Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“Violet, we need to leave in twenty minutes,” Callum calls from the living room.
I can’t help but giggle as I finish getting ready. It feels like such a married thing to do, rushing your wife out the door. I take one last glance in the mirror. Unlike Callum, who had the luxury of a relaxed morning shower, I spent my morning mucking stalls and feeding the animals before scrubbing off the mud and muck. Not that I’d want it any other way; the ranch is my life. But still, it means I’m taking a little longer to get ready.
My red hair is down for once, falling in loose curls around my shoulders, so different from the messy ponytails I usually sport. My makeup is minimal but enough to make my blue eyes stand out. I smile at the sight—I actually feel like a different version of myself today. One who’s not covered in dirt or rushing to meet the next task on the ranch.
I want to look nice when I meet Callum’s parents for the first time as his wife. They’re already going to have a million questions about this marriage. I don’t need them questioning my appearance on top of that.
Callum appears in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning against the frame casually. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and he gives me that smile. The one that sends a little jolt of something through me. “You look beautiful, Violet.”
My heart flutters at his words, racing in a way I’m not entirely sure I understand. “Thank you,” I reply softly, smoothing out the fabric of my dress. “Trying to make a good impression.”
He sighs, stepping further into the room as I turn to face him. “You don’t need to worry about that. I told you, my parents are going to love you. And, if I’m being honest, you look just as good in those ripped-up jeans as you do in the dress. You leave a lasting impression, that’s for damn sure.”
I blink, caught off guard by his words. They’re unexpected. It’s like a door’s cracked open, leading to a conversation we haven’t dared to have yet.
“Well,” I say, a playful edge creeping into my voice as I step past him, “you certainly leave a lasting impression too. With or without a shirt on.” I lift an eyebrow and glance back at him as I leave the bathroom.
His laugh follows me, deep and rich, and I can’t help the smile spreading across my face. My stomach flutters with that familiar feeling again—the one that’s been sneaking up on me lately.
Am I flirting with my husband?
And is he flirting back?
We pull up to Callum’s parents' house, and my stomach twists into a thousand knots. The closer we get, the more aware I become of just how nervous I am. My eyes are fixed on the window, watching the perfectly manicured lawn come into view as I grip the fabric of my dress, anxiously chewing on my bottom lip.
“Hey,” Callum says softly, reaching over and grabbing my hand.
The warmth of his touch startles me, and I nearly pull back out of instinct. But I don’t. Instead, I sit there, stunned by the surge of electricity coursing through me from something as simple as his hand resting on mine. It's not just the shock of his skin against mine, but the unexpected calm that follows, like he’s managed to quiet the storm of nerves swirling inside me with that single touch.
What the hell is happening?
“My family,” he begins, his voice steady and reassuring, “is loud and loves being in everyone else’s business. They joke around and tease each other nonstop, but the one thing I can promise you is they love each other, no matter what.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze, and I find myself inching closer to him without even realizing it. “My siblings already know what’s going on, and yeah, there might be some teasing, but my parents will be happy. This is what they’ve wanted for me for a long time. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be right by your side the entire time.”
His words hit me harder than I expected. They’re soft and reassuring, and it feels like he’s being an actual husband in this moment. His tender touch, the gentle way he’s trying to ease my anxiety is almost too much to process.
I’m not going to cry, though. That happened once when I broke down in front of him, and it’s not happening again. But there’s this unexpected swell of emotion rising inside me. Maybe it’s because, in this moment, it doesn’t feel like an act.
It feels real.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper as I glance down at our hands. His grip is strong, reassuring, and I don’t want to let go just yet.