“French toast is still your favourite, right?” Callum glanced at the bread and then at her, appearing unsure of himself.
Peyton pushed off the sill and wandered towards him. The smile Callum had made seemed to seek her approval. She took in the two pieces of toast that had berries placed on top of them. And then she saw it—cream and chocolate chips. Two ingredients her mother had placed on Peyton’s Sunday French toast. When her parents had died, Peyton had decided that Sunday breakfast at the hotel was no longer a tradition. Instead, she ate a bowl of Froot Loops and the occasional English breakfast made by her aunt.
“It was. Is that where all that noise was coming from? You struggling to make French toast?” Peyton watched his blush turn from a subtle pink to a vibrant red.
“I’m not much of a cook. It’s no longer your favourite?” His smile quickly faded and the disappointment could be seen on his face.
Feeling guilty, Peyton took the plate from Callum and sat on the bed, inspecting the breakfast. It resembled her mother’s. For someone who wasn’t much of a cook, Callum had outdone himself. It was presented exactly how she used to like it. Cream and chocolate chips sandwiched between the two pieces of bread with berries on top.
Callum walked over and sat next to her, the mattress moving under the weight of him. Peyton took the cutlery in her hand and began to cut a piece. Once she had a strawberry on the fork with the toast, she stared at it, afraid of all the memories that would flood back.
She missed her mother’s smile and her father’s laughter. She missed their Sunday breakfasts and she missed them telling her to let go of her anger towards the man who was sitting next to her. That holding grudges would leave her unhappy with life… And they’d been right. It was a shame they weren’t alive to tell her so.
Peyton placed the fork down and put her hands on the mattress.
“It can’t be that bad. Can it?” he asked nervously.
The worry in his voice had her internally smiling.
Peyton shook her head. “I’m sure it tastes wonderful, Callum. But I haven’t had this in a long time. The last time was…was the day before my parents died. Please don’t be offended if I don’t eat it. I honestly appreciate the gesture.” She turned her head and offered him the sincerest smile she could.
Callum nodded and took the plate from her. “Do you think I could make this for you every Sunday while I’m in town? Maybe one Sunday you may want to try?”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” Peyton stated.
“Can I make you breakfast tomorrow, Peyton?” The way he asked in such a low voice was beautiful. She’d be lying if she said that her heart didn’t explode within her.
What’s happening to me?
“Why would you want to do that, Callum?” she asked, still wondering why that wall wasn’t blocking it all—the feelings, the curiosity, and the memories.
“Like I said last night. I want moments together,” he answered.
Peyton stilled.
Sometimes moments.
He’d said that last night. She was sure that he had. Just before she’d fallen asleep, she heard those two words. And she was also sure that, in her dream, she’d heard them being whispered again. Something along the lines of, “I want sometimes moments with you, Peyton. Ones I’ll remember…before I say goodbye.”
What in God’s name is a ‘sometimes moment’?
She’d never heard of that phrase. Never heard someone use it in a sentence or ever defined it. And it was definitely a phrase Peyton herself wouldn’t have used or made up. So it had to have been Callum. She should have asked him. But for some reason, she believed the worst in sometimes moments. She’d rather be oblivious to its meaning.
“Peyton?”
She caught it—the slight shakiness in his voice. She loved the sound of concern in his voice. Just like she had when they were teenagers.
“Did we sleep in the same bed?” she asked, turning her body to inspect her mattress.
“We didn’t have sex,” he quickly clarified.
Peyton rolled her eyes. She wasn’t an idiot. She’d know if she’d had sex last night. She’d feel it. She pushed his arm, Callum holding on to the plate so it wouldn’t fall.
“I know that. I was just asking if you left during the night. I think I heard you say something.”
He froze. “What did you hear?”
Caution. That’s what she’d heard in his voice.
“Was I supposed to hear something in particular?” she asked, cocking her brow at him.
“I heard something, too,” he stated.
The hell he did.
Peyton took the plate out of his hands and placed it on her bedside table, next to the remains of the half-melted candle.
She lifted her legs and crossed them on the bed. “What did you hear?”
Callum mirrored her sitting position on the bed. “What did you hear?”
“I asked you first.”
“Then you answer first,” he retorted.
She huffed out. “Fine. I heard nothing. I was bluffing.”
Lie. I heard you call us a sometimes moment.