while he took a witness statement.

“So, it could be months,” I guessed.

“I’ve been a part of a few drug busts, but not one this big. I’d say a few months is a reasonable timeline,” Wyatt said.

Lauren offered a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Layla. Is there someone in town you can stay with?”

I didn’t really have a choice, now did I? “I’ll make some calls.”

* * *

Angrily, I dumped the contents of my dresser drawers into a suitcase. With a swipe of my arm, I unloaded my bathroom counter-full of skincare products into a duffel bag. I stripped my bed and squashed the linens back into the clear plastic comforter bag.

After changing into real clothes and opening every single window and door in my unit, I’d spent the last hour on the phone, calling around to everyone I knew in town, asking if they had a couch I could crash on.

But I was out of options. My aunt’s bed and breakfast was booked to capacity. When I told Khale joon what had happened, she insisted that she’d kick everyone out as soon as we hung up. I couldn’t let her do that. She’d lose so much money and would get railed on Yelp.

My next call was to AB to see if I could crash with her. But she had a houseful of extended family staying with her for the week. Lauren had popped in and apologized, saying she would have offered her place, but she and her boyfriend had just moved in together and were still unpacking and settling in. My attempt to get a hold of Shane went to voicemail. He was probably on a call and wasn’t able to get to his phone.

It was move-in weekend for the plethora of colleges and universities in the Piedmont region of North Carolina, which meant every hotel from Roxboro to Fuquay-Varina was booked solid.

My last resort was calling my parents and running home with my tail between my legs.

But even I wasn’t that desperate. I’d rather sleep at the AirCare base for a week with tones dropping at all hours of the night than be smothered by my family with reasons as to why I should just move home.

It was a sobering thought that all my belongings could be packed in under ninety minutes and stuffed into my car. I liked it, but was it really a life if I could disappear without a trace?

Lauren helped me carry the last of my bags out of the tiny apartment. I shifted the tacklebox of crafting supplies in my arms. My neck prickled with the feeling of being watched. I looked out of the corner of my eye and caught Callum staring at me as he typed calmly on the laptop that was wedged into the front of his police car. In the back, the woman in handcuffs was squalling like a feral cat.

“I thought he would be on medical leave,” I said to Lauren. “I’ve seen compound fractures like his more than a few times. They don’t heal that fast.”

“Technically, he’s supposed to be riding a desk for a few months,” Lauren said as we filled my trunk. “But the department is short-staffed. Chief has him going out on non-emergency calls.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A meth lab bust is a non-emergency call?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? It’s Falls Creek.”

As if ‘it’s Falls Creek’ was the explanation for everything.

“I’m just a rookie. I’m more surprised that they let me tag along than him. I guess it was the more, the merrier.” Resting her hands on her hips, she asked, “Have you found a place to go?”

“I think so. I was going to crash at the base until I figured something out, but my aunt just texted me and said a friend of a friend of hers runs a motel on the other side of town. They had a cancellation a little bit ago and said they’d hold the room for me.” I rolled my head to the side, cracking my neck. “I’m going to sleep this bullshit off and look for a new apartment tomorrow.”

8

CALLUM

Leverage.

It wasn’t blackmail. It wasn’t manipulation. Nothing nefarious. That drug bust at the string of side-by-side apartments where Layla Mousavi lived had simply given me leverage. What would’ve been an insane ask over a drink would now be quid pro quo.

I was solving a problem, not taking advantage of her.

I reminded myself of that as I pulled into the parking lot of the Fountain Motel.

The stench of cigarette smoke and industrial cleaner wafted out from an open motel room door as housekeeping changed the bedding. Classy.

I shut the door to my car and wiggled my leg, a strange habit I’d picked up after getting the cast off. It was like I had to remind my body that it was mobile after being sedentary for weeks. My physical therapist was a sadist, but I appreciated her aggressive approach to getting me back on my feet. Literally.

The dull throb radiated from my shin, settling in my knee and ankle as I crossed the gravel lot speckled with empty airplane bottles and condom wrappers. The neon sign in the office window was probably supposed to say ‘no vacancy’, but it was nearing the end of its earthly service and was down to simply, “No.”

I guess that kept it simple.

I tapped the rolling plexiglass window with my knuckle.

“Yeah,” Janet clipped as she shoved the window back, never taking her eyes off the soap opera playing out on the analog television. The antennas took up most of the closet they referred to as an office. “Whaddaya want?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me which room Layla Mousavi was staying in.” I wasn’t in uniform, but the duty voice came naturally when I was making a request that could easily be turned down.

Janet peered up at me. “Cal Fletcher,” she drew out, testing each syllable. She reached over and smacked the TV. It turned off without her even having to touch the remote or the dial knobs.

Falls Creek was about as small as small towns got. When the population of livestock to people was three-to-one, most folks knew everyone’s business. All that meant was that I had to be careful about who I asked for information when it came to Miss Mousavi. Especially if I was going to pull off this charade.

I drummed my fingers on the lip of the countertop on my side of the glass. “She checked in last night. I was hoping to surprise her this morning.” I lifted the bag from The Copper Mule I’d picked up on my way across town.

Janet raised a salt and pepper eyebrow. “Surprise her?”

I shrugged sheepishly as though I was a middle school kid trying to woo the love of his life with a wild daisy picked at the bus stop.

Apparently, the assumed romantic gesture was enough for Janet. She cocked her head to the left. “8B. Third room from the end. There was a ‘do not disturb’ sign hangin’ on the door when I went out into the lot for my smoke break.”

I mumbled my thanks and moseyed down the sidewalk, dodging the housekeeping cart, vacuums, and piles of linens dropped on the concrete.

8B loomed in front of me. And, like Janet warned, a warped do not disturb sign mocked me, daring me to test her goodwill.

She already shot you down for a drink, man. Cut your losses and figure this shit out some other way.

Instead of heeding the voice of reason, I ignored the sign and knocked on the door.

A muffled thump preceded a yelp and shattering glass. Two seconds later, the door swung open. Layla appeared in skin-tight shorts and a hoodie with a skull and crossbones design that read, Death smiles at everyone, nurses smile back. Silky black hair was tied in a knot on top of her head, and it looked like she hadn’t slept in a week.

Her murderous expression was replaced with surprise. “Officer Fletcher.” Her gaze cut down to my hip where, I assumed, she was looking for my badge.

I tipped my chin down. “Morning.” It was all I could get out. I’d rehearsed this speech twenty times since watching her apartment complex get raided, but one look at her—all strong muscles, tight ass, full lips, and wide eyes—and my brain turned to gravy.

She crossed her arms, pushing her hip out to the side and crossing one ankle over the other as she leaned against the doorframe. I could see the lower curve of her ass peeking out of those shorts. My God.

I forced my eyes back up to her face. If I couldn’t keep my eyes and hands to myself, this plan would never work. “Do you have a minute to talk?” I asked.

Layla took a step back, ushering me into the dungeon-like room. Sunlight poured through gaping holes in the rattan shades. There was an overflowing ashtray on top of a mini fridge that was sputtering like a lawnmower. Buzzing light bulbs were exposed overhead, and shattered glass was scattered on the swatch of tile by the kitchenette.

Her laptop was open on the bed, a page full of apartment listings on the screen.

“Please tell me that you’re here to say my apartment is livable, and I can go back today.” Her plea nearly unraveled me.

I was a cold son of a bitch, but I wasn’t so much of an asshole that I wanted to flaunt her pain. I also didn’t want to crush her hope. Instead of answering, I pointed to the pile of glass shards. “What happened?”

Layla looked at the mess, eyebrows drawn in like a distressed puppy. “I was about to make a pot of coffee, and a roach ran across the floor and touched my toes.” I looked down and caught her instinctively curling them in. Her feet looked like Barbie doll feet. High arches and delicate toes all painted pink. She had the legs of a gazelle. Long and graceful, yet incredibly powerful.

I looked around at the room that seemed to have absorbed the smell of every occupant who had crossed the threshold over the last seventy years. “It, uh…” I couldn’t come up with a single nice thing to say about it, so I shut my mouth.

“Please tell me I can go back to my apartment. I can’t find a single place that’s available right now. The ones that do have openings coming up say it’ll be at least two months before the current renters are out.”

I scrubbed my palm down the side of my cheek, feeling the abrading stubble I hadn’t bothered shaving off this morning. “I’m not here on official business.”

Layla’s face fell.

“But I came by because I might have a solution to your housing problem.”

Hope flooded her face. She looked at me as if I held the sun in my hands. That look did something funny to me. I wanted to see it again.

But I couldn’t get distracted. I needed Layla to agree to a certain degree of calculated insanity. In return, I’d solve her apartment crisis.

My brows furrowed as I crossed my arms and looked her in the eye. “I need a fiancé.”

Layla stared at me as if I had just said I liked to cosplay as Lara Croft—midriff tank top, double thigh straps, and all—and burst into a gut-clenching fit of laughter.

I stood there, unwavering, until she got it out of her system. Finally, after she’d wiped her eyes and composed herself, I explained my conundrum. “Look. I’ll be the first to admit that it’s a big ask. Hell it’s downright nuts.”

“Nuts?” Layla said in a tone that was a full octave higher than her usual raspy timbre. “You think this is nuts? Officer Fletcher, that isn’t nuts. That’s insanity. First, I tell you I don’t date cops, so you think the next step is to show up and propose?”

This wasn’t going as smoothly as I’d expected. Don’t get me wrong—I didn’t expect Layla to say yes outright. I planned on a little Q and A. Some discussion on logistics. But I didn’t anticipate the hysterics.

Then again, I guess I kind of deserved the shrieking when I ambushed her right after her life had been turned upside down.

I held up the white takeout bag that sported the red stamped logo for The Copper Mule. “I, uh… Brought you breakfast. Heard you were staying here. I figured you’d want something more than a vending machine honey bun that expired ten years ago.”

She looked skeptical, but snatched the bag out of my hand and plucked the breakfast sandwich out of the bottom.

There had been a shift in the weather overnight, crisp autumn air blowing in. The change in barometric pressure had my leg aching more than usual. I eased down onto the edge of the bed and sat while she unwrapped the wax paper surrounding the bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit. Layla pulled the two strips of extra crispy should-be-Muriel off and set it on the wax paper before taking a ravenous bite.

I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t like bacon?”

“Didn’t eat it growing up,” she mumbled with a shrug. “Not big on it now. Did you know it’s considered a carcinogen?”

So, she was a smart-ass, too. I pointed to the strips. “May I?”

She handed the bacon over, and I took a bite. “Why didn’t you eat bacon growing up?”

“My family is Muslim,” she said with a mouthful of biscuit.

“That’s cool. Are you?” I asked as I swallowed down the rest of one strip. It was Cop 101. Establish rapport before going for the information you really wanted.

Layla shrugged. “I’m not very religious anymore. Working in emergency medicine…”

“I get it.” I ran my hand over my hair. “Seeing the worst of humanity all the time… It makes you question things. Makes you lose faith.”

“Just because I don’t believe in the same things or practice my faith the same way they do doesn’t mean I don’t love or respect them and the way they raised me.” She took another bite. “And don’t think you’re getting away with not following up about the whole fiancé thing by changing the subject. I’ve had patients get attached to me before. I need to know whether I need to file a restraining order or if I can just tell you to leave me alone.”

“Fake fiancé,” I clarified as I held my palms out, a half strip of bacon in one. “If I promise to stay at least five feet away from you while we have this conversation, can I say my piece?”

“Get on with it, Officer.”

“Cal,” I said. “Or Callum. Or Fletch.” Grimacing, I added, “Just not Officer.”

Layla raised her eyebrows, silently daring me to stall again.

With a sigh, I began the explanation of my insanity. “Have you heard of the Ladies Auxiliary here in town?”

“I know they exist. Not really sure what they do.”

“They raise money for the town’s emergency departments, do a lot of fundraising for local charities—coat drives, food drives, that sort of thing. Once a year, they raise money for the Widows and Orphans fund by auctioning off dates with first responders.”

“AB didn’t say anything about it at the base.”

“AirCare is a private company. Y’all don’t have to participate.”

She motioned for me to continue. At least she wasn’t throwing me out on my ass.

“It’s an inconvenience, but it’s usually not bad. Just a bunch of little old ladies bidding on us. Harmless fun.”

“I’m sensing a but?”

“Last year, Brandie Jean Palmer bid on a date with me. I know you don’t know her, but trust me—one look and it would make sense. That date was hell. I’ve never been so scared for my life.”

“I’ve seen her around town,” Layla said as she exploded into a fit of giggles, as if she couldn’t imagine a grizzled police officer being terrified of a hundred pounds of augmented breasts and velour tracksuits. “But go on.”

I told her all of it. The nightmare of a date. The borderline stalking over the year. The pop-ins after my accident. Trying to unintentionally poison me with a casserole that was both burnt and raw.

Maybe that’s what finally sent Old Man McCuller to his grave—BJ’s attempt at cooking.

By the end of my saga of BJ-induced horrors, Layla was cackling, and I had made myself even more terrified of another date with Brandie Jean.

“So,” Layla said as she wiped biscuit crumbs into her palm and tossed them into a pint-sized trash can. “You want a fake fiancé so that you don’t have to go on another date with Malibu Barbie’s trailer park twin?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, I have a thought,” she said. “And bear with me—it’s going to sound a little crazy.”

I was all ears.

“Why not—” she paused for dramatic effect, letting the tension build “—simply tell the Ladies Auxiliary that you don’t want to do the date auction.” Her words dripped with sarcasm.

I finished off the bacon and wiped my greasy fingers on my jeans. “It’s mandatory.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please—I don’t see how they can make that mandatory.”

“Fine, so it’s not mandatory, but if you bail on it, you get the shittiest assignments until the next auction rolls around. I’m already on desk duty for the next few months. I don’t want that purgatory to extend any longer than it has to.”

“So, fake a bout of food poisoning. Or, better yet, long-term explosive diarrhea.”

“Thought about it, but I’m already on medical leave.” I pointed to my leg. “I don’t want to piss off HR in case I get injured again.”

“There has to be another alternative.”

I shook my head. “It’s an insane idea, I know that. I’ll be the first to admit that. But being engaged or married is the only disqualifier from the auction. Hell, some of the married officers still do it just for shits and giggles. You’re new in town. That works for us. It means there will be fewer questions than if I shacked up with someone I’ve known since grade school. The auction is the last weekend in September. I’ve got spare bedrooms and no cockroaches. You can live at my place until your apartment’s been decontaminated and renovated.”

Layla was quiet as she wrestled with the situation in her mind. I waited patiently as she paced, mumbling to herself. I checked my phone while she stood at the window, her back to me with her hands on her hips. Stealing a glance, I took her in.

She was beautiful. Whip-smart and driven—had to be to get the required experience and certifications to land a gig as a flight nurse in her twenties. Odin told me as much when I caught up with him over a beer, intending to pry information out of him about Layla before I approached her with my offer.

If I were the type of man who did relationships—real ones—she would have been irresistible.

But I didn’t have room in my life for that. Relationships were something I’d done away with years ago.

Layla turned on a dime, her hair feathering out behind her. “You’re serious. You’re actually desperate enough to get out of this that you’d live with a complete stranger and pretend to be a couple.”

“I wouldn’t say we’re complete strangers.”

She raised a sassy eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Tell me one fact you know about me.”

“How about three? You’re a flight nurse, you drive a silver Corolla, and you don’t like bacon.” Layla opened her mouth—probably to argue with me that those things didn’t count—but I cut her off. “Look, you need a place to live, and I can tell you right now—there’s nothing in Falls Creek. You’ll be shelling out crazy rent in Durham or Chapel Hill or driving an hour to work from Raleigh. I work twelve-hour shifts; you do twenty-four—we’ll barely see each other. It’ll be like being roommates who happen to see each other in passing. You do this for me, and you’ll get a clean, safe place to live, and you don’t have to pay rent or utilities. I’ll give you plenty of space. If you want a background check and references to prove I’m not a serial killing chainsaw slasher, I’m happy to oblige.”

“Roommates who have to pretend to be engaged and in love,” she corrected with a pointed finger. “Do you really know what you’re signing up for, Fletch?”

The fact that she’d called me “Fletch” gave me an inkling of hope that she was just as insane as I was. “We’ll say we’ve been dating quietly since we met at the scene of my accident. Go on a few dates around town so the Blue Hairs see us together. I’ll propose in public to really sell it, and then we’re in the clear. When your apartment’s ready, we’ll spread the rumor that we called it off. A few months tops.”

A wicked smirk curled at the corner of her lips. “You’re failing to take into account one little thing.”

I frowned. “What’s that?” I’d thought this through. Planned it all in my mind. I even had counter-arguments prepared for any of her objections. There wasn’t a damn thing I could have missed.

“My aunt is one of the leaders of the Ladies Auxiliary.”

“Who’s your aunt?”

“Sepideh Nazari.”

“She owns the bed and breakfast, right?”

Layla nodded. “Uh-huh. And she can’t keep a secret to save her life. So, if you’re going to pull one over on the entire Ladies Auxiliary, she can’t find out this is fake.”

“Okay. We would already be lying to the entire town. What’s one more person?”

She laughed. “Because, sweetie, that means you have to convince my entire family that this—” she pointed between the two of us “—is real.”

I eased back onto my feet and stood toe-to-toe with her, crossing my arms as I crowded her personal space. “You think I’m not up for a challenge, snookums?”

She tipped her chin up, meeting my eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, sweet thang.”

9

LAYLA

Callum stood, arms crossed, and stared into the trunk of my car. “This is it?”

I perched my hip against the taillight. “What can I say? I’m an accidental minimalist.”

When Cal put his address into my phone before leaving my motel room, I thought he was messing with me. The wannabe hermit lived a spitting distance from downtown Falls Creek. I’d passed his house nearly every day and had no idea he lived there. Heck, I had jealously admired the neatly edged flower beds and crosshatched swatches of militaristically cut blades of grass.

Before he reached in to grab the suitcase that held my vacuum-sealed wardrobe, Cal took a half-step forward, crowding my space. I didn’t move. A broody cop with commitment issues the size of a Ferris wheel would not intimidate me. Instead, I raised my chin and met his sharp gaze with matching intensity.

“Last chance to walk away, buttercup.” The back of his hand brushed mine. “I won’t blame you if you back out. No hard feelings.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Are you giving me an out or giving yourself one?”

“This is just pretend. And when it ends, we go back to our separate lives. But I’m not an asshole. I don’t want you to think I’ll take advantage of you.”

“We’re roommates, sweet cheeks,” I teased. “Nothing two grown, stable adults can’t handle.”

As the words slipped out of my mouth, a metallic beige Cadillac slowly crept down the two-lane road. The driver, a lady wearing a floral muumuu who still had her silver hair tucked up in sponge rollers, lowered her window and rubbernecked at us. Her jaw was in her lap.

Cal’s gaze never left my face. He paid the driver—who had nearly come to a stop right in the middle of the road—no mind as he lifted a small cardboard box and tucked it under his arm.

He leaned down, resting his forehead on mine. The bridge of his nose grazed mine. “You can trust me. I might not be warm and fuzzy, but I won’t hurt you. You’re safe with me.” His lips were a breath away. “I’ll be good to you, honey.”

This time, there was no humor when he called me honey. It wasn’t like the rest of the sarcastic terms of endearment we had thrown at each other in our banter.

He spoke in a tone that rolled like thunder, low and resounding. I felt it in my bones. If that was how he spoke to citizens while on duty, it was a wonder that the entire town hadn’t fallen madly in love with him. The idea of moving in with him made me a little anxious, but his strong, calm presence had me more zen than a hundred hours of yoga. The tight cotton that was stretched across his chest and arms brushed against the screen printing on my sweatshirt. I was positive he could feel my heart pounding like a high school marching band.

A motorcycle ripped down the road, swerving around the slowpoke car. The roar of the engine startled our moment. I backed away from Cal, giving my ponytail a tug to tighten the elastic. Maybe that would help stimulate blood flow to my brain.

“When, um … when are we going to … you know … tell people?”

Cal tipped his head toward the road without peeling his eyes away from mine. I tore my gaze away from him. The Cadillac had whipped around in a completely illegal U-turn and was gunning it back toward town. “We just did.” With that declaration, he grabbed a suitcase and walked inside.

I reached into the trunk and hefted out my rolling crafting organizer. Before the wheels hit the ground, my phone went off. I fumbled, trying to peel it out of the leggings I’d thrown on. They were a begrudging impulse buy after social media shoved an ad down my throat for two weeks straight. The stitching down my crack made my ass look incredible, but it was like walking around with an eternal wedgie.

“Hello?” I trapped the phone between my shoulder and ear as I yanked a bag out of the backseat.

Empty-handed, Callum jogged down the porch steps for another load. His eyes lingered on my rear. Internet leggings for the win.

“Bitch!” AB screeched over the line. “Are you seriously dating Callum Fletcher?”

I winced at the shrill voice that pierced my eardrums like a spear and glanced up at Callum. “Uh, where’d you hear that?”

Cal smirked like he knew his plan was working.

“Hutch called me. He was on duty, responding to a call at the nursing home. Ms. Tinsley—you know, the old bat who had a mini-stroke two weeks ago—told him that Mary Margaret Jones told her that Tiffany from the tavern called and said that she ran a to-go order down to Louisa Mae who works at the beauty parlor while she was doing Christie Spellman’s foils. Christie was in the middle of telling the both of them about how her daughter—you know, the one that works down at that fancy waxing place in Durham—was saying that full Brazilians are out of style and that au naturel is back when all of a sudden, Bea Walker came roaring in. She was hootin’ and hollerin’ about how she’d just driven past Cal Fletcher’s place and saw him pin you up against the siding of the house and practically rip your clothes off while the two of you made out like rabbits in heat.”

Before I could get a word in edgewise, AB continued. I put the call on speaker so that Cal could enjoy the dramatics of the small-town rumor mill.

“...Then she said that he threw you over his shoulder like a ragdoll, spanked your behind, grabbed moving boxes out of your car, and hauled you and the rest of your things into the house. Said she could hear you two making love before the door even closed. True story.”

I guffawed. “That is not what happened.”

Cal snickered under his breath, grabbed the rest of my bags, and lumbered back inside. I paused for a moment, assessing his gait. He really should have been taking it easy. Not moving me into his house.

“Of course, that’s not what actually happened,” AB chirped. “I wanna know what shred of truth is in the haystack of senile bullshit. I swear. Most of these Creekers shouldn’t have driver’s licenses. They’re a menace to society.”

“Agreed,” I grumbled as I locked my car and carried my haul inside.

“So,” she said impatiently. “Are you and Cal Fletcher a thing? When the hell did that happen, and how the hell have you not told a damn soul about it? If I had that hunk of man meat available to me, I’d lock him in my bedroom and use his own handcuffs to keep him from getting away.”

Callum jogged down the stairs, looking spry and energized, then paused and mouthed, “What the ever-loving fuck?”

I stalled in the doorway. “We are…” I looked at him. “Together?”

Callum gave me a what the fuck sneer.

Ah, crap. I was terrible at this.

I could hear tones dropping at the base on the other end of the call. Saved by the bell. “Gotta fly,” AB clipped as she hustled through the base. “Don’t think you’re getting away with keeping secrets, Dubs. Catch you next shift.”

“Stay safe,” I said, hanging up.

Callum stood in front of me, blocking my path into the house with his feet braced shoulder width apart and his hands resting on narrow hips. He wore black jeans with a slight tear on the knee, black motorcycle boots, and a simple gray t-shirt. Nothing about it was flashy, but damn, it was sexy. He crossed his arms over his chest and licked his lips. “You could have told me what a shitty liar you are before you agreed to this.”

I reared back. “I am not a shitty liar.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You said we were together as if it was a question, princess.”

“I didn’t expect to be ambushed by a drunken gossip grapevine, sweetheart.” I pointed out the open door toward the road. “Why didn’t you tell me what you were doing out there?”

He licked his lips again as if he were a predator, contemplating whether to play with his prey a little more before devouring it. “Ms. Bea is in the Ladies Auxiliary. She drives by every day right around this time, on her way home from her Jazzercise class.”

“So?”

“So, I’m a private guy, sugar,” he clipped. A ten-foot-thick vault door shrouded any semblance of a tender heart. “I haven’t been in a relationship since I moved here at fifteen. No one would believe we were together unless they saw it with their own damn eyes.”

As if the town was ready to prove his point, Marilyn Dreese and Suzanne Stewart power walked down the sidewalk, gawking at us as we stood in the doorway of Cal’s house.

Cal lifted a hand and tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Ms. Marilyn, Ms. Suzanne.”

The two ladies, dressed in matching polyester windbreakers, took it as an invitation to join us on the stoop. “Well, well, well, Callum,” Marilyn chided, hands on her hips. “What do we have here?”

I tightened the grip I had on the bag in my hands.

Suzanne clicked her tongue. “Don’t be like that, Mare.” She looked at Cal. “How are you feeling, dear? How’s the leg?”

Apparently, all it took to open the vault of Cal’s heart was two nosey old ladies. “Doing real good, Ms. Suzanne. Thank you for asking, and thank you for the dinner you dropped off a few weeks back. Don’t tell my Gran, but that pot roast was the best one I’ve ever had.” He pressed his hand to his stomach—one that I knew from firsthand experience was ridiculously cut. Stupid washboard abs... He wasn’t lean, though. Cal had a sort of soft bulk to him mixed in with the muscles. He was like GI Joe hiding in a teddy bear costume.

Suzanne preened, proud as a peacock.

Marilyn pshawed. “Enough lollygagging.” She turned her pearl-chained bifocals to me. “Who do we have here?” She extended her hand to shake mine, but my arms were still full.

Without being prompted, Cal unloaded the bags and boxes I had been attempting to pack-mule inside and set them on the staircase. I panicked, worrying that he would throw me to the wolves. Instead of bailing, he spun back around and slipped his arm low around my waist as I shook Marilyn’s hand. “My name is Layla. It’s nice to meet you.”

Callum stroked my hip with his thumb as I introduced myself. His hand nearly spanned the entire width of my side. The gentle pressure was warm and comforting.

“Well, I’ll be,” Marilyn gushed. “You’re Sepideh’s niece, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“She said you had moved to town recently.” Suzanne craned her head, peering at the mound of luggage and boxes Cal brought in. “Didn’t say anything about you dating, much less moving in with the most elusive bachelor in town.”

Cal chuckled. “You ladies know I prefer keeping to myself.”

Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. His thumb never stopped rubbing idle circles on my hip.

“Well, that’s all fine and dandy, but I just can’t believe your Gran or Sepideh kept news like this quiet!” Marilyn chimed in. “Moving in together—things must be serious.” She punctuated the assumption with a gleeful wink.

Suzanne’s eyes flitted to my belly and back up, trying to decide if I had a baby bump hiding beneath the bulk of my hoodie.

“Like I said,” Cal said, more authoritatively this time. “We were keeping quiet about our—” he looked down at me “—relationship. Waiting until things were steady until we let all y’all know.”

I stifled an eye roll.

“Layla’s apartment complex was being renovated, and she had to move out, so we figured it was the universe telling us to take the next step.” He smiled.

I fought off the urge to cough bullshit. I didn’t know my future fake fiancé that well. Still, having spent a grand total of forty conscious minutes with the man, I could definitively say he was not one to look for “signs from the universe.”

But he had Marilyn and Suzanne eating his bullshit pie right out of his hand and begging for seconds.

“Well,” Suzanne said. “We’ll get out of y’all’s hair and let you two lovebirds get settled. Are you throwing a housewarming party? I’ll bring a pie over.”

Cal—my saving grace—shook his head. “No, ma’am. A party isn’t really our style, and we’d like to have some time together that’s … uninterrupted.” He dropped his voice to a secretive whisper. “So, if you two lovely ladies could keep this to yourselves, Layla and I would appreciate it.” He winked, the flit of his eyelid nearly making them melt on the spot.

Suzanne and Marilyn hurried back down to the sidewalk, already pulling out the phones their grandkids had probably set up for them so that they could add fuel to the rumor mill.

Callum released his hold on my waist, pulled the door shut, and locked the knob and the deadbolt for good measure.

“You know they’re not going to keep any of that to themselves,” I pointed out as I gathered my things from where Cal had set them on the staircase.

He grabbed the rest of it and led me up to the second floor. “Exactly.”

I met him on the landing. “You’re maniacal. You know that? Did you really just manipulate two innocent little old ladies?”

He turned and walked down a narrow hallway, his broad shoulders filling the space. “We all have our talents, peaches. And they’re anything but innocent.”

I rolled my eyes.

Callum flipped a light switch and stepped away from the doorway. “This is the guest room—your room.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m across the hall.”

The room was tidy. A queen bed sat in the middle, covered by a handmade quilt and two pillows stacked neatly against the wooden headboard. A bedside table with antique claw feet housed a lamp and a digital clock. Two windows were on the side of the room that faced the street. White shades had been drawn back to let the afternoon sunlight stream in.

“There are some coat hangers in the closet,” Cal said, pointing to the double doors. “But I can give you some of mine or get more if you need them.” He reached into his pocket and handed me a folded-up sheet of paper. “Wrote the Wi-Fi password down for you.”

I unfolded it and bit back a laugh. In near-chicken scratch, he had scrawled, Network: FBI Surveillance Van. Password: LeaveMeAlone1.

“Most of the neighbors aren’t tech-savvy enough to know that they can change their network name to be whatever they want.” He chuckled. “Keeps the street pretty quiet.”

I surveyed the room once more. It was a little musty from being closed up, but it was clean, furnished, and not next door to a meth lab. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. In the grand scheme of things, I was coming out on top of this deal.

“Bathroom’s right here,” Cal said, walking back into the hall and turning on another light. “We’ll have to share, but there’s a half-bath downstairs, too.”

This was really happening. The realization hit me like a Mack truck when my phone rang again. Maman joon flashed on the screen.

My stomach sank.

It was one thing to pretend to be … whatever we were right now … in front of Creekers. But my family?

Cal stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’ll give you some space to unpack.” He tipped his head to the stairs as he backed out. “If you need anything, I’ll be downstairs.”

10

CALLUM

Layla had been on the phone with whoever had made the blood drain from her face for the better part of an hour. It wasn’t like I could have eavesdropped if I wanted to. Whoever it was, she was speaking to them in brisk Farsi. I busied myself by working through the mountain of laundry I’d been putting off for nearly two weeks. I blamed it on the fact that the weather had been shitty, and it was making my leg ache.

The last thing I wanted to do was carry clothes up and down the stairs.

I tossed the last of my balled-up socks into the laundry basket and shoved it to the far side of the couch. My phone had been blowing up all afternoon as the rumor mill churned out a myriad of versions of what had happened with Layla in my driveway.

I ignored all of it.

Glancing at the clock, I realized it was well past dinner. I’d been too preoccupied with pretending to be busy, so Layla didn’t feel like I was hovering. An angry snarl bellowed from my empty belly. I perused the options and cursed under my breath for not having thought through this part of the move-in plan a little better.

Would she want to order in? Did she think I expected her to cook? Did she think I was a competent cook? I was halfway decent on the grill and could make a casserole out of almost anything, but I was tired of cream of chemical soups thrown into a Pyrex dish.

After my accident, Creekers came in droves, carting casseroles, covered dishes, and buckets of fried chicken. It was a blessing and a curse. I couldn’t gripe or whine about the amount of love this town had to give, but it didn’t mean I had to like it.

I pawed through the pantry to see what I could throw together for dinner. Unfortunately, my only options were a slightly fuzzy loaf of bread and lunch meat that was a questionable shade of gray.

“Hey.”

I jumped at the sound of Layla’s gentle voice. She was standing in the doorway, tapping her phone on her open palm. She was still in those leggings that had me adjusting my dick and the scary as fuck nursing hoodie. She had tied her hair back in a loose ponytail. Wispy strands framed high cheekbones and wide eyes.

I closed the fridge. “Hey, something you need?”

Her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Oh—uh. No. I was going to run out and grab something for dinner.” She stuffed her hands in the pocket of her hoodie. “I was just going to see if you wanted to...” Her voice trailed off as if she wasn’t sure how I’d react to whatever was on her mind.

I crossed my arms and widened my stance. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best move. I didn’t want her to be apprehensive around me. Layla took a step back, creating more space between us. Crap. I was royally fucking this up.

I didn’t expect her to run into my arms or anything, but I didn’t want her to think she had to tiptoe around the temperamental grizzly bear living in the room across the hall. I dropped my arms and shoved my hands in the pockets of my jeans. “You can admit it, Lay.”

“Admit what?” she squeaked in an octave far too high to be anything but bullshit.

I pulled a chair out from the four-seater table that I used for storing mail and the miscellaneous junk I collected throughout the week and took a seat. “That this is fucking weird.” I let a small smile slip. “I’ve never had a roommate.”

Her mouth curled in a smile. “I’ve never had a fake fiancé.”

“Boyfriend,” I corrected. “We’ll get to the fiancé part in a week or so.”

“Yeah,” she said to the floor.

Electrified air swirled all around. Layla twisted her fingers together as she pretended to be enamored by my simple kitchen. Instead of saying anything, I stewed in the awkwardness with her.

You could tell a lot about a person based on what they did when things got quiet. Did they immediately need to fill the silence? Were they comfortable with the quiet? I hoped to God that she was the latter. The last thing I needed was a sparkly, shiny, loud talker filling my house with noise.

I valued the quiet. I valued privacy. And most of all, I valued my space. But if I had to give it up for a few weeks to get out of that friggin’ date auction, I could deal with a little noise.

Layla hadn’t made a peep. Instead, she acted like the coffee pot and microwave that were jammed onto the countertops were the most interesting things she’d ever seen.

I cracked.

“Wanna walk down to the Mule?” I asked.

Layla’s gaze snapped to mine. “What?”

I shrugged. “Figured if we’re gonna sell this, we should probably get to know each other. It’ll help my case if people see us together. Doesn’t really do much good if we stay in, you know?” I was fucking rambling, and I hated that. Something about her presence was disarming. Maybe it was the confidence. Maybe it was because I’d seen her in action, saving lives like a bona fide superhero.

Maybe it was because she was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen.

While Layla ran back upstairs to grab her phone, I pawed through my junk drawer and found a spare house key.

She met me out on the porch. Her hair was still a little messy, cheeks flushed a rosy pink. My God, she was pretty.

“Ready?” she chirped.

I offered the key in my open palm. “Figured you might need this.”

She laughed as she worked it onto her keyring. “Good thinking. I would have been pissed when I got off work and couldn’t get in the house to go to bed.”

I zipped up my leather jacket as we made our way down the driveway. “What, uh… What’s your schedule like?”

“Twenty-fours,” she clipped. “Seven in the morning to seven in the morning. I’ll probably go to bed early tonight, so I’m not dragging my feet into the base tomorrow.” Her eyes lowered to my strides. “How’s the leg?”

“Fine.” Not.

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to PT and following the home exercise instructions, right?”

“Yup.”

“And you’re not pushing it by going to calls at work that you’re not cleared for?” She shot a judgmental look my way as we turned onto the sidewalk, heading toward downtown Falls Creek.

“Yup.”

A smile, slow as molasses, crept across her face. “Bullshit.”

I laughed. “Your bedside manner needs work.”

“My bedside manner is fantastic, thank you very much, Mr. Thought He Was Being Abducted By Aliens.”

I nudged her with my elbow. “I told you not to give me drugs.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “You seriously wanted to fly all the way to Durham with your tibia in three pieces, poking through your skin, without pain management?” When I said nothing, she softly added, “But I’m glad you’re okay. Your gait looks good. When do you think you’ll graduate from physical therapy?”

“Hopefully not too much longer, but my sadist isn’t making any promises.”

She snickered. “I’m sure they love putting your grumpy ass through your paces.” I snapped my head at her in surprise, and she paled. “Sorry,” she stammered. “Sometimes I forget to leave my job humor at work.”

I pursed my lips, only offering my stifled smile to the cracks on the sidewalk. “Me too.”

The Copper Mule came into view, the bright red canvas sails shading the patio from the evening sun. Standing heaters glowed, staving off the early autumn chill. I reached over and caught Layla’s hand in mine.

“What are you—” she jerked her hand away before I could lace our fingers together. When her gaze met mine, she looked petrified.

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, just shy of the crosswalk that led over to the tavern. “You sure you can do this?”

She kept her hands clasped together, ensuring I couldn’t hold one without her permission. Possibilities of what had made her react like that raced through my mind. I didn’t like the dark places those possibilities took me, and a flare of selfish protectiveness bloomed through me.

“Yeah, I just…” She glanced across the street at the packed patio. “You just surprised me, is all.”

“I surprised you by holding your hand?”

“Unpleasant memories,” she said before putting on a fake-ass smile. She opened her palm and spread her fingers, inviting me to hold her hand again.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “What memories?” My mood turned fifty shades of lethal when a latent thought pricked at the edges of my brain. “Does this have something to do with you not dating cops anymore?”

“I never said ‘anymore.’”

“I read between the lines.”

She dropped her hand. “So, what if it does? I agreed to be your—” she peered out of the corners of her eyes, making sure no one was within earshot “—fake girlfriend or fiancé or whatever.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you agreed to. I’ll put a hard stop on this whole deal and figure out something else. If there’s a problem, you need to fucking tell me.”

She offered her hand again. “I’m good. Let’s go eat.”

“Tell me why you don’t date cops.”

Her glare was searing. “I’m not a magic eight ball. You don’t get to keep shaking me until you get the answer you want.”

“Then give me the truth the first time.”

“Shouldn’t we start with my favorite color or your shoe size? You know—something less intimate?”

“Telling your partner what’s bothering you isn’t intimate. It’s the bare fucking minimum.” The moment I heard the words slip out of my mouth, I regretted it. Not because it wasn’t true, but because I’d cracked her carefully crafted mask. Rivulets of hurt and heartbreak leaked through her shiny exterior like a dam on the verge of collapse—still holding firm, but beneath it laid something too powerful to retain.

Delicate eyelids lifted, revealing glittering brown irises. “The last guy I was with was ... a cop. And he was a fantastic guy. We agreed to keep things casual. He had some issues he was working through—a girl he was really hung up on. I was just a temporary placebo.” She looked down at her sneakers. “But I fell anyway, and it hurt like hell when it ended.”

“He used you,” I said.

She wavered. “I had just taken a new assignment in Beaufort, and I was a little lonely, so I forced myself to go out. I went out to this locals-only bar. Some creep got handsy with me, and this sexy man stepped in and told the guy he was my boyfriend. When the drunk guy didn’t take a hint, he pulled out his badge and told him I’d press charges.” Layla dropped her shoulders in a half-assed shrug. “We used each other. The sex was great, and he was great.”

“I hope you pressed charges against the drunk guy. Dick weasels shouldn’t get away with bullshit like that.”

She let a caustic smile slip. “I didn’t. But it was because I fell for Chase like a wrecking ball off a skyscraper. That night we had drinks, we flirted, and we hooked up. It lasted a few months while I finished everything I needed to get my CRFN. When I got the job offer from AirCare, I hoped we would make it a long-distance thing while I trained. He told me he had fun but that his heart was still with this other girl and ending whatever we were was for the best.”

How anyone could look at Layla and let her slip away was beyond me.

“For him, it was a fun fling. For me … I fell. Pretending like I didn’t have feelings for him hurt worse than if I had just admitted it to him.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Like I said, he was hung up on someone else. Even a blind man could see that he and Bridget were meant to be. Still didn’t change the fact that I wished I was her. To have someone look at me the way he looked at her.”

“Shit…” I scrubbed my palms down my face, feeling like the world’s biggest asshole. “Then I roll up after you get kicked out of your apartment and ask you to fake it with me.”

A cheery smile replaced all traces of authentic emotion. “Yep. But I don’t think we have to worry about me catching feelings from a little hand holding.” She opened her palm.

This time I took it, wrapping my hand around hers and lacing our fingers together. Her skin was velvet soft. Fingers, nimble and skilled, twined with mine.

“Besides,” she said. “I get a vermin-free bed for the next few months, and you’re buying me the biggest sandwich the Mule has on their menu.”

* * *

“So, you’re fluent in Farsi, English, and Spanish,” I said as I finished my beer and set the empty bottle back on the table.

Layla and I were squished into a high-top table on the edge of The Copper Mule’s outdoor patio. The downside was that table real estate was slim—especially when we had gone all out on an appetizer platter, drinks, and towering turkey melts. The upside was that our conversation could remain private.

Layla nodded. “I know a decent amount of Kurdish, too, but I wouldn’t say I’m fluent.”

“Geez,” I muttered as I grabbed a corn fritter from the appetizer plate. “I got through high school Spanish kicking and screaming. The only thing I remember how to say is yo canto en el coro.”

She giggled over the rim of her Jack and Coke. “Did you really sing in a choir?”

“Hell no. I sound like a dying walrus. But apparently, my Spanish teacher thought that was an imperative sentence for us to learn.” I dragged the fritter through the ramekin of dip. “How’d you learn all those languages?”

“Born in Iran,” she said before popping a fry in her mouth. “So, there’s the Farsi. Grew up in Jersey with parents who insisted we speak as much English as possible. They didn’t count on my brother and me getting obsessed with WaWa and picking up Jersey slang like ‘J’eet yet?’ It took me forever to get rid of the Jersey accent. When I moved down here and entered the North Carolina public school system, they insisted on Spanish class. It was pretty easy to learn. Languages piggyback off each other more than we think.”

“I know your aunt lives in town,” I said before wiping my mouth with a half-disintegrated paper napkin. “But what about the rest of your family? Are they here too?”

She glanced at her phone as if contemplating how much to share. “They live in Chapel Hill,” she said calmly.

I decided to go for it. “That call you got earlier … over at the house?”

“My mother.”

“I’ll take a gander and say the rumor mill made it into Tarheel country?”

Layla swirled the last drops of liquor around the bottom of her glass. “You’d be correct in that assumption.” She tipped it back and downed the rest in one swallow. “Not only did I get chewed out for only having visited once since moving back, when my aunt told them about ‘us,’ she reacted as expected.”

“Pissed?”

“Understatement.” She sighed. “I’ll probably drive over and see them on Saturday when they’re all off work, so you’ll have the house to yourself.”

“I’ll go with you.” The words were out before I could think it through. Faking a relationship was one thing; lying to family was another entirely.

Layla was sticking her neck out for me. I could do the same for her.

She lowered her glass and eyed me suspiciously. “Really?”

“Yeah, honey,” I said with a flicker of a smile, reaching across the table and laying my hand on top of hers. “Really.”

11

CALLUM

Life was good. At least, that’s what I attributed my rare pleasant mood to. I’d be free as a bird in a week or so. The realization that I would never have to go out with Brandie Jean Palmer ever again put an extra skip in my step on my way into the conference room for the department’s morning briefing.

I heard Layla tiptoe out early this morning for her shift at the AirCare base. As far as roommates went, I certainly could have done worse. She was easy to talk to when we were out and kept mostly to herself when we were behind closed doors. Going out to the Mule for dinner had been a solid call. The food hit the spot, and we had a surprisingly good time. Best of all, it erased any question regarding the validity of Ms. Bea, Suzanne, or Marilyn’s gossip tree.

It also meant I had known exactly what the whispers were about when I walked into the station this morning.

Maybe I should text Layla and check on her, I thought as I grabbed a paper cup from the stack on the folding table and flipped the dispenser tab to start the flow of go-go juice.

Layla was perfectly capable of handling her own business, but I did get her in this predicament. I was a cranky bastard, but I wasn’t a dick. At least, I didn’t intend to be.

I tugged my phone out and fired off a text.

Callum: How’s the rumor mill on your side of town, muffin?

Layla: Alive and well, sugar bear. Loki was pissed when AB interrupted his morning nap to grill me about us.

The sarcastic terms of endearment we came up with were so fucking terrible that it was almost hilarious. She attached a photo of Odin’s black lab giving the camera his forlorn eyes, practically begging for some peace and quiet around the base.

Callum: Poor fella. Hopefully, things will quiet down for you.

Layla: You. ASSHOLE.

Using the Q-word elicited the expected response. I laughed as I read the text and cut the dispenser. While I flicked a sugar packet, another text came in.

Layla: Tones just dropped. Fuck you and your desk duty. I hope you get a thousand tiny paper cuts, forget about it, and then use hand sanitizer.

Callum: Fly safe, sugar plum.

Layla: Hope you have a slow day, Snickerdoodle.

That. Bitch.

Slow and quiet were words we didn’t dare utter. Yeah, I had started it with the “quiet” text, but damn. I didn’t expect her to retaliate like that. It was kind of fun fucking with her.

“Thought I’d see you smilin’ this morning, Fletcher,” Chief Farnby clipped as she sided up to me. Willa Farnby was sugar and spice and pearls and lipstick.

…And piss, vinegar, and bullets.

It was a statement posed as a leading question. The kind that would make the average bear feel the need to explain whatever the asker had presumed. But, since the Chief hadn’t asked me an actual question, I kept my mouth shut between sips of burnt coffee.

“Rumor has it, you’re shackin’ up with Sepideh Nazari’s niece. Sweet lady. Bet her niece is the same.”

Again, not a question. I took another sip.

Chief picked a strawberry iced doughnut covered in rainbow sprinkles and nearly swallowed it whole. “‘Bout time you settled down.”

If her plan was to make me crack by asking non-questions, it wasn’t working.

I liked serving under Chief Farby. She was tough as nails, but fair and level-headed. She didn’t put up with an ounce of bullshit and focused more on community outreach than meeting a quota of tickets written.

All of that was fine and dandy, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of making me squirm under the discomfort of her inquisition. Instead, I nodded, grabbed a raspberry jelly-filled doughnut covered in powdered sugar, and said, “I agree.”

“Morning, Fletch,” Lauren sing-songed. The department’s newest rookie had the temperament of an animated princess paired with the shooting skills of a battle-tested sniper. She held a clear cup that sported a cardboard sleeve with the logo of a hipster Chapel Hill cafe. It was all whipped cream and caramel drizzle. Looked more like a milkshake than coffee. In the other, she held a drive-through breakfast sandwich dripping in grease. At twenty-one, she still had the metabolism of a hummingbird.

I mourned the loss of my consequence-free years of eating.

The best part of my job was that I got to be in town nearly every day, checking up on people and keeping the peace. Being a desk jockey was never in my plan after the police academy. But plans changed after a punk decided to text and drive, clip a cow, and pin me in my cruiser with a snapped tibia.

Two weeks of being bedridden pushed me fast and far outside of my diet and workout regimen. Physical therapy—also known as Satan’s red room—sucked hot, sweaty balls. But my personal sadist did get me back up and moving. Baby steps with the PT team helped me get back in the gym for core and upper body before I got my cast off.

It helped stave off the repercussions of southern women packing my house with every form of carbohydrate known to man.

Lauren took a noisy slurp of her coffee concoction. “I love that you and Layla are together,” she cooed. “I can’t believe she kept it all to herself. How did it happen?” Her eyes were bright. She was fresh-faced and ready to seize the day. I wanted to sling my arm around her neck and give her a noogie like she was my little sister.

I leaned against the table chock full of coffee fixings and crossed one ankle over the other, discreetly taking my weight off my bad leg. “We’re just private people, is all. Nothing personal.”

“Well, I think it’s great!” she chirped. “Layla’s awesome.”

It got the feeling that Lauren thought most people were awesome. But in Layla’s case, she wasn’t wrong. Layla was pretty cool.

And just pretty. But I dismissed that thought.

“Alright, alright, alright,” Chief Farby, now caffeinated, said as she sauntered up to the podium to begin the briefing.

The crowded room went from murmurs to rapt silence. Chief took a sip out of a mug that read, Harsher Punishments For Parole Violators, Stan.

“Mornin’, everyone. First off, congratulations to Detective Jepson and Detective Lopez. They spearheaded the investigation that led to the bust of a meth lab at the Pineview Apartments.” She paused for light applause. “Next, I need to bring a piece of department personnel news to your attention.”

Ah, shit.

“Officer Fletcher,” Chief said, innocent as a baby lamb. “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

Murmured chuckles rumbled through the room.

“Nothing comes to mind, ma’am,” I clipped.

She picked up the remote-control clicker and turned on the PowerPoint presentation she’d prepared. There were photos of Layla and me moving boxes into my house. More photos appeared on screen of us eating dinner at the Copper Mule. The last few were of Layla leaving my house to go to work this morning, looking like a fucking badass in her flight suit.

Chief turned back to the conference room packed to the brim. “Any hopeless romantics out there have ‘Fletcher gets a girlfriend’ on their fall bingo card?”

Grumbles resounded from the peanut gallery.

Ha. Suck it.

“Next order of business,” Chief Farnby said, moving right along. “Mrs. Gould called in this morning and said, ‘That dern robot vacuum my grandkids got me is gaining intelligence and learned how to open doors, and it escaped.’”

“BINGO!” Kate, our civilian administrator, cheered.

Lauren nearly spit out her breakfast sandwich. “You put ‘someone thinks robot vacuums are taking over the world’ on your bingo card?”

Kate did a victory dance as she shoved her creased bingo card into Lauren’s greasy fingers.

Holy shit. She had.

Then again, weirder things had happened in Falls Creek. That’s what got the department into playing seasonal bingo. Four times a year, we’d fill out blank bingo cards with the things that the population of Falls Creek did to keep us on our toes. Things like someone hands out Metamucil tablets instead of Halloween candy and Regina Wittenburg and Harold Pickens interrupt town council meetings to demand the sandy spot at the lake be made nudist-friendly.

Of course, the free space in the middle was always ‘Muriel the pig escapes.’ It happened so often that the novelty was long gone.

Chief pursed her lips, ever the professional, while she handed Kate the fifty-dollar gift card she’d won. I’d have to start thinking of new scenarios to fill out next season’s card.

“Any volunteers willing to check on Mrs. Gould and show her how a Roomba works?” Chief lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t make me assign it.”

It was probably best not to take an able-bodied officer off of calls that required full strength. On the upside, it would get me out of another mind-numbing day of desk duty. I raised my coffee cup. “I’ll check on Mrs. Gould.”

By any amount of luck, Estelle Gould would have whipped up some of those banana muffins that she made just about once a week. I would reassure Estelle that her vacuum wasn’t taking over the world, make sure she had groceries, and sit and talk with her for as long as I could get away with. On my way back, I’d give my Gran a call and have her and some of her friends reach out.

Mr. Gould had passed a few months back. I couldn’t imagine spending sixty years with someone, then waking up one day, and they’re gone. I imagined she was probably feeling lonely. Maybe a little lost.

I made it out to the Gould place, and to my surprise, Estelle had not one but three kinds of muffins waiting for me. I spent some time with her, then got back to the precinct to tackle the mountain of files on my desk. By the time I flopped back in my car and headed home, I was beat.

Layla would be at work all night. She’d probably roll in tomorrow morning around seven-thirty or eight, right as I was heading out for PT.

It was strange walking into my house—a place that for so long had been my sanctuary to hide from the world—and find her sneakers lined up neatly by the door. To see her hoodie on the coat hook. To find her shampoo and soap in the shower next to mine. Little reminders of her vandalizing my life.

* * *

I practically limped into the house. If it hadn’t been raining, I would have simply sat down and used my arms to drag my ass up the walk and onto the porch. Physical therapy was a bitch.

It wasn’t just the latent ache of the healing bone. It was the fact that I had to rebuild muscle that had been completely out of use for six weeks. Thank God I didn’t have to work today. Walking up the stairs, getting in my uniform, going back down the stairs, and driving to the precinct would have killed me.

Layla’s car was in the driveway when I got home from my torture session. Heavy storms rolled in this morning and threatened to linger for a few days. The AirCare crew would most likely turn down any flights that were requested due to weather. Part of me, a deeply buried part of me, felt better knowing that when she went back to work for her next shift, she’d be safe on the ground.

It wasn’t affection, that was for damn sure. I didn’t do affection. Didn’t do feelings. Didn’t do commitment.

I had neither the time nor the space for it. That’s why the plan to have a fake relationship was golden.

Layla got a place to stay, and I got peace and order back in my life.

I eased through the door, dropping my keys on the entryway table and toeing my mud-slicked shoes off onto the mat. Cutting through the living room on my way to grab a bite, I froze.

Layla was curled up on the couch with one of my Gran’s quilts half hanging over her legs. A mostly untouched bowl of cereal sat on the coffee table, Cheerios turning into a spongy mush. She’d stripped down to a sports bra and a teeny pair of shorts. Her work clothes and flight suit spilled out of the bag at her feet.

Her face was completely relaxed—something I’d never seen before. Every time Layla and I had run into one another, she had her guard up. I saw it slip the day she told me the reason she didn’t date cops. But every moment between had been a carefully curated façade of perfection and strength.

Perhaps she believed that if she pretended like nothing could hurt her, nothing would.

The protective flare I felt deep in my bones anytime one of my Creekers was in harm’s way doubled when I looked at Layla.

I couldn’t figure it out. She wasn’t in distress. She didn’t need me for anything more than a cockroach-free place to lay her head.

But my God… When I looked at her, my heart stopped.

Before my brain could make sense of what my body was doing, I was crossing the room on silent feet and kneeling at her slide. Layla had her knees tucked up by her chest and was facing the back of the couch. Slowly, I wedged my arms beneath her and lifted, pulling her against my chest.

My tibia sang as I rose to my feet. The ricocheting reminder of the paces my PT team had put me through made my head spin, but Layla never stirred. Never sensed anything but safety and security.

That’s what I could give her. I had nothing else to offer. A woman like her? Smart, funny, painfully beautiful, with a tender heart—she’d be selling herself short with a bastard like me.

I let myself indulge in the feel of her soft curves against me as I carefully carried her up the stairs. When I edged the door to the guest room open with my foot, I was hit with the scent of her perfume. Warm and feminine with a sexy edge. The bed had been made in a rush, the covers still mussed.

Layla’s cheek pressed against my chest as I laid her down on the bed and pulled the covers over her body.

“Cal?” she murmured. Her lips were turned down in a frown, brows furrowed. But her eyes never opened. She never woke.

Tenderly, I brushed her hair away from her face and cupped her cheek. It had been ages since I’d felt a woman’s velvet skin like that. “Get some sleep, honey.”

12

LAYLA

Callum Fletcher was carrying me up the stairs.

Holy freaking smokes, Batman. Callum Fletcher was carrying me bridal-style up the stairs.

Maybe I was hallucinating. That had to be it. It was the melatonin I’d popped as soon as I walked in the door. I fell asleep on the couch before I could finish off the cereal I’d poured.

I had been scooped off the cushions and was now being cradled against a warm expanse of chest that seemed to have been chiseled out of marble. He smelled like cedar and warm spices.

Cal let out a quiet grunt as he eased up the last few steps. I couldn’t believe he carried me up the stairs, given the condition of his still-healing tibia. Sure, he was a few inches taller than me and twice as wide—all muscle, broad shoulders, and narrow hips. Still, I was not a small woman.

I topped out at five-foot-nine. Five-ten if I was in my flight boots. I was in that awkward middle ground where I didn’t have bombshell curves, but I certainly wasn’t a waif either.

My shoulders always felt a little too broad. My boobs were average, and given that I crushed them with a sports bra, they erred on the smaller side. My waist was boxy with wide ribs and narrow hips. There was no gap between my thighs.

But Callum cradling me against his chest like I was light as a feather—it made all those insecurities disappear. I wanted to lay with him, curl into his arms, and sleep like I didn’t have a care in the world.

I waffled in the twilight zone for a moment as he laid me down on my bed and pulled the thick patchwork quilt up to my shoulders. “Cal?”

I wasn’t sure if I’d said it or thought it.

Right when I thought he would walk away, Callum cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking across my skin. Back and forth. Back and forth. “Get some sleep, honey.”

Honey. I liked that one.

* * *

I tiptoed down the stairs, still wiping sleep from my eyes as I moved like a zombie toward the kitchen. I was fairly convinced that it hadn’t been an exhaustion-fueled dream and that Cal had carried me up to bed. Convinced and turned on by it.

Any time he initiated physical contact, my stomach flipped, and shivers slid up my back.

I glanced at the coffee table. Huh. No cereal bowl. Maybe I had dreamed it all.

But the moment I stepped into the kitchen, that hypothesis changed.

My cereal bowl had been washed and was now drying in the dish drainer. Droplets of water still clung to the blue-glazed porcelain.

The clock on the microwave said it was an hour before dinner. Cal was home tonight. Or at least he was off work. I didn’t actually know what his plans were. We hadn’t gotten very far into figuring out how this worked. Sure, we were faking it. That much was clear. But I didn’t know if that meant living as if we didn’t exist to each other when we didn’t have to be “on.”

A plan began to take form in my mind. I’d scout out the kitchen for more than a cereal bowl, make a quick grocery run, and cook dinner. It would be a small thank you considering he saved me from the skid-mark motel room I would have been stuck in.

From what I had observed thus far, Cal survived on sandwiches, takeout, and an absurd amount of freezer casseroles in aluminum pans.

His kitchen was clean and organized but left much to be desired, especially when I opened the third set of cabinets looking for any sort of cooking utensil. Thus far, I had found two cereal bowls, two plates, two cups, two of each kind of utensil, a pot, a small sheet pan, and a slotted spatula.

It wasn’t the lack of variety; it was the quantity that got me. Who only had two plates in their entire house? Didn’t he ever have friends over?

My last resort to figure out where he hid all of his cooking implements came in the form of the useless cabinet over the fridge. I mean, seriously? Why even put a cabinet there? No one can reach it. You move in, put something there, and then forget about it until you move out.

The upper fridge cabinet was, in my opinion, totally and completely useless. That is unless you’re Cal Fletcher and you’re trying to keep your fake fiancé-to-be from finding where you keep the rest of your pots and pans. I at least needed a skillet.

I was kneeling on top of the kitchen counter, reaching for the aforementioned above the fridge cabinet, when hands slid up my bare calves.

“Careful,” Cal said in a groggy rasp. His warm touch melted into my skin. I was sitting back on my haunches, and his hands were dangerously close to my ass.

“Um, sorry,” I said, regaining some shred of sanity. Apparently, the rest had evaporated somewhere between the couch and the guest room when he carried me up the stairs this morning.

I closed the over-the-fridge cabinet and scrambled down. Cal’s hands never left my body. They slid from my calves up to my hips, up my waist as I dropped down onto the floor as if he was bracing to catch me.

When I turned, I landed chest-to-face with navy blue cotton stretched over a chest the size of Mount Rushmore. “Sorry,” I clipped.

Cal crossed one arm over the other, the cords of veins and muscle standing out like a roadmap I wanted to trace with my tongue. “Looking for something?”

“I was going to make dinner.”

“Why?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Because it’s dinner time?” Thinking it best not to agitate him, I conceded. “I thought it would be a nice gesture. You gave me a place to stay. The least I can do is cook dinner.”

“You don’t need to cook me dinner,” he clipped. “We’re square.”

“Or I could cook me dinner and leave some leftovers in the fridge for you to eat when you think I’m not looking,” I retorted.

“I don’t have Tupperware.”

“I noticed.”

Callum didn’t respond. Instead, he bore into me with those steel gray eyes framed with dark lashes. The dark stubble on his cheeks glimmered as he flexed his jaw. He was wearing gym shorts, I noted. It was the first time I’d seen him in something other than jeans or his uniform pants. A dark scar ran up the side of his calf from the surgery that had pieced his leg back together.

“What were you gonna make for dinner?” he asked, drawing my attention back to his kissable lips rather than his injury. They looked so soft. Full and squared. Strong. Simply looking at his mouth made me breathless.

“Probably just chicken and rice. Some vegetables. Nothing fancy.”

I swear I heard his stomach growl.

Callum brought one hand up to his mouth and pressed his thumb to the pout of his lip. “What do you need to make all that?”

“A skillet. Some actual spices. Some kind of baking dish I can put in the oven.” I rambled off a few more things that would make cooking a little easier, all while Callum stood—arms crossed—and scowled.

When he didn’t say anything, I pressed on. “Don’t get me wrong, I respect and identify with the minimalist thing, but there are literally only two cups in this entire house.”

He shrugged at that. “I only need two. Usually don’t even need the second one.”

“Are you like… a paper plate and plastic utensils kind of guy, or are you one of those freaks that washes dishes as soon as you’re done with them.”

Given the fact that he had washed my cereal bowl, I was leaning toward the latter.

A lazy smile drew across his lips, and I felt like I’d won the lottery. “Go put on some clothes, cupcake.”

“You want me to change clothes before I make dinner?” I looked down at my cotton shorts and tank top. It had been warm overnight, so I’d gone with as little as possible under my flight suit and hadn’t bothered to change out of it when I got home.

“No ma’am,” he said. “How ‘bout this. You help me pick out some stuff that’ll make this a functioning kitchen, and I’ll treat us both to dinner tonight. Tomorrow you can cook that dinner that sounded so good.”

* * *

Callum’s forearm took up most of the center console’s real estate. Soft hairs tickled my skin as he shifted, backing the car out of the driveway. His hand flexed on the gearshift of his cruiser, thick veins rippling like a nurse’s wet dream.

Every time he and I had a first, I realized just how insane this deal was. I had agreed to be his fiancé—a woman who should know everything about her betrothed. Or, at the very least, what his middle name was.

I toyed with one of the ripped spots on my jeans. They were the artfully distressed kind, but now the hole was being made bigger by my nerves. Callum’s presence was overwhelming. Maybe it stemmed from the fact that he didn’t say much, but I could see the wheels spinning in his head.

What I wouldn’t give for a peek into that grouchy hermit’s running mental monologue.

But he wasn’t always grouchy—not the way AB, John, or the people around town thought he was. He simply didn’t feel the need to insert himself into every situation. Cal was discerning and observant. If the stories I heard from Shane and Lauren were true, that discernment made him an extraordinary police officer.

Cal shifted in the driver’s seat, working both pedals with his good leg. I would have offered to drive, but I was pretty sure it was frowned upon for a civilian to drive a department-issued vehicle. He shoved the swivel-mounted laptop closer to the dashboard, giving me a little more space in the passenger’s seat.

“Got enough room?” His eyes never left the road as he turned the car in the opposite direction of Falls Creek.

I stretched my legs out. “Yep.”

I caught him peering at me out of the corner of his eye. “I wouldn’t normally take my cruiser out for errands,” he said. Was he intentionally initiating conversation?

“Oh?”

I hadn’t seen another vehicle in his driveway, but he did have a garage I had yet to explore. Maybe that’s where he kept his personal vehicle.

“I have a motorcycle.”

Holy shit. He was talking. Shooting the breeze. Not wanting to spook him, I nodded. “Cool.”

Cal shifted his hips in the seat and swapped hands, draping one giant palm over the top of the steering wheel, looking cool as a cucumber. “Can’t drive it right now.” He cracked a half-cocked smile. “Pretty sure the orthopedic surgeon would track me down and kill me if she found out I had cranked it up.”

It was a balmy fall day, the kind of weather that reminded me that even though I no longer lived on the coast and was surrounded by rolling hills and farmland, I was still very much in the south. “Maybe by the time you graduate from PT, it’ll be cool enough for you to take it out.”

“You ever ridden?” This time, he actually glanced at me.

I shook my head. “I’ve seen enough motorcycle accident victims come through the ER to crush that desire. I flew one of those calls last week. When we got to the scene, I could see inside the driver’s kneecap. His leg was split from the base of his knee to the top of his thigh. Got hit by a car, and the handlebars caught his leg when he was thrown from the bike. I’ve seen too many legs needing skin grafts. Too many DOAs. Too many families having to make the decision to take their loved one off life support or whether to donate their viable organs.”

I expected nothing more than a grunt. Instead, Cal shocked the bejeezus out of me when he nodded. “I get that. I didn’t get my motorcycle license until a few years ago. I wanted to take some of that control back.”

“From things you’ve seen?”

He nodded. “Some fear is healthy. It keeps you safe. But I’m not going to let fear dictate the way I live. I’m going to be the one to tell it where its place is and how much say it has over my choices.”

I propped my forearm on the open space of the center console, a millimeter away from his. “Maybe you’ll have to take me on a ride when you’re back to one hundred percent.” Resting my head against the back of the seat, I looked over at him and smiled. “You know, since I’ve been such an awesome fake girlfriend.”

That comment managed to pull an honest-to-goodness laugh out of him. Pearly white teeth flashed like lightning. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he wiped the lingering smile off his face and scrubbed his palm down the side of his dark scruff. “Yeah. I, uh…” He pulled into a parking space and looked me up and down. “I definitely could have done worse.”

Southern boys were a different breed. They were gentlemanly with their ‘yes, ma’ams,’ opening doors, and walking on the side closest to passing cars. Then, when they got you home, all those manners went out the window. It was dirty promises whispered as they pushed you up against the front door. It was the way they grabbed your throat as they pulled you in for a panty-disintegrating kiss.

At least that’s what I thought about as Cal rounded the hood of the car to open my door, his jeans clinging to his thighs and ass like a second skin.

That man had an ass that wouldn’t quit. I wanted to sink my teeth into it before having him pin me down on the mattress.

Cheese and crackers, Layla. He’s a man. Not a steak.

I needed to get laid, but getting laid wasn’t part of my self-imposed celibacy. Fake dating Cal worked with my plan of abstinence. I couldn’t be seen going out with another man if I was “with” him, but it was all fake. There would be no feelings. No hanky-panky. Nothing to tempt my resolve.

Cal ripped open my door, his hand gripping the top of the frame as I got out.

Fine. His hands could tempt my resolve.

And his ass.

And his face.

But that was it.

The tips of his fingers grazed my lower back as we crossed the parking lot and walked into a big box store whose sign teased the provision of everything home-related and beyond.

“Are we getting enough to warrant a cart?” I asked when Cal went for the corral.

He cocked an eyebrow. “It’s a buggy.”

“It’s a shopping cart.”

I snorted and grabbed the handle, but he swatted my hand away. “No, ma’am. I’ve got it.”

It was the ma’am that made me squeeze my thighs together. “Be straight with me, Fletcher. You just want to push the cart to keep the weight off your leg.”

Callum scowled, and that made me just the littlest bit happy.

“Oh my God!”

Cal didn’t get a chance to retort because a pile of Dolly Parton-worthy blonde hair collided with him.

Inch-long acrylic nails in Barbie pink grappled at the back of his shirt as orange arms snaked around his neck.

“Callum!” the Paris Hilton wannabe squealed. “Look at you! All out and about! I’m so glad you’re on your feet! My stars, you look miles better than when I brought dinner to your place. That casserole must have healing powers!”

Oh. My. God.

Cal spit out the chunk of blonde hair that had flown into his gaping mouth. “Brandie Jean,” he croaked in acknowledgment.

Brandie Jean Palmer in the flesh. I had seen her from a distance, but up close was… So much worse. Her lashes looked like spider legs, and I wondered if she had gotten them from a Halloween store.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve met,” I said, extending my hand as I wedged between the two of them. “I’m Layla, Cal’s girlfriend.” I gave Brandie Jean the feminine smile that was half-sugar and half-cyanide.

“Girlfriend?” she squeaked.

Brandie didn’t move nearly far enough away for my liking, so I went all-in on the charade.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said as I dipped into Callum’s side, wrapping one arm low around his hips and sliding my other hand up his chest. Hot damn—his pectorals were enormous. They were probably as rock-hard as Brandie Jean’s fake boobs. Whisking away the thought of oversized implants, I turned my attention back to the human barnacle. “I don’t think Cal has mentioned you before.”

The comment landed because BJ looked like I’d punched her in the face. The implication was clear: she wasn’t important enough for Callum to have told me about her. Even though she was the whole reason Cal and I were out shopping for plates and bowls.

Brandie Jean quickly recovered. “Oh, Callum and I go way back. Isn’t that right?” She tried to bat her eyelashes, but it looked more like two black snow shovels attached to her eyelids were trying to scrape away the silver glitter that stretched up to her eyebrows. “We dated.”

“One date,” Cal choked out, having seemingly recovered from his mental stroke. I pinched the back of his hip and slid my hand further up his chest. Get it together, man.

He must have read my mind because the next thing I knew, his arm was around my waist, anchoring me to his side.

I clicked my tongue in a ‘silly me’ kind of way. “That’s right—that little fundraiser for the Ladies Auxiliary.”

BJ’s smile was that of a wildcat baring its teeth. “Are you going to bid on Callum this year, Layla?” She turned her attention to him and giggled. “Because my checkbook has been burning a hole in my purse!” Narrowing her eyes at me, she said, “I’m a tough bidder, sweetie. Wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

13

CALLUM

Layla lurched forward, but I kept a grip on her waist. I didn’t want to find myself in the middle of a catfight on aisle twelve.

“Easy, tiger,” I murmured into the crown of her head, hiding the comment with a kiss to her hair.

It should have been illegal for her hair to smell that good. It was intoxicating. I’d fail a breathalyzer if I filled my lungs with her scent. It was floral and fresh but ridiculously sexy with notes of something woodsy and aromatic.

She softened into my side, nearly melting into my ribs. The patronizing smile she gave BJ would have felled a more self-aware woman. “Oh, I’m not worried.” Layla beamed at me, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I don’t think a date with Callum will be auctioned off this year.”

BJ paled—a miraculous feat considering the layers of spray tan and caked-on makeup. “But… But he has to!” She stamped a heeled foot.

Layla didn’t argue. She didn’t even acknowledge the life-sized temper tantrum that was blocking the aisle. “Well, it was very nice meeting you, Brandie Jean, but Cal and I have a little shopping to get done. Say—do you know where the bedding is? We need a few more sets of sheets. Since we moved in together, we’ve put Cal’s sheets to work more than usual. It’s a lot of laundry.” With a giggle, she looked up at me and added, “Isn’t that right, baby?”

I kissed her temple, humming in acknowledgment against her skin. “Maybe two or three sets of sheets, sweet pea.”

Brandie Jean was gutted, and Layla—that woman deserved an Academy Award. Her hand had moved from my chest to my stomach, gentle warmth pressing against my abs. “Nice runnin’ into you, BJ,” I said with a nod as I grabbed the cart handle and backed away. “You have a good afternoon.”

Layla held it together as we made a mad dash for the bedding section. We didn’t need any, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to give BJ any reason to call my bluff. We could hide between displays, pretending to discuss thread counts and the merits of cotton versus flannel versus silk and satin sheets.

“Oh my God!” Layla snickered as we ducked behind a display bed that had been piled to the heavens with useless throw pillows and tufted bedding. “So that’s the Brandie Jean? I mean, I’ve seen her from a distance around town, but up close is…” She laughed. “So much worse.”

“Uh-huh,” I grunted, craning my head over the gray headboard to make sure she wasn’t within earshot. Luckily, BJ had been distracted by the as-seen-on-TV display. She had a BumpIt in one hand and a machine that claimed to turn zucchini into spaghetti in the other.

“Okay,” Layla declared, hands on hips. She looked like she’d just gone nine rounds with a mountain lion. “I get it now.” She waved her hand, clearing the imaginary slate between us. “Makes total sense.”

“What does?”

“I get why the heck you would ask a total stranger to pretend to date you and then get fake engaged. That woman is a stage-five clinger with a serious disregard for personal space.”

I pulled one of Brandie Jean’s blonde hairs from my tongue. “Agreed.”

“But it does beg the question of why you haven’t told her to leave you alone.”

I did not want to be having this confessional in the bedding aisle, but the bath, beyond, and Layla stood between me and avoiding the truth. “Because I care, okay?”

Her eyebrows raised, but she didn’t say anything. Didn’t pester me. Didn’t prod or push.

It was the same thing she’d done in the car that had me running my mouth about my bike and why I chose to hop on a two-wheeled death machine.

With a sigh, I added, “She’s part of my town. A very annoying part of my town, but part of it nonetheless. It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“Isn’t telling the truth part of serving?”

I crossed my arms. “You’ve been in Falls Creek for what—two months? Your first day, you scraped me off the asphalt because I’d gotten in a car accident that involved a fuckin’ cow. This town as a whole is a menace to society. If they realize that I actually care, they won’t listen anymore. It’s like having a thousand children and trying to keep them from accidentally killing themselves or each other.” I scrubbed my palms down my face. “Keeping these fuckin’ Creekers in line is like herding cats.”

Her smile was soft, her touch warm as she squeezed my arm. It was gentle yet firm. “I think they already know you care, Cal.”

Instead of tumbling into Layla’s deep brown eyes, I spotted BJ’s blonde bouffant bobbing toward the store’s exit, shopping bags piled high in her basket. I put my hand on Layla’s back and steered her toward the kitchen section. “Come on, pumpkin. Let’s go find some damn bowls.”

* * *

“I should’ve asked if you were okay with barbecue,” I said under my breath as Layla and I waited in line beneath a white tent outside of the fire department. Sporadic spurts of rain splattered on the vinyl overhead. The temperature had dropped significantly since she and I left the house to pick up a few overdue necessities for my kitchen.

I’d pop the question soon, I had decided while Layla debated the merits of coffee mug sizes in the middle of aisle nine. She went with the largest ones she could find. It was fine by me. I’d stick with the insulated thermos I carted to and from my cruiser each day. At one point, she had me pick between the oversized yellow mug that was shaped like a pineapple and the green one that looked like a rotund frog on a lily pad.

When she held them up on either side of her grinning cheeks, I couldn’t help but laugh. I told her to get both. The smile on her face was too fuckin’ cute.

Not that I told her that. There were no feelings to be had in our arrangement. This was quid pro quo and nothing more. I could appreciate her, though. I’d just keep it to myself. Easy-peasy.

The line shuffled forward, and we got closer and closer to the enticing wafts of barbecue clouding around the whole-hog smoker. Waiting outside of the fire department for a styrofoam plate from the Ladies Auxiliary barbecue fundraiser wasn’t exactly a glamorous date, but we were starving, and it meant that the busybodies around town would see us together. Two birds, one stone.

Layla teetered on one foot as she craned around the person in front of us and studied the sign. “Pulled pork is alright, but I’m more of a chopped brisket sandwich kind of girl.” She peered around at the chicken quarters lying on the smoker grates, getting slathered in homemade barbecue sauce. “But the chicken…”

“Falls right off the bone,” I said reverently. “The sauce is my Gran’s recipe.”

She shivered as a gust of wind whipped up under the tent. “Sold. Chicken it is.”

“Here.” Before she could argue, I took my jacket off and draped it over her shoulders. I didn’t miss the way she tilted her chin and sniffed the collar. A coy smile flirted with her lips as if she was trying to avoid letting the expression slip.

“I don’t want you to be cold,” she argued.

“I’ll be fine. What kind of a future fiancé would I be if I let my lady shiver in the rain?”

Finally, we were at the front of the line. As soon as the family ahead of us scurried off with their plates, I slipped my arm around Layla’s waist, preparing for the surge of well-intended haranguing.

“Callum Anthony Fletcher!” Gran shrieked as she slammed the money box shut, rattling the loose change like a tambourine.

Layla snorted. “You got middle-named, dude.”

“Layla joon!” Sepideh Nazari shouted from behind the table of chip bags and bottled drinks.

I leaned down, my lips grazing the top of her head. “You sure you wanna be poking fun at me right now?”

She scowled and whispered back, “You did this on purpose, you sneaky—”

But she couldn’t finish her thought. My Gran and Ms. Sepideh hustled around to the other side of the tables, putting their fundraiser progress on hold without a lick of care for the hungry people behind us. Gran wiped her hands on the waist apron tied around her middle. “Callum Anthony, first I hear rumors that you’re seeing my dear friend’s niece, and then you don’t even have the decency to bring her by for dinner.”

I bent and hugged my Gran. She was the most important woman in my life. If Layla had really been my girlfriend, I would have introduced them in a heartbeat. But that wouldn’t have happened because I didn’t date. “Gran, this is Layla.”

“Hi, Mrs. Fletcher. It’s really nice to meet you,” Layla said with a smile as she offered her hand to my Gran.

Gran scoffed at the offer of a handshake and pulled her into a back-breaking hug instead. “Don’t Mrs. Fletcher me. Just call me Gran, sweetheart. Everyone in town does.”

Layla laughed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Joonam!” Sepideh said as she barreled into the group and squeezed the daylights out of Layla.

They exchanged a quick greeting in Farsi before turning to me. “Cal, this is my aunt. Khale joon, this is my boyfriend, Callum.” The way ‘boyfriend’ rolled off her tongue was so natural.

Sepideh waved her hand dismissively. “Of course I know who he is, joonam. Bea has been running her mouth ever since she saw you moving your things into his house.

Gran nodded in agreement. “The least you two could have done was tell us first so that we could have started the rumors.”

I slid my arm around Layla and tucked her into my side. A united front. “You know I prefer keeping my life private, Gran.”

“This is Falls Creek!” Sepideh scoffed. “There is no privacy.”

“How else are we supposed to take care of each other if we don’t know what’s going on?” Gran continued as she hustled back around the table to continue taking payments and donations.

“Chicken for Lay, and pulled pork for me,” I said as I tugged my wallet out of my back pocket. Layla was digging around her purse. I leaned down and pressed my lips to her temple. “I got it, honey.”

She froze—her whole body tensing for a moment before slowly relaxing. “Thanks. That’s… thoughtful.”

“You’re my girl, sugar buns.”

She exploded in laughter, drawing a reluctant smile out of me—something I had been doing a lot more lately.

Gran counted out my change, and I stuffed it back in the donation box. The Ladies Auxiliary was raising money for one of the Falls Creek firefighters who had been injured in the line of duty and was now forced into retirement. The town rallied together to take care of Jerry and his family when disability didn’t cover enough.

I grabbed two Cokes off the table while Layla picked out bags of chips. Gran and Sepideh worked double time to get hungry patrons fed and sent on their way. We left them with promises to visit soon. For now, that appeased them.

A second tent had been set up in the grass with folding tables and metal chairs arranged underneath. Deciding that the cold wasn’t that bad, we found two empty seats and dove into our plates.

The boiled potatoes, green beans, and smoked meat hit the spot. We ate in companionable silence. Layla devoured her barbecue chicken and, every so often, would move her corn sticks around to the other side of the tray. I watched her for a minute before plucking my hushpuppies out of one of my plate sections and swapping with her.

She didn’t argue, just watched out of the corner of her eye as I picked up one of the corn sticks and took a bite. She picked up one of the hushpuppies I’d given her and wolfed it down.

“Corn sticks are an acquired taste,” I conceded.

She smiled around the hushpuppy. “I don’t think I’ve acquired it.”

“Don’t blame you. Anyone’s corn sticks but Gran’s are inedible.”

Layla cut her eyes back to the long line. “She seems sweet. Are you two close?”

“Yeah.” I wiped the grease off my fingers with a quarter-ply napkin. “I lived with her for a while when I was a kid.”

Layla lifted her eyes from her plate and studied me for a moment. I could tell she wanted to ask why, but—much to my surprise—she didn’t pry.

“That’s great that you two have that relationship,” she said between bites of snap beans.

“Layla?”

I looked up and found a woman with sunny blonde hair and dimples like craters dotting her cheeks.

Layla wiped her mouth. “Beth! Hey!”

Beth eyed the empty seat at our corner of the long, communal table. “Mind if I join?”

Layla quickly corralled our mass of used napkins and cleared the space. Beth took a seat and tore into the pouch of plastic cutlery. “Cal, this is Beth Hale. Beth, this is Callum Fletcher.”

She offered a little wave before stabbing her fork through a potato. “I was going to eat in my car, but I saw you and figured it wouldn’t hurt to say hi.”

“I’m glad you did,” Layla said. “I’ve been meaning to text you to see if you wanted to get a drink sometime, but things have been a little crazy.”

“First responder schedule. I get it,” she said nonchalantly.

Filling me in, Layla explained that she knew Beth’s brother from her time working in Beaufort.

“Cooking for one gets a little tiring, and I’m always down to support a fire department,” Beth said as we ate. She looked over at me and added, “My brother’s a firefighter.”

“How’s your school year going?” Layla asked. “Settling into the swing of things?”

Beth laughed. “College kids are the worst—only second to egotistical professors.”

While Layla and Beth chatted about Beth’s job as a graduate teaching assistant, I stacked our now-empty plates and utensils and took them to the garbage can anchoring one corner of the tent. The dessert table called my name. Thick slices of pig pickin’ cake, seven-layer cake, red velvet, and caramel cake were lined up like soldiers. I handed Sepideh a couple bucks for three slices, deciding to let the girls pick their favorites. I’d take whatever was left.

“Cal!” A shrill redneck valley girl voice called through the melee. Brandie Jean sided up to me with a to-go box in one hand. Her nails sunk into my bicep. “Twice in one day—I’m a lucky girl.”

I looked out of the corner of my eye and spotted Layla and Beth staring at us. Layla’s ass had come out of her seat, but she didn’t jump to my defense the way she had earlier at the store.

I guess it was my turn to shake the blonde piranha. “Small town,” I said dismissively as I grabbed slices of red velvet cake, caramel cake, and pig pickin’ cake.

“I’m really looking forward to the date auction,” she said, trapping me between the table and her oversized bust. I arched backward. “But who needs to wait until September, right?” She tossed strands of teased blonde hair over her shoulder. “If you’re free this weekend, I’d love to come over and cook you dinner.”

I glared over her shoulder to Beth and Layla, who were laughing their heads off as they watched me try to ward off the woman who kept popping up like a bad penny.

“That’s real nice of you, BJ, but I have plans with my girlfriend.” An evil thought cropped up in my mind. “Say, you wear a lotta jewelry. Do you have any recommendations for where I could take a ring to get it cleaned?” Dropping my voice, I said, “I want it to look perfect before I give it to Layla.”

Brandie Jean looked absolutely gutted. Her eyes welled up with tears and, for a moment, I felt a little bad about the whole charade. The problem was that BJ couldn’t take a hint. I’d been trying to shake her for months. It took the nuclear option of asking a stranger to pretend to be my fiancé to get her to leave me alone. Even then, it barely worked. Especially considering BJ had just asked me out with Layla a few feet away.

“Heirlooms Jewelry on Main Street,” she sniffed. “Ask for Tammy. She’ll treat you right.”

I knew damn well where Heirlooms was, and that Tammy Lynn would handle the ring I was going to put on Layla’s finger with the utmost care. Tammy Lynn had sent me a plate of cookies last year after someone had tried to break into the jewelry store. I’d stopped back by when I was off-duty and helped her clean up the broken glass and put up plywood until she could get new windows installed.

Brandie Jean scurried off with her tail between her legs, and I carried the cake over to the girls.

“Well done, Officer Fletcher,” Beth said with a laugh and a slow clap.

“I filled her in,” Layla said with a grin and a wink as she snagged the red velvet.

Beth thanked me for the caramel cake. She waved her fork in the direction Brandie Jean had teetered off to in those stripper heels she wore and said, “Seeing that nightmare with my own two eyes, I can’t blame you.”

BJ had hopped back in her eyelash-clad Beetle, but all the nosey Nellies were still watching. I draped my arm across the back of Layla’s chair and kissed her temple for good measure.

Beth eyed us curiously for a moment between bites. “I’ll admit,” she said just loud enough for the three of us to hear. “You two fake it well.”

14

LAYLA

I yawned as I wandered down the stairs in search of caffeine and sustenance. I hadn’t fallen asleep in my bed. As soon as I dragged my ass in the door, I sat on the couch, toed off my boots, and fell asleep. Cal had carried me upstairs—again—when he got home from physical therapy. The faint memory of being cradled against his chest as he lumbered up the stairs and tucked me into bed had my body lighting up like fireworks on Eid.

Cal was still home, enjoying his day off, sipping on a mug of coffee while he worked on his laptop. As soon as my socked feet hit the landing at the bottom of the stairs, he ripped his headphones off of his ears. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I said as I wiped the sleep from my eyes. I’d gotten in from my twenty-four hours at the base this morning and immediately crashed.

Cal studied me curiously as I wandered into the kitchen and pawed around the fridge. When I returned to the living room with a bowl of cereal in hand, his headphones were on the coffee table. He was in the process of draping a quilt over the back of the couch.

In the week and a half that I had been living in his house, we hadn’t spent all that much time together at home. If we were both off, we used the excuse of needing to be seen around town to grab a bite out. Afterward, we would return home and retire to our separate rooms.

“How was your shift? Anything fun?” he asked as he sat back down, satisfied with his quick tidy-up. I wasn’t sure why he felt the need to clean up around me. His house was spotless.

“Did a run from Burlington to Duke with a stroke patient and another run from a car accident in Eden with an entrapment. Took the pediatric patient to the Wake Forest Hospital.”

Cal nodded with a look of silent understanding. There was a toll that certain kinds of calls took on us. He had probably seen his fair share of ugliness in the world. Ugliness that happened to people who were innocent. Pediatric calls took more energy out of me than most. It took a hell of a lot to hold it together. To stay focused and attentive. To keep my emotions in check and do what needs to be done.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

I curled up on the opposite end of the couch and listlessly stirred my cereal. “Better now. Just had to sleep it off.” I caught an unintentional glimpse of his laptop screen and bit my lip. “Whatcha working on?”

Cal slammed his computer shut. “Just a little reading.”

“It looked like you were—” Before I could get the words out, he was on his feet, walking out of the room. “Rude,” I muttered into my cereal. Three bites later, he was back, carrying a small velvet box.

My curiosity was piqued. He sat back down on the couch, a little closer this time. “I should probably propose to you soon,” he said without an ounce of emotion.

I shoveled in the rest of my cereal and set the bowl aside. “Not that I’ve ever been proposed to before, but I’m pretty sure the proposer isn’t supposed to tell the proposee.”

He chuckled quietly. “Figured we should probably talk about it.”

“Look,” I said as I pulled my feet up onto the couch and hugged my knees. “I have no misconceptions about what this is. I’m not going to be some crazy clinger. We pretend, and when it ends, it ends.”

“But until it ends, it has to be believable. The whole damn town will call bullshit.”

I pointed to his laptop. “Is that why you were reading up on the process of Khastegāri?”

Callum didn’t answer. Instead, he stared at—what I assumed was—the ring box in his hand. “Just because it’s fake doesn’t mean I don’t have respect for you.” His voice was contrite. “And that respect extends to your family. This thing between us is going to end in a few months. You and I know that this isn’t anything, but my Gran… Your aunt and the rest of your family… I don’t want to hurt them either.”

The gentle words were a stark contrast to his gruff exterior. Cal wanted the town to think he was a jackass, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. He cared. A lot.

In my eyes, all that bravado was a shield to hide his tender heart.

He popped the box open and offered it to me for inspection. “I didn’t think about getting it sized. But I figured you wouldn’t want to wear it when you’re working, so if it doesn’t fit, you won’t have to wear it too much. Just if we go out.”

The ring was breathtaking. Frankly, it was the furthest thing from traditional. A dazzling red gem on a thin gold band caught the light, sparkling like a siren. Small petals of gold framed it in an ornate wreath. “Wow.”

Callum eased down the couch, sitting beside me instead of keeping the customary body’s width of space. He took the box out of my hand and plucked the ring from the cushion. Reaching with a calm, measured motion, he took my left hand in his and slid the ring onto my finger.

“It fits.” Like Cinderella’s slipper, the ring sat comfortably snug on my finger. Already, I didn’t want to take it off.

Cal held my hand in his, gently stroking the top of it with his thumb. The number of times we had touched was somewhere below a dozen. It was always in the moment, needing to prove our farce of a relationship to whoever was around. Never had it been within the privacy of his house. There was a different weight to it when we were alone.

His thumb brushed across the red stone. “Looks good.” Cal made a move for the ring box, so I reluctantly took it off and gave it to him to store away safely. My finger felt naked without it, but I dismissed the absurd notion. It was a piece of jewelry, for goodness’ sake.

“So, the, uh… Khastegāri tradition—”

“Good pronunciation,” I said with a laugh.

Cal rolled his lip between his teeth. “What do I need to do?”

Something about walking in on him Googling Persian traditions warmed my heart. The little things he did—like buying silly mugs and considering how my parents would feel about all this—meant the world to me. If he wasn’t so intent on faking it, I would have been head over heels already.

Tomorrow we were going to my parent’s house for dinner. It would be the first time they met my “boyfriend” and the first time my future fake fiancé would meet his soon-to-be fake in-laws. My family was the sweetest group of humans I knew, but what they intended as love often came off as suffocating.

“On my way home from work this morning, I picked up some sweets for you to give as a housewarming gift.”

His attention turned to a defensive scowl. “I have it covered.”

Completely ignoring his rancor, I pressed on. “You’re getting lucky. It’ll be a small crowd. Just my parents, my brother, my aunt—who you already know—my grandma, and maybe three or four of my cousins.”

Cal raised his eyebrows. “That’s a small crew?”

For a moment, I wondered what Callum’s family was like. He said he had lived with his Gran for a while, but surely he had more family than that. As overbearing as my family could be, I couldn’t imagine not having grown up in a noisy, crowded household.

“Don’t be a dick to anyone, but the people you really want to impress are my parents and my grandma. My aunt already knows you, so you have her on your side, and my brother will probably just be excited that there’s another guy around the table.”

“What do you call your grandma?”

“Maman Bozorg,”

“And your brother?”

“Usually ass-face, but his birth certificate says Karim.”

Cal bit back a laugh.

“What about you?” I rested my elbow on the back of the couch and propped up my head. I still wasn’t all the way awake. “Any siblings?”

“Step-siblings,” he groused. “And half-siblings.”

That was new information. But it wasn’t what he said. It was how he said it—resentful and angry.

“How many?”

“Dunno.”

And that was the end of that conversation. Cal had hit his word count for the day, and I could see him shutting down behind those stone gray eyes.

Instead of pushing him for more, I started talking. “So, the Khastegāri is traditional in a lot of Persian families, but it’s changed a lot. It used to be this big ceremony where a courtship would be initiated. The families of the potential bride and groom would meet, and the couple would decide if they wanted to have more visits. Nowadays, it’s more like asking for their blessing.”

“Are they going to be mad that we live together?”

A laugh slipped out of my mouth. I didn’t mean for it to, but I couldn’t help it. “I’m not a virgin, Cal. I’ve had boyfriends. I’ve lived with two of them. I’m nearly thirty. This won’t faze them. Besides—I’m a saint compared to my brother.”

His jaw flexed. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but some part of what I’d said pissed him off.

I eyed the ring box. “Have you thought about how you’re going to propose? I mean, it should probably be semi-public so the town can see. It would be a little pointless if we did it in private.”

“Yeah.” He scrubbed his hand down his cheek. The stubble filling out his jawline had a sharp edge to it. “I’ve thought about it.”

“Do you need to practice?” I said with a nervous giggle. Cal looked like he was sick to his stomach.

Instead of hurling the contents of his lunch, he shook his head. “Nah. I figured I’ll get down on one knee and keep it short and sweet. I’m not much of a talker as it is. Put the ring on your finger, and we’re done.”

“That’s all?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “It’s fake, Layla.”

I rolled my eyes. “I know that. But if you’re proposing to me in public, it’s not like you can just shove a ring on my finger and seal it with a handshake. This isn’t a merger or a business deal.”

His nostrils flared. “Get up.”

“Excuse me?” I scoffed.

“Get up. I’m proposing to you.” He snatched the ring box off of the coffee table. “We’re gonna rehearse this and get it fucking right.”

“Just what every girl wants to hear,” I jeered under my breath as I heaved my tired ass off the couch.

I stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed and hip cocked as Cal shoved the ring box in his pocket and rounded the coffee table. We stood toe-to-toe for a moment, both as jovial as mules. Slowly, he lowered down to one knee. “Layla, you’re a beautiful smart-ass with terrible taste in mugs and questionable taste in men.”

“You’re not wrong on that last part,” I quipped. “I’m here with you, sweetie pie.”

Cal rolled his eyes. “Will you do me the dishonor of being my absolutely bullshit fake wife-to-be?”

I held my hand out and spread my fingers so that he could slip the ring on. “You don’t have the words or the music.”

The gold band slid on smooth and easy. “It doesn’t matter what I say,” he stated as he rose to his feet and took a step forward, crowding my personal bubble. There was an edge to his words. An intensity that couldn’t be faked. “No one’s gonna be close enough to hear whatever shit comes out of my mouth. And I’m not sealing it with a fucking handshake, Layla.” His gaze bore into mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath and smell the faint hint of his cologne. “The whole fucking town is gonna see me down on one knee, and then they’re gonna see this.” He surged forward, and I went stumbling backward. My back slammed into the wall as his lips crashed down, locking onto mine.

Callum consumed me with every touch of his mouth. His hands greedily roamed my hips—caressing, teasing, and stroking my skin. He tilted his head, slanting his mouth on mine and deepening the kiss. Strong hands slid up the side of my neck to cup my cheeks. My eyes were wide open, a stark contrast to his furrowed brows. A groan rippled from his chest like he had been starving for this—for me.

There was an intensity to Callum Fletcher that both fueled and consumed me. His touch was like gasoline. It could sustain or destroy.

His chest pressed into my breasts, trapping me against the wall with no chance of escape. Strong hands skated up my ribs, drawing a whimper out of me as they grazed my cleavage.

Cal’s hand moved down and closed around my throat before moving up to my jaw. He flexed his fingers, squeezing and holding my head in place as his lips pulled away from the mind-numbing kiss. I grabbed onto his shirt, desperate to keep him close. He tipped his head to the side, prying my lips open with his tongue. My body lit up like a firecracker; sparks popped and sizzled as every nerve fired. My nipples ached to be touched. My thighs trembled and clenched, trying to ease the desire pooling deep inside. He stroked my cheeks with his thumbs while lapping languid strokes against my tongue. A quiet sigh escaped me, and I knew I was done for. Cal must have sensed it, too, because he broke away.

“This is what they’ll see, honey.” His grip on my jaw was as unforgiving as his gaze.

I was going to have marks from the pads of his fingers for sure. His lips were a breath away, still ghosting along mine. I tried to lean in. Tried to steal another taste. But his hand kept the back of my head pinned against the wall, right where he wanted me.

“They’ll see me put that ring on your finger, and then they’ll see me kiss you like you are my life and my breath and my soul.” The next kiss was more potent than the preceding ones. The weight of his body and words pressed against me as his tongue pushed past my pouted lips and swept across my mouth. I couldn’t do anything but accept the invasion. I was utterly and completely at his will, and I loved every second of it.

I fisted the cotton of his t-shirt and pulled him closer. The iron grip he had on my jaw faded, and both hands cupped my cheeks with a tender touch. When he pulled back and stroked the pad of his thumb across my swollen lips, I saw the rage. The anger. The self-loathing.

Callum never broke eye contact with me as he used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth clean from our kiss. Without saying a word, he turned, stormed up the stairs, and slammed his door. I was too dazed to speak.

He hated that I found just the right button to push to make him lose control. Hated ceding that power.

And now that I’d gotten a taste of what his fury was like, I craved it more than oxygen.

15

CALLUM

“You about ready to go?” I hollered up the stairs. Layla was taking for-fucking-ever to fix her hair in the bathroom. “We gotta get a move on, sugar biscuit.”

That was the first time I’d offered more than a grunt since I nearly mauled her against the wall yesterday. We had done the precarious dance of avoiding each other as we got ready for bed.

Avoiding each other didn’t help me avoid catching the scent of her shampoo in the shower. It didn’t stop me from wondering if the tube of Chapstick on the counter was the strawberry flavor I had tasted on her lips.

“Coming!” she called in a tone that was far too cheery for a woman who had been giving me the cold shoulder. Not that I didn’t deserve it. Layla hadn’t asked me to pin her against the wall and kiss her like my life depended on it. Then again, she kissed me back. Her hands had dug into my shirt like she was two seconds from clawing me to pieces if I let her go.

But I did. I fucking walked away.

Nothing about this was real. It was foolish of me to let my libido overpower my logic, but damn… That kiss.

Footsteps thundered overhead, and a door slammed as Layla hurried down. Long legs covered in tall boots the color of caramel were the first things I saw. Her bare thighs peeked out from the short hem of a dress that looked like a thick sweater. I wanted to rip those cable knits to shreds like a feral cat with a damn ball of yarn. Her coal-colored hair was curled in soft waves that cascaded down her back.

“Ready,” Layla clipped as she grabbed her purse off the coat hook by the door. She didn’t meet my eyes as she dug out her keys.

I snatched them out of her hand. “I’ll drive.”

She yanked them back. “It’s my car.”

I grabbed them again. “And I said I’ll drive.”

She didn’t argue.

I fucking hated that. I wanted her to fight me on it. I wanted to feel her fingertips grazing my hand again. I wanted to feel her breath against my skin.

“Lay—”

“Let’s go,” she said, making a move for the door.

I blocked her path. “Honey, stop.”

“We should go, baby cakes,” she sneered. “Don’t wanna be late to meet the future fake in-laws.”

There was an engagement ring in my pocket. This was all fake, but it was still a big fucking deal. “Layla.”

A quiet huff escaped her lips as she crossed her arms and cocked her hip. “What?”

The toe of my dress shoes bumped against the tip of her boots. “You okay?”

“Fine,” she said with her signature bullshit sunshine.

“Honey,” I said, slow as molasses. Softly, I sifted my fingers through her hair and cupped her cheek.

She stared at the ground.

“Look at me.”

Layla huffed. “We don’t have time for this.”

“We have time. Look at me.”

Slowly, she turned her gaze to me. Tears like diamonds glimmered on her long lashes. My stomach soured at the sight. “What’s the matter?”

She blinked them away and plastered on a fake-ass smile. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

“Don’t make me back you up against the wall again.”

That did it.

Her lips parted, and her eyes dropped to my mouth. “That was a mistake.” She was breathless. Just the threat of another kiss like the one we had already shared had her aroused.

“Liar.” I grazed my thumb across the peak of her cheekbone. “But you can pretend like it’s the truth.” I grabbed the keys from her hand, locked the door behind me, and walked out to the car.

The two-syllabled ‘thank you’ was the only thing I got from Layla before twenty minutes of complete silence as we drove through rolling meadows to the Chapel Hill neighborhood her parents called home.

Layla pointed me in the direction of the narrow strip of driveway that was shrouded by neatly trimmed shrubs. Purple chrysanthemums decorated the base of the mailbox.

I parked behind the row of cars and reached into the backseat. Layla had the desserts she had picked up in a box on her lap, but I slipped out of the house and hit up the farmer’s market for my own gift.

I grabbed the brown paper bag and bouquet I had hidden back there as Layla unbuckled her seatbelt. “What’s that?” she asked.

I slammed the door shut. “Gift for your parents.”

Layla raised a curious eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because it’s customary for the Khastegāri that the groom will bring flowers to the potential bride’s family.” I shifted the bouquet of sunflowers in my arm and pinched the handle of the gift bag with my fingers so that I could keep my hand on Layla’s back as we walked to the door.

After our kiss last night, I’d stayed in my room, scouring Google until Layla turned in for the evening and her side of the hallway went quiet.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said under her breath as we ascended the brick steps leading up to the door.

“But I did.”

“Cal—”

“I’m not looking for brownie points or extra credit, honey,” I said quickly. “It’s the right thing to do, so I did it.”

“You’re slacking on your terms of endearment. You already used ‘honey’,” she said.

I knew that. When it slipped out of my mouth, something about the word fit her. She was sweet. Warm. Golden. Maybe a little healing. The first time I called her ‘honey’ was pure chance. The second time I called her that was intentional.

The front door swung open, and a man about Layla’s age braced his arms in the doorframe. “Run.”

Layla snickered. “Pretty sure they’d chase us down.”

He looked me up and down as I slid my hand down to Layla’s lower back. “So,” he clipped. “It’s true?”

Layla looked up at me. “It’s true.”

He looked at me. “Either this guy has balls of fucking stone, or you haven’t filled him in on what it’s like when Maman and Khale are together.”

“Cal, this is my little brother, Karim,” Layla said placidly.

“Callum Fletcher,” I said as I shook his hand.

“Oh, dude—I know. Khale joon has been here all friggin’ day talking to our mom about you. They spent the better part of the last two hours looking at your photo on the police department website.”

Layla rolled her eyes. “Well, it gets you off the hook for still being single.”

Karim shook his head. “Passed the bar exam, and they’re mad I’m not married yet.” He shook his head, turned, and padded deeper into the house.

“You ready for this?” Layla asked as we stepped into the foyer. Wafts of charcoal smoke carried the scent of warm herbs and spices through the hallways.

I wrapped my hand around hers and laced our fingers together. Her hand tensed, but I kept my grip tight. “Should I have worn my tactical hula skirt?” I joked.

The thought of me walking into her parents’ home, wearing my duty belt, to ask for their blessing made her crack a smile. A real one.

Further into the house, a chorus of voices chattered on in a blend of Farsi and English. “Salam, chetori?” Layla called out into the mix.

The house went deadly quiet before exploding in a cacophony of shouts, clattering kitchenware, and pounding footsteps. The floor shook as the Mousavi family rumbled toward us like an avalanche. A woman with deep-set lines crossing her paper-thin skin elbowed her way to the front of the pack. “Layla joon!”

Layla stopped in her tracks, her shoulder pressing into my arm. “Maman bozorg,” she said with an ear-to-ear smile. The tiny woman in an emerald green hijab threw her arms around Layla’s waist and squeezed with all her might. “I missed you, azizam.”

“Missed you too,” Layla murmured into her shoulder.

A taller woman wearing a bright purple hijab wrapped Layla into a hug, exchanging a few quiet words before turning her attention to me. She gave me a polite nod. “Callum, I’ve heard so many good things about you from my sister and my daughter.”

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Mousavi. You have a beautiful home.”

“Mashallah. Please, call me Tara.”

I shifted the bouquet in my arms and passed it off to her, along with the gift bag. “For you.”

Layla eyed the bag curiously as her mother yanked out the tissue paper and pulled out the cutting board I had picked up this morning. Tara’s fingertips traced over the dogwood flowers and water lilies that had been carved into the surface.

“Layla’s told me how you collect them for cheese boards.”

“Yes,” Tara said. “This is beautiful. Thank you.”

Over Tara’s shoulder, Karim laughed, shook his head, and mouthed, “Kiss ass.”

We were ushered deeper into the house. Layla’s dad was manning a charcoal grill on the deck that was separated from the kitchen by sliding glass doors. Layla’s aunt was behind a kitchen island, chopping vegetables.

“Ms. Sepideh,” I said with a polite nod. “Nice to see you.”

“You too, Officer Fletcher.” She winked. “Shame we might be a man down for the date auction.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to ease the awkwardness, but truth be told, I was feeling pretty damn smug. My plan was working. “Might be. But I’m sure you and Gran will still be able to raise a lot of money.”

“That we will,” Sepideh said with a nod as she finished running her knife through a zucchini. I felt her eyes tracking me as I moved throughout the room. I hoped Layla could pull this off. If anyone was going to call our bluff, it would be Ms. Sepideh. She and I had known each other for years, and she was tight with my Gran. One air of doubt, and she’d have the tongues wagging about the legitimacy of our charade.

Layla was in the dining room, arranging the desserts she had brought onto the sturdy oak sideboard. Bowls of scuppernong and muscadine grapes bracketed the spread of sweets she was unloading. I walked up behind her and slid my hands onto her hips. She flinched, but it was less noticeable than the time I had tried to hold her hand.

My chest pressed against her shoulder blades. “Whatcha got there, honey?”

I didn’t miss the way she leaned back into me. Her heart-shaped ass nuzzled the front of my jeans. I wanted to push the short hem of her sweater dress up and spread her thighs. I wanted to graze my knuckles down her cheek before jerking her chin up to look at me. I hated the way she had been avoiding me since our kiss.

Not that I blamed her.

Layla tilted her head, glancing down at the place where our hips met in parallel lines. Her deft fingers were wrapped around a small bowl of something sugary sweet. “Noghl. Sugar-coated almonds.”

I kept one hand on her hip, stroking my thumb over the rough divots of knitted wool covering the soft curve of her skin. While I savored the feel of her body pressed into mine, I plucked an almond out of the bowl and popped it in my mouth. Sweetness coated my tongue before changing to mellow notes of almond and rosewater. “It’s really good.”

A gentle smile curled at the corner of her rosy lips. “You’re hiding from my dad, aren’t you?” she said just loud enough for me to hear.

I dug my fingers into her hip. “Maybe I just can’t keep my hands off my girlfriend.”

“I didn’t take you as a coward, Fletcher.” She arched her back as she slid a small cake onto a pedestal. Her ass rocked against my crotch.

“I didn’t take you for a tease, Layla-who-doesn’t-date-cops.”

She leaned back, her temple grazing my mouth, as she made a move for a tray of rock candy laced with threads of saffron. Her long, raven hair breezed against my arm. I wanted to tangle my fingers in it.

My heart beat violently inside my chest as I reached between us and brushed her hair over one shoulder. “But I think you like being a tease.” I pressed my lips to the side of her neck, scraping her supple skin with the scruff on my cheek.

“Layla joon,” Sepideh called as she waltzed into the room. “Will you help your father? He’s out on the deck with the grill.”

It was enough to snap her out of her trance. “Um. Yeah. Be right there.”

“I’ll go help, honey,” I said quickly, punctuating it with a peck on her cheek before turning and walking out.

While I cut through the kitchen and headed toward the deck, Karim gave me a salute as if I was walking to my own execution. Layla’s mom watched with the eyes of a hawk as I slid the glass door back. Her hands never stopped moving as she arranged cheese and crackers across the cutting board I had given her.

Layla’s father was a tall man who sported a thick, graying mustache and a kiss-the-cook apron. “Mr. Mousavi,” I said as I slid the door closed.

Slowly, his gaze raised from the grill grates. He looked me up and down. “Callum Fletcher.” The door opened and closed behind me again as Karim joined us. “The rumors are true. My baby girl has moved in with the boyfriend that she didn’t tell us about.”

Fuckity, fuck, fuck.

This wasn’t good. But I wasn’t backing down. If I was going to pretend to be engaged, I was going to be the best damn fake fiancé Layla ever had.

“Yes, sir.” There was no use in denying it.

He prodded the ears of corn that were searing on the grill. Karim carried over a bucket of water and set it on the patio table. He dumped a healthy portion of salt into the water, took the tongs from his dad, and pulled the corn off, dunking each one in the bucket.

A tray of vegetable kabobs looked ready to hit the grill. I grabbed them and started arranging them beside the searing skewers of chicken. Mr. Mousavi offered a nod of approval.

Crisp autumn air whipped through the trees that lined the backyard. “I had hoped to meet you all sooner,” I said with as much conviction as I could muster. “You have a lovely family.”

A knowing smile crept up beneath his caterpillar mustache. “But you’re not here about my family.” He gave one of the kabobs a turn. “You’re here about my daughter.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Karim,” he clipped as he plucked each kabob off the grill and dropped them onto a platter. “Take these inside.”

Karim gave me a harsh assessment, annoyed at being dismissed, before opening the door and carrying the food inside.

“My daughter has always been private. Independent and strong-willed,” he began. “It wasn’t a surprise when Sepideh told us about you two.”

I couldn’t, in good faith, tell him that I loved his daughter. We were nothing more than roommates. But I did want to offer him some comfort that I wouldn’t dare hurt her. “We met on my worst day. She picked me up and put me back together. I trust her with my life, and I would protect her with mine.”

16

LAYLA

“Shush!” my mother squeaked as she craned over the sink toward the cracked kitchen window. She and my aunt were eavesdropping on the completely bullshit conversation Cal was having with my dad. I didn’t even want to know what tall tale he was spinning to convince my father to give us his blessing. The more I thought about the web of lies we were weaving, the more my stomach leaped into my throat.

I sat on a kitchen-island stool with my feet propped on another. Karim wandered in, arms full of balal and kabobs. My stomach growled at the sight.

“Ballsy to go straight for the Khastegāri the first time he comes over,” Karim muttered.

“Ah! Hush!” Sepideh hissed at Karim as she elbowed my mother to get a better vantage point at the sink window. Whatever Cal had said had the two of them swooning with simultaneous “awwws!”

I rolled my eyes when Karim started humming an off-tune rendition of “Here Comes the Bride.”

If we were going to eat the food while it was still warm, someone had to get it on the buffet. That someone was me since everyone else was preoccupied with this farce of a relationship.

But it didn’t feel like a farce when he touched me… When his body pressed against mine. When his lips touched my skin and he called me honey.

It felt real.

Dangerously, terrifyingly real.

The glass door slid back as Callum walked in. My dad followed, clapping his hand on Cal’s shoulder like they were old friends. For some reason, that pissed me the hell off.

Callum had the doting boyfriend thing down. The grumpy façade baffled me because deep down, he was tender-hearted. The little touches… The way he jumped in with both feet into my family’s gathering…

It didn’t go unnoticed how he artfully avoided offering information in a conversation by asking leading questions. Maybe it was the police officer in him.

“Let me get that for you, Lay,” he said as he lifted the bowl of roasted squash and grapes out of my hands.

For a moment, his fingers brushed mine before he turned and carried the dish into the dining room.

My mom and aunt joined Karim in a symphony of humming while my dad nodded proudly.

The front door slammed as a gaggle of cousins and two neighbors piled in. Cal and I were wedged together in the middle of the long farmhouse table. Our plates were piled high from the spread of food covering every square inch of the table.

Murmurs of, “Bismillahi wa barakatillah,” were said as the crowd dug in.

Callum’s arm brushed mine as he reached for a piece of naan. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I clipped as I pushed a bite of Koresh Morgh-e Torsh around on my plate.

His hand found my thigh under the table as we settled into the meal. By the time I had finished two bites of chicken, Callum’s plate was clean, and he was going for seconds. My mother gave me a nod of approval as she snatched his plate and loaded it up.

The conversation shifted to my brother and the empty seat my mother always saved for Karim’s nonexistent significant other.

“You sure you’re okay, honey?” Cal was discreet as he murmured into my ear.

I looked up from my plate. “I told you. I’m fine.”

His lips turned down at the corners. “You’ve barely touched your food. Do you feel alright?”

“I’m fine, Cal,” I hissed under my breath.

He wiped his mouth and dropped the napkin beside his plate. “Honey, will you show me where the restroom is?”

There was no room for argument. Not when he stood, took my hand, and yanked me out of my chair. His grip was a shackle. Struggling against him was useless, and I didn’t want to cause a scene.

We slipped around a corner, passing two doors before entering the bathroom. I reached in and flipped the light on. “Here.”

I turned to head back to the dining room when Callum yanked me inside and locked the door.

“What is your prob—”

“I just asked your father for his blessing to marry you. Your aunt is sitting right across the damn table. When this meal is over, they’ll sit us down and make sure we’re on the same page. If we’re going to pull this off, I need you to at least act like you don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” I croaked. It wasn’t really my fault he had stolen my ability to speak. I blamed the way his shirt stretched across his chest. Or maybe it was because he had the sleeves cuffed just below his elbows. That had to be it. The male forearm turned my brain into a puddle of melted gray matter.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he clipped. His usually cool silver eyes flared with a spark of irritation.

I stared at the tile floor. “I’ve never brought a guy home like this.”

“And you’re regretting the first one being your soon-to-be fake fiancé?”

“Yeah.” It was a weak defense, but it was the truth. My family was the greatest. They welcomed anyone and everyone with open arms. The fallout when we called off the engagement would hurt them more than me.

He pulled me into his arms. It didn’t go unnoticed that this was the first time we had really embraced each other. That kiss we had shared last night was passionate, but hugs were intimate. “Come here, asal,” he murmured as he held me against his chest.

I sniffed. “Did you run out of terms of endearment in English and decide to switch to Farsi?”

His chest rumbled as he laughed softly into my hair. “I asked your dad how to call you ‘honey’ in Farsi.”

“You could have just Googled it.”

“Yeah, but the look on his face when I asked was priceless.” His hand splayed across my back, rubbing gently. “I’m sorry I asked you to do this. But think of it like a practice run. Maybe the next guy you bring will be the one, and you won’t look like you’re going to barf up your lunch every time he touches you.”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, I wrapped my arms around his middle and hugged him back. “You know, it’s a shame.”

“What’s a shame?”

“You.”

He chuckled. “Why am I a shame?”

“It’s a shame you think you have to fake it with a stranger.” I dropped my arm, took a step back, and inhaled a breath unclouded by rugged male pheromones. “If this is you faking it, no woman would stand a chance against the real thing.”

* * *

“So,” my father began as he sat hunched over on the couch. “Callum tells me you two intend to marry. Inshallah.”

Cal and I were crammed on the loveseat while my brother and mother bracketed my dad. My grandma was perched in the recliner. Sepideh pretended to wrangle my cousins into cleaning up from lunch, but we all knew she had one ear in the doorway.

Callum’s arm was draped around the back of the loveseat. The gentle grazing of his thumb on my shoulder was calming. I adjusted the cowl neck of my sweater dress for a little more breathing room. It was unusually hot in here. Or maybe that was just my nerves kicking in.

“Yes, sir,” I squeaked.

Karim’s eyes narrowed on Cal who, surprisingly, looked cool as a cucumber. The glass teacup looked like a toy in his bear paw of a hand as he sipped his chai.

My dad sat back and rested his hands over his belly. “Tell me, azizam. How do you feel about his work as a police officer? There may be a day where he doesn’t come home.”

When we moved to North Carolina, my dad taught in the public school system. Now, he taught high school math at a swanky private school. The biggest danger he saw in a day was the teacher’s lounge running out of brand-name coffee grounds and switching to generic.

“Cal is good at his job,” I said on an exhale. “He’s careful. He cares about Falls Creek and the people who live there.” I laid my hand on his thigh. “That includes me.”

“And Callum,” he said, “How do you feel about Layla being a flight nurse? She’s gone for days at a time. Works odd hours. Sees horrific carnage—”

“Baba joon,” I said in a warning tone. He had never been thrilled about my choice to pursue emergency medicine. My dad was a teacher. My mom was an attorney. Karim was following in her shoes. They were happy inside the four walls of classrooms and courtrooms.

But the view from twenty-five hundred feet was unbeatable. The adrenaline rush of a life-or-death call was a drug like no other. The high lasted long after the shift ended.

Callum reached over and set his teacup on the coffee table. Without a word, he rolled up his pant leg. “We both see hard things every day,” he said as he cuffed the denim just above his knee. He tipped it to the side, showing off the mottled scarring where his tibia had torn through his skin. “I’m glad Layla does what she does. She sees people on their worst days and treats them with dignity while doing what needs to be done under enormous pressure. It takes a special person to keep her sweetness and heal others in a world full of ugliness. I can’t imagine finding a better partner than someone with those qualities.”

My brother rolled his eyes.

My mother absolutely melted.

My grandma had a coy smile on her lips.

My aunt slumped against the doorway, then swooned all the way back into the kitchen.

My father nodded in silent approval.

Callum rolled the leg of his jeans back down. When he leaned against the back of the loveseat, he draped his arm around my shoulders and tucked me into his side. His lips were soft as he dotted the top of my head with a kiss.

Wedding bells shone in my mother’s eyes. “Have you begun putting together wedding plans?”

“Ah,” I chided, raising my eyebrows and clicking my tongue.

Callum piped up. “No. Not yet. It’s important to both of us to have y’all’s blessing.”

“The spring would be such a lovely time for a wedding,” my mom gushed. “Or even a winter wedding! String lights and fir trees…” She sighed happily.

By winter, I’d be back in my apartment, back to my life. We’d have to fake a breakup and give an explanation to everyone. Probably citing moving too fast.

“Maybe the spring,” I said with a small smile. “We don’t want to rush things.”

“Ah.” She dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand and turned to my dad. “Eshgham. We met, what—four times before our wedding?” She glanced at Callum. “Things were a bit different back then. Time is relative. Some people need a long time to fall in love; others know when they look into each other’s eyes.”

I couldn’t hold back my laughter. “The first time we met, he thought he was being abducted by an alien.”

Cal snickered. “Told you not to give me drugs.”

“You were being a baby,” I shot back.

“My bones were outside my body,” he said with a bright laugh. “I think I get a pass on being mildly uncomfortable, honey.”

My family was in stitches. Even Karim was cackling. “See?” My mother said as she drained her chai. “Perfect match.”

We were still laughing when my dad stood up. “Joonam.” There was authority in the way he addressed me. “Callum.” He reached out and extended his hand to Cal.

We stood, and my dad and Callum shook hands.

“Mobârak,” my father said, smacking Cal on the arm. “Welcome to the family, Callum.”

Callum nodded reverently, though I didn’t miss the sigh of relief he let slip. “Thank you, sir.”

My aunt swooped in, drawing my mom and grandma into a corner, tossing around words like engagement party and wedding dress shopping. My dad, Karim, and Callum had launched into a conversation about UNC’s upcoming basketball season.

I was split between the two groups, not sure where I fit. I was the daughter who moved away. The one who wanted independence. Individualism. The downside was not knowing how I fit whenever I came back.

Callum slipped his hand around mine, weaving our fingers and bringing them to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the back of my hand and tugged me close. He listened intently to my dad and brother as he positioned me in front of him. His chest was warm against my back as he wrapped his arms around me, clicking me into his body like a missing puzzle piece.

* * *

“How do you feel about making a pit stop before we head home?” Cal asked as he draped his arm behind my headrest and backed out of the driveway.

The sun had set, and the fall chill clawed its way through the sweater dress that was less warm than it looked. I reached over and stabbed the heat dial. “Do you have to work in the morning?”

“Yeah,” he said as he navigated the neighborhood, heading back toward Falls Creek. “You?”

“Yeah.”

“We won’t be out too late,” he said as he shifted his hand on the steering wheel.

I stared out the window at fields covered in complete darkness. “You did really well back there. I know they can be a little … intense. Probably not what you thought you were signing up for when you asked me to be your fake fiancé.”

A lazy smile crossed his lips. “I like your family. They’re cool.”

“What about your family? What are they going to think when they hear the news.”

He chuckled. “Well, you know Gran. I’m sure your aunt has already called her up with the inside scoop.”

“What about your parents or your…” Step-siblings? Half-siblings? Rather than prying into his obvious discomfort, I simply said, “Or their kids?”

The smile fell. “I don’t talk to them.”

“Just Gran?”

He reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Just Gran.”

Downtown Falls Creek was lively for a small town on a fall weekend. The patio at The Copper Mule was packed. Every parking space was taken, and a cover band worked through the hits of Journey, Pat Benatar, and Wilson Phillips.

Cal veered into his driveway and parked. He opened my door and waited patiently as I stood and straightened out my dress. We walked down the sidewalk, hand-in-hand, while the entire town whispered behind our backs.

There were rumors that I was a mail-order bride. Rumors that I was his secret ex-wife and we were trying to make it work. Rumors that we had been high school sweethearts and that I had gone into witness protection for a decade before reconnecting with him. There was also speculation that I was a dominatrix, and he had a secret affinity for pain and humiliation.

A hay bale maze had been set up for kids to run through, and a local orchard had a pop-up tent where caramel apples and cups of hot cider were flying out. Judges examined rows of pumpkins decorated by elementary school kids.

We said polite hellos as we crossed the street, heading for the little park across from The Copper Mule. String lights glowed overhead, draped from the top of the gazebo.

“It’s pretty, all lit up like this,” I said as I hooked my arm around Cal’s, stealing some of his warmth.

“You should see it during the holidays. My Gran sits on the town committee that oversees the Christmas decorations. It looks like it belongs on a postcard.”

Christmas was still a few months away, but it seemed like it was coming way too fast. I had been stuck in a constant cycle of waiting for the next thing. The next step in my education. In my career. The next certification that would get me where I wanted to go. The next shift. The next call.

But for the first time, I wanted to stop the clock, or at least slow it down. The present—it wasn’t so bad.

The gazebo’s old wooden stairs creaked underfoot as we made our way up. Twinkling lights edged the underside of the roof, bathing us in a warm glow. Callum’s palms cupped my cheeks with the gentlest touch, and he kissed me.

It wasn’t heated and fervent like when he pushed me up against his living room wall. It was sweet and soft. “I think it’s funny that we both spent time here as kids and never met,” I said against his lips.

“I think I would have been in college by the time you moved from New Jersey,” he said.

“What about the summers?” I asked as I slid my palms down his shoulders to rest squarely on his chest. “I spent a lot of time at the bed-and-breakfast with my Aunt. Do you think we ever saw each other, even from a distance?”

Cal’s brow furrowed, a deep groove settling just above the bridge of his nose. “No.” There was conviction behind it. An intensity that I didn’t understand as a response to such a simple question. He shook his head. “If I had seen you, I would have remembered you. Someone doesn’t watch a shooting star then forget what it looked like.”

He slowly lowered to one knee. “Honey, trust doesn’t come easy for me. But I trust you. It’s one of the highest compliments I can give a person. You have literally pieced me back together. Being in the presence of your soul is healing. Every moment I spend with you, I find a hundred new reasons to be grateful that I met you. And I hope to spend an infinite number of moments by your side.” He reached into his pocket and produced the ring box. “Layla Mousavi, will you marry me?”

I didn’t have to fake the tears. My eyes were damp as he slid the ruby ring onto my finger. Quiet gasps echoed from all around as witnesses watched eternal bachelor Callum Fletcher ask me to marry him.

I draped my arms around his neck and planted one on him just because I could.

17

CALLUM

I jogged down the stairs, fastening my belt as I went. I was already running late for work, and I blamed the woman who slept across the hall from me. When we had gotten home after I proposed two nights ago, we danced around each other for a moment before retiring to our separate rooms. I didn’t know what would happen if my Gran stopped by, snooped around upstairs, and questioned why we were sleeping in separate beds. Maybe I’d just say she got exposed to a patient with a wildly contagious virus at work and was isolating as a precaution. That was believable, right?

But that was a problem for another day.

I had been tossing and turning for two nights straight, staring at the ceiling fan, wondering if she was doing the same thing.

I kept one ear on dispatch while I was on shift, working through mountain after mountain of paperwork. Layla and the AirCare team responded to more jurisdictions than just Falls Creek. I didn’t tell her, but I had downloaded a handy little app that let me track aircrafts in real-time just so I could see where she was heading. The bags under my eyes were compliments of lying awake in bed, watching a tiny blip on the flight radar bounce from Virginia back to North Carolina and make a few loops from Greensboro to Raleigh to Greenville.

When my feet hit the landing, I found Layla asleep on the couch. She hadn’t even bothered with cereal this morning. Her flight boots were still on, odd since she usually changed into flip-flops or furry boots. She was still in her navy-blue flight suit, too. Their crew must have been running non-stop during the twenty-four-hour shift.

If I skipped swinging by the Mule for a to-go breakfast and scrounged up a day-old Krispy Kreme at the station, I’d have a few minutes to spare.

My leg sported only a dull ache today as I bent at the knees and scooped Layla into my arms. It had hurt like hell the first few times I carried her up, but not so much anymore. A roll of medical tape, a pair of trauma shears, and a permanent marker fell out of one of the pockets.

Layla groaned and raised her sleep-laden eyelids. Black hair spilled out of the reckless braid she had tied it in. “Cal?”

“Yeah, honey?”

Her eyelids closed again. “Why’re you doing this?”

For the life of me, I didn’t know. She had stuck her neck out for me. Making sure she made it into an actual bed seemed like the least I could do.

“You need sleep.”

“You shouldn’t be lifting me. Not with your leg.” Her protest didn’t carry much weight when she tucked further into my chest. It couldn’t have been comfortable for her. Not with my radio pressing into her temple and the thirty pounds of equipment on my belt pressing into her side.

I thought back to the first time I had carried her up the stairs. The radiating pain in my leg had hurt like a motherfucker. Still, every time I found her asleep on the couch, not having made it up the stairs after her shift, I carried her. It got a little easier each time—knowing how to anticipate the discomfort and ache. But lately, it hadn’t hurt at all.

Layla’s breathing had steadied again like she had fallen back asleep in my arms. Instead of turning left into the guest room, I turned right. My bed was nicer. Bigger. At least that’s the bullshit I told myself when I laid her in it and started unlacing her boots.

I hoped she was wearing something under the Nomex suit. Another part of me, a darker part that I didn’t like to acknowledge, hoped she was completely naked under the blue fabric. She was a fucking stunner. Sexy as hell thighs, tits like a dream, and an ass that I wanted to squeeze. And that was just my observation when she was clothed. My curiosity was satisfied when I peeled the flight suit away and found her in a cotton long-sleeved shirt and a pair of leggings.

“Cal,” she listlessly argued. “You don’t have to…” she drifted off again. Layla probably hadn’t even needed to pop melatonin to fall asleep today.

I pulled the thick comforter around her and added a quilt for good measure. She was long gone into a sleep-filled abyss. I gathered her boots and flight suit and carried them over to her room. After fishing her phone out of her suit and carrying it back to where she was, I plugged it in, set it on the bedside table, closed the door behind me, and went to work.

* * *

“Gran?” I called out as I rapped my knuckles on the side door of my grandmother’s butter-yellow cottage. The exterior paint choice was fitting, given her uncanny resemblance to Paula Deen.

Layla was going out to dinner with her friend, Beth, so I made an overdue stop on my way home from work to see Gran.

“Back here!” Gran hollered from one of her flower beds. I followed the sound of her voice and found her kneeling on a piece of foam, stabbing at the dirt with a trowel.

“Gran,” I said with a laugh. “What are you doing?”

She propped dirt-caked hands on her hips. The Tarheels sweatshirt she was in was filthy. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m putting in bulbs for the spring. These tulips aren’t gonna plant themselves.”

I knelt beside her and took the trowel, digging out a path of dirt while she dropped tulip bulbs in a neat row. “You should've called me. I would have come over yesterday and gotten them in for you.”

Gran snorted. “And take you away from your fiancé the day after you proposed? I think not, Callum Anthony Fletcher. You have better things to be doing than treating me like a helpless old lady who can’t plant her own fucking garden.”

I loved Gran for a myriad of reasons—one being her love of a well-placed F-bomb.

“We both had to work yesterday,” I said. “And you know damn well I’ll drop anything to come help you out.”

She patted my arm with a weathered hand. “I know, dear.” She dropped a few more bulbs in before adding, “But it’s not like I was sweating out here all day. I’ve been on the phone with Sepideh for most of the day, planning your engagement party.”

I choked on my tongue. “Engagement party?” That was not part of the plan. The plan was to fake propose to Layla, live together until her apartment was renovated, then break it off after the date auction. That would've given me an entire year to come up with a more permanent solution to avoid Brandie Jean. Parties and socialization were not in my plan.

“Don’t act like a Neanderthal. I raised you better than that,” she sniffed as she wiped her hands on her jeans. “Of course there will be an engagement party. How else will the town celebrate? Sepideh said the bed and breakfast is open tomorrow night. You and Layla don’t have to do a thing. Just show up and act surprised.”

“Gran,” I said with a sigh. She meant well—she really did. But I was not the partying type.

“Don’t Gran me,” she huffed. “I love you. The whole fucking town loves you. Layla loves you, and you love her. Accept it.”

I didn’t doubt the first two, but a little bit of guilt bubbled up when she mentioned Layla.

“She’s a beautiful woman,” Gran mused. “The perfect match for you. Every good man needs a woman who’s way out of his league. And I mean way, way out.”

“And that’s what you were for Grandad?” I mused. “Way, way out of his league?”

“You bet your damn britches I was!” she said with a laugh that turned to a cough. “And he knew it until his dying day.”

My grandad passed away when I was in high school. It wasn’t long after the funeral that I had been sent to live with Gran. She was a grieving widow, and I was an angry, punk-ass kid. The two of us made quite a pair.

“And you two will give me some beautiful grandbabies to spoil the shit out of.”

“Pretty sure you’re not supposed to swear in front of kids, Gran,” I said with a chuckle.

“I swore in front of you, and look how you turned out!”

“Exactly.” I wiped my brow, smearing my skin with a swipe of soil. “I don’t know about having kids, Gran. I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“And why not?” she said with a whirl of her head.

“Well, for one, we both work a lot.” And we’re not actually getting married. But I didn’t say that last part out loud.

She blew out a dismissive breath. “Nonsense. No one expects you to raise kids on your own. That’s what you’ve got us for.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “You running a bootleg daycare out of the garden shed?”

She snickered. “No, smartass. But you’ve got Sepideh and me. Layla comes from a top-notch family. And you’ve got a whole host of Creekers ready to pitch in. Besides that, I know damn well you two won’t be like your momma and daddy. You’ll do better. You’ll do right by your kids.”

“That’s your son you’re talking shit about.”

“And I’ve walked this earth long enough to know that when someone’s a dumbass, you have to call them out. That’s exactly what I did before you came to stay with me. I was still angry from the funeral, and I turned it into some righteous indignation. Losing your grandad was the kick in the pants I needed to find the courage to say what needed saying. And my son needed to be told that he wasn’t doing right by his boy.”

I hadn’t been privy to that conversation, but I’d heard enough whispers as I bounced between my mom and dad’s houses to know that my parents were pissed at Gran.

My dad and Gran had mended fences over the years. Me and my dad? Not so much.

“I saw the picture in the paper,” Gran said with a wistful sigh. She sat back on her haunches, satisfied with a hard day’s work. “Cut it out and picked up a frame at the Dollar General this morning so I could put it on my mantle.”

One of the aforementioned Creekers had snapped a photo of me, down on one knee, proposing to Layla. She looked even more ethereal in the second photo when she kissed me. It ran as the front-page headline of the Falls Creek Gazette the next morning.

Today’s paper had a follow-up story with a grainy close-up of the ring I had proposed with. Next to it was a photo of my Gran and Grandad on their wedding day nearly sixty years ago. A much younger version of Gran beamed at her husband. Her hand lay on top of his, showing off the brilliant red gemstone set in gold filigree.

“You did good, Callum,” she said quietly. “Real good.”

My stomach churned, sending bile rising into my throat. I didn’t want to hurt Gran or disrespect the history of the ring. But she had given it to me to give to my future wife.

No one would have believed the proposal if I had given Layla anything but that ring.

As I got in my department vehicle and drove back into town, I thought about the words I had said to Layla.

Words about trust. About healing. About the goodness in her soul.

It was a good thing this engagement was a sham because Gram was right about one thing.

Layla was way, way out of my league.

I wish I could erase the hate in my heart. Hate for my own blood. For the people who brought me into this world. I wished I could harness even an ounce of her goodness.

Carrying her up those stairs each morning felt like part of my restitution.

But it would never be enough, no matter how much I wanted it to be.

18

LAYLA

Steam floated into my bedroom from the open door. The shower squeaked off, and the pitter-patter of water droplets faded. I looked back into the mirror and swiped the powder brush over the apples of my cheeks.

The bathroom door opened, and Cal stepped out. A thick towel was wrapped low around his hips. Dimples in his lower back winked at me as he bent at the waist while he toweled off his hair. His delicious Adonis belt was on full display. A smattering of dark hair covered his chest, trailing past his navel and disappearing below the edge of the towel.

Droplets of water clung to his skin. Gray eyes met mine, then trailed down the silk robe that was tied around my waist. “Bathroom’s all yours,” he said with a tip of his head.

I grabbed my dress, slipping the thin straps onto a coat hanger to steal some of the steam still lingering in the shower so the wrinkles would fade. The door to Callum’s room was still open. The moment I stepped into the hallway, his towel dropped.

He pawed around in his dresser drawer for a pair of boxers, unconcerned about the fact that I could see every curve and crevice of his magnificent ass.

Holy shit.

Even his ass had muscles. It was taut and tight, supported by two thighs that could have been marble pillars.

My lungs ached at the loss of oxygen as I watched him.

Callum grabbed a pair of neatly folded black boxer briefs and stepped into them. His already sexy rear end was made even more so, thanks to Calvin Klein.

I hurried into the bathroom and hung up my dress before the steam dissipated. The last thing I wanted was to be berated for having a wrinkly dress at an engagement party I had no desire to attend.

But Cal agreed—there was no discouraging his Gran and my aunt when they had their hearts set on something. And that something was an afternoon spent at the bed and breakfast with nearly everyone in town congratulating us on our sham of an engagement.

I added a dab of makeup to hide the circles under my eyes. Cal had carried me up the stairs again. Usually, I slept like a baby after he tucked me in, but not yesterday. He deposited me in his bed, stripped me out of my flight suit, and left it folded on my dresser. The small gesture of plugging my phone into the charger made my heart twist and clench.

I hadn’t worn the engagement ring since Cal had faked his proposal. It wasn’t practical to wear on shift, and it was far too pretty to get dinged up. But an engagement party seemed like an event where the ring was supposed to be worn.

I plucked it out of the glass dish that kept it safe on the bathroom countertop. I could have just as well stored it in the guest room, but it felt odd to hide it from Cal.

It belonged to him, not to me. I was borrowing it to keep up appearances. Appearances that had been getting rather gray and murky lately.

A grapevine of Creekers had whispered the history to me—it was a family heirloom that his Gran had demanded be returned to her when Cal’s parents got divorced.

I dismissed the intrusive thoughts and slipped on the ring before stripping down to shimmy into the dress.

Draped satin, the color of champagne, spilled over my breasts and hips and poured down to my calves. A high slit split the fabric clean up to mid-thigh. Dainty straps the width of a twenty-gauge needle held it up. I reached around, finding the zipper with my fingertips, and tugged.

Crap.

I tugged again. The damn thing was stuck. Sucking in a breath, I hoped that the third time was the charm.

No dice. It didn’t budge in the slightest.

“You ’bout ready to go?” Cal called from his room.

I wiggled the zipper, a desperate whimper escaping my mouth as I tried to close it.

“Lay?” He tapped his knuckle on the bathroom door. “You okay?”

“Uh, I’m good,” I lied.

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” I grunted as I yanked on the zipper again. Why did the designer have to put it down my spine rather than the side like a reasonable person?

The latch to the door clicked as Cal let himself in. “It sounds like you’re getting railed in here… Or giving birth.”

“In my experience, the sounds of how babies are made and how they’re born are pretty much the same.”

Callum let a hushed snicker slip while I tried the slow and steady method this time, attempting to coax the zipper up my back. Still nothing.

“Is it stuck?” he asked as warm hands found my hips. The fabric was thin, and I could feel every flex of his fingers.

I let out a frustrated breath. “Yeah. I’m just gonna change into something else.” Never mind the fact that my mom had picked out this dress at a boutique in North Hills, then stopped by the base while I was working to give it to me as a spontaneous engagement present. She would have a conniption if I didn’t wear it, but I wasn’t about to be a walking wardrobe malfunction.

“Don’t get your panties in a wad,” Cal murmured as his chest pressed into my shoulders. He swept my loose waves to one side and trailed his knuckle down my spine. The base of the zipper rested just above the curve of my ass. Warm breath curled around my cheek as he slowly slid his hand down each vertebra.

I shrugged. “Kinda hard to get my panties in a wad if I’m not wearing any.” The side of the dress fluttered, offering him a peek at some side boob.

His touch stalled, and he swallowed. “You shouldn’t tell me things like that, Layla.” His voice was hoarse. Pained, almost. He hadn’t taken his hands off of me. Instead, he rested them on my waist. After a moment of consideration, he pinched the fabric at the base of my spine and slowly closed the finicky zipper. Careful hands fastened the hook and eye that hit mid-spine. The dress was a daring number that showed more skin than my usual wardrobe of flight suits, leggings, and sweatshirts.

“Why not?” I said in a thready breath, trying to ward off the impending cardiac arrest if he kept caressing me with such tenderness.

Gently, he pulled my back flush against his front. Something thick and long pressed against my ass. “That’s why, honey.” His lips grazed the shell of my ear with each word. “This thing between us may be a sham, but I’m still a man—” his hands moved up, grazing the side of my cage-free breasts “—and you’re still a woman.”

I was going to need a defibrillator.

Shivers radiated from my shoulders down to my toes, and goosebumps sprung up across my skin.

“You’ll freeze in this thing.”

“I’ll be fine,” I stuttered. “Khale joon keeps the main house really warm. Besides, it was hot today.”

It had been one of those “gotcha days” where summer was making its last stand, bringing us bright skies and eighty-degree weather.

“But it’s gonna cool off tonight.”

“Don’t worry about me, Cal—”

He was already draping a thick leather jacket over my shoulders. It was a stark contrast to the barely-there dress. The black biker jacket was warm, heavy, and smelled just like him. It enveloped me like a bear hug, pressing down on my shoulders as I wrapped my arms around my waist and stared hard at my toes.

“I will always worry about you.”

But why? I was a competent, responsible adult. I wasn’t really his fiancé. I wasn’t anything to him except a temporary roommate.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” I clipped as I turned, pushing past him to grab my shoes.

Callum caught my wrist. His hand encircled it like a shackle, tethering me to him. My body jerked back, but he stood steadfast. “You live in my house. In my town. I will worry about you, honey.”

And with that, he let go and walked down the stairs.

The ride to the Ballentine House Bed and Breakfast was quiet. Cal kept a one-hand grip on the steering wheel while his free hand rested on the console between us. I alternated between staring out the window and fidgeting with a zipper on Cal’s jacket.

Cars lined the street in front of the Ballentine House. Khale joon had the front doors thrown open, welcoming anyone and everyone to celebrate with us.

And boy, did they turn out.

Cal and I hadn’t even made it inside before being accosted with well wishes and congratulations.

Bea Walker was the first to pounce with shrill excitement and nosey questions about our wedding plans. I reared back when she lunged for my hand.

“Thanks, Ms. Bea,” Cal said as he spread his hand across my lower back, stroking a calming pattern with his thumb. He seamlessly angled his body between hers and mine. “We should probably get in there and see my Gran and Ms. Sepideh before we make the rounds.” He punctuated it with a heart-stopping wink.

Before I knew it, he was lacing our fingers together and dragging me through the crowd. The fire marshal would have had a heart attack if he saw the crowd that was definitely over capacity, but he was too busy drooling over the buffet of pies Gran had made.

I followed Cal as we weaved through the melee. We dipped and bobbed around a cluster of busybodies from the Ladies Auxiliary. I swung my hip to the right, narrowly avoiding a s’mores station that I was determined to indulge in before we left. Somehow, we managed to steer clear of my mother, who was gesturing wildly with her hands while she talked to Estelle Gould.

Like a magician, Callum slipped out the back door to the rotunda off the side of the wraparound porch. A full plate of food and two champagne glasses were trapped in his hand.

“Alright,” I said, taking one of the glasses from him and downing it in a single swallow. “Show me your invisibility cloak. That was some seriously practiced avoidance.” I glanced back at the door. “Shouldn’t we tell your Gran we’re here?”

He grinned as he popped an hors d’oeuvre in his mouth—a small crostini topped with goat cheese, dried persimmons, and pistachios. “Don’t worry. Bea will spread the word, and there are so many people in there that everyone will think we’re visiting with everyone else. If this thing turns out right, we can hang out here for an hour or so, let the crowd dwindle, say a few hellos, then leave.”

I studied him with suspicion. “You seem like you’ve done this a time or two.”

He snickered as he stabbed a cracker into a smear of the pecan-crusted cheese ball. “You don’t live with Gran without learning how to survive town-wide parties.”

I stole the skewer of mini meatballs from his plate. “You know, one day, you’ll have to tell me about that.”

“Nothing to tell,” he clipped.

Before I could press him further, heavy footsteps thundered out onto the porch. Shane Hutchins popped his head out. “Figured I’d find y’all hiding from the Nosey Nellies.” He had made himself right at home at the buffet table, a mountain of appetizers and desserts teetering precariously on his plate.

Cal drained his champagne glass. “Come to congratulate us, Hutch?”

Shane snickered. “Sure, I guess getting engaged is cool and shit, but you know me. When your Gran drops by the station and says there’s a party with her food, I’m there.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cal muttered.

“Congratulations, Dubs,” Shane said as he gave me a stiff hug.

Another voice echoed across the porch. I turned and spotted Bethany Hale. “Um, sweetheart,” I said, turning to Cal. “You remember my friend, Beth?”

Cal nodded. “From the barbecue fundraiser at the fire station.”

Beth nodded as she joined the group. “That’s me.” She looked down at the engagement ring on my hand. “So, I see things have… Escalated.”

While Cal distracted Shane with a question about a call the department had responded to, I pulled Beth aside and tipped my head to the boys. Smiling through gritted teeth, I said, “You’re the only one who knows how and why this—” I wiggled my hand, showing off the ring “—happened.”

Beth glanced at Shane and nodded. Her gaze lingered on the sleeves of tattoos wrapped around his arms. “Mum’s the word. Got it.”

“Shane, this is my friend, Beth. Beth, this is Shane Hutchins. He’s a paramedic in town.” I made the cursory introductions, and Beth and Shane shook hands.

“Hi,” she said cheerily.

Shane nearly choked on his tongue as he took her in. It was adorable seeing the badass, former military man getting tongue-tied around a tiny ray of Hale sunshine.

“There y’all are!” The shriek from the bubbly, wannabe southern belle nearly shattered the windows.

Brandie Jean Palmer, in all her bubblegum pink and spray-tanned glory, pranced over to the four of us in sky-high stilettos covered in silver glitter. The shoes would have snapped my ankles clean off my body.

She snatched my hand with her manicured claws and studied the ring. “Well, well, well. The rumors are true!” I couldn’t tell if her excited squeal was sincere. All I knew was that she had scared a flock of birds out of a tree with the decibel. “Louisa Mae told me all about the big proposal while she touched up my roots.” She dug her fingers into the bleached hair piled high on her head, fluffing it out. “I’m just so happy for y’all! And I got you the perfect engagement present!”

Cal hid his fear well, but it was there, hiding behind his eyes. He swallowed. “Oh, we really don’t need anything, BJ.”

“Nonsense,” she said, rummaging around in her purse. She pulled out an envelope and handed it to me. I half expected it to be a gift card to a tanning bed. Or maybe a referral letter to her plastic surgeon. With terrified hands, I opened the envelope and pulled out the gift certificate to … a photographer?

“It’s for engagement pictures!” she said, clapping as she jumped up and down.

Beth snorted.

“I can’t believe you didn’t hire a photographer to document your proposal, Callum,” she chided. “So, I wanted to make sure you had pictures from the best of the best. Her name is Ashley. If you tell her I referred you, I bet she’d give you a deal on your wedding photos too! Now, I know y’all are busy bees, so I took the liberty of calling around and finding out your work schedules and already booked your engagement session time. It’s tomorrow!”

Someone needed to call a town meeting to discuss personal privacy.

Either this woman was the most oblivious bimbo to walk the planet, or she was … genuinely happy for us.

It was unnerving. Like at any moment, I’d find a bedazzled shiv baked into a pie. At least with what Cal told me about her lethal cooking, I wouldn’t be tempted to eat it.

We moved inside to mingle, accepting the congratulations that were forced upon us. It was odd standing beside Callum and watching him interact with the town. He knew everyone. And not just their names. He knew who farmed what, who was in poor health, whose kid had made the honor roll for the first time. He knew it all.

And he cared. Deeply. I saw it in the way he made eye contact, asking probing questions to get to the root of how people were doing. For a man of few words—a man who preferred solace—he was awfully chatty when it came to making sure everyone was okay.

It was his damn party, but he didn’t let it stay that way. For a moment, I wondered if anything had ever been just about Callum Fletcher.

19

CALLUM

“Hello?” I rubbed my eyes and tried to get the sleep out of my voice with a rumble of my throat.

“What the hell are you still doing in bed, boy?” Gran screeched. “You’re burnin’ daylight! I know I raised you better than that.”

I opened a bleary eye at the old school alarm clock on my nightstand. It wasn’t even six-thirty yet. I rolled over and closed my eyes again. “Blame the fools who had me for the first fifteen years of my life. Not everyone wakes up with the sun like you.”

Gran snickered. “Those idiots are wasting the life the good Lord gave ’em. We all get the same number of hours in a day. Use as many as you can.”

“I’ll remember that when I’m conscious.” A yawn escaped my mouth before I could ward it away. “You okay? What are you calling me at the ass crack of evil for?”

I had laid awake all night after the engagement party. Layla and I had come home, retiring to our separate rooms without so much as a word. I watched from my room as she slid the engagement ring off her finger and set it in the dish by the bathroom sink. My stomach turned into a shriveled prune as she took it off. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why.

It was just a ring—just a convenient solution to an otherwise annoying problem.

It was all fake. Right?

The boners sure as hell weren’t fake.

The minute Layla closed the bathroom door, I was unzipping my pants and sliding my hand into my boxers to fist my erection. I’d spent four hours with her by my side. Four hours of smelling her perfume. Four hours watching her laugh. Four hours where she would lean into my side and slide her hand across my stomach.

At some point during the party, she had gotten warm and shucked off my motorcycle jacket. All that exposed skin—her shoulders, the slope where her throat met her clavicle, her lush cleavage—was really fucking inconvenient when I needed to keep my flag from flying in the presence of her family and a hoard of Creekers.

Gran’s pack-a-day laugh broke me out of my haze. “Can’t I call you without needing a reason?”

“Sure, just not at six in the morning.”

“Fine, fine. I wanted to see if you and Layla could come by the Ballentine House today to talk with Sepideh and me about when ya wanna get hitched. She’s ready to clear the schedule so you two can have your pick of wedding dates. We just need to know when. You two won’t have to do a thing—we can handle it all. Just show up and say your vows.”

And this is where a convenient solution became wildly more complicated. Fake proposing to Layla got me out of the date auction pickle. Unfortunately, it meant we’d have to be believable enough as a couple to convince the town we were engaged without actually having to plan a wedding or get married.

And, yet again, I had a very temporary solution.

“Can’t. Brandie Jean… She, uh… She got up with a photographer and scheduled engagement pictures for Layla and me as a present.”

I had been planning on faking the stomach flu or explosive diarrhea to get out of the pictures. No one questions diarrhea. Now, BJ’s suspicious generosity was coming in awfully handy.

A few pictures were the lesser evil compared to making actual wedding plans with people who were none the wiser.

What a tangled web we weave when we first learn to deceive. The old Sunday School adage echoed in my mind.

But golden rules could be followed another day. Today was a day for solutions, not problems.

“Well,” Gran said, obviously satisfied that my day off wouldn’t go to waste. “That’s just lovely. You’ll have to get me some prints to put around the house.” I was just about to say goodbye when Gran piped up again. “You know, I bet Brandie Jean is devastated now that you don’t have to be in the date auction. Pity—your dates always raised so much money for the Widows and Orphans Fund. But I’m just happy that you’re happy, Cal. It means a lot to me to see a smile on your face. Watching you around town with Layla on your arm… Well, that’s the biggest fuckin’ smile I’ve seen on your face since before your mom and dad split up.”

I grunted something noncommittal as Gran chirped through her goodbyes. It wasn’t ideal, but I supposed now was as good of a time as any to start the day. My bladder thought so.

My feet hit the floor, and I yanked open my bedroom door, taking a turn toward the bathroom and running smack dab into soft skin and a tumbleweed of hair.

“Shit!” she squeaked as we collided in the narrow hallway.

Still slightly disoriented from my unwelcome wake-up call, I grabbed whatever I could to keep her upright. That just so happened to be her ass.

Her plump, tight ass.

My other hand fell on bare skin—her waist.

Her breasts were smashed against my chest. I could feel her nipples scraping against me. My dick throbbed in my boxers. Great. I’d have to jerk off again.

“Sorry,” she whispered in haste.

I held her right where she was. If she moved even a hair, my cock would spring to life like a jack-in-the-box, probably impaling her stomach in the process.

“Cal?” she said in a mouse-like voice. Her hands were plastered against my chest, nails pressing shallow crescents into my skin.

Without thinking, I mimicked the action, digging my fingers into the swell of her ass and squeezing.

A low groan rumbled from her chest. I could feel the vibration against my own. Her eyes were heavy, lips parted with labored breathing.

The hand I had planted on her waist had pushed up her threadbare tank top. Testing, I slid my palm up the side of her rib cage, teasing the side of her breast with my fingers. Her eyes fell shut, and she whimpered in satisfaction. Gently, I stroked the supple skin, enjoying the velvet feel against my hand.

“Callum.” Her whisper was desperate this time. A reverent utterance of my name. A plea.

I walked her backward, towering over her as the heavy weight of her tit fell into my palm. Her head made a thud as she pitched back into the wall. The pad of my thumb rolled across her nipple. Brilliant white teeth sunk into her pillowy lower lip. I pressed my pelvis to hers, rolling my hips to grind my hard-on between us.

Layla whimpered, begging with incoherent sweetness for more. I dropped to my knees in front of her, my hands on her hips, pinning her to the wall. My breath lingered on her naval for a moment before I pressed my lips to her soft belly. Slowly, I made my way up, forging a path of wet, sloppy kisses against her velvet skin.

I pushed her tank top up to her shoulders, baring both breasts for my pleasure. Pert nipples pointed at me. I sealed my mouth around the left one, alternating between sucking and teasing with my tongue. When I switched, I grazed the other with my teeth. Layla cried out in what could only be described as ecstasy.

“That’s right, honey,” I growled as I nipped at the side of her breast, leaving a faint mark on her otherwise flawless skin.

I was ready to throw her over my shoulder like a goddamn caveman, tie her to my bed, and fuck her until neither of us could remember our own names. Living with her was foreplay enough. Being close to, but rarely touching her? It was torture.

But not anymore.

I was on my knees for this woman—a place of vulnerability she didn’t even know that she commanded of me. It wasn’t something I would have done apart from her.

“Cal—”

“Right here, honey. Let me make you feel good.” I squeezed her thighs as I pressed my mouth to her hip. The scent of her arousal drenching her panties had me salivating like Pavlov’s dog. I trailed my finger down the crease of her thigh.

Goosebumps flooded her skin as she squeezed her legs together for a little more relief.

We jumped apart as the shrill ring of a phone shattered the moment. Layla gasped and opened her eyes as if she had just realized the line we had all too eagerly almost crossed. The ringing echoed from her room, a harsh reality check.

I didn’t want to let her go. The phone could ring all fucking day for all I cared. I wanted her leg thrown over my shoulder as I grabbed her hips and drove her utterly mad with my mouth on her pussy.

“I should…” She pressed her fingers to her lips, though we hadn’t even kissed. Her tits were still out, pointed straight at me, begging for my mouth. For my hands.

I stood. There was nothing I could do to hide the tent in my boxers. Layla’s eyes widened for a moment as she took it in, then looked away quickly.

“I should get ready to go,” she whispered and hustled into her room, slamming the door behind her. Her ringtone went silent, but she never answered the call.

A faint buzzing hummed from her side of the door. For a minute, I assumed she had switched her phone to vibrate.

Then she moaned my name.

“Callum,” she whimpered, the bed squeaking beneath her as she rocked. The sounds of her pleasuring herself were too much for me.

Bracing one hand on the doorframe, I slid the other into my boxers, fisting my shaft as I listened to the muffled sounds of her ecstasy.

Layla went silent, but the ambient buzzing continued. I worked my dick with frantic strokes, drawing myself closer and closer to climax. Every nerve in my body was on red alert.

My vision tunneled, then I heard it: Layla’s soft cry of sheer bliss. “Yes, Cal. Yes.” I came in my hand to the sound of her panting. It was wrong to have stood outside her door, listening to her get off on the memory of what we did in the hallway. Or perhaps the fantasy of what we could have done if her fucking phone had been on silent. But doing something wrong had never felt so good.

I looked down at the mess dripping from my hand. Shit. At least it was better than waking up to the aftermath of a wet dream. On silent feet, I padded to the bathroom and cleaned up.

* * *

An hour later, I jogged down the stairs in a pair of dark jeans, a flannel Layla said “worked” with her outfit, and my favorite leather jacket. I sat on the front porch and pulled on my boots. They were on the worn side of vintage—more like falling apart—but I didn’t care.

I didn’t know what Layla was wearing for the bullshit pictures Brandie Jean had wrangled us into taking. Probably the white dress she wore to the party or some fancy shit like that.

Heavy footfalls clobbered down the steps. I turned my head to look back inside and spotted Layla in skin-tight leather pants with zippers crossing the tops of her thighs. She had on a pair of matching black ankle boots with a small heel. Her slouched t-shirt was a soft gray, the same as some of the threads in my flannel. Her hair was curled into soft waves, brushing the middle of her back with each step.

She looked magnificent.

She looked lethal.

She looked like my every fantasy come to life. The way those pants painted her ass was downright sinful.

“Ready to go?” She stepped out onto the porch, eyes glued to her phone.

“Yeah. Got your keys?”

Layla didn’t look up, so I peered around her shoulder. One of her social media pages was open. A photo of a pretty blonde, a man with an angel wing tattoo, and a cute German Shepherd was front and center.

“Is he the former situationship you were talking about?”

I watched as she swiped into the comments and typed, So happy for you two! She punctuated it with a heart. “Yeah,” she said with a rasp.

“Who’s the girl?”

“His best friend.” She sniffed and pocketed her phone. “Not surprised they’re together. Just surprised it took them this long. He’s been crazy about her for forever. Hell—half the nights we spent together were him talking about Bridget. I was the listening ear. It started as a hookup, but the sex stopped after a while. He started opening up about her, then we’d just fall asleep together.”

I didn’t want to spook her—she was opening up about something for once. Still, I wanted her to know that I was listening, so I made a casual observation. “He needed companionship.”

“We both did. Still doesn’t mean ending it didn’t hurt. I figured swearing off men for a little while will help,” Layla said, then grabbed her bag. “Ready to go?”

I knew we needed to hit the road, but I wasn’t too keen on the cloud hanging over her head. Lucky for Layla, I had just the fix.

I reached inside and grabbed another set of keys. “Leave the purse.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

I stepped back inside and grabbed the two helmets I kept under the entryway table. “We’re taking the bike. Put this on.”

Layla eyed me warily, not touching the helmet.

A frustrated growl echoed in my throat. “Stop being stubborn and take the goddamn helmet.”

Finally, she grabbed it from me and followed me out to the side of the house where my Harley Fat Boy had been parked ever since my accident. My physical sadist—therapist—had given me the all-clear to ride, just as long as I didn’t have any pain. I wanted to hit the pavement; I just hadn’t had the chance.

“You scared?” I asked as I slid her helmet on top of her head and made sure it was secure. She told me she had never ridden before, mostly because of the accidents she responded to. Hopefully, I could help her let go of that carefully curated control.

Layla shook her head as I stored her phone and wallet in my jacket pockets. The apples of her cheeks had the lightest dusting of pink against her olive skin. Pretty as a picture.

“It’s not that hard. Just hold on tight and lean with me. Don’t fight the curves. Go with ’em.” I straddled the bike, and it roared to life. Layla stood a few feet away as if she was expecting it to turn into a velociraptor or some shit. I patted the back of the seat behind me. She wobbled as she threw a leg over the bike. I gave her a moment to get settled before popping the kickstand back.

“Put your arms around me,” I hollered over the growl of the engine. She held me like we were two middle schoolers at our first dance. I looked back and cocked an eyebrow at her. “Fuckin’ touch me, Lay. Arms all the way around me.”

She relented and pressed her front to my back. We rolled down the driveway and took off. Layla was stiff as we cruised through downtown Falls Creek, but once we got out onto the back roads, she loosened up. Her hips rocked in perfect time with mine, taking each twist and turn as it came. I opened the throttle and gunned it down an open strip of road. By the time I pulled into the parking lot at the Eno River State Park, her smile was blinding.

“How’d it feel?” I asked as I pushed the kickstand down, steadying the bike for her to hop off.

Energy buzzed off her arms. She was breathless but smiling. “Like I didn’t want it to end. I mean, it was a little scary. But fun, you know?”

I set my helmet on the seat and helped Layla with hers. “You’re always safe with me, honey.”

Layla looked at me through thick lashes. She had put on a little more makeup than usual for the engagement photos but still looked like herself. “I know.”

I rubbed away the goosebumps on her arms with a firm touch. “Wear a jacket next time, and we’ll go on a longer ride.”

She bit her lip to keep from smiling, but it didn’t work. “Okay.”

20

LAYLA

“Callum and Layla?” a female voice called as a car door slammed. We both turned. The photographer—a short woman with fire engine red hair and a t-shirt that read, tattoos, wine, and true crime, complete with blood spatter—hurried across the gravel lot to meet us.

A camera hung on a strap across her body, and a bag with extra lenses rested against her hip. “Hi! Hi! Hey! I’m Ashley! Wow! BJ wasn’t lying!” The words spilled out one on top of the other.

Callum slipped his arm low around my hips. His fingertips grazed my ass like they had this morning.

I laughed nervously. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

“Oh yeah,” she snorted. “BJ told me that y’all have insane chemistry. I can’t wait to get you two in front of my camera.”

“I hope this is okay,” I said, looking down at the pants I had pulled out of the back of the closet. “I didn’t know what to wear.” Glancing between Callum and Ashley, I shrugged. “We’re not super fancy, if you know what I mean.”

She waved a hand dismissively and fiddled with the settings on her camera. “Don’t even. You look like every man’s biker babe wet dream.”

Cal choked on his saliva, turning away to clear his throat. Part of me liked finding little things that set him off. We were both still buzzing from the sexual tension that had been interrupted this morning. I ran off like my tail was on fire, but the moment my bedroom door closed, I couldn’t control myself anymore. I grabbed the tiny bullet vibrator hidden in my room and finished the job. All I could think about was him pinning me against the wall by my throat and sliding his monster cock inside me.

We were playing with fire, and we both knew it.

But I had self-control, dammit. A little against-the-wall action wouldn’t sway me. I was going to stick to my sex-fast.

“Is this your bike?” Ashley asked.

Cal nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, don’t ma’am me.”

There was a hint of something in her accent that I recognized. “Are you from around here?”

She snorted. “Hell no. Irish-Italian by way of Jersey.” That explained the aversion to being called ma’am.

“Fairfield?” I asked.

“Close. Caldwell.” She eyed me curiously for a minute. “You?”

“East Orange.”

Ashley grinned. “I knew you were gonna be a badass. Let’s start here while we’ve got the light. Then we’ll explore the park a little. The footbridge is a favorite for a lot of couples.” She looked up from her camera and studied the bike. “Alright. Callum, I want you to sit on the back of the bike. Layla, you’ll sit backward. I want you in front of him with your back to the handlebars. Straddle Callum, and then we’ll get you into your first pose.”

Ashley gave the command as if she hadn’t just told me to hop up on Cal’s lap. Then again, we were supposed to be pretending to be a couple in love.

I could do this. I could straddle his Herculean thighs and not feel a damn thing. I could look into his stormy gray eyes and not want to sort out his secrets.

Cal and I had touched before. We had kissed. Maybe a little more than we intended…

I could do this.

I could straddle my fake fiancé and feel absolutely nothing.

“Layla.”

I snapped out of my haze. Cal was already back on the bike, leaving enough space on the front part of the seat for me to fit. “Right,” I said as gravel crunched underfoot.

Warm sun rays danced over his shoulders as golden hour lit us up in sunset hues. Callum offered his hand as I stood with my back to the photographer and swung my leg over the motorcycle.

Ashley jogged off to the side, shouting, “Okay. Layla, scooch forward just a bit and have your legs over his thighs.”

Callum looked away as I slid down the dip of the leather seat, my pelvis nudging against his. He grunted as I draped my legs on either side of his hips.

“Layla—arch your back and push your bum out just a little. Arms around his neck. Callum—put your hands in her back pockets. Lean in like you’re going to kiss, but don’t. Just let your noses touch.”

We moved with the enthusiasm of third graders getting seated boy-girl-boy-girl. Cal let out a string of curses under his breath but reluctantly slid his hands down the small of my back, right onto my ass cheeks.

“You look like you’re about to vomit,” I hissed as his nose nudged mine. The click of the camera shutter melted into the rustle of the forest. The trees were lit up in oranges, reds, and yellows. “Is touching me really that repulsive?”

He exhaled through his nose. If sarcastic breathing was a skill, Callum Fletcher had honed it to perfection. His fingers flexed inside my back pockets. “Do you think I was repulsed this morning?”

Ashley shouted for Cal to tip my chin up and give me a kiss.

“I’m far from repulsed, honey,” he said as he guided my head up with a crooked finger and grazed my lips with his. The simple touch of his lips to mine made his cock throb between us. The skin-tight leather pants I'd shrink-wrapped myself into amplified the sensation.

“Layla, put your foot up on the peg and rest your knee against Callum’s side,” Ashley hollered as she snapped away. “Cal, play with her hair a little.”

He helped me find the foot peg to put the sole of my boot on and took the opening to rest his hand on the outside of my thigh. With the other hand, he sifted his fingers through the tresses on the side of my head. This time, he didn’t need to be told to kiss me. It was soft and tender but packed the punch of a shot of whiskey without a chaser. My bent leg hid the fact that Callum had an erection the size of a Pringles can.

Ashley shouted a pose command, but it sounded like she was a million miles away. Cal brushed my hair off my left side and hooked his finger in the neckline of my loose-fitting t-shirt. He tugged, pulling it to the side and exposing the slope of my shoulder. His lips were warm against the top of my collarbone. I tipped my head back, hair spilling down behind me as his tongue darted out and teased a small circle on my skin.

I couldn’t keep my eyes open for another second. Ashley moved to the other side of the bike, chasing the sunlight. “Layla, put your hand on his shoulder so I can see the ring. Callum, whisper something in her ear.”

Daintily, I laid my hand on his chiseled arm, the ornate engagement ring on full display. Cal nipped at my earlobe, his stubbled jaw scraping against my smooth skin. His faint growl rattled my bones. “If you were mine, we wouldn’t be leaving this park until I had my cock inside of you.”

The expression on my face must have been exactly what Ashley wanted for the photo because she shrieked like a banshee and squealed, “Oh my god, yes! Ugh! You two are so perfect it makes me want to barf! Keep talking to her, Cal!”

Callum licked his lips, the intensity in his gaze making me feel as though I was about to be devoured. “I’d find a hidden spot and strip you out of these goddamn pants. I’d make you stand. Make you straddle the bike and hold on to the handlebars while I punish your ass with my hand. I’d turn it bright red and have you begging before I fucked you.” His breath danced down my neck in warm tendrils.

“Why are you telling me all this?” I whispered. “This is…”

“If you say ‘pretend’ one more time…” His gray eyes turned midnight black as he pinched my cheeks between one hand and forced me to look at him. “You don’t kiss me like this is fake.”

“I could say the same about you.”

The tic in his jaw as he gritted his teeth was a tale-tell sign that his self-control was hanging by a thread. Part of me—a rather large part, uncontrolled by the rational side of my brain—wanted to be alone with him when that thread finally snapped.

“You deserve more than a dirty fuck with a bastard like me.” His thumb brushed across the pout of my lower lip. “The things I’d do to your mouth… Your lips are like pillows. Sometimes I lay awake at night, thinking about what it would be like to squeeze your cheeks until you open your mouth, then rest my dick on those lips.”

“I, uh…” My brain turned to alphabet soup.

The moment shattered when Ashley hurried over, turning her camera to show us the raw photos on the tiny screen. There was no denying the chemistry or the sexual tension that pulsed between us. On the screen, we looked as though we were almost mauling each other.

“Y’all are naturals,” Ashley gushed as she moved us into a different set of poses beside the bike. They were the stereotypical couple poses—hugging, kissing, holding hands, and looking off into the distance. “When some couples get in front of the camera, they act like they’ve never touched each other before. You two are so comfortable with each other.” She chattered on as we stood and posed silently.

When Ashley was satisfied with the shots she got of us beside Cal’s bike, we headed deeper into the park.

“You were joking back there,” I said quietly as Callum and I posed on the footbridge. Wood slats wobbled beneath our feet, and the suspension cables bowed.

“Why would I joke about that?” he clipped.

“Because…”

“Because what?” His brow furrowed, and he stared at me with questioning intensity.

“Because,” I said with a sigh. “We’re on borrowed time. This has an end date. I’ve done the ‘benefits’ things before, and no matter how amicably it ends, it always hurts.”

“Cal,” Ashley shouted from the other side of the bridge. “Take your jacket off and drape it around her shoulders. Layla, just hold the front of his flannel with both hands. Don’t put your arms through the jacket.”

Cal shrugged out of his leather jacket and did as he was told. The same warm weight I felt before the engagement party rested on my shoulders. Our shuffling feet rocked the bridge. I squeaked as I teetered backward, but two strapping arms caught me around my waist.

Cal pulled me into his chest. “I’ve got you, honey.” His hand came up and cradled the back of my head. “I’ve got you.”

My heart ricocheted against my rib cage, and I wished I had fallen off the bridge. It would have hurt less than falling for him.

21

LAYLA

“Text me when you’re done, and I’ll come pick you up,” Cal clipped as he pulled up to the curb in front of a little bar in Hillsborough. I had promised Beth that I’d meet her for drinks after the engagement photos.

I needed to decompress with some seriously overdue girl talk.

I hopped off his Harley and pulled the helmet off, tucking it under my arm. “Beth and I can just grab a cab back to Falls Creek,” I said.

He popped the kickstand and let the bike rest on it. “If your head’s still hurting, just call me. I’ll come get you so you can come straight home rather than stopping by Beth’s first.”

Things had gone from hot and heavy, edging on pornographic, to downright frosty during the engagement photo shoot. Ashley had positively swooned over the photos she was far too excited to cull, while Cal and I avoided touching each other. When we got off the bridge, I told a little white lie about having a headache, hoping it would speed things along. Ashley, being the dear she was, flew through a few more shots of us in an open field, then called it a night.

“I won’t be out too late. I have to work in the morning.”

I glanced at the window of The Tipsy Goat and spotted Beth by the bar. She tipped her chin at me and lifted a hand.

“Okay.” Cal stuffed his hands in his pockets. I wasn’t quite sure what our parting was supposed to entail, but I knew for damn sure a handshake or a fist bump wasn’t it. But it was just Beth. She knew the truth. Then again, Falls Creek was a stone’s throw away. Creekers came into Hillsborough all the time.

The date auction was right around the corner. Cal’s Gran and my aunt were busy as bees, getting all the details finished. We had made it this far without anyone figuring out we weren’t really a couple. Now wasn’t the time to get sloppy.

I leaned in and pecked his lips. “Drive safe.”

The Tipsy Goat was a quaint hole-in-the-wall that featured local beers on tap and a wine selection far too pretentious for their sanitation score. The liquor bottles on the back wall were dusty and, as I watched the bartender dance between taps, mostly untouched.

It was the kind of place where the man-bun, mustache-twirling types liked to debate the merits of IPAs versus Lagers. Possessing hair long enough for a bun but lacking the handlebar mustache, I opted for a bottle of hard cider instead.

“Tell me everything,” Beth demanded when we settled into a corner table that gave us a good view of the other barflies.

“I’m in over my head,” I whined as I took a pull from the slick brown bottle. Evâ—it tasted like rotten apple juice and pee mixed with gutter water. I had exceptional disdain for the pieces of—oh, I hope that was pulp—gelatinous strings stuck to my tongue. My stomach turned.

Beth sipped her wine. She had braved the snobby bartender and didn’t show a hint of weakness when he scoffed at her request for chardonnay. “Let me guess. You’re falling madly in love with the man you’re pretending to be in love with?”

“I wouldn’t say madly,” I grumbled. “It’s just … he’s so…”

“Hot?” Beth said at the same time I said, “Infuriating.”

Beth giggled into her wine, dimples on full display. Half of the men and a handful of the women stared at Beth like they were waiting to see if we were just two friends grabbing a drink or two lovers out on a date.

I dropped my hand, putting my—Callum’s—engagement ring on full display. Already taken… Kind of. If I couldn’t get laid tonight, maybe Beth could. “He’s so hot and cold. One minute he’s carrying me up the stairs and tucking me into bed. Then the next, he’s completely ignoring me. When we’re in town, he’ll be sweet and gentle. Then today we had a house casualty where we ran into each other in the hallway—both half-naked—and nearly got completely naked. He goes out of his way to take care of the people in the town and me but refuses to accept that care in return. I just … don’t get it.”

Beth had drained her wine by the time I finished my spiel. She snapped her fingers at the bartender and had two more glasses placed in front of us.

I abandoned my rotten apple pee water and washed the gritty aftertaste out with most likely boxed, yet overpriced white wine.

“Have you asked him why he doesn’t want to date someone? I mean, I totally get why he wants you to keep him away from the human Bratz doll. It just seems like a lot of effort for something ending in a month.”

“No,” I said into my wine.

“Maybe that would be a good place to start. You know, if you actually wanted to do the Devil’s dance with him.”

I snorted. “How’s your brother?” I asked, changing the subject.

Beth snickered. “Still having a conniption that I moved four hours from home. Having even more of a conniption since I told him that I started seeing someone from work.” She rambled on about the hot professor she had gone on a few dates with. Told me about the long, intimate talks they had in his office after hours. The weekend staycation he surprised her with at a downtown Raleigh hotel.

She was smitten, and I was jealous.

Beth was getting all the firsts that I never would. The first date. The first kiss. Sure, Cal and I had pretended to have those things, but it would never be real, even if I let the molten feelings between us escalate.

“Oh my stars!” a piercing twang screeched. Brandie Jean strutted over with surprising skill, given how tall her heels were. “Look who it is! The legend herself!”

Brandie Jean invited herself to squeeze in beside Beth, who looked completely and utterly terrified.

“BJ,” I said, adopting Cal’s moniker for the five feet of teased hair sitting across from me. Beth looked rather uncomfortable as BJ’s right boob severely encroached on her personal space.

“Ashley sent me some of the photos she took of you and Callum,” BJ cooed. “You two should be in magazines or on billboards! I’ll give you the number for my talent agent.”

Brandie Jean had a talent agent?

“You two are just a match made in heaven,” she blabbered on. “I’m so happy!”

Beth looked at me, and I looked at Beth. Telepathically, we both agreed that BJ was up to something. But I couldn’t figure out what. She looked genuinely excited.

“Have you gone dress shopping yet? With your body, you could wear a paper bag and look ah-mazing!” BJ had her phone out, showing photos of wedding gowns to Beth and me.

This woman was crafty, I decided. She had the town so fooled into thinking she was a bimbo gold-digger that they’d never expect whatever diabolical plan she had up her sleeve.

“You know,” Beth began, hitting me with the side-eye that said, watch this, as she turned to face BJ. “It was really nice of you to arrange the engagement photos for Layla and Callum. Especially considering the rumor around town was that you were gunning to bid on a date with him at the fundraiser two years in a row.”

BJ laughed, either not taking offense or too dumb to notice when someone was making a jab at her. “Why wouldn’t I be over the moon for these two lovebirds?” She turned to me. “You and Callum make the perfect couple. It’s been a pity seeing how closed off he is. And he’s been like that ever since he moved here in high school. But with you, he’s a brand-new man!”

Well, that was an interesting tidbit.

“I didn’t want him to fall through the cracks like my sweet John did.” She swiped to a photo of her snuggled up to a man who had an eerie resemblance to Gandalf. “My John’s own family was too busy to pay him any mind, and he needed some help around the house. So, I started going over there a few days a week to give him some company and tidy up.” She slapped her hand on the table, startling Beth and me. “And wouldn’t you know it, we fell in love.”

Beth turned a little green. “Fell in love?”

Brandie Jean nodded fervently. “Head over heels. I didn’t want to spend a minute away from him. Sometimes we’d go on a walk in his power scooter, and he’d tell me stories, or I’d tell him what was happening on Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Sometimes we’d just sit and sleep in front of the TV.” She sighed wistfully. “That’s all love is—just wanting to be with someone and caring about them enough to stop being busy.”

Well, damn.

“I think Callum is a lot like me,” she said, stealing a sip of Beth’s wine. Beth looked horrified. “Callum is just too darn busy caring about other people, and he doesn’t know how to care about himself. Luckily, my sweet John made sure I treated myself once in a while. And now that he’s gone, I use every cent of what he left me to make sure everyone feels a little love once in a while! But now, Callum has you, and I can already see the night-and-day difference in him!”

I narrowed my eyes. “So … you don’t hate me?”

“No!” BJ gasped, looking absolutely horrified. “Not at all!”

“You don’t want to murder her in her sleep, chop all her hair off, and turn it into a wig?” Beth added.

“Oh, heavens no!” she gasped. “Not that you don’t have hair worth stealing. Anyone would be so lucky to have a wig made from your stolen hair. It’s beautiful.”

I sat back and drummed my fingers on the table, studying BJ with a discerning eye. I had a reliable bullshit detector, and not once had it flared when Brandie Jean was talking. Nor had it sounded when Cal was whispering all the dirty things he wanted to do to me.

“So, you’re really okay with this?” I asked, flashing the engagement ring. “No hard feelings?”

Maybe Brandie Jean wasn’t maniacal at all. Maybe she was just … nice. Her own misguided yet completely genuine version of nice.

Brandie Jean finished off Beth’s wine. “The only problem I’ll have with y’all is if you don’t get your cute butts out on the floor and dance with me!”

* * *

“You know what I’m thinking for your wedding dress?” BJ slurred as we spun around the floor that was more intended for pretentious conversations at library volume and less for dancing. The bartender glared at us for making a ruckus, but BJ had soothed things over by buying the entire place a round. She giggled, then hiccupped. “Feathers!”

“Yes!” Beth squealed, also a little wine-drunk. “So many feathers. Or maybe rhinestones!”

“Both!” BJ chimed in, jumping up and down.

I shook my head. The brick walls were looking a little swirly. “No feathers.”

“Sequins?” BJ chirped.

“Lace?” Beth giggled.

“Oooh! A train! Like a long Princess Diana train! And puffy sleeves! And bows!” BJ yelled. “Why have less when you can have more?” Brandie Jean Palmer—provider of endless wine and purveyor of half-baked wisdom.

“Ladies,” a deeper voice interjected. The voice was attached to a man whose jeans were far too skinny, boots far too hipster, and a man bun that was far too coiffed. Corded leather bracelets wrapped around his wrists. He looked like the kind of man who moisturized and used beard balm.

If Cal had a skincare routine, it most likely consisted of dish soap and a decade-old gray washcloth.

“Is this a bachelorette party?” Man bun asked.

“Ooh!” BJ shouted. “Bachelorette party! We should go to Vegas!”

Beth pouted and stared into her fifth glass of wine. “My brother would kill me.”

“Well, we can kill him, and we can share a jail cell,” BJ slurred, clinking her glass with Beth’s.

“To murdering my brother and matching orange jumpsuits!” Beth yelled. Wine sloshed out of her glass as she thrust it in the air.

“If you’re gonna murder someone,” I said, teetering precariously from one foot to the other, “Lemme in on it. Nurses know all the good ways to kill people and get away with it.” I pressed my finger to my lips. “Shhh! Don’t tell.” I think I meant to whisper it, but it came out as more of a caterwaul.

Man-Bun wasn’t perturbed by our antics. Deciding that I was the closest to sober out of the three of us—which was still pretty damn far from sober—he made me his mark. Man-Bun stood behind me, planted his hands on my hips, and tried to help me start swaying to the beat of the folk-rock ska bluegrass band that blared through the speakers. The song was dreadful and made me wish that someone had crushed the dreams of the teenage musicians who created the auditory sin—telling them that music wasn’t a viable career and that they should, instead, become accountants.

Accountants were nice. Accountants were quiet. Accountants didn’t create ear felonies.

I didn’t have a chance to tell him to stop touching me. All the chaos and noise faded away when a menacing voice growled, “Get your fuckin’ hands off my girl.”

22

CALLUM

Red. All I saw was red. One of the other guys from the department had texted me about three girls raising hell at The Tipsy Goat. Apparently, Layla had a crazy side that was fueled by Beth Hale. What I didn’t expect to find when I pulled up to the curb in Layla’s car was Brandie Jean Palmer in the mix.

I had just made it onto the sidewalk when hipster Paul Bunyan made his move, grabbing Layla’s hips and pulling her against him. The desire to rip him limb from fucking limb coursed through my veins like a lethal drug when he tried to grind up against her ass.

The door bounced off the hinges and slammed as I stormed in. Layla’s back was to me, but the look on that prick’s face told me that he knew he fucked up.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off my girl,” I spat as I crossed the room in two quick strides. My leg was almost back to one hundred percent. A few more weeks of physical therapy, and I’d be cleared for full duty again. But I was ready to throw away the idea of ever leaving my desk if it meant I got to punch this fucker in the face.

Unfortunately, he was the type to act all big and bad, then piss himself at the first sign of trouble.

“Whoa, man—” He raised his hands in surrender. “Didn’t know she was taken.”

I stepped between him and Layla. Beth stumbled over and pulled her away. “Yeah, I guess it’d be pretty hard to look at her hand and see that my fuckin’ ring is on her finger. Guess it’s pretty hard to open your fuckin’ mouth and ask before you put your fuckin’ hands on her body.”

With each step I took, he backed up. The coward. I was itching for a fight. “S-Sorry, dude.” He was on the verge of tears, and I had yet to lay a finger on him.

“Dude?” I scoffed with a laugh as I yanked his wallet out of his pocket and glanced at his ID. “Get out of here, you piece of shit. And if I hear of you stirring up trouble in these parts, you’ll have more hell to pay than mommy and daddy can afford.” I gave him a once-over. “Tanner.”

Tanner Blake Allen, of 3301 Governors Drive, Chapel Hill, ran out the door with his tail between his legs.

Fuck me. I lifted my ball cap and ran my hand over my hair.

“Uh, sir?” It was the bartender who looked utterly terrified.

“Yeah?”

He pointed to the very drunk BJ, Layla, and Beth, who had exploded into fits of giggles. “Are they yours?”

“One of them is,” I said as I handed him my card to cover their tab. “Don’t worry. No one’s driving. I’ll get ’em home.”

He gave a grateful nod as he handed it back. “And maybe see to it that they find somewhere else to have a night on the town next time they wanna go out.”

“I’ll have a talk with ’em,” I grumbled.

When I turned away from the bar, Layla and Beth were drunkenly slow dancing with each other while BJ had found a grizzled old timer to charm with an informative speech about the merits of Botox.

“Let’s go, ladies,” I snapped, motioning for the three of them to head out to the car. Thank heavens they went of their own free will, and I didn’t have to toss each of them over my shoulder like sacks of potatoes.

Three drunken women waltzed out, arms linked, singing an off-key sea shanty at the top of their lungs. I stuffed Beth and BJ into the backseat and made sure their seatbelts were fastened before turning to Layla.

She had the good sense to look apologetic. Not that she had anything to be sorry for. She was just out for a night with a friend—and for some reason that I had yet to figure out, Brandie Jean. Dear God, I hoped she kept her mouth shut and didn’t tell BJ the truth about us.

After a pit stop at an all-night drive-through, I dropped Beth and Brandie Jean off at BJ’s bedazzled house, their arms full of cheeseburgers and fries. The two of them promised they’d behave and go to bed after they ate.

Layla and I drove back to my house in silence. At first, I thought it was because she was mad I’d spoiled her fun. But then I realized that her silence was because she had fallen asleep on my arm.

I pulled into the drive and cut the ignition. The motorcycle helmet Layla had worn earlier was on the floorboard. I wasn’t worried about that tonight. I rounded the hood and opened her door, unbuckling her seatbelt and scooping her into my arms.

The walk from the car to the porch was longer than my usual route of carrying her from the couch up to her bedroom. With the first few steps, my shin throbbed. But with each accompanying step, the ache eased. By the time I fiddled the keys into the lock and opened the front door, I didn’t feel any pain at all.

I looked down at the woman in my arms. She slept without a care in the world. Her wine-induced snores were fuckin’ adorable. With silent steps, I scaled the stairs and slipped into her room.

“Cal?” she mumbled.

“Yeah, honey?” I was trying to work through the logistics of turning down the covers and getting her out of those vacuum-sealed leather pants.

She shifted in my arms, curling into my chest. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

I froze.

Layla sniffed. “I just don’t wanna sleep alone. I wanna know what it feels like.”

“What what feels like, honey?” I asked softly as I turned and crossed the hallway into my bedroom.

“I wanna know what being your girl feels like.” Layla yawned. “You called me your girl.”

“He had his hands on you,” I said as clinically as I could while I laid her down on my bed. Luckily, Layla unzipped her pants, wiggling her hips until the pants loosened. I tugged her ankle boots off and peeled the leather pants the rest of the way down her legs. As I folded them and set them aside, a whimper came from the bed. Layla had attempted to get her own shirt off and, in the process, had become tangled in the cotton. Her breasts strained against the barely-there lining of her bra. I forced my eyes away from her tits and pulled her out of the t-shirt prison.

“C’mon, Honey. Let’s go brush your teeth.”

Layla pouted. “Too tired.”

“Nah, cupcake. You’ll thank me for it in the morning. Brush your teeth and drink a glass of water.”

She hit me with pitiful puppy eyes. “Then you’ll let me sleep beside you? Every time you carry me up the stairs—” she yawned “—I wait for you to lay down beside me… And you never do.”

Fuck me sideways…

“Yeah, honey.” I sighed. “You can sleep in my bed.”

Reluctantly, she dragged her feet into the bathroom, where I supervised her brushing her teeth and washing off her makeup. I rummaged through her drawers, finding one of the satin nighties she fancied. While she used the bathroom and got into her pajamas, I checked to make sure the house was locked up.

When I walked into the bedroom, Layla was under the covers in the middle of the bed. So much for the nightie I grabbed for her. She had helped herself to one of my t-shirts. And fuck, that was hot. Dark hair was fanned across my pillows. I stripped out of my shirt, tossed my jeans into the corner, and crawled in beside her. I hadn’t even gotten under the covers before Layla was laying her head on my chest and wrapping an arm around my stomach.

Her thick eyelashes were closed. Not a worry in the world marred her perfect face. Her soft breasts pressed against the side of my ribs. Layla’s breath tickled the hair on my chest.

I wanna know what being your girl feels like.

Layla made me want things I knew I couldn’t have. But maybe just one night… Just for tonight… I could let myself hold her and pretend that this was real. That I could hold her goodness in my arms and not taint it.

That I could be selfish and have her all to myself.

But I didn’t deserve her.

I didn’t deserve any of this.

But for one night, I would pretend that I did.

I kissed the top of Layla’s head, allowing my lips to linger in her silky hair. She snuggled in closer as if she was one with my body. I shifted, turning onto my side and pulling her tight against my chest.

Lying beside her felt like heaven. It felt like every resentment I held tight was being slowly flushed out of my system.

Carefully, I tipped my head down and kissed her forehead, then the tip of her nose, then a soft brush of her lips. Because that’s all I could ever have. Stolen pieces of her.

* * *

I awoke to an empty bed. I could hear Layla frantically rushing around downstairs as she hustled out the door, already running late for work. AB, John, or whoever she was relieving from the night before would be pissed if she wasn’t there on time.

I lay in bed for a few more minutes, waiting until I heard the slam of the door as she ran out to her car. When I closed my eyes, I could still feel her lying in my arms. I could still feel her leg wedged between mine. I could still smell the faint aroma of her perfume mixed with wine on the pillows.

Layla was the most potent kind of drug—the type that had you hooked for life after just one hit.

I needed to detox.

Needed to redraw the boundaries.

Needed to remind both of us that this was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Not a relationship.

Not a connection that would last into the winter.

We were leaves turning from average green to bright yellows, becoming brilliant versions of ourselves. We were seemingly at the peak of our existence. But winter would come, and we would fly far from each other at the whim of the wind and weather.

Nothing lasted, especially not love. Especially not relationships. Layla and I both needed to be reminded of that.

I hurried through my routine of shit and shave before pulling on my uniform, fastening my duty belt, and hurrying out the door.

As I navigated my cruiser through Falls Creek’s bustling downtown, a small sedan made a half-assed rolling stop through a stop sign, then gunned it well over the speed limit, heading out of town.

I lit up my lights and sirens. I didn’t miss the way the driver slammed their hand against the steering wheel in frustration before turning on their hazards and pulling off the road.

I sat in my cruiser for a moment, running the license plate.

Fuck. Me.

I had just pulled over my fiancé.

And, being that this was Falls Creek, everyone had poked their head out of their houses, shops, and cars to watch.

I grumbled curses under my breath as I got out of my car, slowly approaching hers as if it was any ol’ traffic stop. Out of habit, I pressed my fingertips to the tail light, leaving a print.

When I made it to the driver’s side door, she had the window rolled down and was already shoving her license and registration at me. Layla took one look at me, eyes widening, then narrowing in disdain. “What the fuck?”

“Do you know why I pulled you over this morning, ma’am?” I asked, hands on top of my belt.

Layla’s lip curled. “Oh, don’t ma’am me, Officer Fletcher. What the fuck are you doing pulling me over? I’m already late!” She pinched the bridge of her nose and most likely immediately regretted yelling. That wine hangover must be a bitch. She had probably made a stop for the sports drink in the cup holder before trying to speed her way to the AirCare base.

“You failed to come to a complete stop at the sign, Miss Mousavi.” I pointed back to the intersection she had just driven through.

Layla’s knuckles turned white as she strangled the top of the steering wheel. “Are. You. Kidding. Me?” she hissed through gritted teeth. “The intersection was empty, and it was a right turn!”

“Failure to come to a complete stop at a stop sign or red light carries a one hundred dollar fine in the state of North Carolina.”

She clenched her jaw. “This is payback for last night, isn’t it? You’re pissed that you had to ride to my rescue, so now you’re giving me a fucking ticket?”

I gripped the lip of the window and leaned in. “My feelings about last night and you have nothing to do with my job to uphold the law and keep this town safe.”

“You mean your lack of feelings for me,” she shot back. The accusation hit me like a bullet.

A lack of feelings wasn’t the problem. An overabundance of feelings I didn’t know how to reconcile, on the other hand…

“Sit tight,” I clipped as I took her license and registration and walked back to my car. I could hear the whispers from the onlookers.

The entire town had come to a stop as I slid back into my cruiser. Tiffany stood on the patio of The Copper Mule, a tray full of food on her shoulder, watching me instead of doling out plates of biscuits and gravy. Christie Spellman, Louisa Mae, and Tammy Lynn stood on the stretch of sidewalk that connected the hair salon, the jewelry store, and the day spa, tittering amongst themselves. Shane and Elijah stood outside of the fire department, eyes on us, while they pretended to assess the rig.

Maybe it was a dick move, but no one was above the law. If the town saw me let her off with a warning, all hell would break loose.

They didn’t take a mile if I gave them an inch. They took a goddamn marathon.

We’d have a repeat performance of the time the Ladies Auxiliary decided that go-cart drag racing down Pate Chapel Road would be a good morale builder and money maker for their downtown revitalization projects. That wasn’t so much the problem as the fact that there was a three-drink minimum to participate. They claimed it made things more entertaining. The law disagreed.

I walked back to Layla’s car, her ticket in hand. She had a spotless driving record, and it was an easy ticket to get dismissed. When I peeked in the window, she looked like she was on the verge of detonating.

Her cheeks were flushed. Her grip on the steering wheel was lethal, and her lip quivered like she was on the verge of tears.

My heart seized into a brick.

Without a word, she snatched the ticket from me and tossed it in the passenger’s seat.

“Drive safe, Miss Mousavi,” I said without a hint of remorse.

“Fuck you, Cal,” she rasped. Without another word, she rolled her window up and eased back onto the road, heading to work.

23

LAYLA

I was going to kill Callum Fletcher. I barely made it to the base without bursting into tears. The gossip grapevine had already informed AB of the reasons I was late. Rah-Rah, the bubbly blonde who had once auditioned on TV for a professional football team’s cheerleading squad at the age of forty-three, gave me a wide berth as we went through our daily base tasks. Even Loki avoided me, staying hidden in his crate instead of risking the wrath of the thundercloud that hung over my head.

That thundercloud was the thought of my soon-to-be celestially discharged fake fiancé.

My twenty-four hours on shift went by rather uneventfully. We had a daytime call to the mall in Raleigh where a woman had tumbled down an escalator, breaking nearly every rib. When EMS scraped her off the tile floor, her torso was a bag of skin filled with pulverized bones. Odin flew her first-class to the hospital while I delighted her with an in-flight cocktail of the narcotic variety. Sweet Beverly gave us a ten-out-of-ten rating as we transferred her higher up the continuum of care at the hospital. Tones had dropped again around midnight with a flight to Mt. Airy for a motor vehicle accident victim that we delivered to Novant Forsyth in Winston-Salem. Fire, police, and EMS had the scene secured and the patient ready for us on the ground. Rah-Rah charted while I tended to the patient. By the time we transferred care and got back in the chopper, we had made a faster delivery than every local pizza place in Falls Creek.

I lay in my bunk, silently willing tones to drop again and again, but they never did. I wanted some kind of emergency call to distract me from thoughts of last night. Of this morning.

I didn’t give a fuck that he’d given me a ticket. Okay, so maybe I did. But that was the least of my concerns.

It was the way he barely made eye contact with me after holding me all night like I was the most precious thing in the world to him. It was the chill in his voice.

He could touch me, kiss me, and make me want him more than I had ever wanted anyone, but he couldn’t be bothered to fucking look at me?

It was the fact that Ashley had emailed me a few photos she had tweaked and edited as a preview of our engagement photo gallery. We were standing on the footbridge when I had teetered backward. Ashley had captured the moment like lightning in a bottle—Cal reaching for me and pulling me in. His hand cupped my cheek as I stared up at him with utter adoration. His gaze was intense as he held me, pulling my body against his with one arm while he held my jaw, tipping my chin up to look at him. It all happened in a split second, but the intensity of the moment… It couldn’t have been fake.

Why had I fallen for him? Was this rock bottom? The crash that reminded me just how reckless I had been?

I thought abstaining from sex would help my heart mend after the last cop wrecked it. I should have learned it the first time: you don’t have to actually be with someone to fall for them.

And I had fallen like a skydiver without a parachute.

Thanks to the handful of consecutive hours of sleep I snagged before getting off my shift this morning, I didn’t feel the need to pop melatonin. Instead, I swung into the Falls Creek Filling Station to grab an energy drink. Cal was off duty today, and I needed fuel for my fight.

The neon Cold Beer, Fresh Bait sign buzzed in the window as the door slammed shut behind me, bells clinking against the glass pane. I cracked the top and shotgunned liquid caffeine, tossing the empty can in the trash before getting back in my car.

I hummed, “Goodbye, Earl,” all the way home.

No—not home. Callum’s house. It wasn’t my home. I couldn’t let myself forget that.

Both his department-issued vehicle and his Harley were parked in their usual spots. He was in there.

I snatched the ticket out of the seat where I’d tossed it yesterday morning and stormed to the door. I hadn’t bothered to take my flight suit off or my boots. If the cops found traces of blood on it after I disposed of Cal’s body, I could claim that it was an occupational hazard of being a flight nurse. Hell, I had gotten covered in plasma earlier in the day when I spiked the bag and hung it. That’s flight nursing. Turbulence is a bitch.

I could smell bacon wafting through the chilly fall air. Cal had probably dealt with Muriel the pig yesterday and was getting revenge for the inconvenience of wrangling the pesky farm animal in the form of a BLT for breakfast.

I slammed the front door shut, rattling every windowpane in the house. The burner clicked off, and I heard the slide of a skillet across the stovetop.

Cal, in nothing but a pair of low-slung sweatpants, stepped into the doorway that joined the kitchen and living room. His posture was defensive—feet shoulder-width apart, hands in view, and unencumbered. His eyes tracked me, anticipating my first move.

I clutched the ticket in my hand, nearly ripping the paper with the vice grip I held it with.

I wanted to berate him for embarrassing me in front of the entire town. I wanted to rip him a new one for not even so much as texting me afterward. I wanted him to have reached out to make sure I was okay. I wanted to mean something to him. To be something more than a convenience.

My eyes burned with unshed tears. One look at him wounded me more than any words he could have hurled my way. I saw it written across his face—scrawled in blatant words like a billboard, mocking me.

I want you.

But, for reasons beyond my comprehension, his brain would never allow his heart to have what it craved.

He was a sick tease, dangling gentleness and compassion in front of me each time he carried me up the stairs. Every time he touched me. Every time he kissed me like all of this was real to him, too.

I loathed crying in front of people. Maybe it was a side effect of being raised in a home where emotions were practically forbidden. But I couldn’t help it.

“You have some fucking nerve.” My words were warbled. The tone only served to make me angrier. I was pissed that I couldn’t shove my finger in his face and chew him out without making a scene. All of it only brought more tears to my eyes.

Callum’s deep rumble broke on the first word. “Honey—”

“Don’t call me that ever again,” I choked out as I threw the ticket at him and turned to storm up the stairs.

Cal was on me before my boot touched the first step. The moment he reached out to caress my face, I cocked my fist and swung. Cal was faster, catching my forearm before I hit him. He shackled my wrist and slammed it into the wall behind me.

“Fadat besham, Asal.”

Three words paralyzed me. I am willing to sacrifice myself for you, Honey. It wasn’t that literal, though. Some sayings in Farsi tended to be exaggerated. But the real meaning cut me to the quick. I care about you. You’re important to me. I value you. I would put myself in harm’s way for you.

I didn’t want to think about the number of times Cal must have sat on the couch, practicing the pronunciation to get it just right. The gesture chipped away at my already fragile heart.

Callum pressed his forehead to mine. “You told me to not call you ‘honey.’ You’ll have to be more specific about which languages it’s prohibited in.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but he filled it with a kiss. It was punishing and cruel. He left no room for me to return the kiss, instead forcing me to take it and give nothing in return. When he finally pulled away, I was dazed.

“I will die for you, and I trust you enough to put my life in your hands,” he said, his timbre filled with gravel and dripping with lust. “But I cannot offer you anything more than trust. I cannot offer you what you want. One night sleeping in my bed won’t change that, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

I wrenched my arm away from Cal, pushing him as I made a move for the door. “I’m leaving.”

He spun, gripping the waist of my flight suit and pulling me back. “Lay—”

Tears sprang from my eyes. “Don’t you get it? You’re dangling fool’s gold in front of me, dazzling me with something that, in the end, is worthless.” I wiped the damp sheen on my cheeks. “You and your cheap words of trust and sacrifice.” I shook my head. “Don’t you get it? Trust and sacrifice is what love is, you dumbass!”

His touch stung as he wiped away the tears that were rolling down my cheeks.

“I’m not going to be used as a placebo. This relationship might be pretend, but my feelings aren’t.” I turned my cheek, looking away from him. There was pain in his eyes that I couldn’t comprehend. I couldn’t find the root of it. Couldn’t diagnose it. “At some point, I stopped faking it, and I started falling for the man that I know you can be.”

Cal did the one thing I never expected.

He hugged me.

He pulled me into his bare chest and wrapped his tattooed, bouldering biceps around me, cradling my head with wide hands. “Please don’t leave.” His cheek pressed to my temple.

“Why don’t you want me?” I cried in a whisper against his sternum. I felt as though I had been flayed. “How can you look at me the way you do and then treat me like I’m just another Creeker you have to tolerate? What you did this morning hurt.”

“Wanting you has never been the problem, Lay.” Callum peeled wet strands of hair away from my cheeks before peppering my skin with kisses. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. But I know that I can’t give you what you want. I can’t do relationships, Honey. Taking you the way I want to when I know I have nothing to give in return is criminal. I can’t let you go, but I know I can’t make you stay.”

I attempted to dry my eyes, but it was useless. “Tell me that you want me to stay.”

Callum shook his head. “I can’t, Honey,” he rasped. “I can’t do that to you.”

I rested my forehead against his heart. “Tell me, Cal. Tell me you want me to stay, and I will. But if you can’t do even that, then I’m walking out that door.”

I waited for him to release me from his arms. I waited for him to back away and open the door. I waited for him to offer to help me move out.

But he didn’t.

Cal had me trapped between the wall and his national park-sized chest. His forehead rested against the drywall above me, and his chest rose and fell as if each breath was a feat in itself. His lips parted as if he was on the verge of uttering the one word I wanted to hear most.

“Give me something,” I begged in a meek voice. “It doesn’t have to be everything right now. Just… Something. I need you to meet me halfway.”

He exhaled, releasing his pain into the universe. “Please…” Cal pressed his lips to the top of my head. His body trembled as he begged. “Please stay.”

I looked up, meeting him in the kiss. Callum’s hands frantically raked my flight suit, searching for the zipper. I yanked it down as he abandoned his search, using his hands to cradle my face instead. His grip kept my head pinned against the wall as I toed off my boots and shucked out of the Nomex suit.

I gave myself a mental pat on the back for showering before I left the base this morning.

Reverently, Cal slid his palms up my stomach, over the thin cotton stretched over my torso. My long sleeve shirt stuck to my sports bra like a second skin. A pair of cotton shorts were the only thing on my legs. I hooked my thumbs in the elastic waistband to wiggle them down, but Cal’s hands restrained my wrists.

“No,” he rasped. “Let me.” Cal dropped to his knees and slowly lowered my shorts. He pressed a kiss to the tops of my thighs, then the side of my hip. “So beautiful, honey.” His breath was warm on my skin. “So beautiful.”

Callum trailed a finger up the back of my knee, teased the inside of my thigh, and grazed it along the gusset of my panties. The back of my skull hit the wall with a thud.

As he rose to his feet, Cal helped me out of the tangled flight suit. I kicked it away and shoved his sweatpants down. “I want you,” I whispered as I wrapped my hand around his erection. “Please—”

“This what you want?” he growled as he pinned my arms against the wall and thrust his cock between my legs. His granite erection slammed into my pussy, blocked by my underwear. I yelped at the dull pain that radiated through my core, then whimpered as it melted into simmering desire.

“Cal—”

“That’s right, honey.” He thrust again, this time holding his cock against my entrance. My panties strained to keep him back. Cal rocked his hips, drilling his dick into me, and he whispered in my ear, “Keep my name on your lips.” He reached for the hem of my shirt, slowly peeling it up without his gaze ever leaving mine. “Tell me something,” he said, tearing my shirt over my head.

The bra I wore sported a zipper on the front. A half-smile curled up at the corner of his mouth as he toyed with it.

“Yes?” I said on a heavy breath.

Cal yanked the zipper down, my breasts springing free. “Tell me exactly how you want me to fuck you.”

24

CALLUM

Layla sucked in a sharp breath. I parted the halves of her unzipped sports bra and let her tits spill into my hands. She muttered something in Farsi that sounded a lot like a curse word when I teased her pebbled nipples.

“Tell me,” I urged her again.

“I—” Layla’s words died when I flicked my thumbs, giving her nipples a sharp tease. They were perfect—every part of her was.

“Wanna know something?” I kissed up the side of her neck, lingering at the paper-thin place where her pulse raced. I traced it with the tip of my tongue. “This morning, I fucked my hand while picturing you in those leather pants.” I dropped one hand and squeezed her ass. “You looked fuckin’ delicious.”

A soft smile accompanied by a sigh graced her lips as I kissed behind her ear. She turned to putty in my hands. I scooped her up, taking the stairs two at a time.

“You’re gonna have to tell me,” I said as I laid her down on my bed. I cupped the backs of her knees, drawing them up to bend before parting them. Her panties stretched tight over her mound. “You want me to touch you? I need to hear you tell me every dirty, depraved thing you want me to do to you.”

She pouted, giving me puppy eyes and wanton whimpers. But that wouldn’t work on me. Not this time.

“Where do you want my hands?” I asked as I crawled onto the bed.

Layla took my hand and hooked my fingers inside the edge of her panties. “Here.”

“Where do you want my mouth?”

Her cheeks were flushed as she looked away.

I cupped her jaw, turning her to face me again. “Nuh-uh. Use your words. Tell me where you want my mouth.”

She bit her lip, so I kissed it.

“There?” I murmured against her mouth. Layla shook her head, a devilish smile quirking up.

I kissed her throat. “There?”

She shook her head again.

I peppered her chest with kisses, careful to avoid her breasts. “Here?”

“Close,” she managed to whisper.

“What about here?” I asked as I scooted down the bed, tipping my head to kiss the back of her raised thigh. I kissed up to the crease of her leg, less than an inch away from the panty-covered pussy I was craving.

Fuckin’ underwear. Useless shit.

“No,” she clipped, tangling her fingers in my hair and drawing me up. I found myself face-to-face with her luscious tits. “Here.”

I pulled the left one into my mouth and had Layla’s back flying off the bed. She let out an animalistic moan that had me almost reaching for a condom. I slid my fingers beneath her black briefs, sinking into her warm pussy. Layla gasped. “That what you want, honey?” I slid two fingers deep into her sex and scissored them inside of her, alternating between stretching her and stroking her. She writhed beneath me, twisting in the sheets.

“Yes—yes—” Short chants of ecstasy spilled out of her mouth.

“What do you want in here?” I asked as I switched to give her right breast the same lavish attention. I curled my fingers inside her pussy. “Tell me what you want right here.”

“You—your—” Layla keened as I pinched her nipple between my teeth, teasing the pebbled point with my tongue.

“Say it,” I demanded as I pressed my thumb to her clit and rolled it side to side.

Her arched back collapsed, flattening on the mattress. “Your cock. Please—please, Cal—”

I ripped her panties down her legs and threw them across the room before reaching into the bedside table for a condom. Quickly, I shucked off my boxers and rolled on the rubber.

Layla sat up and wrapped her hand around my cock. “Cal?” She looked at me through thick lashes.

“What’s the matter?” I asked as I stroked her cheek with the back of my knuckles. So beautiful. So perfect. And what was I except completely undeserving?

She leaned into my hand. “Is this the first time or the only time?”

Truthfully, I wanted it to be the first of many. “It’s whatever you want it to be, Honey. However you want it to be.”

She kissed me, soft and sugary sweet. “Then we see where this goes?”

I knew what she was asking for, and I knew the likelihood of me being able to give it to her.

But I couldn’t let her walk away. It may have started as an engagement of convenience, but what I felt for Layla was terrifyingly real. I had never felt this… I didn’t know what I felt. All I knew was that whatever it was had me hooked on her.

I pressed my lips to her forehead. “I don’t want to hurt you if this thing between us doesn’t work.”

This time, she cupped my cheek. Her warmth melted some of the ice surrounding my heart. “But what if it does?”

“Lay down,” I said firmly.

Layla scrambled back onto the pillows. I hovered over her, teasing her slick entrance with the head of my cock. I notched it inside, giving her a testing push. I thrust in, filling her to the brim. Layla’s breathing steadied, and she went completely still.

The women I had been with before erred on the side of loud performances. I had never had sex with someone who went completely silent. It was… Erotic.

Every breath was heightened. Every stifled whimper amplified. Every twitch, every motion was front and center. She was laser-focused on feeling everything.

Her breath hitched when I slowed my thrusts and rocked deep circles against her clit with my pelvis. It was like living the moment in a movie when everything goes deadly silent right before all hell breaks loose.

Her brows furrowed. Chest froze. Hands fisted.

“You close, honey?” I murmured against her neck as I sucked on her sweet skin. I could feel the tell-tale flutters of her inner muscles massaging my shaft.

Layla’s lips parted. “Uh-huh.”

I kept up the same pace of teasing her clit while increasing the pressure as I pressed my other hand low on her belly. Layla’s lips moved without making a sound. Her eyes rolled back, and her body seized, every muscle tightening as nerves fired, shattering her very existence. I drove in hard, making her tits bounce with each thrust. My fingers dug into her hips, holding her down as she rode out the last waves of her orgasm. The way her pussy gripped my dick with each thrust was too much. Too tight. Too warm. She was heaven.

I grunted, holding myself deep inside her as my release pulsed into the condom. Layla was panting beneath me, dazed and utterly sated. I pressed my lips to her temple and closed my eyes. “You okay, honey?”

“Yeah,” she said on a heavy exhale. “I’m… I’m good. That was… Wow. Okay.” She closed her eyes, sinking into my pillow. “We can do that again. I’m game.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, collapsing on top of her. Her soft breasts pressed against my chest. As much as I wanted to go for round two, I had a feeling she and I needed to have a talk.

* * *

Layla came out of the bathroom as I walked back up the stairs. I tipped my head toward my bedroom. I hadn’t exactly planned on making someone breakfast in bed this morning, but I threw together an acceptable plate of eggs, toast, a little fruit, and coffee.

“May I?” she asked as she pointed to my chest of drawers.

“Yeah. Should be some clean ones in there,” I said, setting our spread on the bedside table.

Layla pawed around my t-shirt drawer until she found one that pleased her. Her nipples poked at the thin cotton of my old police academy training shirt. Sitting against the headboard, I patted the spot beside me where I had arranged a stack of pillows. “C’mere, honey.”

Layla sat a respectable distance away, giving me plenty of space, but I wasn’t having that.

“Get your fine ass over here,” I clipped as I set aside the mug I was sipping on. “I just had my dick inside of you. Don’t go actin’ all shy. You do that, and I’ll have to put you on your hands and knees and fuck the shy right out of you.”

Her lips turned to a thin smile as she eased into my side. I wasn’t having that either. I separated my legs, picked her up, and set her between them. Layla wiggled back, nestling her ass against my crotch.

“You okay?” I asked as I brushed her hair aside and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “Need anything?”

She closed her eyes, the tension in her body loosening. “You don’t have to ‘mother hen’ me, Cal.”

I frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You distract people from noticing you by going above and beyond for them. Your servant’s heart will make sure everyone else survives while you’re slowly dying.”

“Maybe I just like taking care of people,” I countered. There was an edge of annoyance to my voice. I didn’t like being called on my shit.

She wasn’t exactly wrong, though.

“I meant what I said, Lay.” I wrapped my arms around her waist and buried my face in her shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t do this. I don’t do relationships. I don’t do long-term. I don’t have room in my life to take care of someone else all the time.”

“So, you don’t have room for a relationship, but you’re willing to go all-out to fake one for a few months?”

“Real relationships are different. This… This isn’t that.”

“What makes you think the real thing will be different from what we do now? What would change?”

I laughed. “Well, for one, the whole town thinks we’re getting married. Do you know how many calls I’ve fielded from Gran, trying to get us to nail down a date?”

She snorted. “Probably half the number of calls I’ve gotten from my aunt and my mother, asking whether we want an indoor ceremony or an outdoor one.” Layla picked up my mug and stole a sip. “I’m not delusional. I know we’re not getting married. I’m perfectly aware that the engagement isn’t real…” Her voice softened. “But I also know that if we walk away from whatever this really is, I’ll hate every time I run into you at The Copper Mule and you’re with some other woman. You say that you don’t want to hurt me, but it will hurt me if I see you at the grocery store or at The Tipsy Goat. Every time we land at a scene and you’re there with the Falls Creek PD—it will hurt me.”

I sighed, knowing she was right. I didn’t want to see her around town with another man on her arm. I didn’t want to hear that she had gotten engaged for real. It would have been easier if we had remained strangers. It would have been easier if our only connection was the day she took my mind off the pain when I was trapped in my mangled cruiser. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“But it is. So, the question is if we’re going to tuck tail and run for the hills or face it head on and fight for something that could be really amazing.” She tipped her chin back, tucking it in the crook of my neck. “I see the goodness in you. Everyone does. It’s a damn shame that you can’t see it in yourself.”

That’s where Layla was wrong. I wasn’t living to be good. I was living to even the scales. To repay an endless debt. Sure, once upon a time, I assumed I’d get married. Have a family.

But I had subjected myself to a life of restitution. I couldn’t pull Layla into that. I couldn’t expect her to be okay with taking a backseat to the duty I owed.

“What happened to your… How did you put it? Your self-imposed celibacy? Your man-fast?”

“I thought if I avoided sex, I’d avoid falling for someone.” She kissed my jaw. “You and your cranky ass made me fall anyway. Might as well get some orgasms out of the deal.”

I chuckled, making sure her hands were free of coffee and breakfast food before flipping us and pinning her down onto the bed. “No arguments here, Asal.” I slid my hand beneath the hem of her shirt. She hadn’t bothered with panties. “Do you know how many times I stood at your door and wanted to go in?” I kissed the side of her breast. “How fucking hard I get when I go into the bathroom after you and smell your shampoo or your perfume? Did you know I heard you the other morning, getting yourself off?” I pinched her nipple. “Did you know I stood in the hallway and listened while I fucked my hand?”

She whimpered as I toyed with her body.

“We square?” I asked into the crook of her shoulder.

Layla hummed in satisfaction. “You’re paying for that bullshit ticket you gave me.”

“You can get it dismissed.”

She propped herself up on her elbows and glared at me. “You can pay for it. That’s the price of humiliating me in front of the entire town and making me late for work because you were uncomfortable with your head residing inside your ass.”

I slid my knuckle through her wet entrance and teased her clit. “I’m sorry, honey.”

Layla sighed happily. “That’s better.”

“You know what I think would make you forgive me?” I moved down the bed, leaving behind a path of sloppy kisses down her stomach. “Another orgasm.”

“Then don’t put your face where your cock should be,” she clipped.

I nuzzled my cheek against her soft thigh. “You don’t want me to eat this pussy? Because I’ve been getting off nearly every day to the thought of my face buried between your thighs.”

“No thanks.”

What the… Seriously?

I held her hips with gentle hands, lifting my head up to look at her. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t like it,” she blurted out defensively as she reached for the edge of the sheet.

“And why’s that?”

“You know, I’m not really in the mood for twenty questions.”

I rolled over, lying down beside her and pulling her into my arms. “Hey, I’m not gonna do anything that doesn’t make you feel good. But I still wanna know why.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away. Instead, she adjusted the pillow beneath us and tucked into my chest. “A boyfriend did it once in college, and it was atrocious. He wasn’t into it at all. Just kind of laid there and … licked. It was so uncomfortable and completely mortifying. He just kept popping his head up like a gopher every five seconds. Lick, lick, look. Lick, lick, look. I wanted to bash him over the head like whack-a-mole just so he’d stop. And afterward, he got mad that I wasn’t acting grateful.”

“What I gather from that was that he was incompetent and made you feel bad for his insecurity.” I kissed her head. “And you never tried after that?”

“No. If I was with a guy long enough to get to that point, I just told him I wasn’t into it.”

“Maybe you should try again with someone who knows what they’re doing.” I hitched her thigh around my hip, rocking my dick between her legs. “Because eating your pussy is one of my fantasies.” I kneaded her tit, teasing her nipple into a point before drawing it into my mouth. I sucked lazily as Layla whimpered.

“I haven’t shaved in like … four days,” she finally stuttered.

I released her tit and moved to the other one. “So?” I slid my hand between her legs and cupped her sex. “You’re a grown fuckin’ woman. A gorgeous one, I might add. I expect you to look like it.”

“Cal,” she whined, rolling her hips.

“You do whatever makes you happy in your own body. But as for me, I don’t give a shit if you’re bare or not.”

“Maybe another time.” Her eyes were heavy. The adrenaline that had been burning off her skin when she got home from the base had slowly fizzled into smoldering coals.

I cupped the back of her neck and pressed my lips to her forehead. “You gonna sleep for a bit?”

“Just a little.” She yawned. “I can go to my room.”

“Stay here,” I told her, gently rubbing her back until her breathing steadied into soft snores. “Right here.”

25

LAYLA

“This is AirCare One. Tail number: November-Eight-Five-Niner-November-Charlie.” Odin’s voice crackled through my helmet headset as we made a looping descent over the expansive Chapel Hill hospital campus. “Ready to land.”

“AirCare One, what is your S-BAR?”

AB patted the top of her helmet, letting me know that she was going to relay the situation, patient history, our on-scene assessment, and recommendation for the clinical handover.

My professional assessment was that this was the worst day I had worked in a long time.

We were en route with a pediatric patient who was flying alone. His mom was being transported by the ground crew to Durham while his dad was in a body bag. It was the aftermath of a gruesome vehicle-versus-vehicle. An SUV floored it through a light that had already turned red. The family, in their tin-can sedan, had already started making their way through the intersection. The SUV slammed into the driver’s side, killing the father and crushing the mother. The boy, who should have been rear-facing, was turned to the front in his car seat. The impact nearly snapped his neck. It was a tragedy and a miracle all in one. When the mom woke up, she would have to reckon with gratitude and grief.

The little guy was still and sedated as we descended toward the helipad. I double-checked the medication titration before parking my ass in the jump seat to land.

AB and I were silent as we headed to the EMS lounge to chart after turning over care to the emergency department. We had lost three patients today—a heart attack, an overdose, and a stroke.

Apart from the family that had been ripped apart in the blink of an eye, the OD patient weighed heavily on me.

She had been a college student. Her roommate found her passed out on their bathroom floor.

“I don’t understand,” the roommate cried. “She was on the Dean’s list. She had pledged to her top sorority. Everyone liked her. She has a boyfriend. Her parents are coming to visit next week. You have to save her!”

AB and I did everything we could. We ended up intubating mid-flight when she stopped breathing. Still, she coded before we landed and never revived.

Instead of getting dressed up for the Kappa Delta Lambda party this weekend, she would be in a casket.

The sun was just beginning to peek over the Chapel Hill skyline as we lifted off the helipad.

In the seat in the front beside Odin, AB snapped a photo of the sunrise. “I kinda wanna go home and go to bed. I kinda wanna go get good and drunk.”

Both sounded like viable options, but with all the calls we flew, I hadn’t slept since I showed up at the base at seven yesterday morning. I was running on a Snickers bar and my fifty-eleventh cup of coffee.

I reached into the pocket on the side of my thigh and pulled out my phone. A string of texts from Callum were at the top of the screen. He sent them around ten last night, but I hadn’t gotten a chance to look at them yet.

Callum: I’m trying to fall asleep and realized that I’ve never told you that I hope you have a good day at work.

Callum: So, I hope you’re having a good day at work, Honey. I’ll see you when I get off duty tomorrow night. Want me to pick up dinner from the Mule?

To anyone else, it wouldn’t have seemed like a lot. But to me, it was everything. Cal had yet to open up about why he was so opposed to relationships when he was so obviously cut out for it. My heart clenched as I typed out a response.

Layla: I need to sleep this one off. Hope your day is good. Only a few more days of desk duty.

Cal had been working hard to rehab his leg so he could return to his beat. Even though he detested it, he never missed a PT session and did his at-home exercises like a star pupil. I knew he was excited to get away from the mountain of paperwork drivel, but part of me wasn’t ready. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him pinned in his car, gasping and groaning as he battled excruciating pain.

Callum: You good to drive home? Heard from dispatch that y’all have been going all night. I can come pick you up.

Layla: I’ll be better after some shut-eye. You take care of the town.

* * *

I was not better after attempting to sleep it off. The cloud of misery followed me around when I woke up, and I puttered around the house. I had texted Beth to see if she wanted to go out, but she was tending to “office hours” with her professor boyfriend.

Office hours my ass.

And even though Brandie Jean had been kind of fun to get wine drunk with, we weren’t at call-a-girl-up status yet.

I resorted to crafting glitter pumpkins. I was going to decorate the front porch of Cal’s house, and he was just going to have to deal with the addition of festive seasonal decor. I was halfway through a futile attempt to recreate the ten-dollar faux pumpkins I saw at a store with fifty dollars of craft supplies.

Before I busted out the paint brushes, tacky glue, and metallic glitter, I threw my flight suit, Cal’s uniform, and a handful of towels into the wash. The machine buzzed at the end of the cycle as I was dumping silver glitter onto the side of one of the boujee white pumpkins I had overpaid for at the farm stand.

I should have just bought the plastic ones and saved my sanity…

But the frustration of the contagious disease of the craft world being all over my hands helped distract my mind from the last twenty-four hours. I finished putting the clothes in the dryer as the front door opened and closed.

“Hey—oh…” Cal stood frozen in the doorway, wide-eyed, as he held two bags from The Copper Mule. He surveyed the aftermath of my crafting chaos.

I hadn’t done much in the way of crafting since moving into Cal’s house. Usually, I just made paper roses out of old pages of sheet music or knitted a few rows on the blanket I was hoping to finish before I died.

But today had been … explosive.

“I’ll clean it up,” I promised as I started frantically tidying the tornado of glitter and glue that covered the newspapers I’d laid out on the kitchen table.

Cal, calm as ever, walked over to the kitchen counter and set the bags down. He caught me around the waist as I washed my hands, turning my body and pinning it against the lip of the sink as he kissed me.

His lips were gentle, kissing me as if he knew I needed to be grounded with physical touch. Callum wrapped me up in a bear hug, cradling my head against his chest. “Ran into Hutch at a scene right before I got off. He told me about your night.”

“I’m fine,” I sniffed.

Callum cupped my cheek, gently stroking it with his thumb. “Honey, none of us are okay after shifts like that.” His radio squawked with chatter from dispatch, and he reached up and turned it off.

“I’m good. I have a day off before I go back.”

“Layla.” His voice left no room for argument. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he swiped the pad of his thumb down the bridge of my nose, wiping glitter away. “What do you need, honey?”

“Cal,” I said, scolding him. “I thought we talked about this. I’m not a Creeker that you have to babysit.”

“No,” he countered. “You’re my…” His voice trailed off like he didn’t quite know how to finish that sentence. Truthfully, I didn’t either. Fake fiancé? Girlfriend? Temporary roommate with benefits? He pecked the tip of my nose. “You’re my girl. And that means I’m a hell of a lot more protective of you than the rest of the Creekers. So, tell me what you need, or I’m gonna go overboard.”

* * *

We convened in his bed, sitting side by side and eating takeout from the Mule while watching Mark Wahlberg, Charlize Theron, and Jason Statham plan a gold heist. Cal’s uniform had been tossed recklessly on a chair. I had grabbed one of his shirts and a pair of boxers, using the thin excuse that I didn’t want to walk three feet across the hall to get my clothes from the guest room.

“You know,” I said between bites of a fried green tomato spring roll. “When I said I needed a distraction, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

Cal looked up from the remnants of his shrimp and grits. “No?”

I gave him a smile. “I usually craft until my fingers hurt, then drink wine and cry in the shower.” I tipped to the side and nudged his shoulder. “This is better.”

“You know what’s even better than cheesy action movies and whatever the Mule has on special?” he asked as he cleared our takeout containers, shoving them back in the to-go bags.

“What’s that?” My eyes were glued to the TV. Charlize was about to show off her badass lock-picking skills and blow the boys’ minds.

In one smooth motion, Cal had me pinned beneath him. “Orgasms.”

I giggled as his stubble scraped the column of my throat. “I haven’t showered, babe.”

Cal paused. His eyes searched me curiously. A cautious smile painted his lips.

“What?” I asked, looping my arms around his neck. After rather ceremoniously falling into bed and saying to hell with our “pretend engagement” boundaries, I had started craving his touch more than just when we had to fake it for the town. He was a fast-acting drug, pulsing through my system.

“You called me babe.”

I chewed on my lower lip. “Is … is that okay?” When Cal didn’t say anything, I rambled. “I mean, I could have called you Pooh Bear—you know, because you call me honey.”

His sheepish smile broke in a blinding flash of white. “I, uh… I like ‘babe.’ I like hearing you say it.”

I reached up and stroked the short-clipped hair at his temples. Being pinned beneath Callum Fletcher was my favorite place in the world. “I really do need to shower, though.”

“Fine by me,” he grunted as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbed my ankles, and hauled me down to the edge. I squealed as he grabbed my hips and hoisted me over his shoulder. My chin hit the base of his scapula. With his stolen boxers riding up and giving me a nuclear wedgie, Cal had a front-row seat to my butt cheeks. He reached over and spanked my ass, caressing the sting away before smacking it again.

I was deposited on the edge of the bathtub and watched as Cal stripped off his shirt. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” He tossed it into the hamper. “I’m getting in the shower with you. Stand up.” Cal gave me an appreciative assessment as I did what I was told. He tugged me into his chest by hooking his finger in the elastic band of the boxers sitting low on my hips. “Good girl. Arms up.”

I obeyed, raising my arms while he stripped me out of the oversized t-shirt.

“So pretty for me,” Cal murmured as he tugged on my nipple.

I squealed and fell into him. He caught me with both hands on my ass, kneading and squeezing as his lips found mine. Heat flashed down my stomach and pooled between my legs. My skin was charged like a live wire. I squeezed my thighs together, aching for relief as he cupped my breasts in his hands, rolling my pert nipples between his fingers. I whimpered as he tugged. The quick bite of pain eased into mellow warmth.

“Get in the shower.”

“Cal—” I whined.

His smile was devilish. “Get in the water, and I’ll make you feel so good, you’ll forget everything.”

I muttered a string of rather unladylike profanities under my breath as his attention left me and focused on making sure the shower was at the perfect temperature.

I wiggled out of his boxers and stepped under the water. After setting our towels on the edge of the vanity, Cal was quick to join me. He grabbed my loofah and poured an absurd amount of body wash on the mesh. It grew into a massive cloud of suds that he worked over every inch of my body with gentle strokes. When I looked like the Persian version of the abominable snowman, he nudged me back under the spray to rinse.

I had come to realize it was how he showed love. He may not have known it, but Callum Fletcher loved big and hard. He wasn’t afraid to do for others what he would never allow them to do in return. I shampooed my hair at warp speed, so I didn’t hog all the hot water. We switched, him taking the primo spot under the showerhead to rinse off the soap that clung to his strapping muscles. I stayed on the steamy side of the small shower, letting the conditioner in my hair sit while I ran a razor over my legs. We swapped again so that I could rinse my hair.

Cal joined me under the spray, gently massaging my hair as he drew me into a kiss. Rivulets ran down our faces as we tasted, touched, and teased. He bit my bottom lip, giving it a firm tug with his teeth before sucking on it. I whimpered into his mouth and pressed my hips against his. Callum’s thick erection pressed against my belly—the root of it nestling against my clit. I tipped my head back, letting the water pour down my chest as he rolled his hips back and forth.

Fingers traced my pussy—teasing each fold, memorizing it like a map. “Wouldn’t it feel so good to have my tongue right here?” He pressed the pad of his thumb to my clit. “Or right here.” He slid a finger into my entrance and stroked.

His hand moved back, disappearing between the cleft of my cheeks. “Maybe you like this?” He teased the hidden pucker of muscle with the tip of his finger.

I sucked in a sharp breath, drops of water from the shower falling into my gaping mouth.

Callum groaned with barely restrained desire as he slid his other hand between my legs, slipping his fingers into my pussy. “You’re so wet. Dripping in honey.” He circled a thick finger around my walls, stretching and teasing. “Is all this for me?”

I could barely open my eyes. Could barely speak. He held me on the edge but never let me fall.

“Look at me,” he clipped, drawing his fingers from my pussy and bringing them to his mouth. He slid them between his lips, pulling them back out completely clean. A deep groan of satisfaction rumbled from his chest. “I need seconds.” Without warning, he sank two fingers into my pussy again, pumping in and out until they were coated. He pulled them between his lips again, sucking off my juices.

My nails dug into his biceps. I didn’t want an inch of space between us. “Fuck me,” I begged.

“With what, honey?” He teased my clit again. “My hands?” He fisted his throbbing dick and brushed the head against my slit. “My cock?” He leaned in, nipping at my earlobe. “Or maybe you wanna try my mouth? See what it’s like when a real man eats your cunt like it’s the best damn thing he’s ever tasted.”

“All of it,” I whispered.

Cal chuckled as he reached behind me and cut the water. “Greedy girl. Arms out,” he said as he reached for a towel and wrapped it around my torso. He grabbed the other for himself, wrapping it low on his hips. “Tell me what you want first.”

Blush painted my cheeks. I leaned in and kissed him. “That.”

Cal sent me back to his bedroom and ordered me to get comfortable. When he crawled up the mattress with irises dark as the midnight sky, I knew I was in for it. In silence, he opened the front of my towel, revealing every inch of me for him. “You’re so beautiful, Honey. So obedient. Open your legs for me like a good girl.”

I brought one knee up slightly in a shy concession.

Callum clicked his tongue in dismay before grabbing the backs of my thighs and pushing my knees up to my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut as cool air swirled around my exposed pussy.

His warm breath at the crease of my thigh was the first thing I felt. He left sloppy, open-mouthed kisses there as his other hand caressed my hip. The first slow slide of his tongue up my slit had my hips bucking off the mattress. He chuckled, dark and deep, as he held my hips down and circled the tip of his tongue around my clit. I bit my lip, tasting the copper tang of blood as I tried my hardest to stay still. Two fingers breached my entrance, scissoring inside me as he teased my clit with strokes of his tongue and little puffs of air.

Like a vagina virtuoso, he pushed the hood of my clit back with his tongue and slowly lapped at the exposed nerves with the flat of his tongue.

Heat and desire built low in my pelvis. “Baby—” I cried out as I fisted the sheets, desperate for an anchor. “I—I—”

Cal curled his fingers, stimulating some hidden spot deep inside. “Atta girl,” he soothed, never slowing his ministrations. “Come for me.”

His lips latched around my clit, offering deep pulls as I shattered. With his fingers still inside me, he cupped my sex, easing the crash from the out-of-body high I was tumbling down from.

Callum smiled against my pussy. “So good, Honey. You did so good. How was that?”

I collapsed against the bed, gasping for breath. “That was some performance.” My legs felt electric. The rest of me felt as though I was a million pounds. I didn’t possess the strength to move.

He placed a slow kiss on my throbbing clit before repeating the gesture up my stomach and sternum. “Sex isn’t a performance. It’s practice. You don’t perform medicine; you practice it. Because there’s always room to discover something new. To get better at it. To do it time and time again and always be excited by the awe of human magic.”

26

CALLUM

“Dispatch to 2-1-2. Reported structure fire at the Glen Forest apartment complex. Twenty-two hundred block of Woodland Road. Engine One and Truck three are responding, requesting units to secure the scene. EMS is en route.”

I keyed in my radio. “10-4. Unit 2-1-2 en route.”

Lauren sat in the passenger’s seat and shotgunned a coffee. It was my first day back to regular duty, and Chief Farnby had strapped me with the rookie, knowing I wouldn’t do anything too stupid with her under my tutelage.

“How’s the wedding planning?” she asked, tipping the cup back and draining the last few drops. “I ran into Layla the other day. She was picking up an order at The Copper Mule. The ring you got her is gorgeous. I hope Brad proposes with something like that.”

Lauren chattered on as I sped through town, blaring my lights and sirens to clear the way. Not that it helped.

Mr. McGillicuddy drove beside me with his window rolled down, shouting to find out what I was responding to so he could post it on the Falls Creek message board.

Lord only knows what these people would do if they knew they could listen to the police scanner. Luckily, very few of them were tech-savvy.

With a quick maneuver around Bobby Ray’s old farmhouse that saved me two minutes on the trip, I lost Nosey McBusybody and pulled up to the cross street where traffic needed to be re-routed. Lauren jumped out first, her sweet-as-sugar demeanor gone the moment she slid on her sunglasses.

“Uh, Fletch?”

I hopped out, grabbed a reflective traffic vest, and tossed it to her. “Yeah?”

She looked almost embarrassed as she said, “You’ve got a little…”

Before she could get the words out, Shane was pointing and laughing. “What's up, Officer Glitter? You channeling your inner sparkling vampire today?”

I looked down at the uniform I pulled from the dryer this morning. Layla had been thoughtful enough to toss it in with some of her things while she was…

Making fucking glitter pumpkins.

Over nearly every inch of my dark blue uniform, silver flecks danced in the midday sun, making me look like a human disco ball.

Lauren bit back a laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t notice it before we left the station this morning.”

I growled under my breath and banished her to traffic duty, then walked over to Elijah as he directed the firefighters heading into the blaze. Dense smoke filled the air. Charred ash floated around us like demented snow. The acrid scent of burning fiber, drywall, and wood bit at my eyes and nose. “Mitchell’s handling traffic. What’cha need from me?”

He tugged off a thick glove and wiped the sheen of sweat off of his face. “The burn seems to be contained to one third-floor unit, but we have two entrapments and one resident unaccounted for. The rest of the residents were at work or school.”

That was one of the things that I loved about small towns. Everyone knew everyone. In a situation like this, if we couldn’t get up with every resident, someone on site would know where they were or know their phone number.

“Hutch and the Band-Aid Box called in the medicopter just in case. We’ve got Odin landing across the street.” He pointed to the vacant lot in front of a defunct gas station advertising unleaded gas for less than a dollar per gallon.

As if he conjured it, the rhythmic thump-thump of helicopter rotors filled the air.

Odin did a pretty three-sixty as he set the bird down on cracked asphalt.

The side door rolled back, and the double door beneath the tail popped open. Layla, decked out in her navy flight suit and crisp white helmet, hopped out, dropping the gurney onto the ground. She had added a little decal to the back of her flight helmet. A set of wings with ‘WW’ in the middle.

Elijah snickered under his breath as he caught Layla pulling off her helmet and smiling at me.

“Don’t know how the hell you managed to land that one,” he muttered, shaking his head.

With only a few gawkers and not much in the way of vehicle traffic at this time of day, Lauren was fine on her own. I crossed the apartment parking lot, weaving between EMS and firefighters to get to the helicopter.

The moment I was within spitting distance, Layla’s eyes widened to saucer proportions, and she clapped her hands over her mouth.

I wagged a finger at her. “You’re in big trouble, Mousavi.”

AB, Layla’s counterpart for the day, nearly doubled over. “Well, shit!” She was heaving through her laughter. “This makes up for you not being in the auction tomorrow. I sure was looking forward to seeing BJ in a tizzy over you, but this is better.”

Layla had the good sense to look sorry. “I’ll take it to get dry-cleaned.”

A sharp whistle cut through the chaos. Firefighters, decked out in bunker gear, were carrying out two soot-streaked residents.

“Let’s roll, lovebirds,” AB clipped, grabbing a bright red bag out of the bay.

Layla blushed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

My hand brushed hers as we crossed the parking lot. I gave it a brief squeeze before dropping it. “You having a good day?”

She nudged my shoulder. “Better now.”

Shane and his crew jumped into action, receiving the victims in the back of the ambulance. AB peeled off to assess with Shane while Layla headed toward the structure in the event that there were any more patients. Shielded by the back of the fire engine, I grabbed her, pulling her into a tight hug. “Stay safe, honey.”

“You too,” she murmured into my collar.

I released her to go be a badass, laughing to myself as I watched her walk away, covered in glitter.

* * *

“Morning, honey.” I met Layla on the front porch, holding a mug of coffee that was shaped like a frog on a lilypad. Crisp fall air whirled around as leaves skittered down the drive. I traded the coffee for the duffle bag she had on her shoulder. “How was your night?”

“Two more flights after we left your scene with the burn victim.”

“You get any sleep in your bunk, or are you about to go upstairs and crash?”

“Shower, then sleep after I get my flight suit in the wash.” She leaned in and stole a kiss. “Someone decided to give me a very unprofessional hug and get glitter all over me.”

I smirked as I nipped at her bottom lip, giving it a tug that had her irises darkening. “Someone decided to be helpful and wash my uniform while crafting and made it look like it had been assaulted by a disco ball.”

A sharp wolf whistle from the street caught our attention. Miss Marilyn and Ms. Suzanne waved as they power walked down the sidewalk, arms swinging like they meant business.

“Mornin’, Officer!” Suzanne shouted.

I gave them a polite nod. “Mornin’, ladies.”

“Do you usually sit on the porch and drink coffee?” Layla asked.

“Sometimes.”

“And do you always do it without a shirt on?” She splayed her warm palm across my bare stomach.

I grinned. “Sometimes.”

She tossed her head back and laughed. “You are single-handedly keeping the sixty-five-plus Creekers in shape. You know that, right?”

“Those two have been power walking down this street for close to five years,” I said defensively.

She tapped her finger against her chin. “And how long have you lived in this house?”

I scowled. “Four years and eleven months.”

Layla gave my cheek a condescending pat. “Point proven.”

I held the door open for Layla as we caravanned inside. She toed off the fuzzy brown and white boots that kept her feet warm on the drive home and stripped out of her flight suit as soon as the door was closed. Her long legs spilled out of the dark navy as she kicked it off and unloaded her seemingly millions of pockets. Permanent markers, laminated cards, alcohol swabs, rolls of medical tape, shears, and power bars spilled out in every direction. She was like a walking first aid kit.

I finished off my cup of coffee, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of the frog mug Layla had picked out at the store. It wasn’t the only oddball mug that had appeared in my cabinet. The frog and pineapple mugs we bought while on the run from BJ weren’t the only ones stashed in the cupboard. A fox mug, a mug shaped like a dumpster that was on fire, a mug that looked like a stick of butter, and one that looked like a skull were crammed on the shelves.

While I was on duty yesterday, I stopped by the Falls Creek Mercantile and spotted a mug shaped like a squat eggplant that had Eat a Bag of Dicks printed on the side. I’d have to call up Mavis Taylor, longtime proprietor of tourist trinkets and irreverent oddities, and see if she would hold it for me until I could swing by and get it to surprise Layla. She’d probably get a kick out of it.

“What are you up to today?” Layla asked when she returned from dumping her flight suit in the washing machine.

Her foot hit the first step, but that was as far as she was going. I scooped her up in my arms and started up the stairs.

“What are you doing?” she said with a laugh as she snaked her arms around my neck.

“I’m doing what I do every morning.”

Carrying her up the stairs had started as an act of penance for begging for her to get on board with such a ridiculous favor. But after almost two months of carrying her up the stairs in the morning, it seemed almost sacred. A ritual of service that I was content to do simply because I wanted her to know that I cared for her.

Instead of depositing her in my bed, I made a tight turn into the bathroom when I hit the top of the stairs. I set Layla on the edge of the sink while I turned on the shower, made sure the water was turned to the toasty degree of hellfire that she preferred, and grabbed her a fresh towel. “Shane’s coming over in a bit. We’re gonna go on a run.”

“Enjoy your exercise.” She pecked my lips and stripped off her shirt. “I’ll enjoy doing not that.”

“You up for going to the fundraiser tonight?” I asked, holding the weight of her heavy breasts in my hand as she wiggled out of her panties. I gave her nipples a little tug. “I don’t have to do the date auction this year, thanks to you, but I figured we could still go.”

A flicker of something akin to sadness crossed her face, but she quickly hid it with her signature smile. “One last show for the town?” Her voice softened. “Tomorrow, you’re off the hook.”

Fuck. I hadn’t thought of it like that. Our original plan was to fake a break-up when the fundraiser had passed. Layla would move back into her newly renovated and felon-free apartment, and I would… Go back to life as usual.

I’d go back to an empty house. To a kitchen table free of glitter, yarn, vinyl scraps, fancy pens, and weird decorative tapes. I’d go back to eating alone. Sleeping alone. I wouldn’t find her zonked out on the couch with a bowl of cereal abandoned on the coffee table.

I’d miss her.

Her smile. Her laugh. How she warmed me from the outside in when she touched me. I’d miss waking up to her cheek glued to my chest, a dribble of saliva at the corner of her mouth. Seeing her straddle the back of my Harley. The feeling of her body pressed against mine as we zipped down the road, leaning into the turns.

The list of things I would miss about her scrolled through my mind on an endless loop while I jogged through town with Shane.

The list grew exponentially longer when I returned home and found her sleeping peacefully in my bed.

While we got ready for the fundraiser, I tacked on a few more things I’d miss about her—the smell of her perfume and the way she leaned in toward the mirror when she swiped on lip gloss.

Layla emerged from the guest room in a pair of tight skinny jeans and a thick sweater. When she met me at the bottom of the stairs, she was sliding the engagement ring onto her left hand. That ring was priceless, yet I never had a second thought when it came to putting it on Layla’s finger.

“I got you something,” I said as I held out a brown shopping bag.

She eyed the logo of the motorcycle shop that was stamped onto the side of the kraft paper. “You got me a present?”

“Just open it.”

She pulled out the tissue paper that the grizzled motorcycle club president had carefully arranged inside and retrieved the first item—a black leather jacket that was soft as butter.

“Oh, Cal,” Layla gasped as she fingered the sleeve. “It’s… Wow.”

I took it from her and held it out so she could feed her arms through the sleeves. It fit her like a glove, hugging her waist and cleavage like a second skin. “How’s it feel?”

She looked up at me with wide eyes. “This is too much.”

“No, honey. It’s not even close to what I owe you.” I trailed my finger down the seam at her side. “As much as I like the way you look with mine on, this one’ll be more comfortable when I take you on rides.” Before she could protest like I knew she would, I knelt and reached in the bag, pulling out the boots.

They had a small heel to them that would accentuate her mile-long legs. Laces crisscrossed up the black shaft, tying off where the boot ended at mid-calf. The front sported a handful of straps and buckles.

Layla sat on the second step while I knelt in front of her and slid her foot into one, then the other. I laced them up, then waited patiently while she adjusted the tension.

“How do they feel?” I asked while gripping the sole and feeling around for the fit. “They aren’t too big, are they?”

She wiggled her toes. “They’re perfect.” Eyes the color of cinnamon met mine. “I love them … I…” Whatever was on the tip of her tongue faded. She cupped my cheeks and kissed me breathlessly. “Thank you, Callum.”

I held her hand in mine as we made our way out to my Harley. Layla sat behind me like an old pro. The growl of the engine roared as we rolled down the driveway. Her arms snaked around me, holding me like a life preserver.

I wondered if she knew that she was mine.

27

LAYLA

“You’re bidding on something?” I asked as I sided up to Cal. He was hunched over a folding table, scribbling down his name on a clipboard. The basket up for grabs was a Red Cocks jersey, a football signed by T.J. Bryant Jr., and two tickets on the fifty-yard line for the Carolina-Rhode Island game in Charlotte this winter.

“T.J. Bryant is the man,” he said as he scratched out the name above his—another cop from the department—and wrote a higher bid. I almost asked who he planned to take with him when he won but stopped myself.

It wouldn’t be me.

Callum and I had agreed to explore the chemistry between us—primarily between the sheets—but neither of us had broached the topic of what would happen after tonight.

When I woke up from my morning nap, a voicemail from my landlord was waiting for me. My apartment would be ready to move back in within the week. I told myself that I’d wait to mention it to Callum when the fundraiser was over.

Maybe tomorrow.

Satisfied at one-upping his coworker, he dropped the pen on the table and righted himself. “Suck it, Jepson,” he said to no one, then smirked. “Those tickets are mine.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a pixie-like blonde sneaking behind Cal and outbidding him.

But Cal didn’t miss it. He draped his arm around my shoulders, a reassuring gesture as he caught the attention of the pretty woman. “You think you’re gonna steal those tickets out from under me, Miss Tyree?”

The blonde—Miss Tyree—looked barely legal. Her pale cheeks turned bright red at a little attention from tall, dark, broody, and hella sexy. “My dad’s a big fan. His birthday’s next week.”

Cal’s smile to her was soft—almost paternal. “Well, then, I hope you win, Caroline. It’s good to see you out and about.”

She looked like she needed a paper bag to breathe in. Her innocence was adorable. “Thanks, Officer Fletcher.”

He gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “I’ve told you before. Just call me Cal. This is my fiancé, Layla. Don’t know if y’all have met.”

“Nice to meet you, Caroline,” I said, shaking her doll-sized hand.

“I think we’ve met, actually,” Caroline said. “Well, I’m sure you don’t remember me—it was a circus. But you came to the elementary school for First Responder’s Day. I teach kindergarten.”

First Responder’s Day—the day that Cal had asked me out the first time, and I shot him down. Little did I know he didn’t actually want a date. He wanted something more.

Something that would turn into so much more.

Gran stepped onto the makeshift stage that had been erected in the middle of the Community Center gymnasium and tapped the microphone. She gave everyone the two-minute warning to find their seats for the main event—the date auction.

We dropped into folding chairs near the back of the gym. I unzipped the luxurious jacket Cal gifted me for a little more breathing room. The firm weight of his body warmed the back of my shoulders as he draped his arm around my chair. “So,” I said quietly as the town slowly filled up the remaining chairs until it was standing room only. “What’s her story?” I tipped my head to where Caroline was seated next to a couple who were most definitely her parents.

Cal pressed his lips to my temple while his fingers mindlessly played with my hair. “When Caroline was a teenager, she got real sick. Her folks took her to specialist after specialist to figure out what was wrong. Eventually, she was diagnosed with lupus and needed a kidney transplant. They racked up some serious medical bills while she was on dialysis. The thing about organ transplants—getting to the top of the waitlist is like winning the lottery. My Gran, your Aunt Sepideh, and the rest of the Ladies Auxiliary spent most of that year going door-to-door, handing out flyers with the blood type needed to be Caroline’s donor and information on how to get tested to see if they were a match. The Ladies Auxiliary and the town raised enough money to cover all of Caroline’s medical bills and make it where her mom didn’t have to work while she was recovering.”

I blew out a breath. Caroline hadn’t just been the recipient of a new kidney. She was the recipient of a Falls Creek miracle. People helping people—going above and beyond to care for their neighbors.

“Who was the donor?” I asked.

Cal shook his head. “No one knows. Not even the Tyrees. The donor wanted to remain anonymous.”

I cocked a curious eyebrow. “But it was a living donor?”

He nodded. “That’s all we know.”

Gran, dressed in a Falls Creek PD sweatshirt and a pair of blue jeans straight out of the ‘90s, stood behind the podium and welcomed everyone to the annual Widows and Orphans Date Fundraiser. The rules were simple: the bids go up by ten dollars with each paddle raised, and the time and location of the dates had to be submitted to the Ladies Auxiliary for safety. All the dates were to happen in public. And hanky-panky—Gran’s words—was strictly forbidden.

The first date was announced—dinner at The Copper Mule and a wine and painting class with Wyatt Jepson. Paddles all over the gymnasium shot up as bidders hooped and hollered over each other. With the eyes of a hawk, Gran egged on the bidding until it was well over five hundred dollars.

Every cent was going to charity, but I couldn’t keep my eyes from bugging out when the winner, Tommy Fraiser, spent well over six hundred dollars to eat at the Mule and paint sunflowers with Wyatt. The two men chest-bumped for their required date host-date recipient winner photo.

When a night at the driving range in Chapel Hill with Chief Farnby went for a grand, I nearly passed out.

“These people throw some serious money around,” I whispered to Cal as Willa Farnby planted a kiss with her bright red lipstick on Lester O’Malley’s cheek. They’d probably make it a double date with their respective spouses.

“It’s all in good fun,” Cal said. “BJ took it a little too far last year. I didn’t want Gran to have to change the rules or cancel it and ruin it for everyone else, so I figured taking myself out of the equation was the best option.”

I spotted BJ in the crowd. She was done up like her usual Brandie Jean self but had been behind the refreshment table, serving coffee and pastries all night.

Somehow, she had gotten her hair net monogrammed.

“I think she means well,” I admitted. “Maybe a little misguided, but she’s genuine. I think that’s rare.” People who refused to be anything but themselves were an admirable kind.

When a date with Clarence Wilkins—the Falls Creek police chief of forty years ago—came up, Brandie Jean’s paddle shot in the air. The woman dropped five grand for a night of bingo that was sure to end before six in the evening so that Clarence could get to bed. BJ was genuinely thrilled to have been the winner. Clarence, ever the gentleman, presented her with a bouquet of red and yellow flowers as she strutted across the stage and gave the old man a big hug. They took their photo and walked off the stage, arm-in-arm. BJ listened intently as Clarence rattled on and on about bingo strategy and the merits of dauber brands.

“So, this is it, huh?” Beth slipped into the empty seat beside me and sipped on a cup of hot apple cider.

Cal offered a polite nod. “This is it.”

“You gonna bid on a date?” I looked down at my program. “Elijah Fisher volunteered for a date this year even though he’s with the fire department. He’s kinda cute.”

Cal scoffed in feigned disgust. “Excuse me?”

I giggled and swatted his chest.

Beth laughed. “Hell no. No way I’d ever date a firefighter. Not with Austin being one. I’ve been around stations too much. I don’t even have a modicum of interest in those boys.”

“Good thing I’m not a firefighter, then,” Shane said as he dropped into the chair beside Beth. He craned over and gave Cal and me a chin tip.

Beth blushed and clicked the button on the side of her phone, hiding the string of messages from the mysterious professor she had been flirting with over text. “Pretty sure I can lump paramedics in with firefighters since y’all share the same station.”

Shane clutched his heart. “You wound me, Hale. Good thing I’m pretty handy at patching people up. Isn’t that right, Dubs?”

I laughed. “Are you trying to make me your wing-woman?”

“Well, I’m sure not asking Grumpy Gus over there,” Shane said, pointing to Cal.

Callum frowned. “I’m a great wingman.”

“Now that you’re tied down, you are. Before Layla, you were the worst to hit up a bar with.”

Cal stretched out his long legs, smirking. “That’s because ladies love a man in uniform.”

“Hey,” Shane clipped. “I did my time in uniform. Now, I get to kick back in my t-shirts and polos. Sure as hell beats finding sand in your pockets every day.”

“What do you mean?” Beth asked.

Cal nodded toward Shane. “Hutch used to be military.”

When Beth and Shane peeled off into their own conversation, I tipped my head onto Cal’s shoulder. The auction was winding down, just a few candidates left.

“Whatcha thinking about, honey?”

There was no use lying. “Just thinking about what tomorrow’s gonna be like.”

A sigh escaped him. His fingers stroked my shoulder with reassuring repetition. “You’ve done more for me than I should have ever asked.”

His phone, perched on his thigh, lit up with a notification. At that moment, the worst pain I’d ever felt slammed into my chest. Callum had set one of our totally fake engagement photos as the background of his phone.

“You made it easy to trust you,” he said quietly as he reached down and grabbed my hand. It was such a simple gesture to have him lace our fingers together and squeeze. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

* * *

The house was silent except for the repetitive chink every time I pulled a coat hanger off the metal pole in the closet. Cal was at work, leaving me to overthink what was next.

I was used to moving. Back when I was travel nursing, I’d taken assignments shorter than the time I spent pretending to be the future Mrs. Fletcher. I wasn’t leaving Falls Creek. Hell, I was preparing to move back to my own space. Still, it felt like I was leaving home.

The ruby ring sparkled on my left hand. I hadn’t taken it off after we got home last night. Usually, I would have slipped it off when I took a quick shower after we got busy between the sheets. But we didn’t have sex when we returned from the fundraiser.

There was a shift in the atmosphere. A change in the tide.

He stood behind me at the bathroom vanity, hands caressing my hips as I scrubbed off my makeup. He kissed up my neck, murmuring about holding me in bed. Then we did just that. Tattooed arms held me tight against his chest until dawn broke. When I awoke, his hands were cradling my head beneath his chin. He was asleep, but he wasn’t relaxed. Cal’s body was rigid as if preparing for attack.

I started with his temples, gently stroking the dark hairs that were buzzed down to his skin. I massaged the back of his head and his biceps. When I wrapped an arm around him, gliding my hand up and down in listless directions, only then did he relax.

The feel of him shifting and resting his head on my stomach would be burned in my memory forever. The man who held the town on his shoulders needed a soft place to land, to hide and rest.

Tears burned my eyes as I looked at the coat hanger in my hand. The lump in my throat nearly cut off my air supply. I dropped to the floor, heavy sobs gutting me from the inside out.

I loved him.

I loved his weird aversion to having multiple dishes in a house. The way I could pull a smile out of him even on his worst day. His grumpy ass before he had coffee in the morning. I loved watching him walk around the house with a towel around his hips.

I loved the way he loved.

Callum loved everyone sacrificially, even though he rarely liked them.

I curled up on the floor of the guest room because it was just that. A guest room. A landing pad. A temporary respite.

It wasn’t my home. Not for long, anyway.

My phone rang, and I dug frantically through the mess of clothes that needed to be packed. Gran’s name lit up the screen. I let out a slow breath, trying to quell the tremor in my voice before answering.

“Hello?”

“Well, hey, sweetheart,” Gran drew out as though my answering the call was a surprise. “What’cha up to today?”

I wiped the dampness from my eyes. “Oh, uh. Not much. Just some…” Packing my things because your grandson no longer needs me. “Just some things around the house.”

“Think you could spare a minute and drop by?”

That was odd. Gran was getting up there in age, but she was a hell-raiser, not Driving Miss Daisy. “Um, sure. What’s up?” I dumped a sweater off a hanger, rolling it into a log to be vacuum sealed in a giant plastic bag.

She sighed. “I took a bit of a spill and am havin’ some trouble gettin’ up. These old bones ain’t workin’ right today.”

I was already running down the stairs. “Have you called 911?” I snatched my keys off the little entryway table, grabbed my purse, and shoved my feet in the first pair of shoes I could find. I was out the door before she even responded.

Gran scoffed. “I don’t need no twenty-thousand-dollar taxi taking me to the hospital when I have a soon-to-be granddaughter right down the road.”

I peeled out onto the street, heading in the direction of Gran’s house. If she broke a hip, riding in my car would be excruciating. I made a complete stop at a sign—suck it, Cal—and fired off a text to Hutch.

Layla: 911. Gran fell.

His response was instantaneous.

Shane: En Route. Dispatch is calling Fletcher.

Thank heavens for small towns. I pressed the phone to my ear and weaved through mid-day traffic. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Shane is working today, and he’s on the way now. I have someone calling Cal.”

Gran snorted. “No need for all that fuss. You act like I’m the Queen of England.”

I laughed. “You’re basically the queen of the town. Might as well enjoy the perks of being smothered the way you smother everyone else.”

I arrived at Gran’s tidy one-story cottage seconds before the ambulance came rip-roaring down the driveway, spitting gravel behind it.

“Gran?” I hollered as I yanked open the screen door and hurried into the house. I’d only been here once—a dinner she insisted upon after the proposal.

“In here!” she called from the kitchen.

Gran was on the floor, slumped against the cabinets. She had managed to open the fridge and was eating cold chicken and pastry out of a Country Crock container.

I dropped to my knees beside her, leaving the door open so Shane and Missy could pull the gurney through. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Gran huffed as if it was all one big inconvenience. “Tripped on my own fuckin’ shoelaces.”

“What hurts?”

“What hurts?” she parroted with a cackle. “Sweetheart, at my age, everything hurts.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. So, this is why Callum was so tightly wound. “Rate your pain on a scale of one to ten.”

“Eight.” She shoved in another bite of pastry. “I just know they’re not gonna let me have so much as a cracker at the hospital. And when they finally stop starving me, it’ll be something low-carb and sodium-free.”

“Where is your greatest pain?”

She let out a quiet sigh, staring into the container of leftovers. “Seems like my hip. Tried to stand up and couldn’t make it.” For a moment, Gran looked her age. She was tired. Weary.

“Hey there, pretty lady,” Shane said with a broad smile as he strode in. I saw his eyes darting back and forth, assessing the situation.

He tipped his head toward Missy, who nodded. It was the silent communication that was learned after years on the job. You didn’t always want your patients to know everything that was going on.

“So, here’s how our date is gonna go,” he said, getting the gurney situated in the kitchen. “We’re gonna get you in this bed. Then, we’re gonna take a scenic ride to the hospital where you’ll get all dressed up in a sexy little number in blue that has a real low back. You’re gonna love it.”

Gran was too charmed by his antics to realize he had run through her vitals. It was a good thing, too. Gran, in her own surly way, probably would have pestered him about why he needed to know anything about her blood pressure, asked for a handful of Tylenol, and called it a day.

I hustled through the house, grabbing a change of comfortable clothes, some toiletries, a Whitney West book that was sitting by her bed, her phone charger, and her pill organizer.

“Layla, dear,” she said, lifting a finger as Shane gently loaded the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. “Do me a favor, will you?”

“Anything,” I said, reaching over my shoulder to beep my keyfob at my car. I took an empty spot in the back with Missy while Shane slammed the double doors and hopped behind the wheel.

“Call my son.”

I frowned. “Shane said dispatch is trying to get a hold of Cal, but he’s on duty. Might have his radio quiet if he’s dealing with something right now.”

Gran rolled her eyes. “Not my grandson.” She nodded toward her phone that I was keeping safe until she was settled in a hospital room. “My son. Callum’s father.” She pointed a wrinkled finger at the bag that housed her phone. “Tell him where Shane is driving us, then I have something to tell you. Something you need to hear.”

28

CALLUM

“You know, Callum. You just bring that sweet bride-to-be of yours over, and I’ll teach her how to make these for you,” Estelle Gould said as she stuffed a plastic container of banana muffins into my hands. I’d been sent out to the Gould place for the fourth time this week to check on Estelle.

Early in the week, she called in because she suspected someone was stealing the apples off of her apple tree. I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was probably just the deer. But, I took photos and made a show of writing up a report. Then it was the robot vacuum again. The third call was because there was a strange woman lurking around her driveway in a—quote—kidnapper van.

It was the Amazon delivery driver dropping off a present her grandkids had sent her.

Today’s emergency had been one of the property-damage variety. Someone had hit her mailbox, knocking it clean to the ground. I stifled a laugh when I saw the scraped paint and dented bumper on her car.

Dainty little Estelle had no business standing on the side of the road with a shovel to dig out a spot for a new mailbox. I promised her that as soon as I got off duty, I’d stop by Grady’s Hardware for supplies and come back to put in a new post.

“No sense in you missing out on time with your woman,” she tut-tutted as she walked me out to my cruiser. “Time is in short supply these days. Gotta make the most of whatcha got.” She patted me on the arm as we lingered beside my car. “It’s good to see you happy, dear. It’s all your Gran, and the rest of us have ever wanted for you.”

A mirage of memories from the first time I met Mrs. Gould spun through my head. I had been an angry, short-tempered teen teetering on the edge of a slippery slope. The day I moved into Gran’s house, Mrs. Gould had dropped by with enough banana muffins to feed an army. It was a good thing too. I was a growing boy with an appetite that could have bankrupted Gran.

Estelle thanked me for coming to investigate the troublemaker who had hit her mailbox, then shuffled back into the house. I turned up the volume on my radio after having silenced the endless stream of casual chatter so I could have a talk with Mrs. Gould about what constituted a real emergency.

I reached up and keyed in my radio as I backed out of the drive, careful to avoid the mangled metal post that used to hold the mailbox. “Unit 2-1-2 leaving 452 Pine Belt Drive. All clear.”

“Thank fuck!” Pamela, the dispatcher, shouted over the radio. “Do you realize how many people have been trying to get in touch with you for the last hour? I almost sent additional units out to find you!”

I eased back onto the road and headed toward the station. I hadn’t bothered looking at my phone. I wasn’t at Estelle’s that long. “What’s going on?”

“Gran’s in the hospital. Layla got up with Hutch to get EMS out there. She’s at the hospital with Gran now.”

Tires screeched as I did a tight U-turn in the middle of the road. I pulled my phone out of my pocket. One glance at the screen showed a million missed calls from Layla. I tossed it into the cup holder and gunned it.

* * *

The sharp burn of industrial cleaner and depression wafted around me in a toxic cloud as I sprinted through the automatic doors of the emergency department. “Doris Fletcher,” I barked at the girl behind the desk. “She was brought in on an ambulance. I’m her—”

Before I could get the rest of the words out, a voice I had sworn I would never hear again broke through the chaos. “Callum.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Slowly, I turned and met cool gray eyes. Gray like handcuffs. Gray like jail cell bars. Gray like mine.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I spat.

His face was impassive. Stone cold. “I received a phone call from your fiancé that my mother was in the hospital.” For a moment, a flicker of humanity crossed his face, but it was quickly extinguished. “I didn’t know you were engaged.”

“Don't know why you would think I’d bother telling you.”

“Callum,” he huffed, glancing around at the packed waiting room. He hated any situation that was out of his control. He gritted his teeth and hissed, “At some point, you are going to have to grow up.”

“Grow up?” I scoffed. “I have. No thanks to you.”

His eyes glowed like flaring coals. “Your mother and I did our best, but you… You were out of control.”

“I was a fucking kid,” I shot back.

“There’s no need to use that kind of language, son.”

“You know better than to call me that. You’re dead to me.” I shoulder-checked him as I stepped away from the front desk. I had been here enough. I could find Gran on my own.

My father whirled around and pointed a finger in my face. “You were the one who put me between a rock and a hard place! How do you think my teenage son getting arrested looked for my career?”

“Well,” I said with a caustic laugh. “Seems like everything turned out alright. You still have your career, and all it cost you was your son.”

“I did what I had to do!” he roared. “It was that or jail. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to be a fucking parent!” I shouted. The waiting room had gone quiet. Apparently, we were better entertainment than the recycled pharmaceutical commercials on the flatscreen in the corner. Heat flashed up my neck. “You sent me away when I needed you! I needed you to get mad at me because I messed up. At least that would’ve shown me you cared.” I stabbed my finger at his impeccably crisp button-down. “But you did what you always did. You worried about the optics. You stayed calm, got rid of the problem, and moved on like I never even existed.”

For once in Mike Fletcher’s pathetic life, he looked sorry.

The double doors that led into the emergency department crept open on a motorized track. Layla rushed through, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw me. “Cal!” She ran, weaving around chairs. “Thank God. I kept trying to call, but I couldn’t get up with you.”

I was stiff as a board as she hugged me, keeping my eyes trained on my father. “Come on. Gran just got out of her CT scan. She broke her hip and messed up her wrist a little. I’ll take you back and fill you in.”

When Layla took my hand, my father’s jaw dropped. “That’s the ring you gave her?”

She looked between us, then down at her hand.

“Well,” I said, looking him dead in the eye. “I think this reunion will let us hit our quota for the next fifteen years.”

Layla gently laid her hand on my back. “Come on,” she said, urging me away from the fight I so desperately wanted.

My dad stepped out of the way, tapping his phone on his palm. “Let Gran know I’m just calling Cynthia to tell her what happened.”

I followed Layla through the maze of emergency department hallways. Having flown in and out of this particular hospital more times than either of us could count, she knew the layout like the back of her hand.

“Honey—”

Layla tugged me into a small corner lounge where the flickering light buzzed inside of a half-stocked vending machine. She pulled me into a hug, wrapping one arm around my back. The other hand stroked the back of my hair, gently caressing my neck. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

“No,” I croaked.

Estelle Gould was right. Time was in short supply. When dispatch said that Gran was in the hospital, I assumed the worst.

It was the cherry on top of a shit sundae. All morning I had been trying to come to terms with letting go of Layla.

I didn’t know if I could ever love her the way that she deserved, but I knew that watching her leave would hurt worse than coming home at fifteen-years-old to my bags sitting in the driveway.

And then the thought of losing Gran slammed into me without warning.

“I need to sit down,” I rasped.

“Come here, baby.” She led me to a cracked vinyl chair and sat with me, keeping her arm around me. “Gran’s okay. She’ll be laid up for a while, but you know her—she’s a tough ol’ bird.”

“Yeah,” I croaked, swiping at a latent tear.

“She asked me to call your dad.” Running her hand through the back of my hair, she added, “If it was anyone but Gran, I wouldn’t have.”

“That’s just like her,” I muttered. “Always playing matchmaker.”

Layla let a quiet laugh slip. “Seems like she just wants everyone in her life to be happy.”

“Something like that.” I cupped her cheek and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m sorry you had to spend your day off in a hospital.”

She laughed. “It was better than…” Her voice disappeared, and she found a sudden interest in the floor tiles.

“Better than what?”

“Packing,” she admitted.

I draped my arm around her and took her left hand in mine, running my thumb over the ring on her finger. “This is a mess, isn’t it?”

She tipped her head on my shoulder, unbothered by the hard plastic radio or my duty belt digging into her side.

“Maybe we should wait.”

Dark lashes lifted, giving me a peek at her warm brown eyes. “What do you mean?”

I sighed. “It’s gonna wreck Gran when we end things. That, on top of falling and breaking her hip—I don’t want to put more stress on her. So maybe we give it a little more time.”

Layla wiped her eyes. I hadn’t even realized she teared up. “No matter how long we put it off… It’s going to hurt when it’s over.”

“When you were a kid, did you think there were monsters under your bed?”

She shook her head. “Not under the bed. They were in the closet.”

I chuckled, thinking about a four-year-old Layla, begging her mom to check behind rows of clothes. “Those monsters weren’t real. That’s why they couldn’t hurt you. But this?” I let out a heavy breath. “The things that can hurt us are the most real things in our lives. I know that whatever magic we accidentally found is real because the thought of watching you walk away when it’s all over hurts like hell.”

Her lip quivered. “How can you say it’s real and then expect me to walk away?”

“Layla?” A nurse appeared in the doorway. “Mrs. Fletcher is asking for you.”

She wiped her tears and stood, taking my hand and urging me to follow. “We’ll talk at home.”

We walked in silence as Layla escorted me to Gran’s room. My father was nowhere to be found. Just like him.

Gran was sitting up in the hospital bed, watching ACC football highlights on TV. “Well, it’s about fuckin’ time you show up,” she huffed. “I was about to write you outta my will and have Layla get everything.”

Everything being her collection of teapots, a garden shed full of flower bulbs, and Grandad’s clunker of a car that should have been retired years ago.

“I thought I told you to stay out of trouble,” I said as I eased onto the edge of the hospital bed and gave her a feather-light hug.

Gran harrumphed and swatted me away. “Everyone in this damn hospital is overreacting. I just took a little spill, is all. There’s no reason for them to keep me here like a prisoner.”

Layla crossed her arms. “You fractured your wrist, and you’re having surgery tomorrow because you broke your hip. Now, if I hear one word of you giving the nursing staff a hard time, I will personally reroute my chopper and chew you out. Behave.”

Gran glared at Layla, who glared right back.

“Well, this is just peachy,” she grumbled. “I was supposed to lead the Ladies Auxiliary meeting tonight.”

“I’ve already called my aunt,” Layla said kindly. “She’s got it under control.”

“And there was the town hall meeting tomorrow that—”

“It’ll be just fine. I’m sure one of the other ladies can handle whatever presentation you were going to make,” I filled in.

“But what about the food drive! I was supposed to—”

“Gran!” Layla and I shouted in unison.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I will call Mrs. Gould. I think she could use something to do. She’s a little bored these days.” And it’ll keep her from tying up a 911 operator. “And if she can’t do whatever needs to be done, Layla and I will take care of it.”

“But right now you have to rest,” Layla said firmly. “And after your surgery, you have to rest then too.” Her smile was soft as she gave Gran’s hand a squeeze. “It will take the entire town to fill your shoes, but those shoes will still be there for you to wear when you’re back on your feet.”

“You’re irreplaceable, Gran,” I said.

Her crabby demeanor seemed to soften with the knowledge that the town wouldn’t forget her over the few days she’d be in the hospital. In fact, it was probably the exact opposite. The entire population was likely in a tizzy, buzzing about what to do to help Gran. There would be a pile of casseroles on her doorstep, no less than three lawn care companies battling for the honor of taking care of her yard pro bono. The Ladies Auxiliary probably already had a schedule made, detailing who would visit Gran each day. Groceries would be brought without warning. Her car would be washed and shined. Hell, she could probably get a new roof and some siding out of the ordeal if she wanted to.

“Don’t do any wedding planning without me,” she huffed.

Layla’s smile was sad. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Gran’s eyes fell to Layla’s hand. “It’s beautiful on you. I was worried there would never be another woman to join the Fletcher family that was worthy of that ring.” She fluffed her short cloud of silver hair. “Not everyone can be as fuckin’ awesome as I am.”

We laughed.

The door clicked open, and my father poked his head inside. “Mom, I’ve gotta head out. Felicity is home from college for fall break, and Mike Jr. has a ball game. Cynthia wants to have a family dinner.”

Acid burned my throat. I kept my eyes trained on the hospital blanket covering Gran. Layla’s hand on my back was the only tether to reality.

“I suppose I shouldn’t keep you,” Gran said dismissively as she turned her eyes back to college football highlights. “Do close the door behind you. I only want family in here.” She made a show of clasping my and Layla’s hands.

“Call me if you need something.” With that, he left.

29

LAYLA

It was dark by the time we got home. Gran finally kicked us out of her hospital room and told Cal to take me home. We rode back to her house in silence and made sure everything was locked up before getting into our separate vehicles and heading home.

Neither of us bothered with dinner. Cal stripped out of his uniform and jumped in the shower while I prepped my duffle bag for the twenty-four-hour shift I would start when the sun came up.

Melancholy hung thick in the air like a wet blanket. Gran’s accident, then the face-off he’d had with his father, were weighing heavily on Cal. I slipped into a black nightie and tiptoed across the hall.

Callum was craned over, toweling off his hair when I walked into his room.

“Hey,” I said.

He looked over his shoulder as he tossed the towel in a hamper. “Hey.”

I didn’t want to beat around the bush. Not when we had already been through quite a day. “Do you want me to sleep with you tonight, or do you need some space?”

He didn’t meet my eyes as he turned down the sheets. “Yes and no.”

That… That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. Cal slid under the covers, laid his head on the pillow, and stared at the ceiling.

“Can I ask you something?” I began as I padded across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. His arm draped across my legs instinctively. “And I want you to be honest.”

“Always.”

“Why won’t you let us give this a shot? A real shot.” Cal sighed, but I silenced him. “You say that it’s real to you. You agree that there’s something here—something good between us. But you can’t get past whatever’s in your head that’s telling you that this isn’t worth it.” A tear slipped down my cheek. “I know it’ll hurt if it ends, but you’re not saving us from hurting. You’re stealing the joy out of what makes the hurt worth it.”

Slowly, he eased up, reclining against the headboard. “You’ve been wondering why I wanted to fake a relationship to get out of the fundraiser rather than just being in one for real? This is why, Layla.” Lines of worry and fear striped his beautiful face. His jaw was set in a hard line. “I was dealing with a Creeker call at work. Gran fell, and I couldn’t be there for her. At some point, that would be you or whoever else. I can’t fail the town just because I have feelings for you, and I can’t fail you because I’m fulfilling my duty to the town.”

“It doesn’t have to be one or the other,” I said softly. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my lip from trembling. “You know, one of the first things I learned when I got my first nursing job was that I can’t save everyone. There will be people that, no matter how hard I try, how much I do—it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough.” I clutched his hand. “You can’t be everywhere all the time, and no one expects you to be. Gran called me today because she knew you were at work. She didn’t expect you to magically appear. You can’t save everyone, Cal.”

“I have to,” he croaked. “They saved me.”

* * *

“Is yours too hot?” I asked as I blew on the surface of my chai. Giving Callum a moment of privacy, I slipped down to the kitchen and prepared a tray with two mugs—the pineapple one for me and the dumpster fire mug for him—and all the accoutrements for chai.

Cal poured from the teapot, filling his dumpster mug while I grabbed a rock candy stick and used it to stir my tea. He watched me curiously, then mirrored the action with his. Taking a testing sip, he nodded in approval. “It’s good.”

“Saffron rock candy. It’s called Nabat. Makes the chai sweet and adds a little extra flavor to it.”

We sat in his bed, sipping chai in companionable silence. Callum had drained half his mug before he decided he was ready. “When I was fourteen, my parents divorced.”

“Oh, Cal—”

He shrugged. “I didn’t care. I knew they weren’t happy. They fought all the time. Honestly, I was pretty relieved when it was finally over.” He stared into the glimmering surface of his tea. “They got fifty-fifty custody of me. One week here, one week there. It wasn’t so bad. I was still in the same school. Nothing really changed until my dad started seeing Cynthia.”

“Your step-mom?” I guessed.

He grunted something noncommittal. “She was pregnant before the ink was dry on the divorce papers, and they got married. She already had a daughter from her first husband. In the span of about a month, it went from just me and my dad to an insta-family—one that I was only a part of every other week.” He sighed. “Then my mom got remarried. Jared had three kids from a previous marriage. Insta-family on that side too. And there I was, stuck in the middle. When my mom had another kid, they needed to shuffle bedrooms around to make space. Since I was only there half the time, it was decided for me that I’d be okay with staying on the pull-out couch.”

My heart shattered. All I had ever wanted was just a little independence from my tight-knit family; all the while, Cal just wanted a family.

“My dad owns a construction and development company. He’s also on the board of commissioners for Orange County.”

I frowned. “Seems like a conflict of interest if he gets a say in what areas of the city get zoned for construction projects, then gives his company first pick of those development jobs.”

Callum chuckled. “You’re more astute than most of the people who voted him in. All they saw was a successful businessman who doted on his wife and two kids.”

But his father didn’t have two kids. He had three.

“I started looking for where I fit. I didn’t have a place at my mom’s anymore. And my dad—all he ever did was work. Back then, he’d rarely even come home for dinner. So, I was left with a family that wasn’t mine. Every other week, back and forth. Over and over again. I got sick of it.”

“What happened?” I asked softly.

He took a sip from his mug. “I wanted something to take the edge off. To help me forget that I wasn’t wanted.”

There was shame in the way he said it. Like it was his fault. I took the mug out of his hand and set it on the nightstand beside mine. Whether he wanted me to be close to him or not, I wiggled into his side and rested my head on his shoulder.

“Given that I didn’t have a bed and four walls of my own, I decided that weed and pills would be easier to hide than liquor bottles. My gym teacher caught the kid who was pushing product out of the locker room, and he dropped the names of every single one of us who he sold drugs to. Cops brought a K9 through and found my stash in my locker, in my bag, and a few pills in my pockets.”

“Please tell me you didn’t try to use the these aren’t my pants excuse?”

A small smile curled at the corner of his mouth. “It was pretty clear that there was no way I could talk myself out of it.” The back of his head thumped against the headboard. “You know the most relief I ever felt was the day I got caught? I expected my mom to come in and scream and yell at me. I expected my dad to get pissed and ground me for eternity. I wanted him to. I wanted him to be around to make sure I stayed on the straight and narrow.”

“But he sent you to Gran’s instead,” I guessed.

Cal nodded. “Given that I was fifteen and had been having a hard time with the divorce, my dad used his sway as an “upstanding commissioner” to convince a judge to give me community service instead of juvie.”

Before I could make sense of what was happening, Callum pulled me into his lap, wrapping his arms around my middle and hugging my back to his chest.

“So, I moved to Falls Creek. Moved in with Gran, who was equally angry at the world because Grandad had just died. Together, we were an angsty pair. But Gran didn’t put up with my moping or my attitude. She saw to it that I completed twice as many community service hours than the court ordered. She took a punk kid who was angry because every person who was supposed to be a constant in his life had failed him and made me serve others instead.

“I cut grass. Scrubbed graffiti. Did the grunt work of hauling fold-up chairs and tables for Ladies Auxiliary fundraisers. Did everything I had to do to pay my restitution. And in return, the town saved me. They gave me a place. Saw to it that I stayed out of trouble. Gran never had to worry about me leaving her house. Every resident in the town limits kept an eye on me.”

He pressed his lips to my temple. “Did you know that Estelle Gould is a retired school teacher? She helped me get settled at Falls Creek High and made sure my grades stayed out of the toilet. Grady Benson gave me a summer job at the hardware store. It let me squirrel away a little money of my own. I had an appetite bigger than Gran’s bank account. Twice a week, we’d have people bringing casseroles, baked goods, and extra produce from their gardens. One winter, the McManns gave us half a cow out of the livestock they sent to slaughter.”

I tipped my head back on his shoulder. “Did your parents visit? Did they help at all?”

He scoffed. “No. In their eyes, Gran took a problem off their hands, and they got to go back to their perfect little lives. My mom had more kids. I don’t even know how many half-siblings I have now. I don’t talk to her. My dad actually showed up to my high school graduation, but he left before I walked across the stage. One of his kids had a birthday party to go to.”

“Zahreh mar,” I muttered under my breath.

“By the time I was eighteen, it didn’t matter to me anymore. I stopped trying to call them. Stop trying to visit. Stopped caring that holidays were just Gran and me. I went to community college, you know. During my first semester, Gran had me working with Clarence Wilkins, the old police chief, at a Ladies Auxiliary fundraiser. They were raising money for new bulletproof vests for the police department. He and I hit it off, so he started letting me shadow the department. I did grunt work—making coffee, taking out the trash, and cleaning the break room. But I liked it. I mentioned to him that I thought it’d be cool to be a cop, but with my record, making it into the police academy was a long shot at best.”

I tipped my head back and pressed my lips to the edge of his jaw. “How’d you get in?”

He smiled. “Chief Wilkins held a town-wide meeting. The Ladies Auxiliary passed out paper, pens, envelopes, and stamps and told everyone to write a letter of recommendation. No one was allowed to leave until they turned in their letter. They had deputies stationed at all the exits.”

I laughed. “You’re lying.”

Cal chuckled. “I shit you not, honey.” He pecked the tip of my nose. “I had over five hundred letters sent in on my behalf.” His tone turned solemn. “I owe them everything. They gave me a home, a family, and a job. They gave me a place to belong when I had nothing to give them in return. This town… They’re a menace to society. A danger to themselves and others. Sometimes I think the cows on the McMann farm have more common sense than the human population put together. But I owe everyone here a bigger debt than I ever owed the court. And I’ll have to spend every moment I have left on earth repaying it.”

I turned in his lap, straddling his hips. “And you think that means you can’t be happy too?” I cupped his face, memorizing the way his stubble scratched my palms. “Cal, they did that for you because they love you. Not because they expected you to repay them or expected you to treat the rest of your life as some kind of purgatory.” I was angry. Angry that he couldn’t see just how twisted his idea of how the town perceived him was.

He saw himself as a burden.

But Callum Fletcher wasn’t a burden. He was beloved. He was a pinnacle in the community.

“Cal,” I whispered as I kissed his forehead. Strong hands skated up my thighs, slipping under the hem of my nightie. “I have to tell you something. Something Gran told me on the way to the hospital.”

He rested his temple on my chest, having finally laid his burden down. I couldn’t imagine living in a town where you never felt good enough. Where you believed there was an expectation of eternal servitude.

His cock was thick between my legs, but I made no move to tease him. “Baby, your Gran, the Ladies Auxiliary—they started the date auction for you.”

Thick brows drew in, confused. “What?”

“On the way to the hospital, Gran told me that the Ladies Auxiliary started the date auction fundraiser to give you a reason to go on dates.” Laughing, I added, “Even if they were with eighty-year-old librarians. They figured that if they couldn’t get you to ask someone out, they’d get the suitors to come to you. Apparently, after the first year they did it, the concept was so successful that they couldn’t not keep doing it.” I braced my arms against his shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. “Cal,” my tone was gentle. “Don’t you see it? That ridiculous fundraiser made you get out of your rut. It made you step outside of your comfort zone simply because you were trying to avoid stepping out of your comfort zone.”

I never expected him to smile, much less laugh. But he did. Callum shook his head, chest rumbling as he chuckled in disbelief.

“Goddammit. Gran’s plan worked. Maybe not how she expected it… Hell, she probably never thought I’d fake an engagement to get out of that damn date auction.” He pressed his forehead to mine, calloused fingers scraping along my hips. “Probably never thought I’d find a woman like you. Someone sweet and warm. Healing. Sustaining.” He slanted his mouth to mine and drew me into the kiss. It was deep and slow. I felt the presence of it in my soul. “I found honey. My asalam.”

Three words were on the tip of my tongue. Three words that I knew would not be reciprocated. It was one of the things that hurt: loving someone and knowing they didn’t love you back.

But holding back love rather than freely giving it without the expectation of reciprocity is painful, too.

“I love you.” Tears pricked at the back of my eyes. “I love you, not because of anything that you’ve done for me, but because you are worthy of it regardless. You don’t realize it, but you have the greatest capacity to love that I’ve ever seen. You’re calm and patient. You serve sacrificially. It’s beautiful, and it’s a damn shame that all this time, you look at it as a penalty. As a means to some eternal restitution.” Bloodshot eyes met mine. I held his strong jaw in my hands. “And I think you love me, too. I feel it in my bones.”

His lips moved, but no words were formed. The wind was knocked out of me as thick arms clung to me with the desperation of a prisoner tasting freedom. Deep gasps echoed from his lungs as he clutched me against his chest, face buried in my shoulder.

“Tell me again?” he whispered in a tremulous breath. His eyes were glassy. “Please… Please, honey.”

“I love you, Callum Fletcher.” I kissed him hard and breathless. “Dooset Daaram, Eshgham.”

“Again,” he begged in a breath. “Please.

“I love you,” I whispered as tears streamed down both of our faces. Over and over, I told him I loved him. I was determined to say it until he believed it. Until he felt it. Until he knew it in his soul, too.

“Stay,” Callum said, stronger this time as he rolled me onto my back and braced those tattooed arms on either side of my head. “Tonight. Tomorrow.” He pushed the black satin slip that grazed my thighs up to my chest. I lifted my arms, allowing him to raise it over my head. “Stay. I want every day with you.” The shackles on his heart fell to the ground as he pressed his lips to mine. “Every day.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered reverently as I reached up and touched his face. The man hovering above me was broken, but breaking is often the first step in healing. I skated my hands up and down the taut muscles on his arms.

The clouds in his eyes broke with a flash of lightning. He leaned down, sucking my lower lip between his teeth. “Come with me.”

“Where?” I hummed out as he ground his cock between my legs. He released my mouth with a pop and latched onto my neck—biting, nipping, teasing, and sucking. I caught a glance at the bedside clock. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Won’t be gone long,” he clipped as he teased the sensitive skin behind my ear. “Put on something warm. Something you can ride in.”

30

CALLUM

I let go of one handlebar, reaching behind me to squeeze Layla’s thigh as we cruised down an open stretch of two-lane back road. Her body was sandwiched tight to mine, and the front edge of her helmet dug into my shoulder blade. The wind around us snapped like an icy whip. The headlight danced on the asphalt, and the sputtering growl of the engine sliced through the silent darkness.

I love you, Callum Fletcher.

My God, I was a lucky son of a bitch. There was nothing I had done to deserve Layla Mousavi. But for some reason, the universe and a handful of meddling women saw to it that we found each other.

When the fog cleared, I had to get out of that bed, or I would have given her birth control a run for its money.

Taking the Harley out for a cruise cleared my head in ways that nothing else could. Feeling the barely restrained power of a machine under complete control of my body kept me in check and slowly leached out my adrenaline.

I knew this stretch of road like the back of my hand. Layla leaned with me as we took a tight left up to the lookout. Her legs tightened around mine when I opened the throttle and let the bike do what it was made to do.

We gained elevation, scaling the gentle incline until coming to a stop on a gravel shoulder wide enough that it had lines, now faded with age, for parking spaces.

“Where are we?” Layla asked, taking her helmet off and shaking out her glossy black hair.

I snapped the kickstand into place with the heel of my boot. “Occoneechee Mountain.” I cut the engine and yanked off my helmet.

In the daytime, the dense forest was painted in the sunset colors of autumn. But at night?

Galaxies.

Layla’s breath fogged around her lips as she looked up at endless stars. “Wow.”

“It’s like looking into your eyes,” I said quietly, gravel crunching underfoot as I pulled her back into my chest. “Every time I look at you. I see the universe. The stars in your eyes. Lightning in your laugh. Sunsets when you blush. The moon in your smile.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her head as we stood at the edge of the lookout. “All of it.”

I knew what I felt for her was real, but I had been burned by meaningless ‘I love yous’ before. Empty words from empty people.

I wanted to say it back to her. I rehearsed it in my head, over and over. But every time I tried to get the first syllable off my tongue, I clammed up.

“I feel it, too,” I murmured. “What you feel for me … I feel it for you.” I was a bumbling idiot. Why couldn’t I say three tiny fucking words? A growl of frustration escaped before I could stop it. “I—” I rested my forehead on the back of her head in exasperation.

“Don’t say it yet,” she whispered, turning to drape her arms around my neck. “Don’t say it because you think you’re supposed to. I don’t want it out of a sense of obligation.”

“What do you want?” I asked, ghosting my lips over hers.

“Show me,” she said simply. “Show me how you feel.”

I wanted Layla at that moment more than I had ever wanted her before. I wanted to surround her like a shield while she peeled back the callouses on my heart and made me bulletproof. She had the gentle touch of an angel, healing wounds I couldn’t see.

Even with her thick jacket on, the gravel would bite into her back. Laying her down wasn’t an option. I could brace her against the horizontal wood poles of the fence, but in the dark, I couldn’t be certain that they wouldn’t snap, sending us careening down the mountain to an untimely demise.

“Do you trust me, honey?”

There wasn’t an inkling of hesitation in her voice. “With my heart and my hurt. With all of me.”

I knelt in front of her, unlacing her boots and wiggling them off of her feet. I stood and thumbed the zipper of her jeans. “These have to come off.”

I felt the curve of her smile as her mouth pressed against mine. “You gonna arrest me for public indecency?”

I chuckled and slipped my thumbs into the waist of the denim and shoved it down. “I think indecent thoughts about you every time I’m in public.”

Braving the pre-winter chill, she kicked her jeans off of her ankles and shoved them against the back tire. I shucked off my jacket, balling it and placing it in the dip of the motorcycle seat, evening the plane out for her. I scooped her up, taking two strides to my motorcycle and setting her down, backward, on the seat.

“Lay back. Feet on the pegs.”

Tentatively, she followed orders, resting the back of her shoulders against the handlebars and bracing her toes against the pegs. Her mile-long legs stretched out like the graceful edge of a mountain range on the horizon.

“Good girl,” I murmured as I swung a leg over the bike, straddling her hips. “You’re amazing, trusting me like this. You look stunning. So beautiful—all your curves lit up in the moonlight.” I unzipped my jeans and nestled my cock between her slick entrance, soaking in her warmth. “You’re so soft. Your body is heaven.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, whimpering as I rocked slowly against her clit, letting the ecstasy build. Her thighs quivered. Fingers flexed as she dug into the seat cushion. With one hand on the handlebars and my feet planted firmly for balance, I slid my palm up her stomach, grazing the underside of her breasts. I slipped my hand beneath the underwire of her bra and palmed her flesh. Layla keened, tipping her head back and gasping. Only the crickets witnessed her reverent pleas.

“Baby—” she begged. “Please.”

“Please, what?” I asked and switched to her other breast. Plumping, tugging, twisting, and teasing. “Tell me what you want, honey.”

She lifted her hips, trying to meet my lazy thrusts. “I need you.”

“Need me where? Use your words.” I bent, burying my mouth in the crook of her neck. “You know how much I like hearing you say all those filthy things.”

“Your cock,” she whispered. “Inside of me.”

I nudged her wetness again, sliding the head of my cock over her clit. Back and forth. Back and forth. “This where you want it?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Bare.” Her eyes flitted open to meet mine. “If you’re okay. I… I want to feel you. All of you.”

I reached down and pressed my thumb inside of her. She was soaked. I brought her glistening wetness back to her lips and swiped it across her pout. Her tongue darted out for a taste, but I pressed my thumb down, keeping her mouth open. “Nuh-uh-uh. That’s mine.” Leaning down, I kissed her flavor off her lips. “How did you get so perfect? Every part of you is flawless.”

She shook her head. “I’m not perfect. I just like the way my broken pieces fit with yours.”

I reared back, parted her entrance with my fingers, and nudged my dick inside of her. “Hold on, but don’t move.”

“Cal—” she whimpered, a desperate edge to her voice.

“Stay still. Let me look at you.”

Her rigid body relaxed, and she closed her eyes, a small cloud of breath escaping her lips. I pressed the pad of my thumb against her clit, massaging it back and forth as I slowly fed my cock inside of her tight channel. “That’s my good girl,” I murmured as I felt her pussy close around me in strangling heat. “So good, honey. Look at you. So beautiful, and it’s all for me.”

Her lips parted in a gasp at the praise. I held deep, teasing her clit with the thatch of hair at the base of my shaft. My balls already felt tight, and I had yet to drive into her. I needed the release just as much as she did.

“You listened so well,” I murmured as I bent and nipped at her ear. “Are you ready to feel powerful?”

She nodded silently, her sharp breaths the confirmation I needed. I found the key still in the ignition and gave it a sharp twist. Layla gasped as the motorcycle roared to life. The harsh vibrations from the engine beneath us reverberated through our joined bodies.

“Baby—” Layla’s cry was cut off by my cock sliding out and then immediately ramming back inside. Her eyes shot open, then fluttered shut as I rocked my hips between thrusts.

Our moans were drowned out by the idling engine. Every thrust, every tease, every ounce of ecstasy brought us closer and closer to the edge of forever. I could see it every time I closed my eyes. Every scenario was with her.

She was strength, patience, and love. I felt it every time I laid eyes on her. I knew it in my soul when we were apart.

I closed my eyes as I drove into her again, remembering the first time we’d met. The thrum of the motorcycle engine turned into ambient sounds of a helicopter in flight. I didn’t know if I believed in love at first sight, but I believed in her.

I believed in fate.

And however twisted the circumstances were that brought us here, we made it. It wasn’t a figment of our imaginations. It wasn’t a convenient answer to a contrived situation. It was us. We were real.

“Cal—baby—” Layla was panting fast, her chest heaving with each thrust. The shuddering bike beneath us had electricity pulsing over her body, coursing through her clit in a constant stream.

“Come for me, precious.” I held deep and strummed her clit, feeling her clench and clamp around me. “That’s my girl. You feel incredible.”

Her back arched, flying off the seat as her body shattered. I braced my palms against the handlebars, bracketing her in. Her incoherent ramblings turned from English to Farsi as her brain struggled to keep up with the adrenaline flying through her body.

I exploded inside of her, pulses of my release filling her core. We collapsed, chest to chest, breathing deeply as the smell of sex, exhaust, and crisp night air circled around us.

“Wow,” she whispered. “That was… Wow. Amazing.”

I grinned into her collarbone. “Yeah. You are.”

She laughed, exhaling the last of the oxytocin and dopamine into the sky. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

I dropped one last kiss onto her lips. “I can. I’ve been thinking about it ever since the day we took those pictures together.” I slipped a hand behind her back, slowly helping her sit up. “Hold on just a second, honey.” I tucked my dick back into my pants and reached into the saddlebag. I retrieved the small towel I kept handy, holding it up in the moonlight. “It’s clean, I promise. I just put it in there this morning.”

She shrugged with a coy smile. “I’ll take what I can get.”

“Hold still,” I said softly as I tenderly cleaned between her legs. Her eyelids closed and lips parted as I lingered on her swollen clit. “That feel good?”

“Uh-huh.”

I teased it a little more. “You took me so well, honey.” Her toes curled against the back of the bike. “You like it when I talk to you like that?”

She nodded listlessly. Quiet chants escaped her lips and went straight to the heavens.

“Good,” I said as I draped the towel across my thigh and slipped two fingers into her pussy.

I curled them up, stroking slowly and searching patiently until I found her G-spot. Layla whimpered, and her shoulders began to peel off of the front of the bike.

Quickly, I slipped my fingers out of her core and spanked the outside of her pussy. “Lay back down. I’m not done with you yet.”

She gasped, her thighs quivering as I soothed the sting away with three fingers inside. She was still so tight, even after being thoroughly fucked. I pinched her clit, rubbing it between my fingers as I brought her to the edge of release.

“That’s it, honey. Just like that.” She shook beneath me. Harsh, body-wracking tremors consumed her from head to toe. “So good,” I murmured. “I love how well you take me.” I cupped her throbbing sex, soothing the crash from the orgasm high. “Love watching you take my cock. My fingers. My tongue.”

“I love you,” she whispered. It was all she could manage, and, for me, it was more than enough. It was everything.

I worked the towel between her thighs once more, taking care not to tease her… Too much.

I pulled on my jacket while she shimmied into her jeans. Layla sat on the seat while I knelt once more and slid the boots on her dainty feet like biker Cinderella.

Her body was sated and loose as we headed down the mountain, back toward Falls Creek. The street lamps glowed, illuminating the empty downtown district. Fog hung overhead as I pulled into the driveway. I cut the engine quickly, trying my damndest to prevent nosey Creekers from knowing I went out for a midnight drive with my woman.

It wouldn’t matter. I’m sure Ms. Bea would have the tongues wagging before dawn. She claimed it was insomnia that kept her up. I erred on the side of her not wanting to miss a lick of gossip.

Layla was dead on her feet as we walked to the front porch, hand-in-hand. I set our helmets inside. When she toed off her boots and headed for the stairs, I caught her wrist.

“Baby,” she sighed. “I have to work in the morning, and I honestly think round three would kill me.” She looked exhausted—the good kind. The kind of happy delirium that came from orgasms and a bone-chilling ride in the dark.

I stepped forward and cupped her cheeks, holding my world in my hands. “Thank you,” I said as I pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“For what?”

She smelled like the open air. Like woods and sky and stars.

Like freedom.

“Everything and more.”

“I mean it, Cal.”

“Mean what?” I hung our jackets side-by-side.

“Don’t say it to me until you know it’ll mean as much to me as when I say it to you.”

I kissed her temple. “Yes, ma’am.”

She sandwiched her hands on either side of my cheeks. “I love you, Callum Fletcher.”

I peeled her wrists away and upturned her hands, kissing her palms. “Love your hands.”

Layla eyed me curiously. “My hands?”

“First thing I noticed about you,” I mumbled as I dotted a kiss on each one of her fingertips. “Everything hurt so bad. I kept thinking I was going to pass out.” I kissed her wrists. “Then I watched you cut my belt off. Felt your hand on mine. Every touch—” I pressed her palms flat against my chest. “You started healing me from the moment you touched me. And after my leg, you moved on to my heart.”

She popped up onto her tiptoes and pecked my lips. “Can I sleep with you tonight?” Her sweet voice cut me to the quick.

“I’m thinking of changing the lock on the guest room so you can’t go back to that bed.”

“Seems a little extreme,” she said with a laugh. “I’ll sleep in your bed willingly.”

Without warning, I scooped her into my arms and carried her up the stairs. It was a small thing that had become a big thing.

A small moment with Layla on one of the worst days of my life turned into my entire life.

So, this is how you fall in love.

31

LAYLA

“Whooo, Dubs!” AB peered out of the lunchbox window as we circled the airfield that housed our base. Her voice crackled through my radio as she pointed to the shiny police cruiser parked beside my car. “Looks like you’ve got a gentleman caller knocking down your door.”

I snickered and shook my head. The run between our base and the New Hanover Regional Medical Center in Wilmington was one of the longest. While AB and I did the patient handoff, Odin refueled the bird. I hoped Cal hadn’t been waiting long. We’d been in the air for most of the day, taking a critical care patient from Wilmington back up to a specialist at Duke, then flew the short hop back to Falls Creek.

I was exhausted and cold.

Flying in the summer sucked hot, sweaty balls because the fibers of flame-resistant Nomex flight suits swell in high heat.

North Carolina was the definition of high heat.

But in the fall and winter, when the temperatures cooled, flight suits were as breezy as sheer curtains on a spring day. The thermal underwear beneath my flight suit wasn’t cutting it. I’d have to double up before the chill really set in for the season.

The skids danced over the asphalt before Odin dropped us down in a smooth landing. Cal had walked around the outside perimeter of the crew quarters and was leaning along the chain-link fence that surrounded the airfield. A bouquet of roses was clutched in his hand.

“Go kiss your cop,” AB said as she yanked off her headset. “I’ll reset and chart.”

“I don’t mind restocking the bird if you’ll chart,” I offered.

“Nah, I got it.” She waved me off. “Make it up to me on the next run.”

I really wanted a nap, but I wanted to kiss Callum more. I loved my job, but I hated the nights that he had to spend alone.

My boots thumped against the asphalt as I jogged over to the fence line. “This is a surprise. I didn’t know you were coming.”

Cal gave me that sly grin that turned my heart into soup. “That’s usually what it means to surprise someone, honey.”

I slipped my hand through one of the metal loops and touched his arm. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” He tipped his head toward the base. “You gonna let me in or leave me standing out in the cold?”

Laughing, I nodded. “I’ll meet you at the front.” I sprinted into the hangar, skipped through the entrance to the crew quarters, then slowed and tried to look cool and composed when I yanked open the front door. Cal, looking sinfully sexy in his tight jeans and biker jacket, grabbed the front of my flight suit and planted an obscene kiss square on my mouth.

“Off duty?”

He nodded. “Figured I’d stop by and see my girl before I head to the hospital to check on Gran.” He wedged the roses into my hand and stole another kiss.

“Thank you,” I said as I brought the blooms to my nose. “This is unexpected. And sweet,” I added quickly as I led him into my bunk room. “Very sweet.”

Cal looked around. “So, this is it. Huh?”

I shrugged, laying the flowers on top of the storage bin I kept my bedding and toiletries in. “Home sweet home.”

“I heard Gran is getting discharged tomorrow,” I said. “Surgery went well. No signs of infection. The physical therapist has her up and moving.”

Cal cocked his head, eyeing me curiously. “You’ve been at work for eighteen hours. How’d you hear all that?”

“I have eyes and ears everywhere,” I whispered.

He raised an eyebrow.

“And we did a flight to that hospital earlier, so I ran down to her room before we flew back.” I toed off my boots, unzipped my flight suit, and stripped down to my thermal underwear.

Cal’s eyes darkened. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, adjusting the front of his jeans.

“What?” I clipped as I slipped a coat hanger into the shoulders and hung it up to be ready for the next run.

He palmed my ass cheek and squeezed. “So sexy.”

I swatted at his wrist and hissed, “Baby!”

“What?” He laughed. “I can’t grab my girl’s ass?”

“Not while I’m at work!”

“There’s no one around.”

“There are strict bunk rules. One person per room, you never go into someone else’s bunk, and doors stay open if visitors come in.” I tipped my chin up and grazed his lips. “And tones could drop at any moment.”

As if I had conjured it, the alert on my work phone sounded as the tones blared from the communications room. AB let the profanities fly as she charted with the speed of a jungle cat. I peered down the hall and watched as Odin jogged into the room and answered the radio as he pulled up the weather radar. There was a pregnant pause before my radio chirped. “Danville to Duke. PT is a thirty-year-old male. Three GSWs. Officers securing the scene want everyone responding to be in body armor. Three to go, one to say no.”

“Go,” AB called.

“Go,” I echoed.

“Let’s roll, ladies,” he hollered. “We’re skids up in ten.”

Callum braced his hands in the door frame as he watched me root through my gear for my Kevlar vest. Fear was painted across his face.

“It’s not my first call like this, Cal. You know the kind of shit we go into.”

His grinding teeth sounded like a circular saw. “I just… I don’t like seeing you in body armor.” His words were tight and displeased. Still, he grabbed the vest from me, yanked the velcro apart, and dropped it over my shoulders.

I tightened it up around my torso before jumping back into my flight suit and pulling on my boots. “There’s a turf war happening between rival gangs in southern Virginia. We’ve had a lot of gunshot wound victims, a lot of stabbings, and some really ugly DOAs.”

The worst ones were mutilated bodies that were still alive—the kind of stuff members of organized crime do to set an example for the rest. Some scenes were burned into the back of my eyelids. There was a fresh horror waiting for me every time I closed my eyes.

“Even if the scene is secured, word gets out pretty fast about which hospital we’re taking the patient to. If it’s a high-ranking member or leader, their soldiers and their family show up to the hospital. Usually, the other side shows up, too.” I grabbed my helmet. “It’s just a precaution. I don’t want some barely legal, wannabe cartel leader to go after me in an attempt to take out the competition by proxy.”

Callum knew all of those things. Hell, he had responded to some of the calls himself. Small towns were not impervious to serious crimes.

“I’ll take your roses home and put them in some water,” he said gently.

I put my hand on his chest. “That’s okay. I’ll put them in water when I get back. Danville to Duke is a short run.”

He hesitated, though I could tell he understood the subtext. I was promising him that I would make it back in one piece.

“Cal,” I said, easing up onto the toes of my boots. “I will call you as soon as we land, and I’ll put those roses in water my damn self.”

“Stay safe, Wonder Woman.” He kissed me softly. “Come home to me.”

I pressed my hand to his heart. “I love you, Callum.”

* * *

I was dead on arrival. Not in the literal sense, of course. The call I left Callum to run was exactly what I had expected. A gang hit one of the high-ranking men in a rival gang during a shootout. Nearly every emergency medical professional in the area had been called to the scene. Two choppers and four ambulances responded with every crew member in Kevlar. We had three critical patients, four with non-life-threatening injuries, and five who sustained injuries not compatible with life.

The county coroner brought a slew of body bags with her.

The hospital campus was a shitshow. Hospital security hadn’t been read into the situation, creating a cluster fuck of a heightened situation around the building.

Two other flight teams were unloading patients on the helipad when we approached, and the ground was a hot zone. We braced, working through a second blood transfusion from our onboard stock of O-neg, while Odin did a fancy evasive maneuver to get us higher in altitude. Some days it seemed as though he wished he was still flying Apaches instead of our clunker of a medicopter.

Odin put us in a holding pattern until the rooftop helipad cleared, and we could turn over care to the surgical team.

Back at the base, pink water splashed onto the asphalt as Odin hosed out the bay. With the enthusiasm of a sloth, AB inventoried and restocked the supplies we had used to save someone who, by some standards, didn’t deserve to be saved.

But we weren’t the judge, jury, or executioner. We were nurses. Medics. EMTs.

Life savers.

I took over charting for this call, detailing everything that had happened in the computer system so that our business manager could squeeze the insurance companies for all they were worth.

The moon shone bright, reminding me of my midnight drive with Callum to the lookout on the mountain. What I wouldn’t give for another night like that instead of the one I’d just had.

My phone chimed—an oddity during the witching hour.

Callum: How are those roses doing?

I was surprised. I meant to call him when we got back, but the run had taken longer than expected. I didn’t want to wake him up. The text was his way of indirectly asking me if I was okay and if we were back. I hurried away from the desk, snagged a coffee mug out of the dish drainer, and filled it with water before grabbing the roses and plunking the stems in.

Layla: See the attached photo for proof of floral life. What are you doing awake? It’s almost 3 AM.

Callum: Went to bed but set an alarm so I could wake up and check on you. Wanted to make sure you were safe.

My heart exploded.

* * *

By the time I got off work, Cal was on duty. I crashed on the couch and awoke on the couch. There were a few times when I had come home and Cal had already left for work. Each time I missed being carried up the stairs to bed. Maybe it was a little high-maintenance diva of me, but I loved it. Sometimes I’d pretend to sleep, and sometimes I’d just curl into his chest and savor the feel of his strength surrounding me.

I peeled my drool-crusted cheek off the throw pillow and stretched out like a cat. My joints ached, and my head throbbed.

Need caffeine.

I zombie-walked to the fridge and pawed around. There were a few measly leftovers from where Cal had cooked the other night, but nothing that made my mouth water.

My phone chimed, and I swiped across the screen. Gran was summoning me to her house.

Well, I guess that was that.

A few minutes later, I was pulling into her neighborhood. Cars lined the street in front of Gran’s house, some of them looking oddly familiar.

“Gran?” I called as I pushed the front door open. The fragrant aroma of green onion, coriander, and fenugreek floated through the air.

“Layla joon,” my aunt called from Gran’s kitchen. “Come. Help your maman with the naan.”

Holy Shit. I stood just inside the door, wide-eyed at the utter chaos. My aunt, mother, and grandma whirled around Gran’s house, filling her dining room table with platters, bowls, and plates with every food imaginable. Casserole dishes lined the kitchen counter like soldiers. Giant Tupperware bowls were filled with colorful salads that weren’t really salads. Green watergate salad. Orange ambrosia salad. Green apple and Snickers salad. Frog eye salad that I’d only had once. It grossed me out, even though it tasted pretty damn good.

In a recliner with her legs elevated like an obedient patient, Gran supervised. “What’s in that stew pot you put in the middle of the table, Sep?”

My aunt pointed to the retro Dutch oven that had orange and brown flowers on the side of the white enamel. “Ghormeh sabzi. Lamb and kidney beans cooked with herbs. I’ll fix you a bowl with some tahdig.”

“That’s rice that’s cooked so it gets crunchy and caramelized on the bottom of the pot,” I said as I leaned down and gave Gran a gentle hug. “It’s really good. You’ll love it.”

“Count me in, sugar. Sounds divine,” Gran chortled.

“Joonam,” my mother cooed as she waltzed into the dining room with a platter of naan. Her hijab, a cornflower blue, complemented the maroon power suit she wore. She probably had to be in court this morning and came by after. Her high heels clicked across the vinyl floor. “What are you doing here? Callum said you had a busy night at work. You should be resting.”

“I think what y’all are doing here is a better question.” I leaned down and gave my own grandmother a kiss on the cheek.

My aunt, grandma, and mom exchanged odd looks. “Why wouldn’t we be here?” my aunt scoffed.

“Gran is family,” my mom chimed in as if it was obvious. I wasn’t aware that they had ever met. Maman ignored my confusion and continued making room so she could fit the bread on the table.

I looked around at the mountain of food that could sustain an army or two. “Who is going to eat all of this?” There was no way the five women in the room could tackle even a quarter of it.

“Khanevadeh,” my grandmother said with fervor. “The family!”

‘The family’ was half of Falls Creek. My father and brother joined, along with Cal and a few of the cops from the department. Gran called up her neighbors, who were already salivating at the smell of food filling the street. Conversation flowed in multiple languages, often switching from one to the next depending on who was in the circle. Slices of pecan pie topped with Howling Cow ice cream were devoured next to servings of halva.

Callum stood on the back porch, shooting the breeze with my dad and Karim. They looked so natural out there. Cal tipped his head back, laughing at something Karim had said. My mom and aunt bustled around the kitchen, tidying up and packing the absurd amount of leftovers while half of the Ladies Auxiliary tried to convince her to join their ranks.

The havoc they could cause with a shark of an attorney on their side… Cal would have a conniption.

“Azizam,” my grandmother said, waving me over to where she had parked herself beside Gran. “Come. Show me the ring,” she said in quick Farsi.

I grabbed a stray folding chair that someone had brought, set it beside Gran, and held my hand out. The red center stone sparkled under the lamp light. Gold filigree snaked around it in an ornate design. It was by far the most stunning piece of jewelry I had ever seen.

“This is the ring I was tellin’ you about, Farah.”

I had never once heard my grandmother be called by her first name.

“This is the ring that Callum’s granddad put on my finger when we got married,” Gran began. “It goes way back, though. No one’s really sure who had it first, but I remember hearing that my great-grandma wore it on her wedding day.”

She grazed the top of the ring, and I saw the memories play back in Gran’s crinkled eyes. Her own love story and the love stories of the women who came before her. A century or more of highs and lows, wins and losses. Good times and bad.

My grandma placed her hand on top of mine and gave it a squeeze. “And now it goes to the next generation. To carry on our legacy. Our family.”

Our family.

Not mine. Not his. Not my culture. Not his culture.

Ours.

My stomach churned, knowing that the ring—the ring that meant so much to Gran—was part of a lie.

Callum and I had taken something precious and tainted it. We tarnished a legacy.

“Callum’s mama must miss it,” Maman bozorg said. “But it looks so beautiful on my granddaughter’s hand.”

Gran scoffed. “His momma was a greedy bitch about that ring. When she and his daddy split up, I told her she could keep it until Cal found a girl he wanted to marry, then she could give it to him to propose with.” Gran tilted her head as if deciding whether she was going to drudge up the past for the story’s sake. “But when they sent him to live with me, I told them the ring had to come, too. No way was I letting someone who wasn’t worthy of it have their hands on it.” She let out a tired sigh. “Cal’s been through a lot. I’ve seen him at his lowest.” Looking at me, she said, “But the happiest I’ve ever seen him is when he’s with you.”

32

CALLUM

“We need to talk.” The words were out of Layla’s mouth the minute she got out of her car. She looked like she had seen a ghost.

My shoes came to a skidding halt in the middle of my driveway. “That can’t be good.”

Layla looked unsteady on her feet. Her cheeks were pale, and her hands trembled against her side.

I grabbed the empty travel mug out of the cup holder and slammed the door to my cruiser. I met her at the hood of her car and rested my palm against her back as I led her up the walk. “Come on, honey.”

“Why did you give me this ring?” Layla blurted out as I closed the front door behind us. Cautiously, I set down the travel mug and dropped my keys on the entryway table. Something had spooked her enough that the affectionate looks she had been giving me at Gran’s house were gone. She was hanging on by a thread.

“I thought we were on the same page about the—”

“Not why did you fake propose to me with a ring,” she cut in. A sharp edge seared her words. “Why did you want me to wear this ring?” Brown eyes rimmed with tears stared up at me, silently begging me for some kind of reason that didn’t include me disrespecting my Gran.

“Come upstairs,” I said, taking her hand. “I need to show you something.”

Layla waited, standing in the corner of my room while I fished around my underwear drawer. She wouldn’t even sit on the bed.

I pulled out a grocery bag and dumped the purchase into my hand. Layla craned her neck, eyeing it curiously.

“This was the ring I was going to give you to wear while we faked it,” I began, holding the cheap piece of jewelry out for her to see. It was a band that looked silver, a gem that looked like a diamond, and it had only set me back about fifteen dollars. But I didn’t hand her the ring. I handed her the receipt. “Look at the date.”

She scanned the strip of paper. “The day after I moved in.”

I strode over to her, holding the worthless piece of costume jewelry to the heirloom she wore.

“You gave me Gran’s ring because it’s more convincing,” she said quietly.

I had told her something similar before I proposed—the night that I pinned her against the wall and kissed her. The first night I tasted her lips and drank in her sweetness.

But that wasn’t the whole story.

“It’s part of the reason, yes,” I said as I pocketed the ring in my hand. “But that’s not all of it. Layla, I—” I dragged my palms down my face, trying to scrub away the jumble of thoughts clouding my mind. I could never think straight when I was around her. I couldn’t focus. She had me twisted in knots. She wrecked my very existence.

But she also put it back together.

She made it better. Brighter.

“I trust you,” I said with every ounce of resolve in my body. “You told me you love me because you felt it and knew that I needed to hear it. So, please, honey—hear me when I tell you that I trust you. For me, trust is greater than love. You can love someone without trusting them. You can give them your heart only for it to be trampled and mistreated and rejected. But trust—trusting you means that I’m giving you the parts of me that have been hurt. It means that I’ve given you the vulnerable parts of me that I don’t want anyone else to see. And I’m putting them in your hands because I know you love me.”

A lone tear glimmered like a diamond as it slipped down Layla’s cheek. I pressed my lips to the path it left behind.

“I gave you that ring because in the time we spent together before I got down on one knee, you proved to me that I could trust you. That I was safe with you. And I have never asked for it back because I don’t want it back.”

“Cal,” she whimpered, dabbing her eyes with her fingertips. “I—I can’t keep it.”

My calloused heart—now raw and bare for her—felt like it had been prodded with a branding iron. “Why not?” I croaked.

She slipped it off. “Because this belongs to the woman you’re going to marry, Cal. It means too much to Gran—to your family—for me to wear it when this engagement is a lie!”

“Who says it’s not going to be you?” The words slipped out smoothly. It wasn’t a lie. I stood toe-to-toe with her, not caring if I was coming on too strong. If there was ever a time for coming on strong, this was fucking it.

I was a stubborn asshole, but I wasn’t a stupid one. “I don’t care how it started, and I don’t care how we got here. You said it yourself—this is real. It’s fucking real. Don’t tell me otherwise, and don’t go running at the first thing that freaks you out. You let me cry on your shoulder when I needed it. So, whatever fears and worries and problems are in your head, let me help you carry them.”

My chest heaved as I sucked in necessary oxygen. Layla looked absolutely dumbfounded. Her jaw was on top of her shoes, and she stared at me as if I had just said I planned on quitting the force and starting a free-range ant farm.

I took one step and backed her up against the wall. It was the same posture as the moment I had kissed her for the first time. “What’s the first problem?” I asked gently.

Layla’s eyes darted left and right, doing anything and everything to avoid my stare. “My … my apartment. It’s done, and I—”

“Do you want to live here or there?”

“Well, I—”

“It’s one or the other, honey,” I clipped. “Simple as that.”

Layla hesitated, then looked up at me. “Here.”

“Then get out of your lease or sublet it to some poor unfortunate soul. All your stuff is here anyway.”

A faint smile drew up on her lips, and I rewarded her for her honesty with a kiss.

“What are you worried about?” I asked as I tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

She sighed and returned to staring at her feet. “How much it’ll hurt your Gran when she finds out we faked it all.”

I chuckled. “We didn’t fake it all.” Scraping my finger down the middle seam of her jeans, I teased her center. “Pretty sure all those orgasms were real.”

“Cal!” She swatted my hand away. “Not what I meant!”

I laughed as I kissed up her neck. “I know. But you don’t have to worry. Gran will just be happy if we’re happy.”

“And if we’re not?” she asked in a church mouse tone.

“Is that what you’re afraid of, honey?”

Layla nodded. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Nothing in life is a guarantee, Lay. At some point, you have to decide if the reward is worth the risk.”

It was a big step for both of us. Hell, it was a bigger step than I ever thought I would take—letting another person into the deepest parts of my heart. Layla seemed overwhelmed by the ring pinched between her fingers, so I took it from her.

“How about this? Let’s tell one more lie.”

Her brow furrowed. “What?”

“You don’t wear it to work anyway, so why don’t we put it back in the box for a little while? If someone asks, just say it’s getting sized.” I stroked her cheek. “See what it’s like when the scores are settled, and the slate is clean. We can start over. Start fresh.”

Layla smiled, her nose brushing mine as she nodded.

“We can even go on another first date,” I suggested.

“I’d like that,” she whispered.

I pecked her lips. “How about we have another first?”

She cocked her head, curious.

My hands roamed her body. “How about we redo our first time?”

Layla’s thighs clenched. “You mean…”

“Get undressed, and lay down.”

Her eyes searched me for any hint of what I had up my sleeve, but I wasn’t giving anything away. Not when I had seen what made her tick. And I was going to make her explode.

“Why don’t you undress me?”

“I’ll be back in a minute.” I nudged her toward the bed. “Go on.”

I jogged downstairs and rummaged through the house, grabbing the necessities. When I scaled the steps and pushed the door open, every ounce of blood rushed out of my head.

Layla was spread out on the bed, two fingers circling her clit while her other hand worked her breast. She was silent. Lips parted, eyes closed, back arched. She was an angel, soaring toward heaven.

“Stop,” I barked.

Her hands froze, and a slow smile crept across her mouth.

“Arms up. Spread your legs for me.”

Eyes, dark with lust, tracked me as I strode across the room. Sight was the first thing I was going to steal from her. I set my supplies down, except for the sleep mask I spun around my finger.

“You know what I love most about fucking you?” I asked as I slipped my hand behind her head, lifting it and sliding the mask over her eyes.

She squeezed her thighs together. “What?”

“When you go absolutely silent.” I grabbed her left wrist and looped one end of a necktie around it, then tied it to the corner of the headboard. “When I know you’re feeling so much that you don’t want to miss a thing by making a sound.” I repeated the process with her other wrist.

Her breath was coming in short pants. I wrapped my hand around the inside of her thigh and squeezed. “Legs open.”

Layla whimpered, tugging at the restraints binding her wrists.

“The sooner you’re a good girl and do what you’re told, the sooner you’ll get what you want, honey.” Layla’s knees tipped open, and my mouth went dry. Her pussy was glistening and swollen, dark pink with need and arousal. “Wider,” I growled.

“Cal,” she whispered as she slid her ankles to the edges of the bed.

I skated my hand up and down her leg, gently soothing her. “That’s my good girl.” I wrapped one end of a belt around her ankle, buckling it and wedging the tail of the belt between the mattress and box spring. She could easily kick it out, but I wanted her to feel the bite of the hard edge of leather pressing into her skin. “Are you good, honey?” I asked in a low murmur as I attended to the other ankle.

Layla nodded. She was strapped down and spread for me. Fucking stunning in every way. I wanted to ravage her. I wanted to kiss every bit of exposed skin. I wanted to tease her within an inch of her sanity, then push her into freefall with orgasm after orgasm.

“One more thing,” I said as I picked up the chunky headphones and put them in her restrained hands. “Feel it?”

Her fingers worked over the hard plastic and foam. “Noise-canceling headphones?”

“The ones I use at the range.” I brushed her hair aside and kissed her lips. “I don’t want you thinking about anything except what I make you feel. Give me a nod if you’re okay. Tell me to stop if it’s too much.”

“I love you,” she whispered with reverence. “I trust you.”

I didn’t wait for anything more. I slipped the headphones over her ears and left her with a parting kiss. Circling the bed as I undressed, I studied her. She was calm. Aroused. Completely vulnerable, yet so strong.

The first touch was my fingertip grazing the back of her knee. She jumped slightly at the unexpected contact, then smiled as I teased the sensitive skin.

I walked to the other side of the bed and kissed the inside of her wrist. Her fingers twitched in response. I found two of her bobby pins on the bedside table; parting one, I opened it around her nipple, then let it spring shut.

Layla gasped, writhing as she tried to squeeze her legs shut for a modicum of relief. I tapped her chin, and she nodded. Good.

I laved the other nipple with the flat of my tongue, warming it before teasing it to a point with a cool breath. I snapped the other hairpin around the bud and studied my handiwork. Layla keened, the wetness between her legs growing into a damp spot on the sheet. I flicked the ends of the bobby pins in unison, twisting and teasing the swollen peaks.

Her mouth opened and closed with unintelligible gasps and half-coherent pleas. I flicked her nipples with my tongue, alternating between left and right as I warmed and cooled them with my breath. In a quick motion, I grabbed the ends of the hairpins and yanked them off.

A cry of relief melted into chants for more.

I hadn’t given myself the pleasure of devouring her nearly enough. I was addicted after the first time I spread her legs and tasted her. I couldn’t think straight until the next time when I climbed into the shower with her, knelt, and tossed her leg over my shoulder. She was sweeter than candy, dripping in sugar and slick with nectar.

I climbed from the foot of the bed and prowled between her spread legs. She could sense me coming, feeling the dip in the mattress and the slow bounce from my limbs as I eased between her thighs. I started at the crease of her thigh, tracing a long line with my tongue. Moving closer to her center, I teased the side of her pussy, nipping at the soft clouds of swollen arousal with my teeth. Her hips swung violently, seeking out penetration. Not yet, honey. I grabbed her hips and slammed them down onto the mattress as I latched onto her pulsing clit. I sucked on the bud, offering deep pulls between flicks of my tongue. She shouted something in Farsi that faded into guttural moans of satisfaction. I circled her entrance with the tip of my finger, teasing her but never giving her enough to latch on to.

Arousal leaked out of her cunt. I lapped at it with my tongue until the only thing that was left was from me.

“Cal,” Layla begged. “Please—baby—please.”

I parted her labia, exposing her opening. So intricate. So delicate. I flicked her clit with my finger, my cock thickening to steel with her cry. Her nipples pointed straight at the ceiling. Her lower back was arched, leaving only her shoulders and hips on the mattress.

I left her pussy with a lingering wet kiss before moving to straddle her, dragging the head of my cock down the center line of her stomach. Her hips rose to meet mine. My balls were nestled against her wet heat, cradled by her softness. Layla’s head tipped back, raven hair spilling across the pillows. I cupped her breasts, palming the swells as I teased her folds.

My dick was a heat-seeking missile, locked on its target. I notched the head inside of her, holding still for an excruciating minute. Layla squirmed. She thrashed. She writhed and whipped, all in an effort to get more. Still, I held, letting the quiet anticipation build. Her hands tugged at the ties, feet flexed against the belts.

I pulled back, leaving her swearing in frustration.

Air whipped against her center before the clap from my hand stung her wet cunt.

“Please,” she cried out. “I—I can’t wait anymore.”

I spanked her pussy again, then rubbed, soothing the burn.

Layla mewled—pleading, begging, praying for something more. If she could hear me, I would have told her how well she took each spank. How well she handled each bite of pain. She was a goddess worthy of undying praise. “Such a good girl,” I murmured to myself as I cupped her sex. “So sweet for me.”

Again, I parted her entrance and exposed her clit. My palm connected with her most sensitive flesh in a sharp swat. Before any sound escaped her mouth, I was thrusting inside.

Her mouth opened, lips parting in silent euphoria as I drove into her again, fucking her with everything in me. It was a selfish way to take her, wanting her laid open for me to do with as I pleased. But I was a selfish man. She had given herself to me, and rejecting that would have been cruel.

With each pump, I slowed my pace, taking time to grind down on her clit between thrusts. Without so much as a warning, she shattered at the intensity of the rush. Layla collapsed against the mattress as I came, the two of us fusing our broken pieces together like stained glass.

We glowed, light shining through the shards that had been colored, shaped, and cut out of our control. But together, our pieces became whole.

33

LAYLA

“Where are you taking me?” I shouted from my spot in front of the bathroom mirror.

“Already told you,” Callum shouted back. “It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises,” I hollered as I applied lipstick in a deep shade of plum. I blotted my lips with a tissue and tossed it in the trash. “You know, you’re making some pretty big claims of this being the best first date ever.”

“I always make good on my promises,” he called from the base of the stairs. “Get a move on, honey.”

Getting a move on made the ache in my pussy throb even more. After being tied down and deprived of nearly every sense, I went to bed more satisfied than I had ever been. After we came to a simultaneous climax, Cal untied me and kissed every mark. Every ache. Every piece of me that felt incomplete without him. He soothed the sting with gentle words and sweet praises. The growling “good girl” he whispered in my ear when he slipped off the headphones nearly made me come again.

The jingling keys broke me out of the daydream. I clobbered down the stairs, one boot on, one boot in my hand. I hadn’t worn the leather pants since our engagement photos, and I couldn’t wait to see Callum choke on his tongue again.

“You ready to—” He looked up from his phone, gray eyes turning midnight black. “Fuck yes, honey. Look at you.”

In a split second, I was pinned against the wall, his foot wedged between mine as he kicked my ankles apart. I had been reaching for my jacket hanging on the coat hook, but Callum grabbed my arm, pinning it to the wall. His other hand skated up the corset clinging to my torso. My boobs—a very average medium—were enhanced by padded cups and boning. Black lace and leather covered the nude lining of the corset, making the outfit seem more risqué than it really was.

Callum’s hand cupped my left breast and squeezed. “You’re going to have every man in the county busting the zippers on their pants.”

With my free hand, I reached between us and squeezed his erection. “You seem to be doing okay.” I tilted my head up and nipped at the edge of his stubbled jaw. “But if it lasts for more than four hours, call a doctor.”

Profanities spilled out under his breath as I grabbed the jacket he had given me and pulled it over the crisscrossing straps that held up the corset. A warm palm skated down my ass and squeezed. “So fucking sexy,” he groaned in my ear. “You all done up like this for me, honey?”

I yanked the elastic off my wrist and pulled my hair back. “All for you, baby.”

“Good,” he said, still standing at my back as he let his hands roam my ass and hips. “Everyone else can look, but they can’t touch.”

“Possessive,” I hummed. “I like it.”

“Good, because it’s never changing.” He took my left hand in his, raising it to his lips and kissing my bare ring finger. “Time for our second first date. Grab your helmet.”

The motorcycle helmet I had commandeered since our first ride had been modified by Callum. It now sported a decal with wings, matching the sticker I had on my flight helmet. It was a small gesture that claimed a piece of my heart. It tied us together in a way that didn’t include rings and false intentions of matrimony.

Cal parked the Harley outside of a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that promised two-dollar tacos and drafts. We gorged ourselves on al pastor, barbacoa, carne asada, and the best chips and salsa I had ever tasted. I drained the last of my Coke while Cal finished off his last taco.

“Not gonna lie. If this was our first-first date, it’d be a solid start.” I stared at our crumb-cluttered plates, satisfied with the fullness of my belly.

He grinned, swiping a napkin over his mouth. “If it was our first-first date, we wouldn’t be going home together and having sex after.”

I snorted. “Pretty sure you’re supposed to wait thirty minutes after eating before having sex.”

He grinned, pocketing the receipt and leaving a few bills on the table. “That’s swimming, honey.”

“So,” I said as we walked hand-in-hand out of the restaurant. “You’re saying that if we were on our first-first date, you wouldn’t have sex with me?” We stopped at the bike and lingered. “I didn’t take you for such a choir boy, Fletcher.”

Cal dropped his helmet on one of the handlebars and hooked his fingers in my belt loops, drawing my hips to his. “With you all dressed up like this? I might press my luck. His hand snuck beneath my jacket and grazed the side of my breast. “I’d probably try to run a few bases. See how far you’d let me go.”

“I’d let you go all the way.”

“On a first date?”

“Yes.”

His fingers brushed my hair away from the side of my face as he kissed my cheek. “I like your honesty, Miss Mousavi.” Cal took my helmet, slid it over my hair, and secured the chin strap. “You ready to go?”

“Back to your house for sex?” I asked as I swung my leg over the bike.

Callum donned his motorcycle gloves and zipped his jacket, warding off the frigid night air. “Pretty sure it’s our house, honey.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yours. Your name is on the deed.”

His jaw flexed. “If this is gonna work, it’s ours. Our house. Our life. Our relationship to put first.”

“Okay.” The whisper was easy. Simple.

“I don’t want to start this with you having one foot out the door.”

I reached out and touched his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Cal took the scenic route out to Chapel Hill, cruising through winding back roads before pulling into town and dodging clueless college students who were venturing off campus for the first time. He parked the bike next to a coffee and wine bar and took my hand. “How’s it feel?”

“What?” I asked as we hopped up onto the sidewalk. Cal switched places with me, putting himself between me and the curb. “The bike?”

“Yeah. You’ve been out with me a few times now. How do you like it?” We passed a crowded bar patio, and Cal gracefully guided me behind his wide body with one arm when a man stumbled out, staggering onto the sidewalk.

He was so alert. So in tune with his surroundings. It never ceased to amaze me how he could carry on a casual conversation while moving and manipulating everyone around him.

Callum Fletcher wasn’t the big bad wolf. Beneath the biker boots, all the muscles, tattoos, and irritated looks beat the heart of a protector.

The sidewalk cleared, and we walked side-by-side. Cal’s hand slipped into the back pocket of my jeans. The man took advantage of any opportunity he could find to have his hands on my ass.

Music filtered out of a narrow alleyway. Cal grinned as he grabbed my hand and pulled me through. We ran like two kids sneaking out after curfew. He yanked open a steel door and slipped inside, dragging me in behind him. Stage lights were clouded by smoke. The ambient clink of beer bottles rattled from the bar in the corner. We bobbed and weaved, snaking through the crowd until we found a patch of floor space with a little breathing room.

The lead singer—a woman with tight brown curls wearing an it wasn’t just a phase t-shirt—wailed into the mic. Guitar riffs roared, and I felt the beat of the drums pulsing through my veins.

It was hypnotizing. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out to see live music. Callum stood at my back and wrapped his arms around me. I threw my hands in the air as the band switched to a cover I knew. His hands moved to my hips, rocking with me.

“You know, I like to see you like this,” he said into my ear. The volume inside the small venue was reaching critical, so he had to shout.

I tipped my head back, resting it against his chest. “Like what?”

“Carefree.” He kissed my temple. “I like seeing you live your life on your terms. Not haunted by someone too busy pining after someone else that he didn’t see how beautiful you are. How incredible you are. Not being the woman your family expects you to be. Not faking it with me to scare off some harpy.” His hands skated up and down the sides of the corset. “I like seeing you.”

I twisted my arm, threading my hand through the side of his hair to pull him down for a kiss. “I like seeing you, too.”

“So, have I done it?”

“Done what, baby?”

“Changed your mind about dating a cop again.” He grinned against the top of my head, and I could feel his thickness pressing against my ass. It was the leather pants that made him that way. Then again, Callum was never not hard.

“I think you’ve made a pretty good case for yourself, Officer Fletcher.” The band switched to a slow anthem of undying love. I turned and draped my arms around his neck.

Cal wrapped his hand around my throat, holding me steady as he tipped his head and kissed me the way a man should kiss a woman. He kissed me like he was fucking my mouth with his. Like there wasn’t an inch of my body and my heart that didn’t belong to him. “You’ve moved a lot. Moved around a lot.” His thumb stroked up and down my throat, occasionally dipping to circle the notch in my clavicle. “Do you, uh … think you could be happy in a place like Falls Creek?”

“Don’t do that, Cal,” I chided with a lazy smile. “If you have something you want to know, just ask me. Don’t skirt around it.”

The pad of his thumb pressed against my lips. “Do you think you’d be happy in Falls Creek? With me?”

The noise of the concert faded. The bodies packed in around us turned to distant figures. “Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

Callum grinned, white teeth flashing in the midst of his grizzly bear façade. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his hands on my hips, turning me back to face the stage. His cheek scraped against my temple. “I already proposed, honey.”

“You faked it,” I said with a laugh, leaning back into him. “I don’t want to sound like a diva, but I want a real proposal. One that we didn’t practice in your living room.”

His hand clapped down on my left butt cheek. I squeaked, but the rest of the crowd was too busy forming a mosh pit to care.

“Our living room,” I corrected with a laugh.

He squeezed my ass. “That’s better.”

The show came to a close. Cal and I weaved through the crowd and darted for the bike before there was a traffic jam of concert-goers trying to leave at once.

“I may have faked it, but every word was true,” he said as he slid his hand under my jacket and rested it on the small of my back.

I tried to remember what he had said when he proposed under the gazebo in the middle of town, but I couldn’t recall. I racked my brain during the ride back toward Falls Creek. Instead of turning into the little downtown to head home, he kept driving.

The parkway was pitch-black. I hugged his back to steal his warmth as we whipped around curve after curve. Cal slowed, pulling to a stop at the gravel shoulder where we had … christened his bike.

“Babe,” I said with a laugh and planted my feet on the ground. “I’m just warning you, these pants are tight, and the corset snaps at my crotch like a onesie. Getting out of it isn’t going to be as sexy as you just seeing me in it.”

His smile flashed like lightning. “Don’t worry, I’m not taking your clothes off. Too cold for that.”

I raised an eyebrow. “But it wasn’t the other night?”

Callum chuckled and shrugged sheepishly. “I was horny.”

Fair.

He unsnapped the saddle bag and pulled out a small blanket. “There’s a meteor shower tonight.”

“Callum Anthony Fletcher,” I said with a giggle. “Who knew that the grumpy, tattooed cop of Falls Creek was a softie who liked looking at the stars?”

He glared at me. “First of all, who told you my middle name? Second, I’m not grumpy. But if you had to wrangle farm animals who are smarter than half our population, then get told you have to take an insufferable woman out on a date because it’s for a good cause, you’d be a little irritable, too. And third—” he pecked my lips and guided me down onto the blanket, using the side of the Harley as a backrest “—I will only stay up, sit in the cold, and look at exploding rocks in the sky because I like seeing the wonder on your face.”

I sat between his spread thighs and laid against his chest. “You wanna know something?”

“What’s that, honey?”

“Of all the places I’ve lived, this is my favorite.”

He hunched forward, wrapping his arms around my middle and burying his head in the crook of my neck. “Falls Creek?”

I laughed. “No, Falls Creek is inconvenient as hell. You have to drive into the city for any good stores; the only takeout options are the Mule, a greasy spoon with questionable drive-through service, and a bar that I’m no longer welcome in thanks to BJ feeding me overpriced wine.” I slid my hands up and down the tight denim that hugged every bit of his muscular legs. “Right here. This is my favorite place.”

His hand circled the base of my jaw, guiding my lips to his. “You know that old saying, ‘fake it ’til you make it?’”

I nodded.

Callum chuckled. “I guess we did it.”

34

LAYLA

“Morning, honey.”

I peered through lowered eyes. Crusty protein fused my lids. Callum rolled over and tucked his hand behind his head. His tattoo-wrapped bicep bulged, acting as a pillow for his bedhead.

Rolling onto my back, I rubbed my eyes. “Mornin’.”

His sleepy chuckle warmed me. “You’re cute when you first wake up.”

“What do you mean?” I murmured, making the final turn in my three-point flop to my side. I tucked my hands beneath my cheek and closed my eyes again.

Cal’s thumb traced my lips. “You frown when you’re asleep.” He trailed his knuckle down the bridge of my nose. “Your eyebrows form this little groove in the middle.” He pecked my nose. “It’s cute.”

The godforsaken alarm blared, shattering the tender moment. With one arm, Callum dragged me into his chest. With the other, he slapped the shit out of the clock, sending it into the snooze graveyard.

“We stayed out too late last night,” I mumbled into his pectoral.

He snorted. “You stay up all night on the regular.”

“Only when I’m getting paid to.”

I reached for the edge of the comforter, but Cal’s thick arms banded around my biceps. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled. “Five minutes just like this.”

I relented, snuggling deeper into his warmth. Cal was built like a freight train, but there was a comfort to his build. It wasn’t all rock-hard muscle. The soft cocoon he created around me felt like heaven. He was halfway between bodybuilder and dad bod.

Callum with a dad bod would be fine as hell…

“Nope, two more minutes. Lay down,” Cal clipped when he felt me tense.

With the notion of him having a dad bod came the notion of him being a dad. The thought of little feet pitter-pattering across the floor. The vision of a chunky toddler wanting to try on daddy’s motorcycle helmet or mommy’s flight helmet. It was diapers and bottles and long nights and tough days… It was a life. Full and complicated, but fulfilling and beautiful in the same.

Cal’s lips grazed the shell of my ear. “You okay, honey?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I’m good.”

By the time the alarm went off again, I was fast asleep. Callum shook me gently and kissed my neck. “Gotta get a move on. If I go down and make coffee, are you gonna fall asleep again?”

“No,” I murmured, crossing my fingers under the covers.

“Liar,” he chuckled as he peeled away and swung his legs over the edge. “Get on up, honey. I don’t want AB coming after me. That woman’s scary as hell.”

He wasn’t wrong. Ten minutes later, I was up, dressed, and throwing the last of my necessities for a twenty-four-hour shift into my duffle. Cal met me at the door, dressed in his uniform. His to-go thermos of coffee was standard stainless steel, while mine was covered with a sparkly vinyl decal I made that read, A little flighty, a little stabby. It was accompanied by silhouettes of a helicopter and syringe.

“Stay safe out there today,” I said as I ghosted my fingertip over his badge. “I love you.”

Cal tipped my chin up and kissed me. “Fly safe, Wonder Woman. Come home to me. I’ll be here tomorrow to carry you up to bed.”

* * *

“How was last night?” I asked Rah-Rah and Frodo as AB and I ran through the morning gear checks, making sure everything was in place for a flight before we settled in for the shift.

Rah-Rah folded her bedding and shoved it in her plastic storage bin. “Last night wasn’t bad. A transport in the afternoon and an MVC after dinner. Caught the tail end of Real Housewives and got a full night off sleep.”

I stood in the supply closet that was catty-cornered to the bunk room, filling my pockets with the instruments, tape, and bandages that I preferred to keep on my body. While we could carry almost everything we needed in the bird, moving around the small bay while wearing a clunky helmet when a patient was on the stretcher made searching through tiny storage compartments a nightmare.

I slid a pair of kelly clamps into my thigh pocket, then grabbed a handful of alcohol swabs.

“What was your transport?” I asked.

“An OD.”

Another overdose? It seemed like every shift, we had at least one. Men. Woman. Old and young. Rich and poor. High-roller executives and users who were destitute.

“Have a good one,” Rah-Rah said as she shouldered her bag. “I think we fly together next shift. AB’s going on vacation.”

I gave her a two-fingered salute. “See ya.”

Odin swapped out with the pilot who had been on shift earlier. Loki trotted over to his crate. I grabbed the bag of treats I’d picked up at the Falls Creek Filling Station and offered him one. He gobbled it down in two snarfs, not leaving so much as a crumb.

Paisley June Gilbert handmade the bone-shaped cookies with love and sold them at any spot around town that would stock them. The ones I had grabbed, along with my customary energy drink, were pumpkin flavored for the fall.

It was odd knowing things like who ran a dog-treat business or walking into The Copper Mule and having no less than ten people greet me. None of whom were employees.

I dropped down into a rolling chair and got to work. Twenty minutes later, my email inbox was clear, a message politely detailing my qualifications for a pay raise had been sent to the base’s business manager, and an incoming email noted that I had passed my TPATC course.

AB finished a walk-through of the helo while I put together a list of the inventory we were running low on. I pawed through the refrigerated case of drugs and added them to the sheet.

Business as usual.

AB headed for her bunk to grab a cat nap while I plopped down in the recliner beside Loki’s crate. I plucked the newest Whitney West book out of my bag and turned to the dog-eared page.

I had just gotten to the good part when tones dropped. While Odin responded, I begrudgingly set aside the sexy banter and made a quick trip to the bathroom.

Nothing like getting hung up at a scene in the middle of nowhere with a full bladder.

Odin confirmed that our crew was taking the request and jogged through the crew quarters, out to the hanger. While AB and I grabbed our gear, we regurgitated the information that we’d been given.

Female. Twenty-six years old. Approximately sixty kilos. A neighbor had called 911 about a possible domestic problem. When cops arrived, they found her hiding behind a couch in a pool of her own blood, sporting multiple stab wounds. EMS was en route, but without the ability to transfuse between the scene and the hospital, she wouldn’t make it. Cops had already started canvassing the area for the attacker.

We barely got off the ground before we landed again. The scene was a small house outside the town limits. Blue and red lights danced in the daylight. The skids hit the patchy brown grass. I yanked off my helmet and took in the mess.

This was the part of the job that I loved—the part I lived for. Dropping down in the middle of chaos and feeling completely calm. It was like surfing, like the moment you find yourself in the middle of a pipeline, surrounded by an unconquerable force of nature. When you come out the other side, you hear the crash, but in the middle—in the middle, there is only calm.

We moved on muscle memory, unloading the gurney and shouldering our bags.

Shane and Mia, an EMT fresh out of school, were on the scene. Thank goodness.

I would trust Shane with my life. After multiple tours in the Middle East as a combat medic, nothing fazed him.

“She’s lost a lot of blood,” Shane said as he kept a constant eye on her pulse. “Don’t know how long she was like this before the neighbor called it in.”

“Where’s the neighbor?” I asked as I started a line. The patient’s blood pressure was scary low. I hollered for AB to prep for takeoff. We needed to get her into an operating room STAT.

The radio on my shoulder chirped as Odin called ahead and updated the hospital intake team.

Shane tipped his head over his shoulder. “Giving a statement to your boy toy.”

I looked up.

Cal was here. I hadn’t even noticed him when we rolled in. He was talking to an older lady that I had seen around town a few times. Cal glanced up from his notebook and nodded toward me. A faint smile painted his lips, but he quickly returned focus to the witness.

“Any consciousness?” I asked.

“In and out.”

I grabbed my pen light and clicked it on, gently opening the woman’s eyes. Her pupils constricted at the flash of light. Good.

The gurney clanked and clattered as AB wheeled it through the door. The vic stirred, groaning in pain as she came to. A new spot of blood seeped through the side of her shirt.

“Jesus Christ,” Shane muttered. “How’d I miss that one?”

“How many entry wounds?” I asked as I grabbed my shears and started slicing through the shirt.

“Six by my count, seven with the new squirter.”

Calm in the chaos.

The three-inch slice was jagged and deep—like the attacker had tried to carve out a piece of her but hit her rib instead.

It couldn’t have been a large blade, I thought to myself as I did my best to stop the bleeding. It wasn’t one clean puncture. Each wound site had to have been made of three or four stabs a piece.

“C-Cl—” The woman sputtered, whispered words uttered in an incoherent jumble of sounds.

“We’re taking you to a hospital, ma’am,” Shane clipped. “You’re safe.”

Safe. Not you’ll be okay. We didn’t make promises like that. But safety was something we could give her.

“Claw…” Her eyes closed again, too exhausted to continue.

“You’re gonna take a little helicopter ride today,” I said. “We’re gonna get you loaded up, and I’m not gonna lie—it’s probably gonna hurt, but not worse than what you’ve already survived.” I had no idea if the woman could hear me or not, but it was worth a shot. There were few things worse than loading an unconscious patient into the bird, then having them wake up mid-flight and freak the fuck out.

Or they think they’re being abducted by aliens. The day I met Callum replayed in my mind, bringing a smile to my face in the middle of the grim scene.

“We’ll get her loaded and start a transfusion before we lift off. Give the OR a fighting chance.” Two of the stab wounds were to the soft tissue of her stomach. We had no way of knowing whether a vital organ had been hit. All we could do was try to cheat death one more time.

As gently as we could, Shane, AB, the newbie, and I lifted and eased her onto the gurney.

“Clos—” The woman grimaced as she was strapped in. “Closet.”

AB frowned, leaning in closer to hear better. “What was that?”

She lifted a frail finger, pointing off to the side.

I looked over my shoulder, meeting my own reflection on the edge of a bloodied blade.

I screamed, pain lancing through my scalp as a meaty hand grabbed my hair and yanked me away from the gurney. The attacker trapped me against his body—one thick arm around my stomach, the edge of a hunting knife pressed against my throat.

The small living room turned into utter mayhem. Orders were shouted, and weapons were drawn. Callum shoved the witness out the front door and pulled his gun.

The steel bit into my skin, and I froze.

“Nobody move! You leave that bitch here, and I let this one go,” the man spewed.

I was forced to stare down the barrels of five guns, all trained on the man behind me.

The man using me as a bargaining chip. As a human shield.

With my height and build, not a single cop had a clean shot.

Don’t look, Layla. Don’t look at him. Don’t look. I closed my eyes, blocking myself from seeing the fear in Callum’s eyes.

“Get away from the fuckin’ stretcher,” he slurred at my crew. The knife edged closer and closer to my neck with each word. “That bitch found my stash and tipped off the PoPo. No one gets to deal with her but me.”

Nobody moved.

“Get her out,” I ordered. “AB, take Hutch.” If this was how it was going to go down, I didn’t want to leave AB shorthanded. Shane didn’t have flight training, but he had the trauma experience under his belt. If it was me on the stretcher, I would want him in the bird. That woman was going to make it, dammit!

Still, nobody moved.

“Get. Out,” I mouthed.

Pressure lifted from my stomach, and I swung an elbow. Searing pain lit up my cheek as I tried to twist away. A shot rang out, slamming into the drywall above his head. Paint and plaster rained down. In the midst of the pandemonium, AB and Shane raced out the door.

He fisted my hair, jerking my head back and exposing my throat. “ANYONE ELSE SHOOTS, AND SHE DIES!”

Needles of pain prickled my scalp, but my arms were free. Clawing at him wouldn’t be effective enough when the tip of the knife was pressed against my carotid artery. One quick jab, and I’d take up residency in the morgue.

“Pretty little martyr,” he sneered. “You think you’re heroic. But if I’m goin’ down, I’m gonna make it fun.”

Adrenaline started overriding my calm. My heart raced, each passing second feeling like a millennium.

Thigh pocket.

The idea wriggled through waves of anxiety and paralyzing fear and took root in my mind.

I struggled, twisting to hide the fact that I was reaching into one of my flight-suit pockets. Blood trickled down my neck.

Whether it was my blood or the blood of the first victim that was still on the knife, I wasn’t sure.

Something thick pressed against my lower back. Vomit and bile burned my throat. That perverted fucker was getting hard.

The smooth metal loops of the Kelly clamps brushed my fingertips. I worked my hand lower, grabbing the middle of the scissor-like metal hemostat. It wasn’t the best option, but it was my only option. I wrapped my fist around it, yanked it out of my pocket, and swung.

The curved, pointed tip sunk into the man’s knife-wielding hand. He roared, rearing back just long enough for me to leap forward.

He grabbed my ponytail, swearing as he ripped me backward and jammed the knife into my stomach.

A shot rang out, and I collapsed to the ground.

35

CALLUM

“Layla!” I screamed as I holstered my gun, the barrel still warm. She was on the ground beside the bastard who had nearly sliced her to ribbons. The hilt of the knife peeked out from beneath her prone form.

More officers swarmed the house. I was going to eviscerate every single one of them. Who the fuck cleared the house and secured the scene before EMS arrived? What clueless motherfucker didn’t look in the motherfucking closet? One of the officers stood guard as Mia, the sweet-as-pie EMT who was still a little green, checked the assailant over.

It was all a blur as she called the time of death.

Injuries incompatible with life. Should be, considering I unloaded my clip into him. We don’t shoot to maim. If lethal force is required, it’s used with the understanding that the criminal will never get back up. In all my years as an officer with the Falls Creek police department, I had never fired my weapon anywhere but the range.

Every bullet hit its mark.

My knees slammed into the red-stained carpet beside Layla’s body. “Look at me. Open your eyes. I’ve got you, honey.” Nothing but shallow breaths. I went numb. Three words slipped out of my mouth. “I love you.”

“Zahreh mar!” she groaned, eyes clenched in excruciating pain. Her hand reached down toward the knife.

I wasn’t a medic, but I knew enough about stabbings that I knew not to remove the object.

“Don’t—”

Layla pushed off the ground and rolled onto her back. “That motherfucking shithead dick weasel!” The hilt bobbed back and forth in the air. Blood spatter was sprayed across the side of her face. Streaks of red coated her cheek, neck, and collarbone, but not her stomach.

She reached up and tugged the zipper of her flight suit down.

Kevlar.

Air rushed out of my lungs, and I collapsed on top of her, pressing my lips to her forehead. “I love you, honey.”

“Someone bring a fucking evidence bag and get this thing off of me!” she snapped.

“I love you, honey,” I whispered against her temple. “Don’t ever fucking scare me like that again.”

She lay still as I stroked her hair. Lauren hurried over, pale as a ghost, as she snapped on a pair of gloves and gingerly worked the teeth of the hunting knife out of the snares of Kevlar fibers. The moment the knife was out of Layla’s body armor, I was stripping her down.

“Callum Anthony Fletcher!” she argued as she swatted my hands away. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m making sure it didn’t go through the vest, you stubborn, irrational woman. Lay down.”

Layla was just going to have to deal with me being an overprotective ogre for the foreseeable future.

Or for forever.

I peeled back the side of the vest and inspected her thermal shirt. No blood. Not a drop. I rolled the hem and smoothed my hand over her soft stomach. Not a scratch. “I thought you stopped breathing,” I said on an exhale.

“He knocked the air out of my lungs,” she rasped. “Can I get dressed now?”

“Fine,” I clipped as she slapped the sides of the Kevlar vest back together and zipped up her flight suit. “But just so you know, this isn’t over. When we get home, I’m going to stri—”

“Ay!” Lauren called. “Body cam’s on, Fletch. Don’t want your bedroom plans coming up in court documents, do you?”

She had a point.

“You said it,” Layla murmured as I wrapped my arm around her and escorted her to the ambulance. She’d have to take a ride in the Band-Aid box since Shane and AB left in the chopper. Not that she had any chance of getting out of a detour to the hospital. I wanted the cuts on her neck and cheek to get looked at.

“I did.” I pressed a kiss to her temple as we sat on the lip of the open ambulance. “You wanted me to say it to you when it meant to you as much as it meant when you said it to me.” I let out a breath. “You said it when you knew it would save me from myself. I said because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you to someone else.”

Half of the Falls Creek PD had shown up at the report of shots fired. They bagged and tagged anything of interest. Photos were taken, and evidence was stored. The coroner showed up, a white body bag in tow.

Thank God it was only one. Today could have been so much worse.

My hands were stained pink as I caressed Layla’s cheek, cradling her head against my chest. “I love you, honey.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, glimmering like a falling star. “I love you, too.” The adrenaline coursing through our systems had hit its peak. Now, we were in free fall.

* * *

I waited in Layla’s bunk as she met with the AirCare business manager and talked through what had happened. The door swung open as two flight nurses in matching AirCare uniforms strode into the crew quarters. Their patches noted that they were from the base just over the Virginia border. I studied the backs of their helmets. The man’s read, Easy Mac, while the woman’s read, Bigfoot.

Alright. The Falls Creek first responder crew calling Layla “Dubs” wasn’t so weird after all.

“Hey,” Layla said softly as she walked in. “I can go. AB and Shane are almost back. The Collinsville crew is covering the rest of the shift so AB and I can go early.” I held her bags while she packed up her bedding and stored it neatly in the corner.

Before leaving the scene, Mia had taken a look at Layla’s cut, cleaning and sealing them with butterfly bandages. She’d have a few small scars but nothing major.

We loaded up my cruiser and headed back to the house. The drive through town was eerie. People stepped out of storefronts, peered through windows, and craned out of doors to watch us drive home.

The holster on my belt was empty, and my body camera had been turned into the department. I was on administrative leave—temporarily relieved of my duties while internal affairs reviewed the reports and body cam footage to ensure it was a justified use of force.

Regardless of what we had been through in the last five hours, the house was the same. The couch where I would always find Layla zonked out was untouched. The cupboard was still full of ridiculously shaped mugs. Her crafting supplies were scattered about the kitchen table. Two motorcycle helmets were stored side by side.

My home had always been my refuge after a bad day, but now I didn’t have to lick my wounds alone.

“Honey, I need to carry you up,” I said as we stepped out of our shoes.

Layla rolled her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Layla, please,” I snapped when she tried to brush me off. She froze with her foot on the bottom step. “Please let me carry you.”

She relented, wrapping her arms around me as I scooped her up. “I’m okay, baby,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“Then why are you carrying me?”

Pressing my lips to her forehead, I murmured, “Because I’m not okay.”

I set her on the bed and started with her thick socks, peeling them off and tossing them into the hamper. Her flight suit was next. The slice where the knife pierced the Nomex fluttered as I unzipped it. Layla pulled her arms through and wiggled her feet out. I stripped off her base layers, then her bra and underwear. Layla shivered at the loss of clothing, but she didn’t hide. I stripped out of my uniform and pulled her into my arms.

There were no words, and there was no sex. Not even an attempt at second base. We simply held each other before showering off the stress of the call.

When the water turned cold, I wrapped her in a towel and held her in the lingering steam of the shower.

“Should we talk about this?” Layla said in a near-whisper as she pulled on a pair of leggings.

I found a pair of clean boxers in my drawer that sported only trace amounts of glitter and put them on. “About what?”

Layla flopped back on the bed, leggings on, and tits out. It was a fantastic look on her. “I dunno. It’s been a big day. Your kind-of-fake-fiancé almost got stabbed, you killed a man, then said, ‘I love you,’ and now we’re both off of work for the foreseeable future. Where should we start?”

I tossed a shirt at her. If we were going to have this conversation, it would have to happen with her clothed. I couldn’t focus if her tits were bouncing around.

“I have an appointment with the department’s psychologist tomorrow, and yes, I will be talking to him about you getting stabbed.”

“Almost stabbed,” she corrected. “I almost got stabbed.”

“You were wearing Kevlar. If you hadn’t been…” Acid burned my mouth. “This would be a very different conversation. What you did—sending AB and Shane and the vic on and leaving yourself without a bargaining chip…” I pressed my fist to my mouth. “It was stupid, Layla. Reckless and selfish.”

“How was it selfish?” she shouted as she rocketed out of bed, tugging my t-shirt over her head.

“Because I need you!” I bellowed. “I fucking need you, Layla. So, I’m sorry, but you can’t just go around sacrificing yourself for people because I can’t live without you.” My tone softened as she neared. It always did that when she was around. Her presence was a balm for my tumultuous heart. Honey for my soul.

Her hands pressed against my chest. “I’m okay.”

I trailed my finger down the line of butterfly bandages holding the cut on her cheek closed. “I can’t lose you.”

“I trusted you,” she whispered, eyes lowering to half-mast. “I did it because I trusted you to have my back.”

“You’re the piece of my heart that I didn’t know was missing,” I said as I pressed my forehead to hers. “I just got you. I can’t lose you for at least fifty more years. Even then, it’s too soon. Eternity is too soon.”

* * *

“There she is!” the crowded patio at The Copper Mule hollered.

Beth Hale had joined the dinner crowd with a mammoth of a man beside her. “I saw it all over the news,” she said as she weaved between chairs and threw her arms around Layla. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Layla replied with a tired smile.

“Hey,” the mammoth man said as he hugged my woman. “Beth told me what happened. You okay?”

Layla, apparently on friendly terms with the Viking, nodded. “Crazy day, but I’m good.” She pulled back, glancing at his arm. “Looks like you had a crazy day of your own.”

There was a burn on his wrist—blistered skin puffed up, swollen and angry. “Occupational hazard.”

“Cal, this is my friend, Austin. He’s Beth’s brother,” Layla said, and I put two and two together. The firefighter she knew from Beaufort. “Austin, this is my…” She looked at me, and I knew what she was fishing for.

We didn’t really need to fake it anymore. The date auction was over. We were together. Perhaps not as seriously as everyone assumed, but we were together. Still, ‘boyfriend’ didn’t have the same ring to it after being a fiancé.

“Uh, my fiancé, Callum Fletcher,” she provided. That’s my girl.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Austin said as we shook hands.

Shane was next in line, offering Layla a hug before shoving her flight helmet into her hands. “Glad you’re in one piece, Dubs.” When he turned away, I didn’t miss the lingering look he stole of Beth.

Lauren, followed by Wyatt and the rest of the guys from the department, crowded around us, checking in and making sure we were good. It was a weird little family we had, but it was ours.

Even if they were annoying as hell from time to time.

Over Layla’s shoulder, I saw Caroline Tyree take a seat at an empty patio table. She had gotten the short stick when it came to growing up like a normal kid. Her parents had to homeschool her because she was sick more often than not. It left her with a sparse social circle. And that was coming from a guy who preferred to be alone. I’d heard through the grapevine that she got her teaching degree online. She was a sweet girl, but it didn’t seem like she had many people in her corner outside of her parents.

I brought my fingers to my lips and whistled.

Caroline’s blonde curls bounced as she popped her head up, startled. I waved her over.

“Hi, Officer—Cal,” she corrected. “I heard about what happened. I’m so glad y’all are okay.”

“You eating alone?” I asked.

Caroline nodded and opened her mouth to make an excuse, but that wouldn’t do. Layla pulled out an empty chair. “Why don’t you join us?”

“Whatever you want, it’s on the house,” Tiffany said as she waltzed by with a tray full of beers, depositing them one-by-one in front of every legal drinker. She eyed Caroline warily before giving her one, too.

Austin chuckled. “I like this place.”

Caroline took the empty seat between Layla and Austin.

Austin raised his bottle to his lips. “I like it even more now,” he mumbled.

Beth and Layla exchanged mischievous glances as Austin shifted in his seat so that he could talk with Caroline.

“So,” Lauren said, piping up after Tiffany went around and took everyone’s orders. “Have y’all picked a date yet?”

Layla looked at me, “Oh, I don’t kn—”

“Spring might be nice,” I mused as I sipped my beer. Layla’s eyes snapped to mine. I shrugged. “Summer, too. I’m not much of a cold-weather guy. Don’t wanna be stuck outside in a suit when it’s snowing, you know?”

Her lips mouthed, “What the fuck?” Her eyes were soft, though.

“Do you have a venue picked out?” Mia asked.

Layla stammered. “Uh—”

Again, I was there with the answer. “Haven’t really decided, but her aunt owns the Ballentine House.”

Before I could say anything else, Kiara—a firefighter—launched into a spiel, detailing all the beautiful weddings she had seen done at the bed and breakfast.

With everyone distracted, Layla leaned in. “What are you doing talking about wedding plans?”

I tipped my beer back. “Figured it was about time we made some.”

“We don’t have to fake it anymore,” she hissed.

I chuckled. “Fake it ’til you make it.”

She paled. “Are you—”

“No, I’m not re-proposing right now,” I said. “Besides, I don’t even have your ring. It’s at Heirlooms with Tammy Lynn.”

Layla choked on her beer. Gently, I rubbed her back. “But I will, honey,” I murmured into her ear. “Mark my words.”

“You two look really good together,” Caroline squeaked as she picked at the edge of the beer bottle label.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Layla asked. “I mean, you’re gorgeous and adorable. I’m sure you have men lined up down the road to take you on dates.”

Beth nodded in agreement.

Caroline blushed. “No, I’m very single.”

“So’s my brother,” Beth said with a wicked grin. “Very, very single.”

Austin choked on his beer, but the distraction was enough for my man to make a move. Casually, he draped his arm over the back of Caroline’s chair when he leaned back in his seat.

Caroline sat stock-still, careful not to let her shoulders touch his arm.

“How are you feeling, Layla?” Caroline asked. “I was on bus duty at the school and heard everyone talking about what happened.”

Layla let out a heavy breath. Although she was putting up a good front for the crew and me, today had taken a toll on her. On both of us. Layla reached over and slipped her hand into mine. “Like I have never been so happy to clock out and go home.”

Home.

Our home.

36

LAYLA

Dammit. A pearl of blood bubbled on my fingertip. The internet made cross-stitching look way easier than it was. All I wanted was to finish the little project kit I’d gotten in the mail so that I could have an embroidery hoop that read, In this house, we fucking swear.

I would have been crafting with something that caused less bodily harm, but Callum had banned me from ever using glitter again.

Day three of hiding from the nosey fucking Creekers.

Cal was at the police department for another session with the psychologist. Though he tried not to show it, I knew he hadn’t been sleeping well. I’d wake up to him sitting up, hunched over, trying to catch his breath.

Mandatory administrative leave was a good thing for both of us. Neither of us had a desire to leave the house when the only thing the grapevine wanted was a sensational story.

According to the town gossips, it was no longer the clean shooting of an armed assailant. Cal had turned into a Bruce Willis-esque movie hero.

Velma Taffery claimed she heard he dropped in from the ceiling tiles. Never mind that it had been a popcorn ceiling. LaVern Montgomery claimed that Cal dove through a window, tucking and rolling before taking down the goon. Vikki McMahon swore up and down that it had been me who took down the bad guy, saving Cal’s ass.

But that was Falls Creek for you.

Chief Farnby, bless her heart, kept her ears closed to the whispers amongst townspeople. She did, however, stop by personally—both the day after the call and this morning—to see how we were coping.

Physically, I was fine. The cuts on my throat and cheek had closed up. Mentally, I was a mess.

I had played the scenario repeatedly in my mind. Each ended with the man—now known as Patrick Stubbs—slitting my throat. I resorted to cross-stitching—badly—to silence the strange guilt.

Grappling with the truth had the tendency to both hurt and heal.

“Motherfucker,” I grumbled as I stabbed my finger again. I slammed the hoop onto the table. The needle made a faint tink as it bounced across the wood.

I slumped into the seat and stared at the half-assed mind-numbing task. Coffee, I thought as I stared at my empty pineapple mug. It would be my fourth cup, but who cared?

I dumped an obnoxious amount of grounds into the filter and punched the brew button. As liquid happiness started to spit into the pot, my phone buzzed.

It was probably Cal saying he was on his way back, Gran calling to summon me to her house, or my mother checking on me for the ninety-eleventh time.

But what I didn’t expect was to see his name on my caller ID.

Chase Brannan.

“Hello?” I said as I trapped the phone between my ear and shoulder. I dumped a spoonful of sugar into my mug and waited for the pot to finish.

“Hey, Layla.” Holy shit. It wasn’t a butt dial.

My heart did all sorts of weird things when hearing his voice. There was comfort and friendliness, but the hurt that had been there when I left him in Beaufort had dissipated. There was gentleness in the way he spoke.

“Wow, um, hi,” I said as I bobbled the coffee pot. “How’s it going?”

He chuckled. “That’s actually what I was calling to ask you.” There was a pause. “Austin Hale dropped by the bar today and told Bridget what happened to you. Said he was visiting his sister and saw you. I, uh… I just wanted to call and see how you were coping.”

There was no sense in lying to Chase or putting on a happy façade. “I’ve been better, but I’m doing okay.”

“You got someone there to stay with you? You shouldn’t be alone.”

I laughed. “Go on—ask what you really want to know.”

He snickered. “Hale may have mentioned a fiancé.”

“Did he now?” I mused as I filled my mug and wandered to the couch. “What a snitch.”

“So, it’s true?”

“Yeah, his name is Callum.”

“Got a last name? Want me to run him through the system? Make sure he’s a good guy?”

I laughed. “You’ll probably be able to find a lot. He’s a cop, too. Apparently, something about me screams, ‘I need a cop to be in a fake relationship with me.’” It was ironic. I had left one cop who pretended to be my boyfriend to help me out of an uncomfortable situation, landed in a new town, and pretended to be engaged to another cop to get him out of an uncomfortable situation. All while saying I’d never date another cop.

I needed to stop saying never.

“It’s good to hear you’re happy. You deserve it.” Chase said. “Just promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“Talk to someone. Whatever you’re going through, talk to your fiancé, talk to a therapist. Treat yourself with care, okay?”

Warmth bloomed in my stomach. “Okay.”

After a quick update about his relationship with Bridget, we hung up. It was an odd feeling to realize that the world I’d left continued spinning in its own way while I made my home somewhere else.

But moving on isn’t always a bad thing. Life changes whether you’re ready or not.

The front door opened, and Callum strode in. “Hey, honey.” There was a tiredness in his eyes.

I set my coffee aside and scooted to the far side of the couch so that he could sit down. Cal’s thick-soled boots clomped across the floor. He was in civilian clothes, having no need to don the uniform. As he sat, I tugged on his arm. He obliged, laying his head in my lap.

“I’m gonna get the ladder out and clean the gutters,” he murmured as his eyes closed. I raked my fingers across his scalp, soothing the torment inside.

“Just rest, baby.” I bent and kissed his temple. “The past is a heavy burden to carry. Put it down.”

His arm wrapped around my thigh, snuggling it like a pillow. Not that I minded in the least. “I’m tired,” he admitted. “Every time I close my eyes, I see it happen over and over.” He paused, waiting until the emotion clogging his throat cleared. “But every time it replays, I miss my shot.”

There was nothing I could say to ward off the demons plaguing his mind. Instead of trying to fill the silence or keep busy with pointless hobbies, I took a lesson from a shockingly wise woman and cared enough to sit still.

* * *

It was strange walking into the hospital rather than flying. Parking was annoying as hell, and the early winter wind snapped at my cheeks like a whip. I slid my hand into Cal’s jacket pocket, holding his hand as we trudged through the slush-coated parking lot. Sleek doors parted as we set foot in the lobby. After a quick stop at the gift shop, we took the elevator ride in silence.

Grace Barnes was currently the only occupant of Room 607. Pulled-back shades gave her a distant view of the Duke University Chapel and Sarah Duke gardens. Her strawberry blonde hair was braided neatly, nearly red in the rays of the afternoon sun.

“Grace?” the nurse said gently as she led us in. “Are you feeling up to some visitors?”

Grace’s eyes opened and flicked to the door. I smiled softly and raised my hand. “Hi, Grace. You probably don’t remember me, but—”

“You’re her,” she whispered before closing her eyes again.

I didn’t know what to say to that. I was who?

She licked her lips and paused to take a labored breath. Still, it was unassisted—a miracle given her condition when we arrived on the scene three days ago.

“You’re the nurse,” she rasped. “You told the…” Grace had to pause to take another breath. “You told the others to leave with me and get in the helicopter.”

I nodded. It was a strange thing to stare at a patient recovering in a hospital bed. It was rare that I found out what happened to a patient after we transferred them to a higher level of care.

Thankfully, Grace accepted our company, and the nurse headed back to her station. “My name is Layla,” I said as I sat in one of the bedside chairs. Callum carried the flowers we had picked up in the gift shop and set them on the rolling table. “This is my fiancé, Callum. We just … wanted to say hi and see how you were doing.”

It wasn’t quite that selfless, though. Cal and I needed closure if we were going to move on.

That’s the thing about hurt. It can’t be ignored. You can try as much as you want, and perhaps it will make you believe the pain went away on its own. But if pain and hurt aren’t addressed, there will always be a constant reminder.

Perhaps it’s a dull ache when the weather changes.

Or perhaps it’s nightmares and a heightened sense of situational awareness during mundane tasks.

The choice was simple: deal with what hurt us, or let it starve us of peace.

The corner of Grace’s lip quivered. “I’m sorry.”

“Sweetie, you have nothing to be sorry about.” I reached out and gently laid my hand on top of hers. “You are unbelievably strong. Don’t ever apologize for that.”

“They told me what happened when I woke up after surgery. I…” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I thought he was going to kill you, and—” deep sobs made her lithe body shudder “—a-and I’m s-so g-glad you’re okay.”

I waited for a beat, giving Grace time to confront her trauma. Being still with someone is an immensely intimate posture. It’s uncomfortable to sit with them amid their pain.

But there's no substitute for quiet vulnerability when someone has been wounded.

I looked up and saw Cal hunched over, elbows on top of his thighs, his fist pressed to his mouth. I didn’t say anything to him, either.

He didn’t just save my life.

We saved hers, too.

“I don’t remember a lot from that day,” Grace said. “But I remember you two.” She closed her eyes as if to take herself back to that house on the outskirts of town. “It hurt so bad when they rolled me out the door. I kept thinking I was going to pass out again. But I saw you with your gun drawn.” Grace tilted her head and looked at Callum. “You stepped in front of me, blocking me from Patrick. But I caught you looking at her, too.” Grace’s eyes cut to me, then back to Cal. “I’ve never seen a man look at a woman the way you looked at Layla.”

Cal scrubbed his palm down his mouth. “I was just doing my job, ma’am.”

Grace shook her head, though it was more of an idle tilt. “For you, maybe. But for me, it was everything.”

We stayed for a few more minutes and offered well wishes before slipping out so Grace could rest. It wasn’t just the physical injuries that plagued her—it was the mental exhaustion.

I felt it in my bones, too.

Callum kept his hand on my back as we crossed the parking lot. “Ready to head back?”

I nodded. “How do you feel?” It had been a strange thing to watch him sit at Grace’s bedside and process the gravity of what the three of us had been through. Grace nearly lost her life. I nearly lost mine trying to save hers. And Cal? He took a life.

“I, uh…” He paused as we passed a couple heading inside. “I dunno. I was hoping that seeing her alive would make me feel like… Like killing that man was worth it.”

“But?”

He stroked the beginnings of the beard on his face. “I’d do it again because it’s my job, but it doesn’t make the thought of going back to work any easier. And every time I think about you going back in the field, I feel sick to my stomach.” Callum stopped dead in his tracks. “I don’t like feeling this weak.”

I slid my hands up and down the sleeves of his jacket, warming his biceps. “Tell me what will make you feel strong. Tell me what will put you back in control.”

He was quiet as we loaded up in the car. After a moment of letting the engine warm, he spoke up. “The truth.”

I tilted my head curiously.

“You know what they say. The truth will set you free.”

* * *

Foggy windows diffused the glow inside Gran’s house. The chimney billowed thick clouds of smoke into the gray sky. Though the weather looked like snow was imminent, it probably wouldn’t happen until January.

I hugged the box of pecan sticky-buns we picked up from the Falls Creek Filling Station as Cal led me up the walkway.

Gran, seated in her recliner with her feet up, begrudgingly looked away from her novel. “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to pay little ol’ me with a visit. The most infamous couple in the whole county.”

Callum cracked a wry smile. “Hey, Gran.”

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

Gran rolled her eyes. “I’d feel better if I didn’t have to hold the Ladies Auxiliary meetings here and have them treat me like a fucking invalid.”

“You’re not an invalid,” I chided as I tempted her into a good mood by setting the sticky buns on her end table. “But I did check in with your physical therapist, and it looks like you’re right on track.”

She snagged a sticky bun and inhaled it in one bite. “Oh, stop stalling. You didn’t come out this way to bring me carbs and tell me I got a gold star for surviving Guantanamo for the elderly.”

Cal snickered. “We were just dropping by to see how you were.”

Gran’s eyes flicked down to my hand. She pursed her lips, silver brows drawing in. “Don’t tell me—”

I wrung my hands, trying my best to quell my nerves.

Callum slid his arm around me. “Don’t worry. We’re good.”

Gran huffed. “Can’t be good if there’s no ring on her finger.”

“It’s at the jeweler’s,” I provided, looking at Cal. “It’s…”

“Getting properly sized so that I can actually propose to Layla,” Callum said.

Gran’s soft features went hard as stone. “Callum Anthony, you’d better not be saying what I think you’re saying.”

When Callum told me he wanted to come clean to his Gran, this wasn’t exactly the reaction I had expected. I assumed Gran would be a little perturbed. Perhaps she would scold us for the shenanigans. But the coldness in her voice…

“Gran, we uh… I need to tell you something.”

Then the word vomit happened.

Callum relieved himself of the whole charade—telling Gran everything from what happened with Brandie Jean at the last date auction. He worked through the tale of radioactive casseroles, the cow-induced car crash, and the most ridiculous thing that happened in this insane little town: the moment he asked me to pretend to be his fiancé.

He expelled every detail. The engagement pictures we endured. The midnight motorcycle ride. Sans outdoor sex. He opened up about the wounds from his adolescent years that had recently begun to heal.

When Callum had finished purging, he sat back and wrapped his arm around my waist.

Gran looked utterly flummoxed. With a judgmental exhale, she clasped her hands on top of the quilt covering her lap. “Well, I never…”

But Callum didn’t cower. His fingers grazed my arm. Back and forth. Back and forth. He leaned down and pressed his lips to my temple.

“But there’s something else, Gran,” he said, keeping me close. “Regardless of how this thing started, it’s real now. I love her.” He clasped our hands together. “And I need something from you.”

Gran raised a curious eyebrow. “And what on Dolly Parton’s green earth is that?”

“I need your blessing.”

She scoffed, but Cal wasn’t deterred. “Hear me out. I asked Layla’s family for their blessing because it was tradition. But now I need yours. I need you to know that Layla is everything to me. I know what that ring means to you. And I’m coming clean because I need you to know that, although we didn’t start things out in the most conventional of ways, she and I fell in love anyway.”

“You lied to me, Callum,” she clipped with the neutral tone of a battle-tested general. “You lied to this town. After everything they’ve done for you—”

“No.” Cal straightened his posture. “I didn’t ask Layla to fake it because I don’t care about the town. You know better than most how much I love these people. I did this because I didn’t want to take away something that meant so much to you and to them. And maybe I went about it all wrong, but—”

“Hush your mouth,” she clipped.

My spine turned ramrod straight. It felt like being scolded by my own grandmother.

Gran sat up straight in her recliner. “All wrong?” She laughed. “There’s no wrong way to fall in love. The only wrong way is if you don’t leave a place for love in your life.” She sighed. “And that’s what I told Layla when I smashed my hip like a plate in a rage room.”

I had so many questions. The first being that Gran apparently frequented rage rooms.

But she persisted. “We started the date auction for you. To try and get you to get out of the house and do something for yourself once in a while. You care more about this town than just about anyone. There’s no question about that.” Her tone softened. “But I don’t ever want to hear you say that you fell in love the wrong way. Because you didn’t.” Her eyes cut to me. “And you’re alright in my book, Layla. Just do your best to keep this one in line. He can be a handful.”

I laughed nervously. “Yes, ma’am.”

Gran’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “And make sure to shine that ring once a week. I think I have a spare bottle of cleaner around here somewhere.”

37

CALLUM

Layla’s prone body went rigid. She whimpered, beginning to thrash in the twisted sheets.

“Honey, wake up,” I grunted as I tried to shake her out of the nightmare.

She grimaced, eyebrows drawing together as a heartbreaking cry slipped from her lips. We had been sharing the same nightmare for a week.

Rather than waiting for her to rouse, I slid my arm beneath her and pulled her into my chest. I stilled her head, cradling the back of it in my palm, pressing her cheek against my skin. “I’ve got you,” I murmured into her mussed hair.

Finally, she stirred. Her thick lashes rose, and torment filled her eyes. It was still dark outside. One look at the clock told me that we hadn’t even been asleep for an hour. Heat pooled against my chest from the damp warmth of her tears.

There were good days and bad days following the fateful call. I had been cleared to return to duty by Internal Affairs, but Chief Byrne threatened me with traffic duty if I didn’t take my entire leave. I had a few days left, but Layla went back to full-time work tomorrow. Layla had been picking up a few hours here and there at the base but had yet to fly any calls. The anxiety surrounding her return was what, I assumed, had caused her nightmares to get worse.

Sometimes we spent the days together, going out for a leisurely drive or grabbing a bite out. On other days we barely got out of bed.

“I just want it to go away,” she whispered into my chest.

I rubbed Layla’s back, silently pleading—begging any higher power to let me take this from her. To have me carry it instead.

She sighed in frustration. I felt it, too. There was almost no reason to go back to sleep when all that waited was hell.

I slid my hand beneath the edge of the t-shirt she had stolen from me. I needed to feel more of her. Needed that human touch to ground me.

Her skin was flushed and warm. I stroked my thumb along the soft curve of her waist and hip. She nuzzled into me, seeking the same connection.

“What do you need, honey?” I mumbled. “Want me to make you some tea?”

Layla nodded. I kissed her head and eased out of bed.

Since the nightmares had crept into her psyche, I started making her tea to help her calm her nerves.

I set the chai to steep while I fumbled around the dark for a mug. Layla usually drank her chai out of a clear glass teacup, but I went with the ridiculous frog on a lily-pad mug just because I knew it would make her smile. I checked the teapot, and when the liquid brewing inside was the color of chestnuts, I poured it into the mug.

She often sweetened her chai with saffron rock candy, but it was late, and I didn’t know if the sugar would keep her awake. I snagged a stick of Nabat to pair with the tea and carried it upstairs.

Layla was sitting up in bed, scrolling through her phone. Her eyes lifted, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Hey.”

I pecked her lips. “Maybe this will help,” I said as I placed the mug into her hands.

She took one look at the frog and laughed. “Thank you, baby.” I eased into the bed and pulled the blankets up to my waist. Layla stirred the Nabat in her tea for a moment before setting it on the saucer. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“Don’t be sorry.” I laid down and kissed her hip. “Don’t ever apologize for needing me. I want you to need me.”

Layla sipped her tea for a few minutes, then resigned to staring at her reflection in the cup.

“You gonna try to go back to sleep?”

“I’m a little wired,” she said regretfully. “I might go downstairs and read.”

“Wanna go for a drive?” I yawned.

She laughed under her breath. “So you can fall asleep and send us over a cliff? No thanks.”

“I’m good,” I said. “You done with that?” I pointed to the mug.

Layla handed it over. I downed the rest of it, enjoying the warmth of cinnamon, cardamom, and ginger.

We dressed, donning enough layers to ward off the frigid temperatures. While Layla stood by the door and pulled on a Tarheels hoodie before sliding into her leather jacket, I slipped back upstairs and rummaged through my sock drawer.

The knit hat she pulled on to cover her hair and ears was cute as fuck. We grabbed our helmets and slipped out into the night.

I took the scenic route up Highway 86. We cut through the blackness, letting the ambient rumble of the engine soothe us in ways nothing else could. It was meditation on a hundred horses.

Layla squeezed my middle as she hunkered down closer, her hips rocking with mine through each turn and curve.

My headlight flashed across a small white sign pointing toward the entrance to the McMann cattle farm's back forty. I turned off the two-lane road and bumped along packed gravel.

Layla patted my shoulder, her way of asking what I was up to or where I was going when we couldn’t speak over the roar of the engine. I reached back and squeezed her thigh. I know what I’m doing. Trust me.

Light danced across the pond, illuminating the mist that floated in the air. I parked the bike beneath a weeping willow whose branches grazed the glassy water. In the distance, cattle lowed a gentle lullaby.

“Where are we?” Layla asked as she pulled off her helmet and looked around. “Are we trespassing?”

“Only slightly,” I said with a chuckle. “Bernie McMann lets me fish back here. Pretty sure he meant during the day, but he won’t be awake for a few hours. Not unless the cows tattle on us.”

Layla’s breath clouded around us as she laughed. “You’re not holding a grudge against the cow that caused your accident, are you?”

It was ironic that the road on the other side of this farm was where Layla and I met. Now, here we were again. “Nah,” I said, grinning. “She was pretty tasty. I settled the score.”

Layla swatted me in the stomach.

“I’m kidding!” I said in a hushed shout. “I’m kidding, honey. Maybelle is alive and well. That cow is living the high life. Has her own pen up by the farmhouse and everything.”

I pulled a small blanket out of the saddlebag and spread it at the roots of the willow tree. My back rested against the bark, and I opened my arms for Layla. She wiggled between my legs and reclined into my chest.

Crickets chirped, and frogs croaked as I held her close. “Tell me a secret,” I said as I brushed her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck.

Layla shivered, a flood of goosebumps skittering across her skin. “A secret?”

“Mhmm.” I nuzzled my forehead into the crook of her neck. “Tell me something about you that no one else knows.”

Layla stilled in quiet contemplation. Finally, she piped up. “I cry whenever I lose a patient.”

My brows knitted together. “Why is that a secret?”

She shrugged. “Most nurses don’t. At least, not the ones who’ve been in healthcare as long as I have. You become calloused after a while. Jaded. Nothing fazes you.”

“But not you?”

She laughed. “No, I’m a calloused bitch. But I see a lot of patients who die, and they’re alone. They don’t have anyone to cry over them. It’s pretty insignificant, but I cry for them. I guess it’s my way of honoring their existence on this earth. That they didn’t go unnoticed.”

“I love that about you.” I crooked my finger beneath her chin and tilted her gaze up to meet mine. Her eyes were glassy.

“Your turn,” she whispered. “Tell me one of your secrets.”

I nipped at her ear. “I love you.”

“That’s not a secret!” she laughed. “I know you love me.”

“Fine.” I grinned. “I trust you.”

Her elbow nudged my gut. “Still not a secret.”

I tightened my arms around her stomach. “I want to start a family with you.”

She froze.

“I want to marry you.” I laced our fingers together. “I want to grow old with you.”

I kissed her temple and let my lips linger. “I want to make your tea, and I want to see you fill our home with tacky mugs. I want to see all your crafting shit all over the kitchen table. I want my uniform covered in glitter from time to time. I want to find you asleep on the couch every time you come home. Then I want to carry you up the stairs until I’m gray and old, and my body refuses to let me do it anymore.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and I brushed it away.

“I want to be your home. I want to be the place where you know it’s safe to fall apart.”

I had already done the knee thing once, so I simply pulled the small box out of my pocket and opened it in front of her. “Fadat besham, Eshgham.” My Farsi was ten steps below rudimentary, but she understood my heart. I cradled her throat, gently grazing her velvet cheek with my thumb. “Will you marry me?”

There were no onlookers. Nothing showy about it. Just the two of us huddled together. Leaning on each other. Trusting each other. Loving each other.

Layla nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Yes.”

There were more tears as I slid the ring back on her finger. Diamonds I had the jeweler add to the setting sparkled in the moonlight. It was something old and new all at the same time. Our history and our future.

“I love you so much, Callum.” Her hands sandwiched my cheeks as she turned and kissed me. I tipped to the side, my back slamming into the ground. Layla’s knees dug into the soft soil as our mouths collided. Her lips were soft and supple, and I could still taste the faint traces of cardamom on her tongue. She was sweet, with an edge. Calming yet invigorating. She was complex and simple at the same time.

I would have pinned her beneath me in a heartbeat, but I didn’t want her to be on the freezing ground. The thickness in my jeans that she teased with each rock of her hips would be really fucking inconvenient on the motorcycle ride back. I fisted the front of her jacket, keeping her close. I slid my tongue back and forth along the seam of her lips until she let me in. Every piece of her was soft like silk. Her body and her heart.

There would never be a day where I didn’t feel undeserving of her. How a calloused bastard like me could hold pure sunshine, I would never know.

The ride home was fueled by unkempt electricity that hummed through our bodies. When we pulled into the driveway, I couldn’t get her inside fast enough.

We ping-ponged between doorways and stairs, bouncing off walls and stumbling over our feet as we ripped and clawed at the layers of clothes.

“I don’t want you in anything but that ring. Not even a hair clip,” I growled as I threw her over my shoulder like a rag doll and took the stairs two at a time.

Layla squeaked, laughing as she was tossed upside down, then right-side-up onto the bed. Her tits bounced as she scrambled backward, wiggling out of her panties. I tugged off her left sock that had somehow managed to stick around.

I ripped my shirt over my head. I had lost my pants and boxers before running up the stairs. Layla bit her lip, teeth sinking into that plump pink pillow. I wanted to wrap her hair around my fist and yank her head back. I wanted to pry her mouth open with my fingers and hold it wide while I slid my dick down her throat. I hoped she was feeling as energized as I was because we weren’t sleeping until dawn.

“Lay down and open your legs.” It was a crude order, but the catch in her breathing gave away the fact that it turned her on.

“You gonna tie me down?” she asked through labored pants.

I chuckled as I leaned forward and braced my hands on the foot of the bed. “Not tonight, honey. You’re going to give yourself to me. You’re going to open your legs and let me see your cunt. You’re going to bend your knees and pull your feet back and show me every bit of you. Then I’m going to bow in front of you and make you scream.”

She rested her head on the pillows but clenched her thighs to relieve the mounting pressure.

I crawled over her, bracing my arms on either side of her head. Leaning down, I nipped at her ear and whispered, “You gonna be a good girl for me, Mrs. Fletcher?”

She nodded, rolling her lips between her teeth to try and keep her smile in check.

“Then open your legs like I told you to.”

I eased off of her, sitting back on my haunches as she tipped her knees open. A red stain painted her cheeks. “You look so pretty when you blush for me.” I trailed my knuckle along her cheek. “Beautiful. Now show me your pussy.”

Emboldened by the praise, she spread her legs, exposing herself to me.

“Touch yourself,” I said. “Use your fingers and show me where you want me.”

Layla’s hand slid between her thighs, stroking for a moment before parting her folds. My cock ached to be inside her.

“Two fingers inside your pussy,” I demanded. “Not all the way. Just a little.”

I watched with rapt fascination as her fingertips disappeared inside of her and let out a groan as she teased herself with shallow pumps. “You’re flawless,” I whispered and worked my hands up her ribs to cup her breasts. “Every part of you is perfect.” I latched my teeth around her nipple and tugged, then released it. “Show me how much you want me, honey. Show me how wet you are for my cock.”

Layla whined as she pulled her fingers from her cunt. They were dripping in her honey, soaked with threads of arousal. I kissed the inside of her wrist, then her palm, before sucking her fingers into my mouth. Layla’s lips parted as my tongue swirled around her fingers. I couldn’t wait another second. I wanted her thrashing beneath me as I pleasured her. I wanted to worship her. I wanted her to feel everything she made me feel.

Grabbing the backs of her thighs, I pushed, shoving them toward her torso. The lips of her pussy were dark and swollen with arousal. The pucker between her cheeks peeked out, teasing me.

I delved between her legs, burying my face in her cunt. Layla gasped, sucking all the oxygen out of the room as I devoured her, slowly sliding my tongue around the outside of her pussy like it was a maze I was trying to solve. I latched onto her clit and sucked as I slowly stretched and teased her entrance with my fingers. I slid them inside of her, crooking them like I was urging her closer.

Layla grabbed my hair, keeping me pinned against her pussy as she ground against my mouth. I lifted my head long enough to say, “I could lay between your legs all day, honey. You taste like heaven.”

“I want your cock,” she begged. “Please, baby.”

I wanted my cock inside of her, too. But we weren’t there yet. I wasn’t even close to being done with her. “Play with your tits. Make them feel good.”

Her fingers left my hair to toy with her nipples. I used my other hand and added another finger to her pussy, coating it in her slick heat. I pushed the hood of her clit back with my tongue and sucked. Her back arched, hands still tweaking and teasing her pebbled nipples. I thrust my fingers inside of her in time with the firm pulls from my mouth.

“Cal—” she began, her words cut off by a desperate cry for release.

I slipped a finger out of her pussy and lined it up with her ass. “Mine,” I growled as I pushed inside of her, using her wetness as a lubricant. “Every part of you. Mine.”

She was babbling incoherently as she careened into clouds of ecstasy. Her cunt clamped around my fingers, clit throbbing and ass clenched as she rode out wave after wave of pleasure.

I manhandled her up onto her hands and knees and rammed my cock deep inside of her. Layla screamed again, head tipping back as if trying to find her way in the dark. I grabbed her hair, fisting it close to her scalp as I thrust inside. I could still feel her quick flutters pulsating around me. Her breasts swung and clapped together as I fucked her. It was hard and dirty, and fuck—I loved it.

My balls slapped against her skin as I drove into her again and again. My thighs shook as I neared my own end. Layla’s elbows quaked, trying to hold herself up as I fucked her into oblivion.

I came, hard pulses of arousal filling her. Layla collapsed onto the pillows, her chest on the bed, her ass still in the air. I pulled my softening dick out of her and cupped her sex. She was throbbing.

My release pooled in my hand as it spilled out of her. A wave of possession washed over me. I slid my hand over her ass, leaving a light sheen on her skin. “Mine.” I helped her onto her knees and used the remnants of my orgasm to paint her breasts. “Mine.” I grabbed her throat. Layla didn’t cower. She looked me dead in the eye as I pressed my slick thumb against her lips. “Mine. All mine.”

“Yours,” she whispered. “Forever.”

By the time we rinsed off and had another round of getting dirty in the shower, the sun was coming up. Layla and I sat on the porch, curled up in blankets as we sipped our tea and coffee and watched Falls Creek come to life.

It was a peculiar thing—love. It was a thing that required armor and nakedness. There was the expectation of sacrifice. Of trust. Of protection.

There was the expectation of vulnerability—the willingness to expose your wounds to someone and trust that they’ll ease the suffering, not add to it. Trust makes you feel bulletproof, but love makes taking the bullet worth it.

EPILOGUE

LAYLA

Threads of English and Farsi filled the tight corridors of the Ballentine House Bed and Breakfast. The spring breeze floated through open windows, relieving us from the suffocating fumes of hairspray and setting powder. Beth elbowed her way into the melee, shoving my aunt, mother, Gran, and Brandie Jean out of the way to hand me a folded piece of paper.

“From your man,” she said with a waggle of her eyebrows.

I tore into the envelope, imagining Callum doing the same in the presence of my brother, Shane, and Austin.

With nimble fingers, I unfolded the letter and moved to the window to read his message.

Layla joon,

We made it, honey. The day we lied about looking forward to is finally here. I don’t know if you remember it, but back when we were faking it, we had a fight, and you took the ring off. I had never felt real fear in my life until that moment. And ever since then, I’ve known that this day is what I wanted for us.

For most of my life, I felt hollow. Like I was waiting for something but didn’t know what. I thought it was my family—my parents. For a while, I thought it was my job. Serving the town had to be the be-all, end-all for me. But it wasn’t, and I was empty.

Then I met you.

I will never know what the hell made you say yes when I showed up at your motel room and asked you to be my fiancé. But I am so fucking grateful every single day that you did.

You put me back together when I didn’t even know I needed to fall apart. You held me and let me hold you. You loved me and trusted me in ways that go beyond my comprehension.

You are the strongest woman I’ve ever known. You are radiant from the inside out. I’ve never been good with words, and I’m sure as hell not poetic, but words are all I can think about when I see you. Gentle. Kind. Beautiful. A force to be reckoned with.

For the last week, I’ve had a stupid smile on my face that I can’t get rid of from thinking about seeing you walk down the aisle. You’ve put so much work into making today beautiful. The flowers, the decorations, all of it. But I’m most thankful that you spent your life making your soul just as beautiful.

Dooset Daaram, hamsar-am. I love you more than anything.

Yours,

Callum

“No, no, no!” my grandmother chided as she scuttled over with a tissue. “You’ll mess up your makeup!”

I folded the note and tucked it in the pocket of my dress. White lace swished around me as I hurried over to the snack table my aunt had set up for us. In a late-night crafting binge, I had made champagne flutes for the ladies with our names on them.

Which ended up being a damn good thing because my champagne flute did not have champagne in it.

But no one else knew that.

I took a sip, calming the roiling in my stomach. Bubbles coated my tongue, and the ginger ale seemed to do the trick. From across the room, Beth gave me a curious look.

“Nerves?” Caroline asked as she skipped over and snagged a handful of noghl.

I took another sip. “Yeah.” Not really. Before Caroline could say anything else, Brandie Jean yanked her away, insisting that she add a little more eyeshadow to her look.

There was a knock at the door, and khale joon popped her head in. A smile spread across her face. “It’s time.”

My stomach twisted as butterflies caused a shockwave to rumble inside of me.

Confident that the hallways were clear of guests, groomsmen, and my husband-to-be, we paraded through the house. The back gardens were in full bloom, lush with petals and vines in every color. Sheer curtains had been hung between two birch trees, shielding us from the ceremony site.

String music floated softly through the air as my bridesmaids took turns walking down the aisle. First Brandie Jean, then Lauren, then AB, then Caroline, and finally Beth.

After months of preparation, the moment I had been waiting for was finally here. It had taken a few late nights of discussion to nail down what elements we wanted to include in our wedding. Eventually, we landed on a ceremony that honored both of our cultures. And now, it was time. Callum Fletcher was officially mine.

The violins swelled, and the curtains were drawn back. Callum, in a fitted black suit, stared open-mouthed from the end of the aisle. My father patted my arm as he blinked back heavy tears. The twenty feet down the aisle was the longest walk I had ever taken. I wanted to hike my dress up and run to him. To my future.

We stopped at the edge of the white aisle runner. The flowers clutched in my hand trembled like an earthquake. Callum had rivers of tears streaming down his cheeks as the officiant rambled on. It was all in one ear and out the other as my father gave his blessing and kissed me on the cheek.

I handed my bouquet to Beth and took Callum’s hands as Karim stepped up to the microphone and began reciting “The Marriage” by the ancient Persian poet Rumi. I didn’t have to listen to know what he was saying. The same poem had been spoken over my parents’ marriage and the marriage of my grandparents. It hung on the wall of the house I had grown up in. As Karim spoke in Farsi, I quietly repeated in English to Callum.

May these vows and this marriage be blessed.

May it be sweet milk, this marriage, like wine and halvah.

May this marriage offer fruit and shade like the date palm.

May this marriage be full of laughter, our everyday a day in paradise.

May this marriage be a sign of compassion,

a seal of happiness here and hereafter.

May this marriage have a fair face and a good name,

An omen as welcome as the moon in a clear blue sky.

I am out of words to describe

How our spirits mingle in this marriage.

“I love you,” he mouthed as his thumbs caressed the backs of my hands. “You’re so beautiful, honey.”

Those damn butterflies flurried in my stomach again. I had been dreaming of this day for months. Now, all I wanted was for it to be over so I could get Callum alone. He and I had something rather important we needed to talk about.

Cal couldn’t stop grinning as we said our vows. His hands kept up their ministrations, calming the nervous energy that pulsed through my veins.

The officiant directed the two of us to sit behind the long farm table as our guests looked on. It was the sofreh aghd—the wedding table. While the officiant explained the tradition to the guests, I nudged Cal and lifted the hem of my wedding gown.

Black motorcycle boots peeked out, and Cal laughed. The officiant cut him a harsh look before resuming his speech.

The silk cloth running down the center of the table was embroidered with the dates of every wedding it had been used in. I saw my parents’ wedding. My aunt and late uncle’s. My grandparents and people related to me who I had never met. Our wedding date was stitched onto cloth using new thread. Above it read, The Fletchers.

Pastries that would be enjoyed during the reception were arranged on a decorative plate. They represented the sweetness of our life together. The needle and thread on top of the silk symbolized the two of us becoming one. A plate of naan was for prosperity. A bowl of local scuppernong grapes pointed to a joyful future. On the edge, there was an open Bible for Gran and a Qur’an for my family. Incense burned in a dish—the aroma meant to protect us from evil. A small mirror was tilted toward Callum and me, a way for us to see our future. Closest to me was a bowl of almonds and hazelnuts, symbolizing fertility. No problems there.

At the behest of the officiant, my bridesmaids, the women of my family, and Gran walked to the front. They each took a side or a corner, spreading a cloth over our heads as my grandmother sprinkled sugar onto the fabric. The gesture was paired with their wishes for sweetness in our marriage.

Finally, the officiant directed our attention to the small dish of honey. Callum dipped his pinky finger into the dish and brought it to my lips. I did the same, serving him.

I reached into the pocket of my wedding dress—because all dresses should have pockets, dammit—and pulled out an alcohol swab.

Somehow, I found those darn things everywhere. In my bag. In my pockets. In my shoes. And apparently, a handful had made their way into my wedding dress. That was nurse life for you. I was rarely without one or two. Callum laughed as I ripped it open and wiped the stickiness off my hand. I handed him one so he could do the same. Gentle “awwws” echoed from our guests.

Shane and Beth walked to the table and presented our rings. I took Callum’s from Beth, and he took mine from Shane. “I love you, Lay,” Callum whispered as he slid my wedding band on my finger. “I know I keep saying it, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind when I look at you. I love you more than life. Fadat Besham.”

I slid his ring over his thick knuckle and squeezed his hand. “I love you, Eshgham. And I trust you.”

“Callum,” the officiant announced. “You may kiss your bride.”

He could barely kiss me. The grumpy cop couldn’t close his damn mouth long enough to put his lips on mine. It was all smiling teeth, but I didn’t care. Joy radiated between us like a supernova.

I raked my fingers down the side of his hair, kissing the hell out of him. Finally, he controlled his grin long enough to kiss me back.

We ran—not walked—down the aisle. Instead of meeting Ashley, the photographer, back in the main house for photos, Callum grabbed my hand and pulled me around a grove of wildflowers to the cottage where he and the groomsmen had been getting ready.

The interior was warm and masculine. A stone fireplace was bracketed with leather armchairs the color of whiskey. Callum pulled me down the narrow hallway and into the small bedroom just off the kitchen. “Hi,” he said with a smirk.

“Hey yourself,” I said casually, leaning into him. My husband.

“How’s your day going?” he asked as his hands roamed up and down the sides of my gown. It hugged my torso like a glove, then flared out in dramatic fashion just below my knees.

“Oh, you know,” I mused casually as I slid my hands down his lapels. “Woke up, had some tea. Thought it’d be a good day to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Oh yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you and I have had a similar day.”

I draped my arms around him, catching a few notes of his cologne. “I missed you last night.” Upon the insistence of my mother, I spent the night at the bed and breakfast with her and the girls.

“So,” Cal said as he knelt in front of me and lifted the hem of my dress. “You wore your boots, huh?”

“I figured you’d like it.”

“You figured right.” He skated his hand up my bare calf. “I like seeing you in just about anything, but you in leather…” he blew out a breath as he stood up. “We should probably get back out there. I just wanted a minute with my wife.”

Nerves bubbled up in my throat. Oh, fuck. Where was the ginger ale when I needed it? The slight aroma of imbibed beers lingering in the cabin made my stomach turn.

“Honey?” Cal’s face was etched with concern.

“Um,” I muttered. “There’s something I need to tell you.” I took his hand and opened his palm. I moved it to cover the expanse of my still-flat stomach and took a breath. “I’m pregnant.”

His eyes turned as wide as saucers. “You’re … you’re what?”

“I’m pregnant,” I whispered. “We … we’re gonna have a baby, Cal.” My eyes welled up, and I hoped that the glue Brandie Jean had used to put on my eyelashes would hold up through the tears.

His mouth was open, but I wasn’t quite sure he was breathing. Great. I would have to resuscitate my husband on our wedding day. “Wha…” He shook his head, snapping out of the stupor. His hand hadn’t left my belly. “When did you find out?”

“A few days ago,” I sniffed. “I was supposed to have my period last week, but I wasn’t feeling great, and it was late, so I took a test and…” I pointed to my stomach.

“You’re on birth control,” he said in utter shock.

I nodded. “I know, and I never missed a pill, but you know, they say it’s not one hundred percent. And I—”

Callum shut me up with a kiss. His lips were firm on mine as he backed me against the wall. “Do you know how many times I wanted to ask you to stop taking your pills?” he said in a husky rasp.

“What?” I managed to blubber through my tears.

“I really want to make a joke about my swimmers being stronger than a fucking pill, but it’s our wedding day, and I don’t want to be a dick.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I love it when you’re a dick.”

His smile could be seen from space. Tears filled his eyes, and he cupped my cheeks. “You’re for real about this? We’re having a baby?”

“Uh-huh.” I sniffed and pulled a tissue out of my pocket to dab my eyes. I hadn’t needed it during the ceremony.

Callum rested his forehead on mine. It was a sacred moment to share—our lives becoming one as we grew a new little life to bring into the world. I closed my eyes, resting on him as he caressed my belly.

“You ready for this?” he asked softly.

“No,” I said on a heavy exhale. “I’m terrified.”

Cal wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. “Good. Because I’m terrified in all the best ways.”

BONUS EPILOGUE

Not ready to say goodbye to Layla and Callum?

Grab a free copy of their bonus epilogue—then come back to read all my thank yous to the people who made this book possible!

Click here for a peek into the future!

COMING SOON FROM MAGGIE GATES

A sexy enemies-to-lovers romance will hit your bookshelves this winter!

While you’re waiting, check out Poker Face, book one in the Beaufort Poker Club series! Meet the Poker Club, read the origin story of Layla Mousavi and Austin Hale, and catch all the juicy drama with Chase and Bridget!

Click here to read Poker Face!

________________

Follow Maggie on social media to keep up with new book announcements, updates, and teasers!

Join the Facebook Reader Group: The Poker Club—Maggie Gates’s Reader Group

AUTHOR’S NOTE TO THE READER

Dear Reader,

Once upon a time, I worked the early bird shift at a coffee shop next door to a police station. The cops would come in, gossiping amongst themselves about all the wild things the town’s citizens had been up to during the night.

The gossip was FANTASTIC because small towns are weird.

Over the years, I haven’t stopped laughing at the things I heard. When I started thinking of a small-town series focused on first responders, I wanted to incorporate all those little things.

But as ridiculous as all the shenanigans were, that little town was filled with people who would give you the shirt off their back. They would go above and beyond for a neighbor, or even a stranger, in need.

I hope you love the quirky world of Falls Creek because we’ll be revisiting them soon! I think it’s finally time that hunky firefighter, Austin Hale, gets his happily ever after.

Although I cannot name each of you in the accompanying acknowledgments, I hope you know how much you mean to me. Thank you for reading my books! I hope you have the courage to love, trust, and reckon with what hurts you. And I hope you conquer it.

XO,

—Mags—

PS. Because you’re super cool, let’s be friends!

Follow me on Instagram @authormaggiegates

Want to spread the love? Tell others what you thought of this book by leaving a review on Amazon and GoodReads!

(I’ll do a literal happy dance if you do!)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To Mr. Mags: I love you endlessly. You are my rock. Thank you for being everything to me when I have nothing to give in return.

To Jordan Loft: Thank you for your editing eagle eyes and graphic design prowess! I wrote a shorter book this time. You’re welcome!

To Melina joon: thank you for opening your heart, sharing your experiences with me, and helping me create Layla and her family! I am so blessed to know you, and I am eternally grateful for you, your wisdom, and your friendship! You are an inspiration!

To Sprinters R Us: You all are amazing people with dirty minds. Thanks for being the best sprinting, study, and workgroup! I am so grateful for you all! Thanks for cheering me on and helping me stay on track! Stay smutty, my friends.

To AB (and Odin, Loki, Rah-Rah, and Easy Mac): I dearly hope you never read this book because I’ll never be able to look you in the eye again. Thank you for answering all my 3 AM questions about flight nursing. The exposed kneecap from the motorcycle vs. vehicle is burned into the back of my eyelids. Dear God, I never want to have to say, “I don’t know what body part that’s supposed to be,” ever again. You all are bona fide badasses. Thank you for your courage and compassion.

To my ARC Team: You guys are the greatest! Your excitement and support astound me daily. You make me feel like the coolest human being alive. I’m so grateful for each and every one of you. Thank you for volunteering your time and platforms to boost my books!

To my readers: You all are the reason I keep writing books. I’m convinced there’s no greater group of people in the world than my real-life Poker Club. Y’all are amazing human beings! Thank you for loving these characters and getting as excited as I do about their stories! Thank you for your hype, encouragement, and excitement!

ALSO BY MAGGIE GATES

Standalone Novels

The Stars Above Us: A Steamy Military Romance

Nothing Less Than Everything: A Sports Romance

The Beaufort Poker Club Series

Poker Face: A Small Town Romance

Wild Card: A Second Chance Romance

Square Deal: A Playboy Romance

In Spades: A Small Town Billionaire Romance

Not in the Cards: A Best Friend’s Brother Romance

Betting Man: A Friends to Lovers Romance

The Falls Creek Series

What Hurts Us: A Small Town Fake Engagement Romance

What Heals Us: An Age Gap Romance (Coming 2023)

What Saves Us: A Brother’s Best Friend Romance (Coming 2023)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Maggie Gates writes raw, relatable romance novels full of heat and humor. Maggie calls North Carolina home. In her spare time, she enjoys daydreaming about her characters, jamming to country music, and eating all the BBQ and tacos she can find! Her Kindle is always within reach due to a love of small-town romances that borders on obsession.

For future book updates, follow Maggie on social media.

Facebook icon Facebook

Instagram icon Instagram

TikTok icon TikTok