Page 23 of Inseverable (Carolina Beach)

“And this isn’t?” he fires back.

“I’m just saying?”

“All right, you want to go there. Haveyouever had a one-night stand?”

He means to shut me up. If so, he needs to invest in duct tape. “Yes. Twice. But it’s not really my thing.”

“You’ve had one-night stands?” He emphasizes the first word, but the rest is distinctly quieter.

I smile thoughtfully. “I had a bad breakup last Christmas. Afterward . . . I don’t know, I was sort of lost, and maybe a little desperate. So, I did.” I look up at him. “What about you? Have you had your share of hook-ups? Or are you more the committed type?”

He returns to his more solemn demeanor, making me think I somehow hurt him by asking—and I absolutely want to kick myself for it.

I start to apologize only for him to interrupt. “I had a couple of steady girls in high school. Nothing real serious. After I enlisted, I didn’t have the time or opportunity to meet anyone.”

“That makes sense.” I wait then say, “What about when you weren’t in active duty? Or when you got out?”

He thinks about it. “That’s when I had my share of . . . interactions.”

“Oh,” I answer, giving away the sadness I suddenly feel.

Aside from caressing his face, I haven’t really touched Callahan. Not like I’ve wanted to. It bothers me to learn there’ve been plenty of women who have stroked a lot more than his beard. It’s not that I’m surprised. Not by a long shot. That doesn’t make the news easier to swallow.

Callahan isn’t a good-looking man. Nope, not at all. Callahan is hotter than fried chicken sizzling in Hades. The waves of his dark brown hair have lightened significantly over the past few weeks, giving his ravishing blue eyes an extra sparkle. His thin beard crawls along his jaw, up and over full lips that can alter him from rugged hunk, to sexy god when they pull back into a grin.

“Have there been many of these interactions?” I ask, my voice so quiet it surprises even me.

“No,” he admits before cutting his eyes my way and offering a smile that flips my heart. “It’s not really my thing either.”

Ah, and there’s my smile, too. “Good,” I say.

He slows to a stop when we reach a path lined with palms and mangroves to our right. “This is where I get off,” he tells me.

I wipe some of the perspiration from my brow and peek down the path. A ranch, covered in weather-beaten grey shingles, rests further back among the ancient trees. The trim and newly erected deck are painted in a fresh coat of bright white, and the roof and windows appear brand new. I take my time admiring the work he seems to have put in, permitting my breathing to relax.

“This is old man Callahan’s place,” I say after a moment. “I take it you’re related?”

He nods. “He was my uncle. I was named after him.”

“Now that I know where you live, I figured as much.”

He crosses his arms, appearing to look at the house without really seeing it. “Did you know him?” he asks.

“Only a little bit,” I answer. “I’d see him around town now and again. At the post office or supermarket.” I speak slowly, watching his chest rise and fall as his breathing starts to settle. “He was a nice man, gentle. But mostly kept to himself. Were you close?”

“When I was younger we were.” He bends when something catches his attention in the sand. He lifts a small rock with a sharp tip. I barely catch sight of it before he flings it into the dense brush. “My daddy wasn’t around much so my uncle tried to be there for me as much as he could.”

Like so many times before, Callahan’s face gives nothing away. But his stance when he said “daddy” stiffened in a way I’ve never quite seen. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly, feeling the depth of my words down to my bones.

He cocks his head, frowning slightly as if expecting me to press for more information. But while I want to know everything about him, I’d never force him to share something he’s not ready for.

“My parents divorced when I was a few months old,” he admits, watching me closely. “With only girls in the house, my momma felt I needed a strong male’s influence. So she asked her brother to step in and be the man my father never was.”

Just when I think Callahan can break any more of my heart, there goes another chip. My daddy is my hero. He’s always been there, ready to catch me when I fell and cheer me on when I got back up. But now is not the time to tell Callahan as much, not when he still seems hurt by the father he never quite knew.

“I’m glad your uncle was there to guide you,” I say.

“I am, too,” he murmurs. “But our time together was always limited. He’d visit every summer, holidays; things like that. But his home was here, and ours was in Texas.” He shrugs. “When I was trying to decide what to do with my life, he’s the one who convinced me to go into the Army. We lost touch after I finished boot camp. I think the last time I spoke to him was about a year before he died.”

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