Chapter 15

Violet

I double over, laughing as Callum swings the sledgehammer again, missing the fence post by a mile. He woke up with me at the crack of dawn, just like he said he would. Honestly, I didn’t expect him to follow through. I figured he’d take the opportunity to sleep in, enjoy some peace and quiet, but when I walked out of my bedroom, there he was—jeans hugging his hips, a tight black shirt stretched across his chest, and that killer smile that seems to turn my insides to jelly.

It caused feelings I don’t even understand.

"It’s not funny," he groans, shaking his head in frustration, his dark hair falling into his eyes.

He’s trying so hard to help, and I really do appreciate it, but it’s clear that manual labor isn’t his strong suit. The sledgehammer looks almost too big in his hands, awkward like he’s never swung one before. It’s endearing, though, watching him try. I haven’t seen this side of him, a man willing to get dirty, to work beside me. It’s... attractive, to say the least.

“How about I hold the post?” I offer, still chuckling as I straighten up and dust off my hands.

Callum’s eyes widen as he lifts the sledgehammer back over his shoulder, his muscles flexing with the effort. And damn, those muscles. Each move shows off the way his biceps and shoulders stretch beneath the fabric of his shirt, and I can’t help but stare. It’s like watching a sculptor chiseling away at marble, every line and curve carved to perfection.

It’s becoming harder and harder to look away.

“No way in hell are you holding it while I take a swing. If I miss again and hit you…no, absolutely not. I’ve got this,” he insists, his jaw setting in determination.

I smirk at his confidence, but the truth is, he’s all strength and no precision right now. The post isn’t going anywhere at this rate, and we’ve still got a whole section of the fence to repair. But I don’t mind. There’s something about working alongside him like this, the two of us out here together, that feels strangely intimate. The quiet of the early morning, the sounds of the ranch waking up around us, and the occasional shared laugh—it’s like we’re finding a rhythm.

“You’re gonna throw your back out if you keep swinging like that,” I tease, stepping closer to inspect the post, which is still stubbornly tilted.

He shoots me a look of mock offense. “I’d like to see you try then, hotshot.”

“Oh, I’ve got this.” I grab the sledgehammer from him, grinning up at his slightly shocked expression.

Callum steps back, crossing his arms, his eyes never leaving me. I can feel the heat of his gaze as I adjust my grip and line up the hammer with the post. Years of doing this kind of work have made me stronger than I look, and with one solid swing, the sledgehammer connects with the post, driving it deeper into the ground with a satisfying thunk.

I turn to him, breathless but triumphant. “See? All about technique.”

Callum laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “All right, I’m impressed.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I say, handing the sledgehammer back to him. “I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”

“Clearly,” he mutters, but there’s a playful gleam in his eyes. “Maybe you should just handle the hammer from now on. I’ll hold the post.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Oh, so now it’s okay for you to hold the post?”

“Only because I trust you not to miss,” he replies with a grin, and something about the way he says it makes my heart skip a beat.

We fall into an easy rhythm after that—Callum holding the post while I swing the hammer. It’s slower than if I were doing it alone, but I’m enjoying it. There’s something strangely comforting about working side by side, about the small jokes and banter we share as we go. The physical closeness feels... right in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

Every now and then, I catch Callum watching me with a look I can’t quite place. It’s like something soft, something that makes my pulse quicken, and my breath catch in my throat. There's a quiet intensity in his eyes, as if he's seeing me in a way no one else has before. It’s more than just the playful banter or the comfortable silence we share. It’s something deeper, something almost... amazed.

And every time I see that look, my stomach flutters, my heart skips a beat, and I wonder. Does he feel the same pull I do? Especially after that kiss last night.

That kiss I told him to forget.

But how can I expect him to forget it when I can’t get it out of my head? It’s like it’s burned into my memory, a searing moment that I keep replaying. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was something raw, something intense, the kind of kiss that changes things.

I’d told him to forget about it, pretending it was a spur-of-the-moment mistake. But the truth is, I’ve done nothing but think about it.

The way his lips had pressed against mine, soft at first but quickly deepening with hunger. The heat of his body as he pulled me closer, his strong hands gripping my waist like he couldn’t bear to let go. I remember the sensation of his beard brushing against my skin, the way his breath mingled with mine as we kissed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I wasn’t prepared for the rush of emotions it stirred in me. The way my body responded to him, the electric current that sparked between us. It was the most intense, passionate kiss I’ve ever experienced.

The way it felt being in his arms, as if the world outside us didn’t exist for those few moments. There was something about it that felt so intimate, so right. It wasn’t just about the physical connection, though that was undeniable. It was like we were sharing a piece of ourselves with each other, a glimpse into something we’ve been trying to deny.

And as much as I hate to admit it to myself, it turned me on in a way I hadn’t expected. I was surprised by just how much I wanted him. Not just in that kiss, but now, even in this moment, as I stand beside him in the dirt and sweat of the ranch. There’s something primal between us, something neither of us has dared to fully acknowledge.

I glance at him again, and his eyes meet mine, locking in a way that sends a shiver down my spine. My breath hitches as I wonder if he’s thinking about it too—if he’s remembering how our bodies fit so perfectly together, how the heat between us felt like it could consume us both.

I try to shake the thought, to focus on the task at hand, but it’s impossible. Every time he looks at me, it’s there, simmering beneath the surface. This tension, this unspoken desire that’s slowly growing between us.

By the time we finish the section of fencing, the sun is higher in the sky, and we’re both covered in sweat and dirt. Callum wipes his brow with the back of his hand and looks at me with a satisfied grin.

"Not bad for a city boy, huh?" he asks, his tone light but there’s a hint of pride there too.

I smile back, feeling more connected to him than I expected. "Not bad at all."

And as we walk back toward the house, side by side, I realize that maybe this whole arrangement—this marriage of convenience—might not be as inconvenient as I once thought.

Although, I suppose we’ll see how camping goes before I make that determination.

"Have you ever been camping?" I ask as we walk into the house to grab breakfast.

Callum chuckles, moving effortlessly to the fridge, pulling out the eggs like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like this place is truly his home, and he’s done it a thousand times. "Of course I have. Have you?"

I hop up onto the counter, grinning. "Not only have I been camping, but I’ve got my own tent."

"So do I," he says, a little pride creeping into his voice as he cracks the eggs into a bowl.

"I can help with that," I offer, watching him get things together.

He turns and locks me in with that intense gaze of his, making my breath catch. "Violet, you’ve been cooking since I moved in. I really appreciate it, but let me take over today. I’m actually a pretty decent cook."

There’s something about the way he says it, the casual sincerity, that warms me in ways I wasn’t expecting. It’s such a small thing—him making breakfast—but it feels like more than just eggs and bacon. It feels like a moment. Something domestic. Something I could get used to, which is dangerous territory.

He breaks the quiet. "So, back to camping. Do you have an air mattress?"

I can’t help the giggle that escapes me. "No, I’ve got a sleeping bag."

He freezes, eyes wide, spinning around to face me like I’ve just told him something scandalous. "What? You sleep directly on the ground? Just a sleeping bag between you and the hard earth?"

"Yep." I shrug, my gaze fixed on his. His reaction is so exaggerated, but there’s something behind it that makes my heart skip. The more time we spend together, the more I see layers of him I never expected. He’s surprising me, and that’s unsettling in ways I didn’t think this arrangement would be. "I’ve even slept under the stars with nothing but a blanket before."

Callum sets the whisk down and crosses the kitchen, his eyes locked on mine with a look that sends shivers down my spine. He plants his hands on either side of me, caging me in. His body is so close that I can feel the heat radiating off him, his scent enveloping me like a warm, masculine embrace. My pulse races, and I have to fight the urge to lean into him.

"We’ll be sleeping on an air mattress inside my tent," he murmurs, his voice low, gravelly. "As badass as it is that you can rough it, I’m all about comfort."

It wasn’t meant to sound seductive, but the way his words hang in the air has my mind spinning. The air between us crackles with tension, and suddenly, I’m not thinking about camping at all. I’m thinking about what it’ll be like being alone with him in the woods. I imagine the two of us, side by side in that tent, maybe closer than either of us planned.

He smirks, clearly enjoying the effect he’s having on me, then casually turns back to the stove like nothing just happened. Meanwhile, I’m left on the counter, still breathless, my mind racing with possibilities.

Oh, this camping trip might be more exciting than I originally thought.