My dad’s death was a caution. People come and go. The worst thing you can do is let yourself get close because of the pain you’ll inevitably feel when they leave. And I refuse to go through that kind of agony again.

I clear my throat, renewing my focus. “It was just that . . . earlier today, I had a weird moment of . . .”

“Of?” he says, that razor-sharp edge still present in his tone.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I gaze in the direction of the kitchen, staring at nothing in particular.

I go for the long version of the truth, just to avoid that pesky eight-letter word. “It was weird to see that hot girl flirt with you today. That’s all.”

I wring my hand even though there’s nothing wrong with it, just to have something else to do other than stand here and bask in my self-inflicted humiliation.

For several seconds, he says nothing. He simply stares down at me, his face still hard as stone, giving nothing away.

“You were jealous?” The way he says it, it’s not teasing. It’s like he’s reading off a grocery list to double-check that he hasn’t missed anything.

I mutter what I think sounds like a “yes.”

“Did you honestly think I was interested in her?”

I shrug. The lines between his eyebrows may as well sign a lease to stay. I have a feeling I’m going to be on the receiving end of countless Callum frowns during this conversation.

“She grabbed your arm and you didn’t pull away. It seemed like you liked her touching you.”

He sighs, like he’s disappointed in me. “Finn told me I needed to be nicer to the customers. I was trying to listen to his advice.”

His explanation makes sense. It doesn’t make this hurt any less though.

“I made plans with you tonight,” Callum says. “Do you think I’d break them to pursue someone else?”

My head falls back in a groan. “I have no idea, Callum.”

His fingers grip my chin, and he directs me to look at him. The firm contact sends heat pulsing through me.

“Why were you jealous, petal?”

I pull my face out of his hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He steps forward, pressing against me, his hands at my hips. His chest heaves against mine. He breathes, then I breathe, then we do it all over again until we’re panting. It’s both heaven and agony.

“Tell me,” he growls. “I want to know why.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because . . .”