Page 9 of Chasing Callie

“What do you want to do with all the paintings?”

“Is it okay to store them in the basement?”

He almost looks offended that I asked. “Of course it is. I’ll bring them in later.”

“Come on,” Mom says again. I trail after her, entering the house with a relieved sigh. The kitchen’s been redone. The cabinets that were once white are now a soft gray. It’s different, but the air still feels exactly the same. Warm and welcoming.

Here, I’m safe.

“I’ll get the drinks,” I say, heading for the cabinet where the glasses used to reside, half expecting to find them moved, but they’re right where I remember them. “Dad, you look a little flushed. Do you want some iced tea?”

He nods, settling heavily into a chair at the kitchen table. “Hot as shit out there.”

I chuckle. “Well, it’s almost July.” Compared to the southwest, the heat in the southeast isn’t actually all that bad, it’s the humidity that gets you.

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbles.

I fill three glasses, adding extra ice to Dad’s before setting them on the table. Condensation immediately forms and the little droplets slide down the side of the glass. As I turn to grab napkins, something on the fridge catches my attention.

One of my old drawings.

The stark black and white contrast stands out against the old white refrigerator. It’s a detailed sketch of an eye. I remember the day I drew it, sitting on the bleachers at school, watching Knox during football practice. I’d always been fascinated by how much emotion those light blue eyes could convey.

One look from him could either shoot you to the moon or gut you. There was always something about Knox that drew me in, and in high school, I fell hard for those baby blues. Not that I ever told him.

My throat tightens. I did so much art in high school. Why would they keep this one?

“Callie?” Mom’s voice brings me back.

I clear my throat, pushing the memory away. “Sorry, just”—I gesture vaguely at the drawing—“I didn’t expect to see that still hanging around.”

“Your father refuses to take it down.” She gives him a pointed look. “Says it’s the best thing you ever drew.”

“It is,” Dad insists stubbornly. “I know it was practice, but you captured something real there.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from revealing the truth about the drawing. How I’d spent hours perfecting the exact shape of Knox’s eye, trying to capture the intensity I felt every time he looked at me. Now I realize that it was probably a silly crush that made it seem as if he was trying to peel back the layers of my skin to see inside me. But we were friends. Nothing more.

Bitterness coats my tongue. “So,” I say, changing the subject as I sit down. I can’t think about how he ruined everything right now. Shoving all thoughts of Knox aside, I look at my parents. “I got a job today.”

Mom perks up. “Already? Where?”

“At The Bar. Maura hired me.” I shrug. “I’m a good bartender.” A little part of me wonders if that’s all I’ll ever be after what happened with Theo.

Dad chuckles. “She always did have a soft spot for you, even when you and the boys were raising hell.”

The mention of the brothers makes my stomach flutter. It’s like I can’t escape them. “She said someone quit. It’s good money, especially during tourist season.”

“It’s a great job,” Mom assures me. She always understands what’s bothering me before I even do. Right now it’s that I’ll spend the rest of my life playing bar keep without leaving an impact on the world. That they’ll be ashamed I haven’t done better for myself. She takes a sip of her tea, searching my face. “How long are you staying?”

I stare into my glass, watching the ice cubes bob. That question I’m not sure how to answer. All I know is I’m not leaving any time soon. “A while. I was hoping maybe I could stay here? Just until I figure things out.”

“Of course you can,” Dad says immediately, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “This is your home, Cal. Always has been.”

The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. I’ve been away so long, running from everything that happened, and they still welcome me back without question. I knew they would though. My parents are the best.

“Thank you,” I manage, blinking back tears.

Mom smiles, but I can see the questions in her eyes. She won’t push, not yet, but soon she’ll want to know what went down in New York.