Page 63 of Your Place or Mine

If I let her in.

And that was the part that scared me more than anything else.

So I pulled back. Just enough.

Just to breathe.

“You really okay?” I asked again, voice rough now.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

I turned then, before I could make a decision that I couldn’t walk back.

Before I could reach for her and give in to the thing that had been burning low and steady between us since the day she walked into my bar with that fire in her eyes.

But as I reached the door, I heard her voice behind me—quiet, teasing, but laced with something that went straight to the gut.

“You’re not what I expected, Callum.”

I paused.

But I didn’t look back.

I couldn’t.

Because if I did?

I might not leave.

Chapter Sixteen

Lydia

The idea came on slow and soft, like a nudge rather than a decision.

I was wiped after spending all afternoon untangling a mess of receipts, contractor estimates, and an unfortunate confrontation with a rogue spider in the basement hallway. My fridge had a half-empty bottle of white wine and a leftover yogurt that had seen better days. And even though I knew how to cook, I didn’t have the energy to peel a carrot, let alone sauté anything.

So when the thought popped into my head…I should just grab something easy, maybe a burger, maybe at The Rusty Stag, I didn’t fight it.

I told myself it was for convenience. For calories. For something greasy and hot and uncomplicated.

I didnottell myself it was to see him.

But as I walked through the door, the now-familiar bell giving a lazy jingle, my stomach did this little swoop like it knew better.

The Rusty Stag was comfortably dim and already halfway full.

Locals crowded the bar and booths in their usual post-work ritual, a game murmuring on the TV above the back corner, the low hum of laughter, and the occasional thump of a pint glass on wood. It smelled like grilled meat, old varnish, and just enough lemon cleaner to make you believe someone cared.

I slid onto a stool at the far end of the bar, deliberately not looking around for a particular pair of broad shoulders and glowering green eyes. I told myself that if Callum happened to be behind the bar, I would be civil.

Polite. Cool as a cucumber, that had no interest in the man who’d just two days ago all but set the oxygen between us on fire with alook.

But of course,hewasn’t the one who greeted me.

“Evening, landlady,” said a voice to my right.

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