Chapter 4

Callum

What the hell am I doing? Seriously, what the hell am I doing? Am I actually thinking about marrying this woman?

My heart is hammering against my ribs, a relentless pounding that matches the riot in my brain. My nerves are shot, every breath I take feels shallow, like I’m on the edge of a cliff about to jump. There's this feeling rushing through me—one I can’t name, something between fear and exhilaration, maybe both. It’s terrifying.

But I can’t stop staring into the soft, blue eyes of Violet. They have this warmth, like a lake shimmering in the light of the sun, and even though they're clouded with sadness, they're still so beautiful it hurts. Her fiery hair tumbles in loose waves, framing her face perfectly, but today that familiar spark of hers is missing. It kills me to see her like this, the usual vibrancy dulled.

I hate seeing her sad.

It’s strange, really. I’ve never once in my life thought twice about Violet Daniels. She’s always just been… there. A constant fixture in the background, someone I could rely on but never really noticed in that way. But today, I can’t seem to stop my brain from spiraling, overthinking every glance, every little thing.

Here’s the thing: all of my younger brothers and my sister—they’re all happily involved with someone. Every single one of them has found their "forever person," their happily ever after. And don’t get me wrong, I’m genuinely happy for them, but… there’s this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s not jealousy, not really, but there’s definitely something missing. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. Like an empty space that I’ve ignored for too long.

Maybe it’s the way my mother looks at me during every family dinner. That subtle glance she thinks I don’t notice when my siblings are laughing and sharing inside jokes with their partners. They’re all wrapped up in their own little worlds, whispering, touching, happy. And then there’s me. Alone. Sitting at the far end of the table, trying to blend in with the conversations, but feeling the weight of being the odd one out.

I can see it in my mom’s eyes. She’s waiting, wondering when it’ll be my turn, when I’ll find someone who makes me smile the way my brothers and sister do with their partners. And I don’t know what to say to her.

Honestly, I’d rather work. Isn’t that enough? Can’t I just be in love with the brewery? With my job? I don’t need a woman to keep me company at night. I’m doing just fine on my own. More than fine. I don’t need candlelit dinners or whispered sweet nothings to feel fulfilled. The smell of hops, the satisfaction of a fresh brew. It’s enough, right?

I’m happy, goddammit. Happy in my routine, in the quiet of my own space, with nothing and no one to answer to. But... there’s that persistent voice in the back of my head, the one that keeps reminding me of family dinners and Mom’s disappointed stares. Maybe I can marry Violet and get everyone off my back. Kill two birds with one stone. It’s not like either of us are doing much in the romance department anyway. She needs a husband, and marriage is just... a contract, right?

“You’re down to four minutes,” Violet says, her voice snapping me out of my own head. She’s standing there, tapping the toe of her boot into the dust.

I can’t help but smile. She’s cute in this sort of cowgirl way that I’ve never really noticed before. There’s something about the way she stands, confident and comfortable, like she belongs out here more than anywhere else. Her jeans fit her just right. Not too tight, but snug enough to show off her curves. They’re worn, with little patches of dirt and wear along the seams, but somehow that just makes her look more... real . Like she’s not trying to impress anyone, and it works.

Then there’s that peach cowgirl hat she’s got on, perfectly matching the soft peach color of her shirt. The whole outfit is unintentionally coordinated in this easy, effortless way, and it makes me wonder—does she have a different colored hat for every outfit? The thought makes me chuckle under my breath. I bet she does. Violet always has this way of surprising me.

“What are you laughing at?” Her eyes narrow, locking onto mine with an intensity that catches me off guard. They glint with curiosity and a bit of impatience, and the corner of her lips quirk up like she’s daring me to keep laughing. She glances down at her watch, tapping the face lightly with her finger as if time itself needs a little push to keep moving. “Three minutes and forty seconds. Thirty-nine…”

I can’t help but smirk at her precision. Typical Violet, always counting down like every second matters. But right now, something wild is boiling up inside me, a thought so ridiculous I can barely believe I’m actually considering it.

“Okay, just hear me out,” I say, my voice shaky as I run a hand through my hair. I can’t believe I’m about to say this—hell, maybe I’ve lost my mind—but I’ve got to get the words out before I chicken out. “What if... we get married?”

The words hang in the air between us, ridiculous and bold, like a challenge I’ve just thrown at her feet. I swear, her expression flickers for just a second. Confusion. Disbelief. But then her eyes settle back into that steady gaze, piercing and unblinking. I feel my stomach twist into knots.

What the hell am I doing?

Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something, but for a moment, there’s just silence. The wind kicks up dust around us, and her peach-colored hat tilts ever so slightly on her head. I can see the gears turning in her mind, calculating, trying to make sense of the absolute madness I’ve just thrown at her. And I have no idea how she’s going to respond.

She blinks, and then just starts laughing. Like I’ve just said the biggest joke on the planet. She keeps laughing as I cross my arms over my chest.

“I’m not kidding,” I tell her.

“Why would we get married?”

“You need a husband,” I remind her of her father’s will, and how the lawyers say she needs to find a husband before her thirtieth birthday.

She stops laughing, her eyes focusing on mine. “What do you get out of it? Pussy?”

I’m shocked by the word she’s just said. “You think I’m doing all this for a hookup?” I pace the dusty floor of the stalls. “I can find pussy just fine on my own.”

She mirrors my stance, crossing her arms over her chest. The action brings attention to her cleavage. “Is that so? Well, don’t let me stop you then.” She turns to walk away, and I stop her.

I place my hand gently on her shoulder, trying to steady both of us. "Wait."

She spins around with a sharpness that almost stings, her anger flashing like a storm ready to break. “What?”

“I think we can really help each other,” I say, my voice quieter now, trying to soften the blow of what I’m trying to suggest. "How long do you need to be married for?"

“Two years,” she whispers, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little as her arms drop to her sides. The fire in her seems to flicker for a moment, like she’s tired of fighting the world all on her own.

Two years. I can do two years, right? It would get my family off my back, and Violet is as work-obsessed as I am. We’re not the type to get caught up in messy feelings. We’d both focus on our careers, no drama. “And after two years we can get divorced and never have to see each other again?”

She shrugs, a hesitant movement. "I guess, but I still don’t get what you’re getting out of this."

I take a deep breath, glancing down at the dusty ground before meeting her gaze again. “My mother... she has the best intentions, really, she does. But my siblings, they’ve all found their person, you know, that one person who completes them, or whatever. And they expect me, as the oldest, to do the same. To meet someone, fall in love, get married, live happily ever after. But that’s just not me. I have no interest in falling in love, no desire to get married for real. Honestly, I’m married to the brewery at this point, and I think you and I have that in common. We’re both workaholics.”

She nods slowly, her expression softening as she considers it. “Yeah, this ranch... it requires a lot of hands-on work. There’s no time for anything else.”

“Exactly,” I say, inching closer, hoping she’ll see the logic in this crazy idea. “We’d probably hardly ever see each other. You’d run the ranch, I’d run the brewery, and in the meantime, it would keep my family happy. And you’d get to keep the ranch.”

She hesitates, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “And at the end of two years?”

I shrug, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “It’s over. Easy and done. No strings attached.”

She studies me for a moment, her eyes searching my face for something, maybe reassurance that I’m serious, maybe proof that I’m not as insane as I sound. The wind blows softly between us, kicking up the scent of hay and earth, grounding us in this bizarre proposal we’re considering.

Violet doesn’t speak, but I can see the wheels turning in her mind, weighing the pros and cons. I don’t blame her. It’s not every day someone offers a no-strings-attached marriage contract.