New Boundaries

Grayson 

I hadn’t meant to touch her.

It was instinct. A reflex. The kind of automatic gesture a father might make, only I wasn’t her father and there was nothing paternal about the way I felt when her eyes opened and caught me there, fingers still tangled in her hair.

I didn’t sleep that night. I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, pulse heavy in my throat, every second replaying in a loop. The warmth of her skin. The way her lashes fluttered. The slow parting of her lips when she realized how close we were.

Stupid.

Reckless.

Off-limits.

By the time the sun rose, I’d made a decision.

This couldn’t continue.

I needed distance. Rules. Clarity. Before something irreversible happened.

The smell of coffee pulled me into the kitchen. Mia had already left. I expected the house to be quiet.

But there she was.

Callie.

Hair in a messy bun. One of Mia’s oversized band tees sliding off her shoulder. Bare legs, smooth and glowing under the fluorescent light.

She turned, startled. "Oh—morning."

My throat was dry.

"Morning."

She held up a mug. "Want some coffee? I made too much."

"No. I’m good."

She frowned slightly as she noticed the tightness in my voice.

I motioned toward the back patio. "We need to talk."

Her brows rose, but she nodded and followed me outside. The morning was crisp, sunlight catching on the dew-tipped grass. The silence between us stretched taut as I pulled out a chair and stood by the railing.

I didn’t sit. Couldn’t. I needed the height. The distance. Something to brace against the storm I was about to start.

"About last night," I began.

She didn’t speak. Just waited, sipping from her cup.

"That can’t happen again."

Still silent while watching me.

"You’re Mia’s best friend. You’re staying under my roof. Whatever...that moment was, it crossed a line. And I need to be absolutely clear with you about boundaries."

She tilted her head. "Boundaries?"

I forced myself to keep going. "No more late-night chats. No lingering in shared spaces. We keep things formal. Respectful."

Callie leaned against the porch railing, mug cradled between her hands. "Formal. Got it. Should I curtsy every time I enter a room?"

I exhaled sharply. "Don’t make jokes. This is serious."

"I know."

Her voice was soft, unreadable. The wind lifted a strand of her hair and she tucked it behind her ear slowly, deliberately. She didn’t look away.

"We just need to get through the summer," I added, more to myself than her. "You’ll be gone again soon enough."

Something flickered across her face at that.

"Right," she said quietly. "Just the summer."

I nodded, turned to go, then stopped. I had to say it. Had to close the loop.

"You’re not the kid I remember, Callie. That’s not your fault. But it’s my responsibility to keep things appropriate. I expect the same from you."

Her eyes met mine, steady. Too steady.

"And if I can’t?"

I stared at her.

"Then I’ll send you home."

The words came out colder than I meant. But she only nodded, turned on her heel, and walked inside.

I stood there alone, heart pounding like I’d just walked out of a warzone. I had said what needed to be said. Drawn the line.

And yet all I could think about was how she didn’t flinch. How her lips curved, just slightly, when I told her what to do.

She wasn’t going to follow the rules.

Hell... neither was I.

The rest of the day passed in fractured pieces. I busied myself in the garage, trying to focus on engine diagnostics, invoices, the scent of oil and steel. It didn’t help. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her on the porch. Calm. Defiant. Beautiful.

Around noon, I heard laughter through the open window. Mia and Callie, probably back from wherever they had gone to. Her voice light and melodic 

And I hated how it hit me.

That laugh was dangerous. It curled around my ribs and squeezed, like a ghost from a different life.

I walked outside, pretending to need a part from the shed. Just for a second. Just to see.

She was sitting on the grass, towel wrapped around her waist, legs stretched out. Sunglasses on. Mia beside her, sipping from a soda can. Nothing remarkable. Nothing out of place.

Except everything was.

Her head tilted, and her gaze met mine from across the lawn. No smile. No waves. Just awareness.

I turned back before Mia noticed.

Dinner was quiet. Mia talked about her internship, rattled off a list of annoying clients. Callie listened, nodded, offered the occasional sarcastic comment. I stayed mostly silent.

Every time she moved, I noticed.

The way her fingers danced on the rim of her glass. The slow, thoughtful way she chewed. The moments when she looked at me and didn’t look away fast enough.

And every time, I reminded myself; stop. You’re a grown man. She’s twenty.

But logic had no place in this kind of storm.

After dinner, Mia disappeared into her room with her phone glued to her hand. I stayed at the table, finishing a beer. Callie cleared the plates without being asked. Washed them in silence.

Then she leaned against the sink, drying her hands.

"Are you always this quiet?"

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You didn’t say more than ten words tonight."

"Didn’t have much to say."

"Or maybe you’re just trying really hard not to see me."

I stood slowly, dragging my chair back. "You’re imagining things."

She smiled. Just a little.

"Okay. Let’s pretend I am."

I wanted to yell at her. Tell her to stop poking. Stop baiting me.

Instead, I grabbed my bottle and walked to the back porch again.

She didn’t follow.

But the air still smelled like her shampoo.

That night, I sat in the dark with nothing but the hum of the ceiling fan and the silence of my guilt.

Every part of me wanted to be a better man.

But the truth clawed at me; I didn’t want distance. I didn’t want lines. I wanted to remember how it felt to touch her. Just for a second.

I wanted to fall. Hard.

And for the first time in a long time… I was terrified of what I might do next.