Page 84 of Wild Thorns

Chapter twenty-three

Scattered Magnets

Several weeks after the midnight stairs, I am trying to be good.

I'm with Jasper now, whatever that means. We have patterns: morning coffee, where he knows exactly how I take it. I have evening conversations with Eli that meander through everything and nothing, and nights that end with Jasper in my bed; his warmth wrapped around me.

It's good. It's real. It's the kind of thing I should want.

So why can't I stop thinking about Callum?

It's ridiculous. Callum barely speaks to me. He communicates in looks and silences and the occasional sentence that lands like a tornado in my chest. He’s intense, watchful, and completely unlike his brothers in every way that matters.

And yet.

I catch myself looking for him when I come into a room. Noticing when he's not there. Wondering where he goes on nights when his brothers follow him into the preserve for hours.

Stop it, I tell myself. You have something good. Don't ruin it by wanting what you can't have.

But wanting has never been something I could control.

* * *

He caught me alone in the kitchen.

Jasper and Eli had gone out, something about a meeting with neighbors. They'd been vague about the details, which I've learned is normal. The Thornwoods keep secrets the way other families keep heirlooms: carefully, deliberately, passed down through generations.

I was making tea when I heard him. Or rather, I felt him; that awareness that prickles along my skin whenever Callum is near. I don't know when I started being able to sense his presence, but it's become as reliable as gravity.

"You're avoiding me," his voice was deep and rough, so unlike his brother’s warm, mellow tones.

I didn't turn around. Kept my eyes on the kettle, the steam rising, my hands steady through sheer force of will.

"I'm not."

"You are." He moves closer. Not threatening, just present. Taking up space the way he always does, like the room reshapes itself around him. "You haven't looked at me in days."

"That's not—" I stop. Because he's right. I've been careful not to look at him. Careful not to let my gaze linger on the breadth of his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens when he's thinking, the hands that look like they could break things or build them with equal ease.

I've been so careful, and he noticed anyway.

"Why?" he asked, stepping closer.

The question hung in the air between us. I could have lied and probably should have. Could have deflected with humor, changed the subject, or made an excuse about needing to be somewhere else.

Instead, I hear myself say, "I don't know."

"Yes, you do."

I turn around.

He's close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes to, those strange dark brown eyes that always seem to see more than they should. Close enough that I can smell him: wood-smoke, and something that's purely, distinctly him.

"Callum—"

I don't know what I was going to say. It doesn't matter, because he closes the distance between us and kisses me, and my brain stops working entirely.

It came out of nowhere. A volcano erupting in a kitchen that smelled like chamomile tea two seconds ago. His mouth on mine, his hands in my hair. God help me, I couldn’t think about Jasper, guilt or any of the reasons this is a catastrophically bad idea.