Page 182 of Callan

His silence is deafening.

“Are you back home, by any chance?” I ask.

His response comes quickly.

“You know where I am.”

“Fine…” I say dryly. “I’ll be on a plane the first thing in the morning.”

We end the call without another word before I shove my phone into my pocket and inch closer to a dark nook from where I can watch the entrance to her building.

MACKENZIE

He walksout of the dark just as I set foot on the sidewalk and look up and down the street.

The air is imbued with the scent of winter and floral notes from my perfume.

He doesn’t move, and that’s my cue.

Walking carefully so I don’t land on my butt, I navigate the icy pavement, heading his way.

The closer I get, the more telling his expression becomes as he clearly hasn’t expected this––a woman whotrulywanted to celebrate this festive time of the year with him. A glint of satisfaction beams in his eyes as he takes inventory of my clothes.

My short coat is open, and the plunging neckline of my jacket reveals my neck and the top of my chest.

He stretches his hand out to meet mine, and once we connect, he pulls me into him and kisses my lips.

“I thought you’d be changing at my place,” he murmurs against my temple.

“I wanted to surprise you,” I reply, looking at him. “Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, smiling and dragging his eyes and fingers down my neck. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs, lifting his gaze to my face.

He rubs my cheek with his thumb before placing a kiss on my lips.

“What would you like to eat tonight?”

“Um… What are my options?” I ask with a grin, the darkest memories of this day pushed to the back of my mind.

“Italian. French. Irish. American?”

“Anything will do.”

“All right. Give me one second, and we’ll be on our way.”

He retrieves his phone from his pocket, calls the restaurant, and places the order.

Shrimp Cocktail, Spinach Salad with grilled feta and vinaigrette, Fillet Mignon with sautéed wild mushrooms, Collard Greens, mashed potatoes, caramel flan, and Champagne.

I’m hungry, and this is by far the best New Year’s Eve menu I could’ve come up with, especially considering that I was planning to spend the evening alone, feasting on whatever leftovers I have in the fridge––cheese, cold cuts, and olives––before digging some cookies out from the cupboard.

“It’s good?” he asks, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“It’s perfect,” I say, grinning and looping my arm through his.

Hand clutched together, we walk to the end of the street, where he signals to a car that smoothly pulls up in front of us.

The driver knows him and rushes to open the door for us before greeting Callan.

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