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His mom sighed and downed the rest of her drink. “I was so looking forward to the wedding after the awful year we’ve had.”
“I’m sorry.” He looked down into his glass.
“Is it too much to want another grandchild?”
Here we go. “Of course not,” he said merely to placate her. Currently she had two—a granddaughter and a grandson, both his brother Lachlan’s kids—but as she herself had seven adult children, she believed this number vastly inadequate.
“I had so much hope for next year with you and Bailey getting married and I’d thought that Mac and Sian would follow soon after. Now all my hopes and dreams have gone up in smoke.”
Used to his mother’s drama-queen tendencies, Callum tried to offer a sympathetic smile, but she barely paused in her rant.
“Now you and Bailey have followed Mac and Sian instead of the other way around...” Mac had also recently been dumped by his long-term girlfriend. What a sorry lot they were. “Lord knows Quinn can’t keep a woman longer than a weekend, or he doesn’t want to—either way, I failed dismally with him. Lachlan married a selfish cow, who broke his poor heart, and as much as I adore Hamish, not many women are prepared to become a parent to a special-needs child. Annabel seems destined to mourn Stuart forever.” She sighed and took a quick breath. “Why the heck Blair and Claire got divorced is a mystery to us all considering they still live in each other’s pockets. I love her like she were my own daughter, but he’ll never meet someone else if he stays best friends with her, and Sophie doesn’t show any interest in men whatsoever. Do you think she’s a lesbian? I have been wondering quite some time if that’s the issue.”
Callum almost choked on his last sip. “What? No. I don’t know. Maybe?” He shrugged. To be honest, he’d never given it much thought. Sophie was almost as much of a workaholic as him and that left little time for dating.
“Not that I would care,” Nora said, waving her hands dramatically as she spoke. “Homosexuality runs in the McKinnel family, after all...” She was referring to his father’s twin, who’d died before Callum was old enough to remember him. “And I haven’t got a problem with lesbians. I just wish she’d open up to me. I am her mother!”
“Yes, indeed, you are.” Callum stifled a smile, knowing his mom didn’t think this conversation amusing whatsoever. She continued on, lamenting her children’s foibles, but his thoughts drifted elsewhere. He hoped Chelsea would find her dog and wished there was something he could do to make sure of it. He wondered how she was coping now she was alone, and once again, his ribs tightened as he regretted leaving her by herself. Maybe he should call and check in on her? But it was late—what if she’d managed to fall asleep and he woke her? They didn’t have the kind of relationship where he could phone at all hours; they didn’t have a relationship at all. Tomorrow; he’d call tomorrow. And then, goddamn, he remembered he’d given her his number but he hadn’t asked for hers.
His mom’s heaving herself noisily off the recliner brought him once again back to the moment. “I guess if you’re okay, I better head home to bed. Don’t stay up too late working though. Promise me? All work and no play makes Callum a very dull boy.”
“Are you calling me dull, Mom?”
She came toward him, grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him on the forehead. “You are a number of D words, my son—determined, driven, discerning, droll, dependable to name a few—but you could never be dull.” She frowned a moment. “Is that what Bailey said? Because if it is, my best friend’s daughter or not, I’ll have to kill her.”
Callum chuckled. “Thanks, Mom, and no, Bailey didn’t say that.” Although she had said he was bad in bed, which irked him, especially since she’d said it to Chelsea.
“Just as well.” Nora started toward the door but turned back as she got there. “So if you weren’t off plotting your own death, where have you been all afternoon and evening?”
He swallowed, not wanting to answer this question for fear he wouldn’t be able to explain why he’d gone out of his way to help a stranger. Also not wanting to go into the whole Breakup Girl thing. Such a concept would fascinate his mom and then she’d want to spend all night hearing about it.
“I was checking out some business...stuff,” he lied.
She sighed and shook her head sadly, buying this excuse immediately. No doubt she blamed his obsession with the distillery for his split with Bailey; perhaps to a certain extent she was right.
* * *
After waving Callum McKinnel goodbye, Chelsea had tried to distract herself with a little TV. She now lay on the couch, mindlessly flicking through channels—something that had always irritated her when her granddad did it—but nothing could take her thoughts away from Muffin. And Callum. Both the couch and the house felt awfully empty without them here.
Missing Muffin she could understand—it had been years since she’d watched TV or gone to bed without his furry body to keep her warm and his heavy breathing as background noise. But missing Callum? What the heck was that about?
She’d known the man less than twenty-four hours and he was head of a freaking whiskey distillery. After the role it had played in her childhood, there wasn’t much in the world she despised as much as alcohol, and whiskey, bourbon, whatever you wanted to call it, was one of the worst offenders. Interestingly enough, Callum hadn’t smelled of whiskey, and she should know. She’d sat close enough to him in the car and again on the couch to have memorized his unique and delicious smell. Closing her eyes, she tried to conjure it now—something woodsy and sweet. She licked her lips and took a quick breath, then aimed the remote at the TV and switched it off.
Perhaps going into her bedroom where she hadn’t been with him, would help exorcise him from her mind. Besides, she needed her sleep so she could continue looking for Muffin first thing. Standing, she stooped to gather their takeout wrappers, empty soda cans and glasses from the table and then took them into the kitchen. Although exhausted, going to bed and leaving such a mess was something Chelsea would never do. Not after a childhood of living with drunks who couldn’t care less about hygiene or tidiness.
In the kitchen, she dumped the trash in the can and the glasses in the sink and then her eyes came to rest on a piece of paper on the countertop. It was an invoice for the locksmith. She eyed the price and... Hells bells! Was her new lock made of pure gold? Picking up the receipt, she took a closer look, noticing that, not only had the front door lock been fixed, but Callum had also had the back door lock and all her window locks replaced. Without her consent.
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