Page 116 of The Matchmaker
He leads me down the hallway to the kitchen, where he goes straight for the kettle before stopping. “Right. No electricity. I guess we could…” He stands in the middle of the room for one long second before turning back to me. “I literally can’t do anything, can I?”
I laugh. It’s one of those times when you don’t realize how much you need electricity until it goes away. It’s not like when you’re camping when you don’t expect there to be any. You come prepared. It’s part of the fun. It’s different in a house where you expect it in every room, in every corner. Where you realize you can’t boil the kettle or even open the fridge because you need to try and preserve whatever cold air is in there.
“I don’t need anything,” I assure him.
“Well, neither did I, but now I can’t have it, I desperately want it. Plus, it goes against everything in my being not to offer a guest something to eat and drink.” He scratches his jaw, looking genuinely perturbed he can’t entertain me appropriately. “I’ve got some movies on my laptop if you want to watch something,” he begins, but I shake my head.
“You should preserve your battery in case there’s still nothing in the morning.”
He is immediately alarmed. “It might not be back in the morning?”
“One time we didn’t have it for three days.”
“Well, that’s just great.”
“But usually, it’s a couple hours at most,” I reassure him and reach down to unstrap my heels. “Is there somewhere I can change?”
He looks confused. “Do you have other clothes?”
“No?”
He grins. “Upstairs. There are only two rooms so you’re not going to get lost. Take whatever you need.”
“Dangerous words,” I tell him, and use my phone light to show me the way.
The bathroom is tiny, one of those new additions to a house that once didn’t have any indoor plumbing. With the toilet, shower, and sink squished together, I can just about fit inside, and I wonder how he copes with it. His bedroom is just as tidy as I’m coming to expect from him. The bed neatly made; his clothes put away. There are a few coins on the dresser, a framed photo of an older couple I presume to be his parents, and the same headphones I saw him wearing the day he first came to my house.
I call Granny first, who grumpily assures me she’s fine and that, as assumed, Susan will be staying the night in my room. I then return to the bathroom, where I carefully extract all the pins and clips I hid in my hair, letting it not so much tumble down my shoulders as fall in clumps, the copious amount of hairspray I used making it difficult to tame. I probably look ridiculous, but my scalp, which had been aching for the past few hours, thanks me, so I leave it as it is.
With my phone lit up in one hand and my other trailing along the wall, I stride back into the bedroom like I know exactly where I’m going only to immediately walk into the edge of a dresser.
“Ow.Shit.”
“Katie? You okay?” Callum runs up the stairs, taking them two at a time before coming to a stop in the doorway. “What? What is it?”
“Nothing,” I mutter. “I stubbed my toe.” I hobble over to the bed, muttering a stream of curses that would make even Granny blush.
Callum turns on the flashlight, sweeping it over me as though I’m lying and maybe stabbed myself instead.
“Don’t look at my gross toe.”
“It’s not gross.”
“All toes are gross,” I inform him, but he ignores me, kneeling by my side. He grabs my foot before I can stop him, inspecting it briefly before running a finger along the arch.
I squirm immediately, fighting the tickling sensation with a scowl.
“Callum,” I warn.
“I think you’ll live,” he says solemnly.
“You playing Doctor now?”
“We can play Doctors.” He sweeps his palm up my calf, his touch warm and rough and perfect, and I can’t help but smile as he looks up, meeting my gaze in the dim light.
Slowly, without looking away, he presses his lips to the top of my foot, as though to kiss it better. Meanwhile his hand doesn’t stop moving slowly up and down my leg, inching higher each time it reaches my thighs. His mouth follows the movement, gentle, tickling brushes that make my chest grow tight, my breathing shallow as he works his way up. He nuzzles into my lap and then my stomach, roving upward until he’s kneeling before me, capturing my mouth.
I loop my arms around his neck, holding on to him loosely as he deepens the kiss until we’re both panting. It’s only when his hands travel down the front of my dress, caressing my breasts through the material, that I break away.
