When The Rain Falls

CHAPTER 3

Amelia pulled the door open wide and stepped aside. “I have some coffee made. It’s just the stuff from downstairs, but I’m sure you’re okay with it.”

Callen walked in, feeling his face thaw in the overly heated apartment. He glanced around and took a mental note. Jules had indeed updated the place, many years after he had been there. The small touches that Amelia had made were sweet. Some flowers on the table. Colored dishrags he knew Jules would despise buying, so they had to come from someone else. Her, maybe. A quick look in the bedroom and he saw a large bed, European King size, fitted with multiple comforters and pillows. Definitely her touch. He shook his head and smiled softly, his chest becoming warm.

"What’s the matter, Officer?” He heard her voice, almost distantly, behind him.

Gazing over the apartment, his eyes wandered over the decor. "Just remembering how this place looked when I lived here."

He cringed at his own words. He didn't want to remember living here, and hoped she would ignore his outburst.

She didn't.

"You lived here?" Amelia walked past him and went towards the small kitchen. She began pouring two cups of coffee. "How long ago?"

Plums. She smelled like cinnamon and plums. "Been 'bout twenty-four years. Me mum and I. I was thirteen."

Amelia motioned to the small table, equipped with two chairs, and he deftly walked towards it, taking a seat. Cushions on the seats as well? Jules must have had her decorate the place herself. She pushed a cup towards him, with a plate of the pastries from Jules' cafe downstairs. Silently he took a glazed round and bit into it slowly. He remembered the perks of the apartment. Free pastries and coffee. The perks of being a homeless teenager, with an ailing mother trying to educate herself enough to take care of both of them.

"How cute. I was just born." She asked, dumping copious amounts of cream into her cup.

Taking a sip of his own bitter brew, Callen cleared his throat. “Why did what I said hurt you, Amelia?”

She looked at him blankly, then looked down into her cup. Her finger traced along the rim. “I kind of grew up with out attention. Without being able to do, well, anything I wanted with myself. And then I finally did. And you made me feel less than a human. For being myself. Does that make sense?”

His stomach tore itself apart. “It does. But my opinion shouldn’t have mattered.”

“I know.” She replied, still staring into her cup. “I know. But it did. And I don’t understand why.” She brought her eyes to his, the amber hue flecked with tiny spots of crimson. “Why did you move into this apartment?”

Thinking about the question, Callen took a long sip of his coffee, enjoying the burn it caused his throat. "Bad situation. Doubt you'd understand."

She frowned, and he hated how he much liked the line it made between her brows. "Try me Officer." Taking a cookie from the plate she crunched into it. "It might feel better to talk about it."

“And what makes you think I feel bad about it?”

Amelia shrugged. "The pained look in your eyes as you looked around here. I know it’s not how I decorated the place, because I did a fantastic job.”

Callen laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Won’t disagree with you on that one. You did a pretty good job, especially considering I know Jules can’t color match worth a shite.”

“You’re avoiding my question Callen.” God, how she said his name. He hated how he was starting to love it. “Why did you and your mom live here?”

He took a short breath before he answered her, tasting the words before he spoke them. Even downplayed, they were still sour to him. “Long story short, my father, he wasn’t the greatest of men.”

“Hm.” Amelia nodded. “Abusive, or neglectful?”

“ The correct answer is yes.” He pulled his cup to his lips and held it there. “Not anyone worth speaking about, to be fair. Man has been dead to me for longer than he’s been alive in my life.”

“I see.” Amelia looked down at her own cup. When she spoke, her voice sounded far away, in another time. “My father is actually dead.”

Callen raised his eyebrows, surprised. “How long ago?”

“’Kinda recent.” She sighed softly, not meeting his gaze. “Six, seven months now.”

He cleared his throat and sipped his coffee. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is that why you came to Scotland? To escape the pain?”

“No.” Amelia said softly. “Other reasons. It was part of it, but not totally.”

“What happened to him?” He asked. When her head snapped up and her eyes went wide, he saw the gears working behind them, trying to formulate an answer for him. Instead of pursuing one, he waved it off. “Never mind Amelia, it’s fine. A bit too personal, I understand. But I am truly sorry for your loss.”

She smiled. "We make due, Officer."

"Amelia," he began softly. "If you accept my apologies, may I be a bit rogue and ask you to please call me Callen? I’m off the clock at the moment.”

"Of course. If you answer something for me." She grinned, and he could almost count her teeth. "Why the hell do you drink your coffee black? I can tell you hate it. I have creamer and sugar and all that s**t literally right in front of you."

Blinking, he stared down at his cup. "In the cafe, the condiments are near the pastry area."

“So?”

“I’d have to have walked passed you.” He replied, taking another cookie from the plate. “And with the way you would glare at me, I picked my battle.”

Amelia looked as if she was holding in a laugh, her eyes crinkling, the lines at the corners creasing slightly. He liked it. A lot. "So, instead of making your coffee tolerable, you decided to avoid confrontation."

Callen set his cup down and stared at her. "My job is confrontation. I fight all day. I risk dying over an argument. The last thing I want to do is deal with it after work."

She slowly blinked, and slid the creamer towards him, along with a small bowl of sugar. "No confrontation. Just make your coffee palatable."

He chuckled softly as he dropped some sugar, and began to stir. "I have a feeling you're not here just for a brand new fresh start, Amelia."

It was her turn to laugh. It was devoid of humor. Finally, something he didn’t like. "What gave it away?" she asked, sipping her cup and peering at him over the rim.

"Jules said you were staying at Clyde, and sleep here only occasionally. The man doesn't normally let anyone stay up here, unless they're in trouble." He looked at her, and willed his face to soften. "Are you in trouble, Amelia?”

The old look in her eyes and sweet smile that blessed her plump mouth when she brought her face to his made him freeze. The light of the day burst through the window and hit her across one eye, changing its color from burnt sienna to honey. His breath caught in his lungs and he found it hard to breathe.

She was beautiful. She truly was breathtaking, as he found himself unable to breathe for a moment.

And so f*****g young to have such wise eyes.

"Not anymore." She said. “At least I don’t think so.”

He stayed quiet. Somehow, he knew that asking anything more would end the conversation, and he wasn’t quite ready for that yet.

"You know, it’s weird." Amelia smiled at him.

"Ay?" Callen asked. "What is?"

"I like your presence." She said quietly. "I don't know why. I just do. You're different now than when you were a jackass in the cafe."

"Oh, am I now?"

"Mm-hmm." She sipped her coffee and stared at him. "I think I can tolerate the man in front of me."

Callen stared at her. There was definitely something wrong. She had deflected parts of the conversation in which he felt dove a little too deep. Keep calm, Callen he thought. Tread these waters carefully.

“Amelia, Jules told me that you stay at Clyde.” He asked, waiting for her reaction. When she lifted her head and tilted her chin to the side, he waved his arm around the small room. "Staying in a hostel, paying when Jules will let you stay here at little to no cost-”

"Did you come here alone?" Amelia asked, interrupting his talk. "I mean, why didn't Jules come with you?"

Callen shook his head, taking a mental note. Deflection again. "No, no. My girls are downstairs with Jules."

"Girls? Wife and kids?"

"Just me daughters." He cleared his throat. "That was something else you nailed on the head." She frowned in confusion, so he kept speaking. "My wife. She did leave me. We’ve been separated for quite some time now."

Amelia gasped, and a small sound escaped her throat. Pity. Just what he hated. "That's terrible. Are you visiting your girls? Are they the only kids you have?"

"Not visiting, and just them two. I have full custody until we come to an agreement. Paperwork is still in the works." Callen sipped his coffee, and looked away. Being in the works. Just needed his signature.

"Can I meet them?" Amelia asked shyly. He turned and gave her a confused, suspicious look. Waving her hands, Amelia spoke quickly. "I know. Weird. Don't get me wrong. I love kids. I don't have any of my own. But I'd like to meet yours."

Callen stared at her flustered self, and wondered later that night why he said "Sure. Let's go on then."

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Of course she had to put on make-up.

And contacts.

And do her hair.

And add her piercings.

And dress inappropriately.

And bring her assortment of make-up, nails, and hair accessories with her.

Because it’s a girl thing, she said.

Of course, his girls took to the unusual woman. His oldest, Ainsley, braided her colored locks and admired the different shades each strand created, while his youngest, Fiona, promptly ruined any manicure she could have had. Which she didn't. Of course. A woman living in a hostel working in a cafe couldn't afford that luxury.

So, for the next hour and a half, she entertained his kids while he laid back and scrolled through his phone, watching them carefully. Ainsley seemed to take to her immediately, Fiona remained a bit standoffish, alternating between interest and hesitation. When Amelia attempted to engage her, Fiona would shy away, so she would let the younger girl come to her. Callen couldn't blame her. The girl barely remembered her mother, so a female she hadn't known except her Gran interrupting their dynamic was awkward for her.

The situation that happened in front of him confused him. Ainsley absorbed herself in a makeover, while Fiona pressed scribbled in a coloring book, occasionally asking Amelia her opinion, who gave back enthusiastic encouragement. It felt awkward. This woman should not have been so comfortable with his children, and they with her. Even shy Fiona gave her a side-eye glance. She seemed to be able to know what they wanted, and even more importantly, what they needed. When Amelia stood up from the table to excuse herself to obtain some sweets from the counter, Callen leaned in and prepared himself for the questions that he expected.

They never came. Fiona leaned back into him while Ainsley busied herself with her phone, looking up at Amelia every other moment.

Against his better judgment, he decided to ask instead.

"Ainsley, your opinion on Amelia?" His daughter looked up at him blankly. He sighed. "Do you like her?"

Ainsley gave him a side eye and a smile. "Do you?"

Always the precocious one. "She's just an acquaintance, nothing more."

"Mhm." Ainsley went back to her phone. Callen turned to Fiona, curled at his side.

"No sleeping darling.” He wrapped an arm closely around her while one of hers snaked around his waist. Daddy's little girl always. “We need to discuss about when your Mum picks ye up next week.”

She looked up at him with her tired hazel eyes and said "Who?"

His heart broke. Arya left when she was only a year old, and gave up taking them regularly when she was two. Arya was no longer even a memory to her. Even at five years old.

“Why are you doing this Dad?” Ainsley grumbled. She laid her head on the table and her chin on her folded fingers. “Mum hasn’t exactly been around. Fiona doesn’t know her. I highly doubt she’d recognize me from a can of toothbrushes.”

Callen pressed his lips together, refusing to acknowledge how correct his twelve-year-old was. “I told ye. Yer gran is assisting me Aunt Lilly. I can’t take that much time off work.”

“Sure you can.” Ainsley said. “You’re just a cheap old fart.”

Amelia chose that moment to return, carrying two Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate with to-go lids. She looked at Callen, whose mouth had fallen and his eyebrows pressed together, as he loudly exclaimed “I am not a cheap old fart!”

“Oh I came back at a good time.” Amelia said. She set one down in front of each girl and sat down in her previously vacated seat. Ainsley gingerly sipped and gave a polite thanks to her, while Fiona reached and grabbed it, taking a large gulp. Callen gasped, grabbing the cup from her, but not before she had swallowed some of the liquid.

"Fiona, are you alright?" He turned to his daughter, concern marring his face. She looked up at him confused, and reached for the cup again. A slight chuckle from the woman at his table took his attention away.

"I put some ice in it before I gave it to her. At the very most it's lukewarm." Amelia smiled as she sipped her own drink. "I saw how she chugged it the last time. Think better of me, Callen."

He stared at her as she smiled. Think better of her.

He sure was starting to.

And he still had no idea what prompted him to ask for her number before they left.

Or what a horrible idea she had in giving it to him.

Her hesitation made him regret it, but only for an instant when she picked up his phone and dialed her number in, then called her own and allowed it to ring to prove she didn’t type in a lie.

It was still a horrible idea when she would text him at night, asking if he made it home same

And it was still a horrible idea when he’d respond that he did.

And then she’d bother him with a conversation until she finally would pass out, and explain the next morning that’s exactly what she did. Every time.

And it was still horrible that he began to long for those texts, and would tap his fingers waiting for her to send one.