15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Michael

"I can't believe I'm meeting the parents," Callum muttered, peering out the passenger window with wide eyes, like this was the first time he'd seen our hometown. "Your parents. Well, your dad, I guess. I've never met anyone's parents before."

Slowing on the tree lined historic street, I looked for an open parking spot, hopefully not too far down from my parents' house. Finding one, I expertly parallel parked my BMW, turning the ignition off and facing Callum.

He was nervously chewing on the skin around his thumbnail, and without a second thought I reached over and gently pulled the digit away from his teeth. "It's going to be fine. You don't need to be nervous. "

"I told your mom we were dating," Callum chewed on his bottom lip nervously, instead of his thumb, "we've barely been on one date. We've known each other two days, Michael. Two days! We know next to nothing about each other. What if they ask questions? They're going to ask questions. I feel like I'm about to take a test I didn't study for."

Laughing at his panic, I told him, "You're overthinking this. It's not that big a deal."

Callum stared at me, his green eyes big through the lenses of his glasses, not looking the least bit appeased. "It's your parents, Michael. This is a big deal."

"It's not really. We just need to act like we've been dating for a while to justify why I'm staying at your place. And why I'm even in Salem."

Callum still looked unconvinced. Crossing his arms over his chest, he pursed his lips. "How many people have you taken home to meet your parents?"

Licking suddenly dry lips, I rested my head against the headrest and stared up at the roof of the car. "Not counting high school?"

"Counting everyone you've ever dated. How many? Give me a rough guesstimate."

Pretending to think about the answer for a minute, I finally admitted, "They met Stephanie, of course, but since? You're the first. "

Stunned silence filled the small space of the car, and the look of horror that washed over Callum's pale face made me chuckle.

"It's not that big of a deal." He mimicked my words. "No wonder your mom acted the way she did. You've not introduced them to anyone since high school! She's probably picking out our wedding china or something already. Gah, no pressure or anything!"

Grabbing his hand in mine, I squeezed his fingers lightly. "Callum, I promise you, it's going to be fine. We'll eat, make some idle chit-chat, my dad will harp at me for my life choices of becoming a lowly prosecutor and not working at his firm. Mom will tell him to hush and give him a look that he knows means to leave her baby alone, and then we'll go home."

Callum shook his head, "Michael, taking someone to meet your parents is a huge step in the dating process. At least according to my sister. I have no actual first-hand experience with meeting anyone's parents, and really I'm fine with that. Absolutely fine. We should just leave now."

"Well, we wouldn't even be here if you hadn't fallen under the spell that is Jessica Endicott," I reminded him, my tone teasing.

He gasped loudly, "I don't even know what happened! It was like I couldn't stop myself and words just fell out of my mouth. I had no control whatsoever. "

"She does that. You aren't the first person to succumb to her charms, and you won't be the last."

"We need to have some kind of plan for when they ask us the normal questions parents ask when their child brings home a significant other. Especially when it's the first time they have ever brought anyone home."

"We went to school together, but because you are younger, we didn't really know each other. We reconnected on Facebook. Started talking, got to know each other, and started dating. The end."

Callum pursed his lips at me, running a hand through his dark hair. Reaching over, I smoothed the ruffled locks back into submission. "How long have we been dating?"

"Six months."

He narrowed his green eyes at me, pushing his glasses up. "Do you have an entire backstory for us thought up?"

Holding my thumb and finger together, I smirked, "Little bit."

He shook his head, not convinced. "We need more."

"Okay, quick, cats or dogs?"

Callum tilted his head to the side and gave me an incredulous look. "Really? Cats, duh. Though I like dogs too. All animals really. What about you?"

I pretended to think about it for a minute, before replying. "I used to think dogs, but now cats."

"Is this because Hex is the coolest cat in town?"

"Absolutely, because he is. Favorite color? "

"Purple." Yeah, I should have guessed that one.

"Red, but I'm starting to lean towards green." Giving him a heated look, I stared into his pretty green eyes, loving when his cheeks pinked. "Favorite movie?"

" Hocus Pocus ."

Rolling my eyes, I muttered, "Why am I not surprised? Callum, we know the basics. Anything else we can fudge or chalk up to having only dated a few months and basically on the weekends, when one of us could get away. Which also explains why I decided to spend time with you, in Salem, on my time off. Please just don't mention anything about this being forced time off or all my cases being handed off while I'm gone."

Callum nodded, understanding evident in his eyes, "Of course, I won't."

"Now, come on, let's get this over with."

We exited my car and Callum hurried over to my side, his eyes peering up and down the street, for the first time noticing where we were. "Michael, this is Chestnut Street."

Grabbing his hand and loving the tingling feelings I got each time his fingers tangled with mine, I smiled. "Yes, it is."

Looking both ways for traffic, because we were parked on the opposite side of the street, I pulled him along with me, very aware that Callum was rubbernecking like a damn tourist. When we stood on the sidewalk in front of the three-story, white colonial that had been in my mom's family since before the witch trials, I paused. "This is it. Ready?"

Callum looked up with wide eyes. "This is your house?"

"No," I said slowly, "this is my parents' house. I have a condo in Boston, remember?"

He rolled his pretty eyes, shoving his glasses up with one finger. "You know what I mean."

"Just be yourself. My parents will love you. Though, maybe don't mention you being a witch."

"Pfft. It's a great talking point if conversation lags," he told me seriously.

I snorted. "Try football or something."

"I know dick-all about that." He glanced around as we started up the wide steps leading to the full-length porch. "Wait! Did they film part of Hocus Pocus here? In this house?"

He yanked his hand from mine, skipped back down the steps and peered up at the front of the house with narrowed, critical eyes.

Huffing, I stepped towards him. "No! Maybe. I don't know. I don't think so. I've never seen it, but I'm going with that doesn't seem like something my parents would say yes to. I think it came out the year I was born, so I'm going to say definitely not."

Gasping, he took another step backwards, and I grabbed him before he tripped or got too far from me. "Are you trying to make my brain explode?"

"Are you trying to make my brain explode?" There was a shocked expression on his face. "How have you never seen Hocus Pocus ? Why have you never seen Hocus Pocus ? What is wrong with you? It takes place in Salem."

Shrugging, I pulled him behind me towards the stately front door with the welcoming orange and yellow Fall wreath on it. "I don't know what to tell you. Seemed like a lot of hype and people making another big deal about something that happened in Salem. Witches aren't my thing, remember? Never have been."

Wincing when I realized how that might sound, I turned, pulling him close. Tipping his chin up with my finger, I gently amended, "Until now. Witches weren't my thing until now. I'm starting to…really like them."

A smile ghosted across his bowed lips, and I very much wanted to kiss him in that moment. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Breathing the word across his skin, I bent my head and let myself repeat what I had done that first night, lying in bed with him, whispering my secrets in the dark.

Callum's lips were soft beneath mine, and he opened them to let me in. Unlike our first kiss, this time I got to taste him. Coffee, mint, and something dark and rich that was all him. It was intoxicating, addictive, and I wanted more of it .

His arms wound around my neck, his fingers curled in my hair, pulling me closer to him, deepening the kiss. A moan rumbled from my throat, a growl of pure need, and my hands roamed down his back to cup his perfect ass, grinding our bodies against each other. Blood rushed from my brain straight to my dick so fast it left me dizzy with it.

This kiss was like nothing I'd ever experienced before, even better than our first kiss had been. I felt it throughout my entire body, clear down to my toes. It was like the sun had come out after years of darkness, and I relished it.

It was a visceral reaction, and I never wanted it to end. I wanted to know Callum, to learn every single thing there was about him. Wanted to explore his long body, find each spot that would make him writhe beneath me. But it was more than that. So much more.

I wanted to know him. It was a need I had never felt for anyone ever.

I wanted to know what made him Callum. Every. Single. Thing. I wanted to know how he looked when turned on, or happy, or mad, even sad.

And I wanted nothing more than to push him against the side of the house and grind my body into his. To feel our cocks rubbing against each other, through the fabrics of our clothes. Wanted to caress every curve, line, and dip of his lean body.

Callum might have admitted he had a crush on me in high school, but I was the one who was crushing now .

A loud, exaggerated clearing of a throat had us springing apart like two teenagers caught on the front porch past curfew.

"Good evening, Michael," my dad's deep voice rumbled, his lips twitching as he fought a smile.

Running a hand through my hair, I swallowed hard, my hand blindly reaching out for Callum's. I needed something to ground me, because the earth was swaying wildly beneath my feet. My breath sounded loud and ragged in my ears as I desperately sucked in oxygen to my starving lungs.

Sneaking a quick peek at Callum, he wasn't in any better shape. His glasses were slightly askew, his black hair even more wild than usual where I must have, at some point, ran my fingers through the silky strands. A soft, rosy flush spread across his high cheekbones, and the pupils of his green eyes were wide and blown.

I was going to totally ignore the throbbing, raging hard on I was standing in front of my dad with. Thankfully, my dad's amused hazel eyes weren't straying from my face, which felt hot with need, and embarrassment, in equal measure.

Nodding, I muttered, "Hey Dad."

He went in for a hug, which was awkward as fuck since I tried to keep a good distance between him and the almost painful bulge in my pants. When he pulled away, that damn smirk of his still causing his lips to twist, I turned to Callum.

"Dad, this is Callum Turner, my…boyfriend." The word felt foreign and unused on my tongue, but also just…right.

Dad stuck his hand towards Callum and they shook. "Callum, good to meet you. Jess filled me in on running into the two of you. Call me Mike, please. Chef is getting dinner on the table. Don't want to keep your mother waiting," he rolled his eyes but there was a soft warmth there, "you know how she is about dinner times."

Shutting the door behind us and blocking out the cool night air, I nodded. "Oh yeah. I planned for us to be here a bit early, but we–"

"Got a bit sidetracked?" Dad tossed over his shoulder with amusement.

Scowling, I said, "No, we couldn't find a parking spot."

Dad grunted, but said nothing, just led us into the well-lit dining room. "Jess, look what I found making out on our front porch."

Mom stood from her chair, her face beaming with welcome, and a raised brow at my dad tattling on us. "Michael, you were almost late."

Her voice was joking, but we all knew how serious my mom took prompt dinner times. She expected everyone to be seated, and the first course served at the time she stated.

"Still made it." I hugged her warmly.

"They were occupied with…parking," Dad slid into his chair at the opposite end of the table, while my mom greeted Callum with a hug.

"I'm so happy you boys could join us for dinner tonight," she smiled, taking her seat once again.

Pulling Callum down to sit next to me, I chided, "Like we had a choice in the matter."

If my parents thought it was strange I insisted he take the seat next to me, instead of across the table, they didn't say anything.

Mom raised one perfectly manicured brow, "Michael, you always have a choice. Just know actions have consequences."

"That's what I was afraid of."

Callum busied himself with his napkin, his fingers running over the array of utensils laid out next to the plates. The table was set immaculately with all the finery and my grandmother's China.

"Do you always set the table like this?" Callum whispered to me.

"Naw, she's just trying to impress you." Smiling at him, I fought the urge to plant a sweet kiss on his red, swollen lips. He looked nervous and fidgety, and I wanted to reassure him that he belonged here. Next to me. Under the table, I squeezed his hand, my heart leaping when he squeezed back.

"It worked. "

"Just relax."

"Easy for you to say."

"Callum," Mom interrupted our whispering, and I was positive she had probably heard every word, "we don't normally use the dining room, but it's not every day we get to meet a friend of Michael's."

"Boyfriend," my dad corrected, his lips quirking into that barely contained smile he had been holding back since opening the front door. "We don't get to meet Michael's boyfriends. You might be the first one, Callum."

"He is," Mom agreed, picking up her salad fork as one of the staff–I wasn't sure of their name as they were new–placed bowls of greens in front of each of us.

"Knock it off," waving my fork between both my parents, I gave them the stink eye. They both looked at me with absolute glee, and I rolled my eyes. "Let me apologize for my parents. It's me they're taking the piss with."

"Michael, language." Mom scolded, though she couldn't hide the gleam of amusement in her eyes.

Callum smiled, "It's okay. I like that you can kid with each other. My family is the same way."

His shoulders relaxed a bit, and he began to eat.

"Do you have a big family, Callum?" Mom asked, sounding innocent, when I knew she was anything but. I really should have expected this. Callum was right; bringing him to dinner with my parents was a big deal .

"And it begins," I muttered. "She's going to ask you a million questions. Wait for it."

Callum chuckled, his earlier worry seeming to have vanished as soon as we stepped over the threshold. "It's fine. I don't mind."

Mom shook her head at me. "Only like fifty. I need to get to know the man who has stolen my son's heart, now don't I?"

Callum interrupted our good-natured banter by answering Mom's question. "It's just my Gran, Mom, me and my sister."

"And your father?"

"Mom!"

"What?" She seemed genuinely oblivious to her invasive questions.

Callum chuckled at us. "My dad died my senior year of high school. He was a police officer, and he was killed in the line of duty."

Mom's face softened, her eyes full of sympathy. "Oh, I'm so very sorry."

"Thank you," Callum looked down at his bowl, his salad half eaten, and I reached for his hand again. He shot me a wavering smile, his green eyes hazy behind his glasses.

"I'm sorry too."

Shrugging, he brushed it off like it was nothing, but it was clear the subject was still painful. I also felt like a jackass, because Callum had never mentioned his dad before, and I should have asked. I at least should have known before coming to this dinner. But if my parents thought my response to him was odd, that I maybe should have known about his dad before tonight, they let it go.

Dad cleared his throat, quickly changing the subject. "And what is it you do, Callum? Job wise, I mean."

From the frying pan straight into the fire.

"We own The Witch's Brew," he responded, his voice steadier. "Off of Witch Hill Road."

"Oh!" Mom exclaimed excitedly, "I've been there!"

"You have?" Callum and I both asked at the same time.

"I went with your Aunt Marjory when she was visiting last Fall. We bought some wonderful candles there. I've been meaning to get back and get some more. There was a lovely young woman working that day. Come to think of it," Mom gave Callum a long look, "she did resemble you."

Callum wiped his mouth with his napkin, nodding. "That would be my sister, Daphne. She makes the candles, actually."

"They're quite lovely," Mom gushed. "My sister bought one of the love spelled ones. Hasn't helped her love life, though."

"The person needs to have an open heart and be ready to accept love," Callum offered, "At least that's how Daphne markets them."

"Well, regardless," Mom said, as our empty bowls were cleared away, "they smell wonderful and burn very clean. Mike is always harping about the candle smoke clogging things up."

"Burns my eyes," Dad muttered, giving Mom one of his soft smiles that were saved just for her.

"I'll make sure to come visit your shop soon, Callum," Mom told him. "I remember seeing a sign for tarot card readings? I've always wanted to get my cards read. You would think living in Salem my entire life, I would have by now." She shrugged.

"Callum does the card readings," I piped in, my voice proud. "He's really good at it."

His green eyes searched mine, as he pushed his glasses up, and I gave him my own soft smile. "What? You are."

Yesterday, I had set up a small card table close to the checkout counter downstairs and occupied myself with going through my emails while he had worked. When I'd grown bored, because there was only so much I could do, since I couldn't really work on any of my cases, I had helped him fill some of the online orders. Tourists started coming into the shop in the afternoon and evening, and a few had asked for card readings. Sitting beside him, I had found myself fascinated with the different cards, their meanings, and the easy way he had read them.

I didn't know how much of what he had read would end up coming true for people, but more than a few had gotten excited when he would tell them something and they could relate it to something happening in their life at that moment.

"Oh wonderful!" Mom waited to continue her line of questioning until our plates had all been delivered to us. The fragrant aroma of turkey breast, green beans, and some kind of corn dressing tickled my taste buds. It was a perfect Fall dinner on this October night, and a nostalgic longing washed over me for home. Which was crazy, because I hadn't lived at home since I had left for college. I should really make a point of stopping by and having dinner with my parents more often. It wasn't like Boston was that far.

"This looks amazing," Callum sniffed appreciatively.

"Michael loves turkey, so I asked the chef to prepare it special," Mom gave me a pointed look, "especially since he hasn't bothered to come home for Thanksgiving in years."

"Hey!" I groused, taking a bite of the tender meat and nearly moaning out loud. "I come home for Christmas. And I've told you that Black Friday isn't a real holiday and I have to be in court the next morning."

"Mmm." Clearly, my fly-by Christmas stops weren't cutting it with my mom, who felt October through January first were dedicated to holidays and nothing else.

"I'll try to do better," I promised, and was shocked to realize I meant it.

"The guilt tripping is strong with that one," Dad remarked, taking a sip of his wine .

"Facts," I grunted, trying the green beans. I hated soggy veggies, but these were sautéed and still crispy, with some kind of tasty seasonings on them.

"Michael, this cranberry corn dressing is your dad's newest obsession. Let me know if you like it–you too, Callum–and we'll put it on the Christmas dinner menu. Callum, I do hope you'll be able to join us for at least dinner that day."

"Mom," I whined, "we haven't made holiday plans yet. And Callum has his own family."

Callum gave me a wide-eyed look, his lips quirking. Dutifully, he took a bite of the dressing, nodding his head. "It's good."

Mom pointed her fork at me. "Michael, the fact that you have introduced us to Callum means something. Now, let's talk Halloween."

Groaning, I shoved a forkful of the damn dressing in my mouth, swallowing dutifully. It was good. The pops of cranberry added a nice tart bite to the sweetness of the corn.

"Callum, what are your thoughts on Halloween?"

Huffing, I warned him, "Don't answer that, it's a trick question. She's going to try to rope you into handing out candy, mark my words."

"Oh, I mean, I like Halloween. We usually are pretty busy at the store that day. Lots of tourists, and the whole witchy vibe thing we have going on. It's one of our biggest selling days."

"Good, because she gives out full size candy bars, and hot cider, hot chocolate, the works. Every single person in Salem puts our house on their must stop place, I swear. It's ridiculous. It's like a freaking block party or something."

Callum laughed, "Well, for full size candy bars and hot chocolate, I could be persuaded to rearrange my work schedule."

"Oh, stop it, Michael," Mom joked, "I'm not that bad."

Dad snorted, clearly disagreeing. Swallowing against the tickle in my throat, I took a sip of my water, coughing lightly. My collar suddenly felt tight, and I tugged at it.

"Well, Melody is bringing the kids this year for trick-or-treating. It would be nice if you could stop by and see your niece and nephew, Michael."

"Oof, Mom, save some of your guilt tripping for another day." My face tingled and I rubbed my cheek, twitching my nose against a weird itch. Was it hot in here? Heat was crawling up my body. "No need to get it all in on one night."

Callum, as if sensing something wasn't right with me, turned in his chair, searching my face. "Are you okay? Your face is really flushed?"

"I–" Gasping, I yanked desperately at my collar. My lips were tingling, and my throat felt like it was rapidly closing up. "Hard to breathe. "

"Michael?" Mom stood, reaching for me, but I shook my head. My eyes were watering, and nausea rolled over me in a clammy, sweat inducing wave. Wiping my eyes with one hand, I tugged at the buttons of my shirt with my other, needing to get some air. Glancing at my plate of food, I searched it frantically. Because my parents always, always made sure that any new chef knew about my allergy.

"Mushrooms?" I wheezed, trying to stand, but dizziness overwhelmed me and I swayed sideways.

Callum grabbed me by my elbow, helping me stand. I clung to his arms tightly, my fingers digging in.

"What's happening?" his voice demanded, worry evident.

"There aren't any in anything," Mom assured, then yelled in a slightly hysterical voice, "Mike!"

"Epi…" my voice broke, as I gasped for air that I couldn't get past my swollen throat and tongue. My mind was dizzy with the need to breathe, and I couldn't think. Panic was quickly setting in, and I tried to tell myself to stay as calm as possible.

Where was my EpiPen? Back in my apartment, still under fire Marshall quarantine, I vaguely remembered. I was so careful about watching the things I ate; I hadn't even thought about not having one of my pens on me. And this was my parents' house, where they knew my life-threatening allergy .

"Callum," Dad ordered, sounding strangely calm and in-charge. "Lay him on the floor, and try to keep him as still as possible. Jess, call 9-1-1."

There was movement around me, scurrying, but I couldn't focus on any of it. Callum was gently helping me to the floor, his worried face swimming blurrily before me. His fingers replaced my fumbling ones and he quickly unbuttoned the top button of my shirt.

It didn't help. I still couldn't breathe. I could hear myself gasping loudly, my fingers clawing at his arms.

"Move over," Dad ordered, and then slammed an EpiPen into the muscle of my thigh. "I don't know if it will work," he whispered, his voice rough. "I'm not sure how old it is. Found it in the sideboard, but this is an emergency. They say even an outdated one is better than none."

"It was the stuffing," Mom cried, falling to her knees beside dad. "The chef said he used dried cranberries, not fresh. I'm so sorry, baby, I had no idea. I thought they were fresh, I thought they were fresh." She kept repeating it over and over.

"Not…your…" I tried to ease her worry, but my chest hurt, my stomach rolled, and I fucking couldn't breathe. I hadn't had an allergic reaction like this since I was a kid, and we'd learned the hard way that I was deathly allergic to mushrooms, in any form.

My eyes were glued to Callum's as I tried to focus, to stay conscious, to keep fighting to breathe. Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he smoothed my sweaty hair back from my forehead. "Dried fruit have fungi."

"Yes," Dad confirmed, "it's advised he avoid any dried fruits, along with a slew of other foods. You'll need to know what to avoid, just in case."

Sirens sounded in the distance, and I'd never been happier to hear them in my life. Though the EpiPen Dad had injected me with had seemed to help a little.

Callum cupped my cheek, his hand squeezing mine. "Hang on, Michael. The paramedics are almost here. You're going to be fine."

The next few minutes were a haze of people surrounding me, words coming from all sides. Oxygen, another injection of intramuscular epinephrine, and strangers quizzing my parents on my medical history, and what I had eaten. All I cared about was that I could finally breathe and wasn't going to die of anaphylactic shock. Closing my eyes, I let my parents deal with all the questions while I concentrated on letting the meds and oxygen work their magic.

Thankfully, even when the paramedics had shouldered Callum to the side and out of the way, he had stayed close enough that I wasn't bombarded with my brain exploding on top of the allergic reaction.

"I'm riding with him," Callum's voice broached no argument, and my still-beating-too-fast heart nearly jumped out of my chest. Because if they insisted he couldn't ride with me, I didn't think I'd be able to deal with the pain that would explode in my head. Frankly, I hoped to never feel that again as long as I lived.

"There's not enough room," the paramedic argued.

Callum never let go of my hand, as they wheeled the gurney outside to the waiting ambulance. I closed my eyes and blocked out the looky-loos that were lining the streets, the lure of the flashing lights of the ambulance like a siren's call.

"I'm going with him." Callum bit off each word, his voice loud and strong.

I heard the paramedic huff in annoyance and resignation. "Fine. But stay out of the way."

"We'll be right behind you," my dad told us, and I let myself drift, exhausted.

"I'm right here, Michael," Callum whispered, his hand squeezing mine, in a gesture I was getting way too comfortable with. "You're going to be fine."

Blinking my eyes open to slits, I took in his worried green eyes, the way he nibbled on his lower lip. I wanted to reach out and gently ease the skin out from his teeth, but I couldn't get my arms to move.

"They'll monitor him at the hospital for a few hours," the paramedic advised Callum, watching a machine of some kind they had hooked me to. "Then likely send him home. "

Callum nodded, but said nothing, his eyes locked onto mine. "We are going to make sure we always have an EpiPen from now on. Always. They will be everywhere. You hear me?"

Smiling a wan smile, I nodded, closing my eyes and whispering, "I hear you."

Warm lips planted a kiss to the knuckles of the hand that he was clasping tightly. "I don't want to lose you, Michael. That scared the fuck out of me."

In that second, it dawned on me that I didn't want to lose him either. It still made absolutely no sense, Callum and me. We were opposites in every way you could be opposites.

But the way this man was making me feel, as he held onto me tightly, like I was the most precious thing in the world to him?

That was a feeling I didn't want to let go of anytime soon.