Page 64 of Because of Her

Once he pays, I tidy the florist benchtop, mostly trying to look busy. Madison is helping Amira clear her line, and there’s no room for all three of us behind the tiny cart. In hindsight, the counter extension would have been helpful,but I had no idea we would see this much success. I cross my fingers and hope it continues past our launch day.

“Should I buy flowers for my sister again?”

I spin away from the bench. Callum stands before me, close enough that we can have a conversation in the busy space, but not so close that I can smell his woodsy scent amongst the sea of florals. Closing some of the gap between us, I rest a hand on his chest. He laces his fingers through mine, grabbing my other hand and tugging me closer.

“Callum I—”

He cuts off my apology like he knew it was coming. “You didn’t screw anything up at the park. I’ll tell you a million times if that’s what it takes. Kids fall and get hurt all the time. It was never your responsibility to be watching her every move.”

“It feels like my fault.”

“It feels like my fault, too.”

As if moving by its own choice, my head slowly tilts down to rest against the crook of his shoulder. The woodsy scent I craved moments ago soothes my muscles. My shoulders drop from their position near my ears and my neck loosens, falling into Callum’s shoulder. With my fingertips, I trace the lines of his abs, teasing lower.

“Tall flat white and a skinny almond cap for Charlotte.”

Amira’s voice reminds me where we are. I snatch my hand away from Callum’s waistband, but he wraps his arms around me, holding me close.

“I missed you.” I utter the words under my breath, still unsure if I want Callum to hear them. But he does.

“I missed you, too.”

Together, our chests rise with a long inhale. Callum rests his hands on my shoulders, taking half a step back.

“This is incredible. You are incredible.”

It feels unjust, accepting his praise without directingsome of it to the woman still making coffees. “I couldn’t have done it without Amira.”

Callum shakes his head. “She said it was all your idea. She said you found the cart and researched all the commercial kitchen requirements and ran the marketing. She said it was all you, she just had some inheritance and knows how to make a coffee that doesn’t taste like mud.”

“I don’t do anything different. She showed me exactly what she does and I followed every step. I don’t understand what I do wrong.”

Callum hums, tracing small circles on my shoulders. With gentle pressure in carefully selected spots, he eases the knots I hadn’t noticed were forming.

“There are a lot of things you do right, Rogue. Who cares if you can’t make a coffee. You don’t have to be able to do everything. You don’t have to be good at everything. You’re allowed to learn as you go, and everyone is allowed to make mistakes. Even the people who have been making coffee for five years. You have to promise me that you won’t give up. That you’ll focus on all the things you can do, and you’ll keep trying at the things you aren’t sure of.”

The blue of his eyes goes cloudy as he stares into mine and I don’t think he is talking about making coffee anymore.

“I won’t stop making coffee,” I promise.

CALLUM

“Okay,” I say as Maisie scoops another oversized mouthful of once frozen lasagne into her mouth. “If you could be any animal in the world, what kind of animal would you be?”

It’s a silly question, but something I’ve started doing every meal with Maisie. Since I only get half of all her dinners, I want to make them count. No more eating with the TV on, we eat together, present. And as we talk to each other, I get to know her a little better every day.

Like last fortnight, I learnt her least favourite colour is “the poo green crayon colour,” and that she would rather fly than breathe under water.

I hope, though, that through all the random and silly questions, she learns she can ask me anything, too. I want her to trust me to answer her questions, to be honest with her.

Maisie’s forehead furrows as she chews.

“A kangaroo,” she finally answers, stabbing her next adult sized mouthful onto her fork.

“Hmm?” I prompt whilst chewing my own food.

“I like how they hop.”

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