We all knew a piece of paper wouldn’t keep Jason away, though, which was why I’d been too scared to do it years ago.
I’d barely slept last night, staring at the ceiling with Pudding laying on my stomach and wondering when this would all be over. Every noise made me jump, and I was thankful Avery wasn’t at the house. After hours of laying in bed, I’d gotten up sometime around four a.m. to make coffee. With only a few hours of sleep and my spiraling thoughts, the caffeine didn’t help all that much, and now I was just an anxious mess.
All I wanted was to call Callan, but he had a life. A job. A family. I couldn’t just disrupt it because I needed him.
I didn’t want to become a burden. The problems I had with Jason were already laid bare for Callan, and though he hadn’t moved a single muscle yesterday when I told him everything Jason had done to me in the past, I didn’t want to interrupt his life because of mine.
Scooting the dining room chair back and setting Pudding on the ground from where she’d been laying on my lap, I got up and went into the kitchen. I wished for nothing other than the smell of cookies to fill the house, but I couldn’t find the energy to make them.
Baking was my therapy, but even now, thinking about getting the ingredients out made me want to curl up in a ball on the floor and waste the day away.
I ran a finger along the knobs on the front of the oven, staring at the numbers and dashes that indicated certain heat levels. It wasn’t anything fancy, but I didn’t need fancy appliances or kitchenware. The comfort they provided was enough for me.
A knock at the door made me pull my hand back as I looked over my shoulder toward the front entry. My heart seemed to skip a beat, a bass drum thumping in my chest like the soundtrack to my own doom.
It wasn’t Jason.
He wouldn’t just show up here.
But he’d shown up at the cafe, hadn’t he?
I grabbed the closest thing to me, gripping the wooden stirring spoon in my hand as my feet dragged themselves to the front entry. Twisting the lock, I wrapped a fist around the knob and turned, opening the door an inch to see who it was.
My shoulders relaxed, my grip on the spoon loosening. “Callan?”
He eyed the crack in the door, probably wondering why I wasn’t opening it further, then in less than a second, realization struck. Taking a step back, I pulled the door open wider.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
He held a grocery bag up in his hand. “Figured you might want company.”
A crease formed between my brows. “What’s that?”
His eyes fell to the spoon in my hand. “Why do you have a spoon?”
Dropping my gaze to the utensil, I twisted it in my fingers, momentarily having forgotten that I was even holding it. “I, uh, I thought you were someone else.”
His face fell, his hand that was holding the plastic bag falling to his side. “Sage…”
“I know, silly me. A spoon wouldn’t save me.” Nothing will.
He stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him, then folded himself around me. “Baby, you should’ve called me.”
But calling him would’ve let on to how scared I was, and in my experience, men either loved scared women or they hated them.
“I’m okay,” I lied. I wouldn’t be okay until he was behind bars, but even before, it took me years to stop looking over my shoulder.
“You know you don’t have to lie to me,” Callan murmured, running his free hand down my back.
“I promise, it’s much better than the truth,” I told him.
The rough timbre of his voice vibrated through his chest, giving me the comfort I so desperately needed. “I only want the truth with you. No matter how bad it may be. Remember my rules?”
I inhaled deeply, a sense of calm washing over me now that Callan was here. How could I forget the rules he instilled in me that night in front of his mirror? Yet even then, he hadn’t demanded anything. He laid a path for me to follow if I chose to.
Pulling back slightly, I looked at him. “Only truths, then.”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Only truths.”
After he removed his lips from my skin, I looked down at the bag. “Did you buy me groceries?”
He grinned, removing his hand from around my waist to grab the handle of the bag, holding it open. “I brought ingredients to make cinnamon rolls.”
Arching an eyebrow, I said, “Middle of the day craving?”
A blush heated his cheeks. “I wouldn’t say I was craving cinnamon rolls.”
The unspoken words clung in the air, tension radiating between us.
“Hmm. I wonder why you’d bring the makings for them, then,” I wondered out loud.
The corner of his mouth ticked up. “I want you to teach me.”
I wanted to learn a lot of things from him, but Callan taking an interest in what I did and wanting to learn how to do it himself? My mouth would’ve dropped open if it wasn’t for me asking, “To bake?”
“Yeah. What else would you be teaching me with all of this?”
A warmth spread through my chest, crawling up my neck as I smirked. “How to have fun with it, too.”
