Not Your Bride Anymore

Chapter 8: The Rain and the Red Tea

The warmth inside the car wrapped around her damp clothes.

Avery placed her bag on her lap and tried not to inhale too obviously.

She remembered Callum smoked occasionally. She had seen him once at a distance, standing outside a business dinner with a cigarette between his fingers. Yet he never smelled like smoke.

He smelled like cedar. Clean linen. Something faintly dark and expensive.

The man in front turned around with a business smile. “Miss Collins, was it?”

Avery nodded politely.

“Mr. Wallace,” Callum said, before the man could continue. “The proposal.”

Mr. Wallace immediately sat straighter. “Yes, of course. As I was saying, the second phase of the development has excellent numbers. Residents from phase one are satisfied, the school district is strong, and if Rhodes Group comes in before the municipal review—”

Callum listened without changing expression.

His fingers tapped once against the folder.

Once.

Mr. Wallace’s voice grew faster.

Avery looked out the window, pretending not to listen. Rain streamed over the glass in shifting lines. Beyond it, Westbridge had turned soft and unreadable.

She wondered how far away Callum had been when he recognized her.

She wondered why that mattered.

At the gate of the complex, Callum said, “Bring the full proposal to my office tomorrow at nine.”

Mr. Wallace’s face lit up. “Of course. Thank you, Mr. Rhodes. You won’t regret—”

“Tomorrow,” Callum said.

“Yes. Tomorrow.”

Noah stopped the car. Mr. Wallace got out under a smaller umbrella from the front compartment, still thanking Callum as if gratitude could increase his chances.

The door closed.

The car grew quiet.

Avery should have moved to the second row.

She didn’t.

Callum did not ask her to.

He looked at her shoes first. Then the damp edges of her coat. Then her face.

“Work?”

Avery nodded. “A home visit.”

He did not ask more.

The absence of the question warmed her more than the heated car.

Most people, when they heard “home visit,” wanted details. A story. Something tragic enough to justify their curiosity. Callum seemed to understand that her work belonged to the people who trusted her with it, not to dinner conversation.

He reached toward the small console table beside him and lifted a plain paper cup.

Steam curled from the lid.

“Drink this,” he said.

Avery accepted automatically. “Thank you.”

Her fingers moved toward the middle of the cup.

Callum drew it back before she touched it.

Avery looked up, confused.

“Top edge,” he said.

Then he shifted his grip lower, his own fingers wrapping around the hottest part of the cup so the cooler rim faced her.

“It’s hot.”

The gesture lasted two seconds.

Maybe less.

Avery saw the faint pink rising along his fingers where the heat pressed through the paper.

Something inside her went still.

She took the cup carefully, fingers brushing the place he had left for her.

“Thank you,” she said again, but this time the words came out too quiet.

Callum sat back.

“It’s black tea.”

Avery looked down at the cup.

Tea.

She didn’t particularly like tea.

She lifted it anyway and took a small sip.

Warmth spread through her throat and chest. The taste was mild, slightly bitter, not unpleasant.

She could drink it.

She could also feel the shape of his attention in the cup. Not dramatic. Not demanding gratitude. Just there.

Like the envelope.

Like the car waiting in the rain.

Avery curled both hands around the cup and looked out the window before he could see too much on her face.

The rain blurred the city into streaks of white and gold. She counted them until counting became impossible.

For the rest of the drive, they spoke only once.

When the car turned onto the street leading to the Shaw house, Callum asked, “Did the visit go badly?”

Avery kept her eyes on the window.

“No,” she said. “Not badly. Just slowly.”

“Slow isn’t failure.”

She turned to him then.

The words were too close to what she had told Nina’s mother.

Callum didn’t look smug about it. He wasn’t even looking at her anymore. His gaze had shifted to the rain beyond the glass.

Avery swallowed.

“No,” she said. “It isn’t.”

The car stopped outside the Shaw house.

The rain had softened to a mist.

Noah opened the door with an umbrella, but Avery stepped out before he could fully cover her.

“Thank you for the ride,” she said to Callum.

He inclined his head. “Go inside before you get colder.”

The instruction should have sounded presumptuous.

It didn’t.

Avery turned and walked up the path.

Inside, she had barely closed the door before Ruby thundered down the stairs.

“Ave!”

Avery looked up while taking off her wet shoes. “Why are you yelling?”

Ruby gripped the banister with both hands, eyes wide. “Was that Callum Rhodes’s car?”

Avery paused.

Then continued removing her coat. “How would you know Callum Rhodes’s car?”

Ruby gave her a look of deep disappointment. “It’s a black Rolls-Royce with a license plate everyone in this city recognizes. Also, Rhodes Group just bought PineLive. People post about him.”

“People post about his car?”

“People post about everything.” Ruby came down two more steps. “Were you with him?”

“I got caught in the rain after a home visit. He happened to pass by.”

Ruby’s brows climbed.

Avery walked into the living room and dropped her bag on the sofa. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re writing fan fiction in your head.”

Ruby gasped. “I would never.”

“You absolutely would.”

Ruby flopped onto the arm of the sofa. “So you’re not close?”

“No.”

“But you’ve eaten with him.”

“Once.”

“And he drove you home.”

“It was raining.”

“And he showed up after Jason acted insane at that restaurant.”

Avery turned slowly. “How do you know that?”

Ruby’s eyes shifted.

Avery folded her arms.

Ruby coughed. “Westbridge has no secrets.”

“Ruby.”

“Fine. A friend’s cousin works part-time at Westlake House. She didn’t see everything, but she said Jason got escorted out and Mr. Rhodes looked like he was about to buy the restaurant just to fire everyone who witnessed it.”

Avery closed her eyes. “Great.”

Ruby slid off the sofa arm and leaned closer. “So?”

“So what?”

“So are you close?”

“No.”

Ruby’s disappointment was theatrical. “That’s unfortunate.”

Avery stared at her. “Are you sure you don’t have a thing for older powerful men?”

Ruby’s face reddened instantly. “I told you, I like Leo.”

“The faceless streamer.”

“He is not faceless. He is mysterious.”

“That’s worse.”

“He has the best voice on PineLive, and he plays like a god.”

“He could still be a forty-year-old man in a basement.”

Ruby grabbed a throw pillow and hurled it.

Avery caught it. “I’m only trying to protect you from emotional ruin.”

“I am emotionally thriving.”

“You are failing calculus.”

Ruby opened her mouth, then closed it. “That was violent.”

“Study.”

Ruby groaned and dragged herself toward the stairs.

Halfway up, she turned. “But if Callum Rhodes wants to give you more rides, I support it.”

“Ruby.”

“Purely because Jason would hate it.”

Avery threw the pillow back.

Ruby laughed and fled.

Avery stood in the living room for a moment after the footsteps faded. The house was warm. The rain tapped lightly at the windows. Her hands still smelled faintly of black tea.

She looked down at them.

For one brief second in the car, when she had taken the cup, had she touched his fingers?

She couldn’t decide.

That bothered her more than it should have.

In the Rolls-Royce, Noah lasted exactly seven minutes before risking his life.

“Boss.”

Callum looked up from his phone.

Noah adjusted his grip on the wheel. “I think you’re different with Miss Collins.”

Callum’s expression did not change. “Different.”

“Yes.”

“In what way?”

Noah wished, immediately and profoundly, that he had chosen silence.

But he had already begun, so he drove himself off the cliff.

“I didn’t even see her under that building entrance. It was pouring. You saw her through rain, tinted glass, and Mr. Wallace talking about zoning permits.” He paused. “That’s… specific.”

Callum watched him through the rearview mirror.

Noah’s palms began to sweat.

“When does your driver’s license expire?” Callum asked.

Noah blinked. “What?”

“Your license.”

“Next month, I think.”

“Get your eyes checked before renewal.”

Noah stared at the road.

Callum returned to his phone. “If your eyesight is that poor, I may need a new driver.”

Noah closed his mouth.

In his mind, he said many things.

Out loud, he said, “Yes, sir.”

But privately, he maintained his position.

No normal man recognized a woman through that much rain unless he had already been looking for her.

Over the next week, Avery visited Nina three more times.

The first visit after the rain, Nina allowed her to sit in the room for twenty minutes.

The second, thirty.

The third, Avery brought a book and read silently in the chair while Nina sat on the bed, unmoving but less tense than before.

Progress, with trauma, rarely announced itself.

It lived in smaller things.

A girl not flinching when a door opened.

A mother learning not to cry in the hallway.

A chair moved six inches closer.

And a chessboard, always arranged differently.

Avery noticed.

The fourth time, when Nina’s mother walked her to the door, Avery glanced back toward the bedroom.

“Did Nina play chess before?”

Mrs. Ward’s tired face changed with surprise. “Yes. Her grandfather taught her. She used to love it. They played every weekend before he passed.”

Avery nodded slowly. “Does she still play?”

“I don’t know. She sets up the board sometimes, but she won’t let us play with her.”

Avery looked down the hall.

A closed door.

A silent girl.

A chessboard.

For the first time since taking the case, Avery felt a narrow path open.

Not wide.

Not easy.

But real.

When she got home that evening, the house was empty.

Ruby had been sent to a weeklong college prep program with strict phone limits, a decision she had described as an attack on youth culture. Helen and George were out of town for a business dinner. Even the staff had retreated to the back of the house.

Avery stood alone in the kitchen, kicked off her heels, and took a bottle of white wine from the fridge.

She poured half a glass.

Then another half.

Not enough to be drunk.

Enough to make her slightly reckless.

She sat at the kitchen island, opened her laptop, searched “how to teach chess to beginners,” and was immediately overwhelmed by a hundred videos, diagrams, and forums full of people arguing about openings.

Avery knew the names of the pieces.

Barely.

King. Queen. Rook. Knight. Bishop. Pawn.

That was where her confidence ended.

She tried watching a beginner video.

Three minutes in, the instructor said something about controlling the center and developing pieces, and Avery paused the video with a frown.

She could learn this.

Of course she could.

But learning enough to reach Nina, not just explain rules at her, was different.

Avery picked up her wineglass and opened her private social feed.

Her thumb hovered.

Then, before she could overthink it, she posted:

Does anyone here know chess well enough to teach a beginner? I need help for a kid.

She stared at the post after it went live.

Then she set the glass down.

“Oh, that was stupid.”

The internet existed. Books existed. Tutorials existed. Her professional network existed. Why had she posted that like a person asking the universe to solve her problems?

She reached to delete it.

A notification appeared.

Jason Blake: I know chess.

Avery’s face went still.

Before she could react, another notification slid beneath it.

Callum Rhodes: Are you free now?