“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.