Page 225 of Callan

Her features glow with relief and a smile tilts her lips.

“I’ve known him since he was a little boy. Yeah, I’d say I know him well.”

“Is he a good man?” I ask, and her grin fades, mixed feelings flashing through her eyes.

“He has a complicated history…” she says apologetically.

“I know that. But other than that… Is he a good man?”

“I’d say… yes?”

“You’re not sure.”

“He’s great with me and his people. He’s great with his brothers.”

“The people he loves.”

“Yes. For sure, the people he loves.”

I take a long breath.

“Okay. Thank you.”

She doesn’t move away.

“I’m sure things will work out in the end,” she says, hoping to make me feel good with her words.

I’m sure she has no idea what ‘things’ Callan and I are dealing with.

“I’m sure they will,” I say neutrally, flashing a tired smile.

She moves closer.

“Listen…” she says. “I don’t know what his plans are with you, but he’s never brought a woman to this house. In case that means anything in your world. It would mean a lot in mine. Men are very particular about what they do and don’t do. Even the weakest one will be stubborn about these things in his life. Let alone someone like Callan Bard. Whatever he is doing has a purpose and a meaning, and rest assured, you’ll soon learn his intentions.”

I smile again, unconvinced by her argument.

He’s already told what his intentions are. He wants to keep me here until a better plan comes along. Basically, this is the only way he can keep me alive. That is enough to keep anyone awake at night, let alone me, who feeds on angst like it’s candy.

“I’m sure I will,” I say.

“Good. Enjoy yourself,” she says, sighing with relief that our conversation has finally drawn to an end.

The door closes behind her, and I eat the finger food and drink coffee before going to the closet, rifling through my clothes, and selecting something warm to put on.

Walking outside is like a fairy tale.

The snow shimmers under the starry sky and bird calls echo far between the branches.

A beautiful place with history and buried sorrow. I can tell.

People find solace in this place, but while it takes some time to heal, the souls living here can’t fully fill it with joy.

Dinner awaits me––tomato soup and macaroni and cheese–– and I eat later after mindlessly watching some shows on TV.

The clutches of passing time wrap around me and squeeze my neck, killing my hope that I will talk to him tonight.

Or see him.

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