Page 96 of Keepsakes and Kismet

“How’re we feeling, honey?” I ask, dotting the tip of her nose with a dollop of lotion.

She laughs and tugs me down to the bed next to her. “I feel properly cared for.”

I cup her jaw. “This isn’t going to be remarkable for us, Peyton. Me, taking care of you like this. It’s going to be normal. So normal, that one day, you’ll be too bored to watch. Got it?”

“Got it.” She presses her lips against mine. “But, Callum?”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be too bored to watch.”

Words sit at the tip of my tongue, impatient to break free. I almost say them, but then Peyton yawns. She looks so peaceful and drowsy that I can’t bring myself to start another conversation—especially one this big.

She snuggles up against me, head notched below my chin. Her full lips graze my throat. I study the way the strands of her hair lift when I exhale and think about how there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep her just like this. To keep her, period.

I drift off to sleep with Peyton in my arms.

Chapter 20

Peyton

Callum’s townhouse is beautiful. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a corner lot. The brick exterior is gorgeous, and I love the turret window out front.

My hands are freezing, and I shove them in my pockets. “Wow, this place looks big. How many bedrooms are there?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Um, four. Yeah, I like it here well enough.”

Callum’s modesty doesn’t surprise me in the least, given his dominant performance at the golf club.

“Does the Toledo-Lucas County Health Department happen to pay you, like, one million dollars a year?”

Callum blushes, fidgeting with his coat zipper. “No, but I do alright. I don’t really spend money. Or I don’t really have anything—or anyone—to spend it on.” He pauses, his hard gaze landing on me. “Until now. Is there anything you want me to buy for you?”

His question is so sincere. I think he might be one second away from pulling out his clipboard to write down my wish list.

“Are you my sugar daddy now, Callum?” A fit of giggles falls from my lips. “What if I spend all your money in one week?”

“That’s okay. I’m an heir to a fancy stamp collection. We’ll be fine.”

“Please,” I breathe between laughs, “my stomach hurts from laughing so hard.”

He gives me a lopsided grin. “We should probably get you warm. It’s cold out here.”

As Callum unlocks the door, I fantasize about what real, everyday life would be like with him. Greeting each other at the front door, instead of running into each other when we’re out. Holding him on the couch. Kissing him goodnight.

It’s not lost on me that nearly all of my daydreams involve touch. Last night thrilled me as much as it unmoored me. Somehow, touching Callum has evolved from an exception to an inclination.

When we walk into the foyer, my first thought is: this is exactly what I thought Callum Galvin’s house would look like. Open-concept. Clean as a whistle. Not a single visible counter appliance. Where is the toaster hidden?

The only thing out of place is his record player, which sits on top of the granite island, far away from the stove. Still plagued by the toaster question, I’m about to ask him where it could possibly be, but he calls into the empty space first.

“Zeebs! Zeebs, I have to get going for the gym!” He sighs in frustration. “She’s gonna make us late,” he mutters, squatting down to grab something from a lower kitchen cabinet. As soon as I hear the tab of a can open, I assume a pet is heading our way.

I’m about to confirm with Callum, but he disappears into the hallway. “Just going to change fast! Make yourself at home.”

Five minutes later, a magnificent cat comes padding into the kitchen. White paws, black fur, green eyes. Full of purrs.

“You must be Zeebs,” I squeak, bending down to stroke her fur. “You are a floofy fluff floof ball. Let me cherish you.”