It’s familiar, homey, and grounding.

I feel like I need that. Like I climbed a little too far up the Callan Carmichael tree house and I need my family to hold a ladder for me so I can climb back down.

I have a restless night. I dream I’m in the tree house, smoking on the ledge, when Jeremy Seinfield tries to kiss me. Except this time I don’t turn away. I lean closer and open my mouth, never so eager for him to kiss me before. I slip my hands into his hair and he tastes of coffee and cigarettes. I’m so surprised by how well he kisses, I ease back and stare at him in shock. But it’s not Jeremy looking back at me. I look into eyes that are a swirl of bronze, his voice a man’s voice, not a boy’s.

“I’m Callan.”

I wake up Friday morning to my alarm buzzing on my nightstand. I groan and turn around, squinting at the time to realize it’s already 7 a.m.

I hurry to start getting ready, moving through the apartment.

It’s already familiar, the view outside, my bed. I leave in less than two months, really. It’s only a summer internship.

I think of him in my bed and how my sheets still smell of him.

I think of the terrace. All those meetings I won’t have again. They’re branded in my memory, down to the shirts he wore and the way he smelled. It’s not like he’s the only good-smelling man out there, but there’s something special about his scent. It’s familiar, warm, and comforting. His eyes and the way we talk as if we’ve known each other forever.

No regrets, I remember.

I sigh and go shower and get ready for work. I slip into my Carma uniform and tuck my hair into a neat bun, then look at myself in the mirror. Blonde, blue-eyed, young, and determined—that’s what I want my boss to see.

Not naked, moaning, and writhing—that was only for my Hot Smoker Guy to see.

“Hold the elevator,” a familiar voice says when I arrive at Carma that morning. I jerk up straighter and my hand starts to tremble slightly as I press the open button.

Callan steps inside, typing something into his phone as he boards, stands beside me, selects his floor, and tucks his phone into his pocket.

He’s wearing a suit today and my knees wobble under my skirt.

I’m not sure he’s even realized it’s me who’s standing alone with him in the elevator until he speaks. “How are you?”

Well. Let’s see now. I came in this hot guy’s arms several times and I can’t quite get him off my mind, I think helplessly.

“Great,” I say instead. “You?”

“Good now.”

Through the corner of my eye I see that he’s smirking as he looks down at me, but I can’t bring myself to face him fully. Every time I do, I think that I kissed those lips. I seduced him. Ate up. Those amazing lips. And that wasn’t all. I’ve told him so many things about me. I always marvel at how easily this man makes me verbally vomit all over him.

“I got the Alcore updates. Good job.”

Oh god.

I don’t know what to do. I miss my family. I want my grandma’s advice. I can’t talk to my brother about this. Farrah and Veronica would say I should enjoy yielding to my infatuation of him, the first of my life. They wouldn’t understand that a part of me fears I’ll want more. The homesickness I’ve been battling threatens to reappear.

My floor comes up, and I glance at him with a smile and say, “Have a good day, Mr. Carmichael.”

His lips shape a thin smile that echoes his tone of voice. “Callan,” he corrects me.

“I’ll only call you Callan when we’re alone. Otherwise, it’s Mr. Carmichael.”

“Lucky for you, I respond to both.” He reaches out to hold the door as I step out. “Are you still up for sightseeing?”

“Always,” I blurt without thinking. It’s the second time he’s asked, and the second time I blurt out the same answer without thinking better of it.

How does he do that?

My toes are curling under his stare. “Where are you planning to go?” he asks.

“Navy Pier. I went there with Wynn but I’d love to go again.”

Lights of mischief spark up in his eyes. “You must really love that Ferris wheel.”

“Oh, of course,” I laugh.

He leans closer. “I’ll take you to the Pier tomorrow.”

“What? I don’t think it’s a good idea. I really think—”

“Pick you up at five.” He presses the button to shut the doors and as they do, he raises his brows in challenge, and the doors shut.

He’s downstairs, behind the wheel of his black-on-black Range Rover. I hurry to the car even as he steps out to open the passenger door.

I greet him with a nervous, “I brought a hat.”

He takes his seat behind the wheel and shuts the door behind him. “Preventing freckles?” One brow goes up, along with the corners of his lips.

“Clusters of freckles on my face, yes.”

I slide the cap over my head, and Callan reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear that had ended up flat over my eye.

The touch flits across my skin and down my entire body, making me shiver.

He smiles, noticing my shiver.

I gulp and lift my hand, fingering and readjusting my Dallas Cowboys cap in nervousness.

We start driving and I watch his hands on the wheel as he steers. I try to look away because I’ve been brainwashing myself that this is only a friendly outing. Having Callan catch me staring at his hands like some ogling, adoring idiot won’t do.

“Are you up for some excitement?” he asks me.