Page 157 of Your Place or Mine

His affection came in acts of service: checking the oil in my car, even though I didn’t ask, stocking my favorite snacks behind the bar, and leaving mugs of coffee for me exactly how I liked them—heavy on the creamer, sacrilegiously sweet.

And today?

He was planning apicnic.

I nearly fainted when he mentioned it. Picnic and Callum Benedict didn’t even belong in the same sentence unless the picnic was being held in the bed of his truck with a six-pack and a bag of jerky.

So naturally, I was curious.

And okay—maybea little bit giddy.

My phone buzzed as I finished tying my hair up in a low bun.

Out front. Bring your appetite. And maybe bug spray.

I laughed out loud.

Classic romance.

I grabbed my sunglasses and stepped outside into the warm, late summer air. The scent of pine was thick today, the sunlight slanting gold across the gravel drive. And there he was leaning against his truck, arms folded, sunglasses perched on his nose like he wasn’t the literal embodiment of mountain-man smolder.

“You know,” I said as I walked toward him, “you never cease to amaze me with your ability to make something as soft as a picnic sound like a hostage situation.”

He pushed off the truck, lips twitching. “I didn’t sayhostage.Just bring bug spray. I’m not losing a pint of blood for a romantic gesture.”

“A romantic gesture,” I gasped. “Callum, be still my heart.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, but he was grinning as he opened the passenger side door for me. “Just get in the truck before I change my mind and take you to the bait shop instead.”

“Promises, promises.”

He smacked my butt as I passed him, and I yelped, whipping around. “Excuseyou.”

He climbed into the driver’s seat. “If you’re gonna sass me before I’ve had a sandwich, you’re asking for it.”

“Oh, so therearesandwiches. This is already shaping up to be the most romantic thing you’ve ever done.”

He just smirked and started the engine.

We drove in easy silence for a few minutes, windows down, music low. Reckless River was sparkling, the trees towering on either side of the road like guardians to the sacred world we’d built between us.

He turned down a narrow path into the county park and pulled into a shaded clearing that overlooked a bend in the river. The spot was quiet, secluded, and just wild enough to feel like we were breaking some sort of invisible rule by being there.

The river lived up to its name—reckless and unbothered by time.

From where I sat, the view was nothing short of breathtaking. The Reckless River carved its way through the land like it had someplace to be, tumbling and roaring over glistening boulders that jutted from the water like ancient sentinels. The current was fierce today, white foam curling around the rocks as the water surged past in a determined rush, catching sunlight like fractured diamonds.

Tall pines lined the banks, their needles whispering with the wind, and the scent of moss and wet earth filled the air. Dragonflies hovered over pockets of rare still water, their wings flashing iridescent in the golden light. The sky above was a vast, endless blue, only a few wisps of cloud drifting lazily overhead like they were on river time, too.

It wasn’t just beautiful. It wasalive.

Untamed. Honest. A little dangerous.

And maybe that’s why I loved it so much.

Because it reminded me of him.

Of us.

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