Page 47 of The Other Side

Me.

That has to count for something, right? We’ve gotten a few great moments together recently, but fuck that.

Fuck that.

It’s not what I want.

“Ready?”

I rotate toward the sound of Callie’s voice. My eyes skim her gardening wardrobe, catching the white top peeking from beneath her denim overalls. Her long hair is now tied in a high ponytail. There’re these two stray pieces framing her eyes, allowing her green hues to pop angelically.

I fear they lure me in too close.

Way too close.

My eyes snap to the foyer, ensuring Jesse hasn’t silently witnessed my loss of breath. “Yeah,” I simply agree.

Callie turns to lead us through the living room. Her palm wraps around the ornate handle of the back door when she asks, “How much time do you have left?”

“Probably another ten or fifteen minutes,” I answer as we filter through the threshold.

We land on the flagstone steps of the patio, and the lush grass expands in all directions. The warmth of the sun caresses my trimmed beard, and the light frames her chestnut locks in this serene glow.

My eyes observe her as we journey onto the lawn. Her hands dip into the pockets of her overalls, and then she’s plucking out a pair of gardening gloves. “It’s like I’m gettin’ ready for surgery,” she jokes, slipping them on. “Minus the part where I wash my hands. That only happens after.”

I smile as we head to the far-right corner of the backyard. A long and rectangular patch of flowers emerges into view, vibrant blooms inside the perimeter of large stones.

The sight yanks at a dormant heartstring. Reviving the conversation me and Callie once had about colors. Flowers. Gardens.

She’s built herself a sanctuary.

A refuge.

She’s sheltered by this lavish lifestyle but still needs something more. And maybe, the grass isn’t always greener when we enter a new patch of land.

Even for Callie Rae Montgomery.

Even if she doesn’t see it yet, I know it.

“You’re quiet.”

Her voice cuts through my thoughts, and I dip my hands in my jeans pockets. “I was admiring the backyard.”

Callie smirks, wagging her head. “You lie,” she murmurs.

I grin when we finally reach our destination. Clusters of tulips, daffodils, and lilacs fight for my attention in a sea of green.

“Bright colors can get so lost under dark ones.” We stand side by side as Callie speaks. “But if you look closely enough, you’ll find those streaks of light underneath. I guess I started my garden as a reminder of that,” she adds. “No matter how dark my days may get, there’s at least some color to appreciate.”

My throat bobs as I study her side profile. Her chest inflates as her fingers tuck one of those stray hairs behind her ear. The earthy and floral aroma inserts this tranquility between us. In a way, it’s familiar.

“This is beautiful, Callie.”

She shrugs. “All I do is dig a hole and plant a seed. I can’t take credit for the actual flowers.”

A chuckle exits me when I pivot my head. “You’re unbearable,” I tease

Callie’s raspberry lips groove into a smirk when she crouches. Her denim-clad knees dig into the grass, and she retrieves a pair of garden clippers from her overalls pocket. She snips the stems of a couple red tulips before a pair of lilacs, only to stand up afterward.