Page 26 of Inseverable (Carolina Beach)

When I can't take it anymore, I push off the counter, using my hip to nudge a wedge between him and the stove. I want to feel close to him. I want him to touch me. But I want him, to want it, too.

Without meaning to, my backside ever so gently brushes against his front. A soft sigh escapes his lips, and I bite back a groan, my heartbeat quickening as the two of us stand less than an inch apart.

Callahan curls his body forward, his breath a warm whisper across my bare shoulder as his hands glide down my hips. For a moment, I think something is about to happen. Something good, sexy—something that will allow my moans to escape. But as his hands ease away, I realize I may already be too late to act.

He’s still close though, his breath continuing to tease my skin. I lift the pan and pretend to inspect it as if his reaction and our brief contact haven’t sent my desire for him racing full speed ahead. “This is a nice pan . . . Calphalon?” I ask, my voice gaining and odd quiver.

“Yes.” His voice is low, harsh, which does nothing to soothe my perky female regions.

It takes me a moment to form my words considering talk is the last thing I want to do. “Can you get me the eggs?” I finally ask. “Some butter, maybe spices you like?”

He swallows hard and edges away, gathering a bowl, whisk, eggs, and butter and placing them along the counter. He stays silent, keeping a very respectable distance much to the dismay of my very unrespectable thoughts.

The last things he sets down are salt and pepper. “I don’t have much in terms of spices,” he says, that tone of his oddly clipped.

What remains of my ardor quickly vanishes when I turn and face him. Instead of drawing closer, and meeting me with a kiss I so need, he backs further away?like he can’t put enough space between us?like he doesn’t even want me here.

“Do you have any cheese?” I manage.

He returns to the refrigerator and pulls out a block of cheddar and Colby Jack. Again, he’s not saying a word. It’s like he suddenly doesn’t know how to act around me, or if he should even bother.

For all I thought he might be interested in me, I’m not so sure anymore.

“How about some orange juice?” I’m mostly asking to keep him talking. To remind him I’m still here with him, and that just because he’s alone doesn’t mean he has to be lonely. “It’ll go nice with the eggs.”

He shakes his head, but doesn’t verbally respond.

“Oranges?” I ask, feeling and sounding desperate.

He motions to the bowl overflowing with oranges. I rub my face, trying to shake off the misery digging a hole into my gut. It’s clear Callahan wants me gone. But I can’t bear leaving him. Not like this.

“Tell you what,” I say, dropping my hands away. “How about you shred me some cheese and I’ll make you some fresh squeezed juice. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“You don’t have to," He lowers his chin. “You don’t have to do any of this, Trin.”

I’m not sure what he’s thinking. I only know that I’ve lost some serious ground between us and it’s killing me. Callahan is more damaged than I originally thought. He would have to be, given the way he’s afraid to get too close to me.

Taking careful steps so as not to overwhelm him, I inch closer and place my hands over his. “I want to. Will you let me do something nice for you? Please?”

“All right,” he mutters. It’s what he claims, but it doesn’t stop him from stepping further away and out of my reach.

I watch him fumble through the drawers for a juicer and a mandolin, disheartened by his withdrawal. He’s no longer making eye contact or speaking. And while he sets up beside me and begins his task, he feels so far away.

My mind insists that I shouldn’t push, so I don’t, busying myself by making the fresh squeezed juice I promised.

After years of cooking with my momma, I’m used to working fast and am comfortable in the kitchen. It doesn’t take me long to slice the oranges and pluck the seeds free from their centers. Callahan only speaks when he sees me ring the orange halves around the juicer, but even then he doesn’t face me.

“Do you want me to do that? You look like your struggling.”

He may not have been watching me directly, but it’s clear he’s stolen at least a few glances my way. “It’s okay. I’m tougher than I look.”

He continues grating the cheese, acting once more like I’m not standing directly beside him. I frown, determining he responds better to my asinine and obnoxious self than to my sweeter half.

All right. So be it, Batman.

I peer at the mound he’s created. “That looks good. Thanks. Would you mind getting some glasses? It won’t take me long to finish breakfast.”

Without so much as a sound, he washes his hands and reaches for two tumblers from the cabinet closest to the fridge. The juicer comes with its own pitcher. I top off to the rims the moment he places the tumblers on the counter.

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