Rachael Johns - A Dog And A Diamond

“I’ll have a cola, thanks.” He smiled again and then sank his teeth into his own sandwich. It was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen in her life. Maybe I’m the one who needs her head read? With that thought she scuttled away to the kitchen, wishing it was farther away so she’d have a little more time to pull herself together.

Chelsea opened the fridge, pulled two cans of cola out and pressed one against her forehead, thankful Callum had his back to her. She could see him from the kitchen, sitting back against her couch as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She shook her head—was this some kind of weird dream? Nightmare? Maybe she’d wake up and discover Muffin sleeping by her feet as he always did and find out Callum McKinnel was nothing but a figment of her imagination. Yet the pain when she pinched herself to check this spurred her into action and she carried the cans and two glasses back over to him. No one in her family had ever drunk soda out of glasses—unless the soda was mixed with something stronger, which it usually was—but Callum had a mom who made him carry a hanky, so the glasses felt necessary.

“Thanks,” he said as she cracked open a can and poured it into a glass for him. She tried not to drool as he lifted said glass to his lips and took a sip, the thick columns of his neck muscles flexing as he did so.

Right, time to get a grip on reality. She poured cola into the other glass and downed approximately half of it. Although she hadn’t eaten since this morning, the butterflies dancing in her stomach put her off eating. She racked her brain for something to say and then remembered how she’d fled from his office without offering her full service.

“I’m sorry about this morning,” she said.

Callum raised an eyebrow. “About dumping me?” He made it sound like they’d been in a relationship and she’d ended it.

She shook her head. “Usually after I’ve delivered a message to someone, I hang around to chat and see if they’re okay.”

His other eyebrow lifted. “Good customer service? I approve. So why did you not follow through on that promise this morning?”

The way he spoke, the way he looked at her, made her think he knew the reason and heat rushed to her cheeks. “I’m...not...sure.”

“It’s okay,” he said, half chuckling. “I’m not a big talker and Bailey probably did me a favor.”

“Really?”

“Sure, I wouldn’t want to be with a woman who didn’t consider me Mr. Right.”

Callum sounded so lighthearted, but she guessed there had to be pain behind those words. She was about to offer to talk about it now, but he asked a question before she could.

“This breakup business? Is it seriously what you do for a living?”

Surprisingly, she detected none of the repulsion he’d had earlier in his tone.

“Yes. Until recently I also waited tables.” She named a well-known establishment in Bend. “But it was either hire another employee to take on some of the breakup load or quit my second job. I chose the latter.”

His eyes widened. “No offense, but I’m surprised breaking up with other people’s partners is such a lucrative profession.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “I wouldn’t say lucrative, but I take pride in my work and my reputation is spreading. Breaking up is never easy to do. My service is much like hiring someone to clean your house or mow your lawn. Only cleaners and landscapers don’t usually offer counseling, as well.”

“How many of these gigs do you get a day?”

She did a quick mental tally. “One or two in-person breakups a week—I only offer that service to customers in Bend and surrounding areas, but I do a lot of online work. Emails, et cetera. Follow-up phone calls for the brokenhearted. Business is good enough that I’m thinking of expanding and looking for freelancers to do face-to-face breakups in other areas.”

“You learn something new every day.” He popped a french fry into his mouth and she ate one, as well. Then he said, “How exactly did you get into this business?”

Chelsea took a deep breath and surprised herself by telling him pretty much the truth. “My best friend, Rosie—she lives back in Portland—actually suggested it. I have this thing where I can’t manage to hold down a relationship for long. Rosie believes I’m just dating the wrong guys, but whatever the reason, at about the three-month mark, I always lose interest and we break up. But we always manage to stay friends. So far this year, I’ve been to five weddings of ex-boyfriends. Anyway, Rosie once joked that I was the queen of breaking up and could do it for a living and then a friend of hers actually asked me to do so. I only did it as a favor, but it went so well someone else asked me to do it. And...”

“The rest as they say is history?”

She smiled as she nodded. “Yes. I’ll admit it’s not a very common profession but I honestly think I’m doing a necessary service. Do you know how many people stay in bad relationships because they’re too scared to get out?”

He shook his head and she guessed he came from one of those perfect families. She didn’t know much about the McKinnels, but his father’s obituary had definitely painted him as the ideal family man. And Callum had how many brothers and sisters? She racked her brain but couldn’t come up with the number. It was a lot, anyway, reminding her again what different worlds they came from.

“Well,” she said, “it’s a lot.” Then she said, “Thanks for the dinner. It was good.” Hopefully he’d take the hint that it was time for him to leave. That she no longer needed babysitting, even if a tiny part of her wanted it.

He nodded toward her sandwich still sitting on its grease-proof paper on the table. “You barely ate.”

“Sorry.” She bit her lip. “I’m too worried about Muffin.”

He nodded grimly. “Fair enough. I guess I’d better be going.” But he didn’t make a move to stand—for some unfathomable reason, he didn’t appear in a hurry to abscond.

“Thanks for everything,” she said, trying to encourage him. She just wanted him gone so she could ignore her hormones and get back to worrying about Muffin.

Callum reached out and wrapped his long fingers around hers, then gave a little squeeze. “I’m sure he’ll be okay. You’ll find him.”

“Thanks,” she said again, slipping her hand out of his for self-protection and then standing. If the guys she’d dated before had all been as lovely as him, maybe she wouldn’t have felt compelled to dump them.

He stood, as well, and awkwardness buzzed between them. What was the protocol here? This wasn’t a date. He wasn’t going to kiss her good-night and ask when they could see each other again. Likely they’d never see each other again and tonight would become some distant memory and she would one day wonder if it had ever actually happened.

“Well.” He cleared his throat and looked down at her—not many men looked down on her and she liked the thrill it gave her. “Maybe call me when you find Muffin. Just so I know.”

She rubbed her lips together, loving the confidence in his voice that she’d find her dog but also joyful at the prospect of an excuse to call him. Her tongue twisted at the thought, so she nodded.

“You’ll need my number,” he said.

“I think it’s on my front door.”

“Right...of course it is.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “In that case, good night.”

Chelsea followed him out, waved as he reversed out of the drive and then closed the door behind her, the thud echoing around the now empty house. Having Callum here had been so bizarre, it had given her a few minutes’ pardon from missing and worrying about Muffin, but now that he was gone, she had nothing left to do but worry. She retreated to the couch, collapsed into a heap and wished there was something more constructive she could do than cry.