Page 27 of Keepsakes and Kismet

“‘Skilled’ is a term that can be used for some things, but not for this, I’m afraid.”

“Wow. I’m giving you a one-star review on Yelp just for that comment, Inspector.”

“I work for the government. I don’t think we have Yelp.”

I scoff. “If anyone should have Yelp, it should be the government, I’ll tell you that much.”

It’s like I can feel my response to his surprised snort. The color rushing into the apples of my cheeks, a spark brightening my eyes. I’m having such a good time. I’ve never been able to go back and forth like this with a man before, chatting about all sorts of stuff. Stuff that has nothing to do with the way I look or work. Stuff that involves being playful without being touched.

And then it dawns on me.

Shit.

I don’t think I want this to be the last time I see Callum Galvin.

And I have no idea what to do about it.

Intentionally trying to see a man more than once is uncharted territory. Well, it was once charted. But now it feels like I’m navigating with a coffee-stained road atlas from the Waterton gas station.

Eric comes back from his conversation with the operator and gives me a name for the shout-out. Callum watches me closely as I wish the next rider well on the microphone.

“Thanks for everything, Peyton.” Eric takes the microphone back and releases me for the night.

“Thank you for the opportunity,” I reply, clocking Callum’s head tilt in my peripheral.

My assignment’s officially over, and I never like to linger in bars packed with people, even if that means leaving behind the one man I kind-of, sort-of, maybe want to see.

Callum and I look at each other in silence, both seemingly at an impasse. I have to leave, and he has to stay for Carter. Yet, we can’t stop staring at each other. Finally, I give him a half-smile and shrug, conveying a “what can you do?” type of sentiment.

I start walking toward the door, glancing behind me to see if Callum might follow. He drifts slightly closer, taking a few cautious steps behind me. It feels protective, like he’s interested in my safety. But it also kind of feels like he’s interested in me. And, somehow, I don’t mind it at all. In fact, his understated interest matches my own.

The bouncer positions his hand for a bump on my way out. My stomach drops, along with my purse, and the contents of it scatter. I’ve been so distracted by Callum that I’ve lost track of my surroundings. Sighing, I pick up my wallet, keys, and other items, before noticing a rogue lipstick rolling away from me on the concrete.

“Got it.” Callum’s gentle voice might as well be a featherlight touch with the way it grazes my ears. I can hear his tone better outside, and I shiver at the softness of it.

“Thanks.” When I grab the lipstick, I’m careful not to touch his palm. Or, maybe, he’s careful not to touch mine. That thought makes my heart squeeze.

“No worries. Are you leaving already?”

I formulate my next response while reorganizing my purse. Sliding my lipstick into its holder before coming across one of my business cards, a bold idea plants itself in my brain. Should I give one to Callum? Have mercy on his stressed-out soul by letting him in a little?

I think about my lack of community and my therapy goal to branch out and meet new people. I think about the way Callum’s chin dimple gets deeper when he smiles. And, finally, I think about how I’d like to be the one to make him smile again. At least once more.

I hold out my card. “I want you to have this.”

“Peyton Moore,” he murmurs, reading the front.

My belly does a little flip when he says my full name. “Yep, that’s me.”

Callum flips the card over. “‘Good Taste?’ What is it?”

“It’s the business I own.”

A kaleidoscope of butterflies flutters in my stomach when he doesn’t look surprised. He smiles to himself, almost like he expected it, as if the idea that I own a business makes complete sense to him.

He meets my gaze. “Why do you want me to have this?”

“My address is on it. We’re downtown.”