Page 55 of Your Place or Mine

Riley leaned on the counter, chin in her hand. “And yet, you keep going back.”

“Ihave to. He’s my tenant.”

“Mmhmm.”

“It’s not personal.”

“Mmhmm.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Stop humming at me like that.”

“You like him.”

“I want tothrottlehim.”

She shrugged. “That’s usually the first stage.”

I huffed and turned back to the window, watching a dog drag its owner across the street like it had important squirrel business to attend to. Anything to look at that wasn’t Callum Benedict’s maddeningly handsome face living rent-free in my mind.

“I’ve got the estimate for you. Probably about two hours of work.” The contractor held a sheet of paper for me to review. I scanned it quickly and nodded.

“Let’s do it.”

Riley’s gaze landed on mine as the contractor went out to his van. “Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s my pleasure. It needs to be done.” I slid off the stool, thinking I needed a little rest in my studio. “I often wonder what my mom would say,” I said, surprised I felt comfortable enough to bring her up.

Riley blinked. “About Callum?”

“About… all of this. Moving to a small town. Buying a building. Falling into this weird tension tornado with a bar owner who seems determined to glare me into an early grave.”

Riley softened immediately. “She’d say you’re brave. And also, probably, ‘Ooooh, the bar owner?’ with a knowing smile.”

I smiled despite myself.

“And she’d definitely see right through Callum’s crap.”

I laughed and sipped my coffee, picturing it. My mom walking into The Rusty Stag, reading Callum in ten seconds flat, and smiling at me later with that twinkle in her eye that always meantyou’re not fooling me, sweetheart.

Maybe that’s why I was drawn to him, despite all logic and reason. Because under all that bark and brooding and maddening control, there was something… raw. Something that felt familiar in a way I didn’t want to think too hard about.

He didn’t let people in easily.

Neither did I.

I was still trying to find my footing in this town. Still waking up every morning trying to convince myself that this had been the right move. That the leap I’d taken wasn’t leading to a faceplant.

But Callum?

He was rooted.

Anchored.

Loyal, even if it came with grumbling and growling and eye-rolls so intense they might qualify as a medical condition.

And somewhere in all of that?

Maybe he was just scared to lose what he’d built.

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