Page 61 of Boiling Point
He gave me a look that was equal parts smug and amused. “Let Eton flourish,” he translated, voice all posh mockery, accent crisp and clipped. “Did I win your heart with Latin?”
I snorted. “I was joking.”
He leaned in, voice dropping. “I wasn’t.”
Warmth spread across my chest. I leaned against the counter. “So what was it like?”
He measured coffee into the French press, thoughtful. “Strict,” he said at last. “Regimented. Unforgiving. Bloodystarched collars. Every minute scheduled. Every standard enforced.”
I watched him, listening for what he wasn’t saying.
“But oddly enough,” he continued, “it was the first place I ever felt…free.”
“Free?” I blinked. “At boarding school?”
He nodded, fitting the lid onto the coffee canister. “I was thirteen, away from home, finally out from under constant watch by staff and family. There were rules—God, so many—but for once, I got to choose which ones I’d break.” He smiled as the kettle clicked off. “I took to it rather quickly.”
“That, I believe.”
He poured the water over the grounds in one smooth motion and slid the press aside to steep. Then he reached into the cupboard for two mugs, set them on the counter, and finally looked at me again. “It’s also where I picked up guitar. And where I learned that physics came easier to me than most things. Except, apparently, diplomacy.”
“You? Diplomatic?” I teased.
He winced with mock sincerity. “Shocking, I know.”
“And the guitar?” I asked. “That came naturally?”
“Eventually. There was a boy a few years older who played blues riffs in the stairwell between prep and lights-out. I was meant to be revising French verb conjugations, but…” He shrugged. “Hendrix won.”
I grinned. “Total rebel.”
Cal’s gaze flicked toward me, fond and a little faraway. “It was that, or smoke behind the chapel. I chose the option that wouldn’t give me cancer.”
He pressed the plunger, poured two mugs of dark, fragrant coffee, and passed one to me—black, just how I liked it.
“Thanks.”
He leaned back against the counter, mug in hand, posture easy but thoughtful.
“And physics?” I asked. “You said it came easy, but why stick with it?”
He looked down at the swirl of dark coffee, then out the window where sunlight kissed the bare treetops. “I wanted to understand how the universe worked. Still do. Some part of me always believed that if I could just…decode the rules underneath it all, maybe I’d find my place in it.”
Something in my chest pulled tight. I hadn’t expected that kind of honesty before breakfast, but I drank it in like warmth. “And did you?”
He looked at me, long and deliberate. “Not until recently.”
My breath caught. I had no words for that, so I didn’t say anything. Instead, I stepped in close and kissed his cheek. “I’m glad you picked music over cigarettes.”
His smile was slow and real and a little bit shy. “So am I.”
Chapter 23
Callum
The steady scratch of her pencil moved across the page, soft and sure.
Gabrielle was curled on the office sofa—legs tucked beneath her, a red spiral-bound notebook balanced on her thigh, pencil gliding in neat, methodical lines. She wore dark jeans and a soft heather jumper, her hair pulled back in a low twist. Casual, but clearly chosen.
