Page 56 of Surprise Me Tonight
I look at her, heart suddenly knocking again. “Yeah?”
She hesitates, then leans in close. “That was… a lot. I mean, Jeez.”
“Yeah.”
“But—” she swallows, then nudges her head slightly toward Callum, then back at me, eyes shining. “You were brilliant. Like, savage. In the best way. I don’t think I’ve ever been that proud.”
The knot in my chest unravels.
“You okay?” I ask her.
She nods. “Yeah. I mean… I’ll probably need years of therapy, but this definitely bumped me up the queue.”
We both laugh; hers quiet, mine shaking a little at the edges. And when she wraps her arms around me this time, it’s the kind that doesn’t let go right away.
Behind us, Joan mutters, “Right, well, someone better put ABBA back on. This is a birthday, not a bloody funeral for fragile male egos.”
I can’t stop grinning. With Callum’s hand in mine, it feels like the first proper victory in years.
Chapter 17
Callum
The rain hasn’t letup all day.
It slides down the windows in quiet sheets, painting the world in grey. The house is silent except for the soft hum of the telly — something about whales, maybe dolphins. We haven’t changed the channel in hours.
We’re lying on my bed, half under the duvet. She’s curled into me, warm and still, dressed in grey joggers and a navy hoodie that slips slightly off one shoulder when she shifts. It’s a little faded, soft from a hundred washes — and I don’t think she realises how good she looks like this. Relaxed. Real. Mine.
I’m in shorts and a T-shirt. Nothing special. But somehow this — the quiet, the closeness, the easy weight of her draped over me — feels like everything.
She yawns into my chest, voice low and drowsy. “Would you rather live in a lighthouse or a cabin in the woods?”
“How remote’s the cabin?”
“No road access.”
“Lighthouse.”
She lifts her head just enough to look at me. “Because you could still get Deliveroo?”
“No,” I murmur, brushing her hair back behind her ear. “Because I like the sea. And I like knowing what’s coming.”
She nods, but doesn’t push it.
We lie there in the soft hum of rain and blankets and the warmth of doing nothing.
“I think I’ve worked it out.” The words are out before I can consider if I should say them.
She shifts slightly. “What?”
“Why I haven’t slept properly since I left the RAF.”
Her fingers pause on my stomach. “Tell me.”
I stare up at the ceiling. “Back then, I always thought it was adrenaline. Adjustment. Noise. I told myself it would pass when I got settled. But then I built the business, made the money, bought the houses… and I still couldn’t sleep.”
She says nothing. Just waits.
