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I guess that’s another thing I now know about my fake fiancée: Callie Walker is a plant enthusiast.
Add it to the list of reasons my mom is gonna love her.
There’s no garage to park in, or really anywhere specific to park, so I stop just behind her old Bronco and slide out.
“This is my humble abode.” She raises her hands, gesturing all around her. “Please don’t judge me.”
I can see the nerves written all over her face though, and I smile. “No judgment from me.”
“Right,” she says, giving me a half smile before heading up the wooden deck steps. “You can come inside if you want,” she adds, waving me along.
“Alrighty,” I mumble, stepping carefully up the creaky wooden steps. This home looks like it’s straight out of a movie—like the beautiful, mysterious writer lives in a cabin in the woods for inspiration sort of thing.
I don’t know how the ranch in Texas will be more inspiring than this.
“You gotta watch that one step though.” Callie laughs from the porch, her green eyes full of amusement as she points to a slightly crooked piece of wood. “My friend, Taylor, dang near went right through it a couple days ago. I keep thinkin’ that I’m gonna replace it, but I just haven’t made the trip to Lowes yet. I’ll probably just have to hire someone to fix it. But the guys I paid to put it up did a terrible job.”
Her Arkansas Hills accent comes shining through in this moment, and it might be the cutest sound I’ve ever heard. I have to admit the way her nose scrunches is actually adorable. “Maybe I can help you fix it up when we get back from Texas,” I suggest, shrugging my shoulders as I step carefully over it.
“Really? You’d do that?” she asks, looking back at me before grabbing the doorknob.
“Yeah, I mean, unless you have a hammer and a few nails laying around. Then I can try to jury-rig it right now.”
“No, no it’s okay. We can fix it when we get back.” She smiles. “It won’t take me long to pack.” She pushes the door in—and that’s when I see a massive black blur come blowing past her, heading right for me.
“What the—” I throw my hands up and stumble back, my eyes landing on the biggest Black and Tan Hound I’ve ever seen.
And then he barks at me—like I need to leave, or he might eat me. His deep, growling howl is rattling my chest, and Callie is literally laughing her butt off, halfway inside the house.
“Bear, knock it off,” she finally says, clapping her hands at him a couple of times. He immediately stops and goes trotting back to her, tail wagging like he just was having a good ole time scaring the crap out of me. “That’s Wade Lewis, and we’re going on a road trip with him.”
Wait … we?
Surely, she’s not talking about...
“We can put his crate in the back of the truck, but he’ll want to ride in the backseat. Do you have leather seats? He’s still shedding a little—but it’s not bad. It’s just easier to sweep off leather,” she adds, her demeanor shifting as she stands there patting her big, slobbery pet.
“Uh...” I rub the back of my neck.
“He’s coming or I’m not,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “I can’t go anywhere without him. He’s like my kid, ya know. Are you allergic or something?”
I widen my eyes and blow out a sharp exhale, staring at the dog, whose bright brown eyes are fixated on me—like he’s waiting for my reply, too. “Nope ... Nope, it’s all good. The dog can come, too.”
“Perfect,” Callie responds, disappearing into the house, while Bear sits, still staring at me. “Don’t worry, if he was gonna eat you, he would’ve by now—you can ask my ex-husband about that. Bear’s a great judge of character,” Callie calls from inside, which grabs the dog’s attention. He heads off into the house and I make my way to the open door, slipping inside.
The small living room is decked out in cabin décor—which is fitting since she lives in the woods—and I find myself staring at the black bear paintings hanging on the wall, before noticing the houseplants that have taken up residence in her living room.
So. Many. Plants.
However, not a single one is in a pot on the floor, they’re all hanging from the ceiling or up on tables, and as Bear comes bouncing through the living room like one huge ball of energy, I understand why.
Rocking back and forth, I mosey through the living room, being careful not to invade her privacy, while also trying to understand who this woman is based on how she lives.
Peeking into the kitchen, I’m met with more plants. There’s also a picture hanging on the wall opposite the fridge of two women with their arms wrapped around each other. It’s clear that one is a younger Callie. The other is probably her sister, because she looks like Callie, only with blonde hair.
I definitely prefer the redhead.
Bear is leaning against my leg now, and I realize I’m standing here, petting him as I stare at this picture of my fiancée. Well, fake fiancée.
