“I almost came back, you know,” Callum said from behind the bathroom door.

Peyton kept quiet and looked at the soapy water.

“I got to the wooden ‘welcome’ sign and I parked my car on the side of the road. I sat there for an hour deciding whether or not I should see you. I’ve done that almost trip about six times, Peyton. And each of those trips, I turned around and went back to the city. At least once a year, I came back to that part of the highway. Why it’s so different now is because I made it past the sign. This time, the need to see you outweighed the consequences I’d be facing.”

The sadness in his voice caused the ache in her heart to rise to her throat. Tears silently slid down her face. Because she, too, had made it to that sign. She had parked her Volkswagen Golf in the middle of the highway and stared out in the direction of the city. But in the end, she had always done a U-turn back to town.

Peyton silently got out of the tub and reached for the towel on the counter. Not wiping the bubbles that slid down her body, she wrapped the cotton towel around her. She knew what she had to do next.

Ignoring the flung blanket on the bathroom floor, Peyton walked towards the door. She took a deep breath in attempt to settle her anxious heart. With a hard swallow, she turned the knob and pulled the door open. Then she looked down to see Callum sitting on the carpet, his back to her.

“You’re forgiven,” she whispered.

Callum quickly looked up, his sad voice from before mirroring the sorrow that consumed his eyes. He looked at her in bewilderment, and Peyton gave him a restrained smile. If he really had almost come back, then she had to send him away.

“I’m what?” Callum asked, quickly getting on his feet.

Her eyes met his, hoping he’d believe her and hoping what she’d say would be enough for him to leave town. “I forgive you, Callum. I’m not angry at you anymore.”

“Just like that?”

Peyton nodded. “Just like that,” she said before she pushed past him and walked down the hallway, towards her bedroom.

“Bullshit,” he said, stopping her.

Peyton balled her fists tight before she turned around.

Callum’s facial features tensed and his nose flared. “I call bullshit.”

“You got what you wanted, Callum. You have my forgiveness. You can go home now. I’ll see you at the wedding,” she said casually.

Her hopes of him believing what she said were dashed when he marched towards her and stared her down.

“No, you’re lying. I don’t have your forgiveness. I can see it. You’re still hurt. I haven’t earned it. I want to earn it, Peyton. I need to redeem myself. Nothing I have done has been worthy enough of you.”

In that one moment, she saw it. A flash of the first night he’d kissed her, the same unsure and afraid eyes. Somehow, she was stuck between the past and present, and it completely terrified her.

“Do you want my forgiveness or not?” she asked, tired.

Callum sighed and he shook his head. “Not like this, Peyton.”

“Then how?” she asked desperately.

“Spend some time together. Have moments together… I don’t know, Peyton. I just need to be around you. I need to make it all up to you,” Callum revealed.

Before she could tell him how absurd it sounded, a loud crash of thunder violently thrashed and the hallway light flickered once before the house darkened. The moment she couldn’t see Callum’s face, she let out a heavy sigh.

“I’ll find candles,” he said.

She felt him walk past her, his arm grazing hers. “They’re—”

“Last drawer in the kitchen,” he said, cutting her off.

“How’d you know that?” she asked, turning around.

“Your house hasn’t changed, Peyton. Everything is in the same spot. It’s like you preserved this house to be the exactly how your parents left it. Get dressed and I’ll make you something to eat,” Callum said. His footsteps could be heard in the kitchen.

“Let it contain rat poison, please,” she softly begged.

Peyton pulled open a drawer and rummaged through it. The almost black room made it difficult for her to find anything. After raking around, she pulled out a pair of lacy underwear. Peyton held them up to the small amount of light coming from the window and the sight confirmed what she held.

Lace.

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to find something in the grandmother department—especially with that pervert in the kitchen.”

With a reassuring nod to herself, Peyton put the lace back in the drawer and felt around until cotton hit her fingertips. It was a comforting feeling. Cotton wasn’t as daring as lace. Why she had that sort of underwear, she didn’t know. But she never wore it. Lingerie was not her expertise. She wasn’t even sure when she’d last worn a matching set. She’d always felt it was a symbol for her life. Nothing ever matched and different pieces never fit. Instead, they always had to adjust.

Realising the extent of thought she had put into underwear, Peyton quickly slipped the pair on and rummaged in the next drawer until she found flannelette pyjama bottoms. Then she silently dressed herself. Once she was satisfied with the articles of clothing on her body, she began to towel-dry her hair. After a few minutes, she placed the damp towel over the railing of her bed and walked out of her room.

Each step that she took she ensured was long and slow. Taking time away from being with Callum was better than actually spending those minutes with him. She had offered him forgiveness. She had given him an out, and he still hadn’t taken it. He was stubborn as ever, much to her displeasure.

The flicking of ember flames caught her eye as she stepped into the darkened kitchen. The entire room was filled with lit candles. For a moment, she let herself enjoy the thoughtfulness of the extravagant use of wax. And as quickly as she enjoyed it, she forced herself to hate it. She walked towards the kitchen table and was just able to see the length of it—with the help of two lit vanilla candles.

Peyton pulled out a chair and sat down, ensuring that he heard the groan she let out. She blamed the storm, but she knew it was higher than that. She had to direct her hatred for such circumstances to Fate. And Fate was a sinister bitch when it came to Peyton. Let’s not forget Divine Intervention; she was even worse. Or he. Whatever gender, Peyton hated Divine Intervention as much as she hated Fate…and Death, too. All those bastards were working hand-in-hand against her.

A plate was placed in front of her and she looked at it. A sandwich. Perfectly cut into triangles with the crusts removed. Her heart was the first to react, becoming heavy and uncomfortable. And then her mouth formed a frown. Memory Lane was becoming an allying bastard, too.

“I’m hoping you still like Vegemite and cheese sandwiches. You had it all there, so I assumed,” Callum said as he sat in the chair in front of Peyton.

He gave her a faint smile before he stared at the candle; the flame reflected in his eyes. Not liking the circumstances she was in and the pressure on her chest, Peyton leant forward and blew out the flame that he was looking at intently.

“What was that for?” he asked. The light from the other candle on the table made his cheek visible.

Peyton sat back and gave him a shrug. “I’m not one for romance, and these candles are a red alert for me. I’d rather we eat in the dark since my first request of you to leave my house isn’t happening.”

“Fine,” Callum said before he moved closer to the last candle on the table and blew it out. Only the light from the candles behind him made some things visible. “I’m not trying to romance you, Peyton. I don’t want that.”

She rolled her eyes, not caring if he could see or not. “Me, either.”

“You don’t?”

She smirked at the curiosity in his voice. She didn’t want him to seduce her, purely because she knew her heart couldn’t withstand him for much longer.