Page 26 of The Other Side

Infinite.

There is no beginning or end, but rather, moments. Moments with her that will surely meet me across all facets of my life. We may have missed years together, but I didn’t lose Callie. When she threw herself in my arms, it was like I was hugging the girl who left for Monroe College. Somehow, we’re picking up right where we left off. And beneath all the transformed layers, I felt her.

My Callie.

I shudder to think there’s too many layers to peel back and set her free.

Then again, she wasn’t honest with Jesse about me. In their driveway, for whatever reason, she played it off like that was the first time we were meeting.

I begin to wonder how much Jesse actually knows about her former life in West Virginia. It seems he only knows bits and pieces. Considering the asshole he is, he’d probably hold her imperfect upbringing against her.

She knows that.

I know her too well to know that she knows that.

Fuck.

Don’t be stupid, Callie.

Chapter 9

Brant

I walk up the stone steps, binder and laser measurer cuddled in my arm. The sun is hidden behind the blanket of gray clouds, but the sweet smell of petunias drifts from the planter boxes.

I knock on the fiberglass of the front door, stomach pitching when I peek to my right. Callie’s white Range Rover is occupying a portion of the driveway. It’s parked in front of the two-car garage, and I kick myself for being ill-prepared.

When she didn’t put my cell number to use, my heart felt a bit stomped on. She’s engaged, yes. But my gut knows if she wanted to make time for me, she would. If she had been the one to welcome a line of communication, the outcome would’ve been different.

Stress pumps into my chest, and the excitement of recent events filters out of me. There are too many unanswered questions between us.

My eyes meet Jesse’s when the door swings open, dropping to his predictable attire. “Hey, how’s it going?” I greet.

“Not bad,” he answers. “Ready to get this ball rolling.”

He steps aside to widen the entry point, and I land on the marble of the grand foyer. My free hand digs into my jeans pocket, my eyes carefully scanning the vacant living room in the near distance.

Jesse’s Oxfords knock along the polished tile. “How long do you think this will take?” he asks, closing the front door.

“It could be an hour or two,” I respond. “I’d like to measure the whole house if that’s okay.”

His brows cave when he turns to me, hands slipping in the pockets of his slacks. “Why would you measure the whole house? That seems like a waste of time.”

He squares his shoulders when he idles in front of me.

This motherfucker is squaring his shoulders.

Over measurements.

He smooths his posture out, reminding me he’s the top dog in this room. What he fails to realize is I could take him out with one blow to his groomed jaw.

Guys like him have never taken a punch to the face. Nor do they understand how to properly throw one. His masculinity oozes from his money.

He’s a pussy.

“It’s good to have measurements of the entire house so we can keep that information on record. Specifically, for permits,” I explain.

“You probably should’ve mentioned that, no? I planned to head out and speak with a potential buyer for a property.”