Callum & Harper

Chapter One



Where is My Mind?



Callum



I was sitting next to one of the most beautiful girls I’d ever seen in my entire life. She was so intriguing, I could actually feel the sweat dripping down the back of my neck at the effort it was taking to keep from staring at her. I hoped to God she couldn’t tell...or smell.



If I were to guess, I’d have said she was about five foot, five inches, she had wicked long coppery hair and hazel eyes that looked more gold than green. Her eyes killed me. I believed I could peer into those eyes all day long, maybe on a blanket on the grass, in Central Park, that we could’ve shared.



Get it together, Callum, I thought. You’re probably making her nervous. You’ve too much shit on your plate, dude. I paused, mid thought, remembering where we were. She is sitting in the same office you are, bro. Yeah, Callum, she is, I debated with myself, with only a fleeting thought toward how mentally unstable people who talked to themselves were. But the last thing this lovely probably wants is to mess around with someone with as much drama as you own.



She tucked her chin into her chest and glanced my direction but when she caught me staring back, she quickly fixed her eyes onto the floor. Then again....



"Harper Bailey!" A social worker yelled out. Gold eyes stood up. Harper Bailey. What an appropriate name. She even looked like a Harper and that made me want to smile for some reason. Harper Bailey looked back at me and flashed a perfect row of white teeth making me melt a little into my seat.



Harper



Oh my God, I think I just melted a little bit into the floor. The guy I'd been sitting next to that entire time was bona fide swoon worthy. If I’d showed a picture of this guy to a hundred girls and asked their opinions, they'd all, without fail, would’ve said, 'swoon worthy'.



If I were to have guessed, he was probably six foot two or three. He had brown hair, piercing green eyes and a jaw line that screamed 'I might just let you kiss me here'. There’s something about strong jaws that sing to me but his shoulders and back didn't look so shabby, either. Yet another feature he owned, I could say I wouldn’t mind running my hands across.



I could feel his eyes on the back of my head, heating me up from the inside. I shivered involuntarily. Never had someone affected me like that and I was stupefied because I was Harper Bailey, self-professed bachelor and lover of singledom. ‘Rely on no one because people inevitably fail you’ Harper Bailey.



"Callum Tate!" A social worker called. I whipped my head around and watched him walk to their desk. Callum Tate. I liked the sound of that. It sounded sweet, like, 'Hi, my name is Callum Tate and I’m going to take care of you, Harper Bailey', which is exactly what I’d always openly confessed as stupid but also always secretly wanted. Yikes, Harper. Crazy much?



He looked over his shoulder at me. We stopped pretending and smiles ensued. He had a slightly crooked smile which somehow looked amazingly adorable on him.



"Miss Bailey?" I heard. Oops.



"Yes, Mrs. Carson?"



"If you can trouble yourself to pay attention to me, baby, I can give you some information. Now, when did you turn eighteen?"



"March seventeenth, ma'am."



"Alright, did you finish high school?"



"Yes, ma'am."



"Alright, why did Mrs. Drawing ask you to leave her home?"



"Isn't it obvious?” I said, dropping my arm over the back of the chair next to me. This was my attempt at feigning indifference. I don’t think I was fooling anyone. Truth was, I was scared, no, terrified of being alone. “She won't be receiving benefits for being my foster mother any longer since I've turned eighteen. Her free lunch ticket expired, if you catch my drift."



"Harper, you're always so cheeky, maybe if you'd bite your tongue you wouldn't have been asked to leave."



"Oh, Mrs. Carson, that's why I love you. You make it seem as if it's my mouth that got me kicked out of all those homes when in truth, it was my fists." And a little bit my mere existence.



"There you go with that mouth, young lady. You're telling me, of all the fights you were in, not one of them was your fault?" Her eyebrow arched over one eye. That brow screamed ‘bullshit’.



"I know it's hard to believe, Mrs. Carson, but when someone calls you a variation on the word orphan enough times, it does something to your heart and there's only so many occasions where a person is expected to endure it before they end up punching that someone in the face."



"Hmm," she said, "maybe you're right, baby."



We both laughed loud enough to draw Callum's attention and that tickled my stomach slightly. That’s smart, Harper. Focus your attention on mister perfect and forget all about how pathetic your situation really is.



"Okay, well," she sighed. "There are homes for those in your situation but this is New York City and they're full up, not an opening in the foreseeable future."



Of course. "That's fantastic news, Mrs. Carson. Well, that was invigorating, I think I'll leave now." I stood.



"Sit, Harper!" I sat. "Calm down now. I've got some other options for you." She frowned at the mess of papers in her hands. "Harper, the best we can do for you here is to put you on the waiting list for a few homes but until then, you'll just have to make do with the night to night facilities in the city."



I’d heard all sorts of stories about these places. If you didn't get there early enough, you missed your chance to stay and when Mrs. Carson said 'night to night' she meant you literally had to fight to stay there from one night to the next. I’d recently read about two homeless men who’d gotten into a fight vying for a chance at an open spot in line and one of them killed the other for it.



"Alright, put me on the list then and jot me down a few places I can stay until then."



"Already have a printed list.” She said, handing me a piece of paper that had been Xeroxed so often it looked solid black. “Here ya' go. You call me in two weeks and I'll let you know the progress of your name on the permanent housing list."



"Thank you, Mrs. Carson."



"No problem, honey. I'll see you in two weeks."



I stood to leave and gathered the bag that housed every belonging I owned. So essentially, inside my small canvas messenger, were two pairs of jeans, a few button up fitted flannels, one striped dress, and a pair of flip flops. Also inside, was my signed copy of 'To Kill A Mockingbird' by Harper Lee, my namesake and hero, which I’d won at a county fair when my foster family at the time, traveled there to visit their own extended family. I wore my only other pair of jeans and a fitted t-shirt that read, 'Save The Drama For Your Mama'.



When I turned around, I saw Callum heading for the door and my stomach clenched in anticipation.



Callum



Oh dear Lord, we’re leaving at the same time. If she hadn’t stopped attempting to hide her smile, I would’ve been forced to reveal my plans to toss the stranger outside against the brick and kiss her face until the sun set.



She passed ahead of me and I caught a whiff of her shampoo, involuntarily sending my eyes into the back of my head. This chick was a walking version of the Pixie’s “Where Is My Mind?”. Sexy. As. Hell. Though, now that I think about it. Is hell sexy? I’m guessing not. I continued to watch. Her hips could have kept time with the damn beat.



“Here, let me get that for you,” I said, throwing open the door. The sun cascaded down her copper hair and made her eyes feel transparent.



“Thank you,” she shyly said but offered up a cute lopsided grin as if to say ‘good boy’. Thanks for the bone, buttercup.



She took the wrought iron steps down to the sidewalk two at a time, which told me she was in a hurry and since it was nearly sunset, I was willing to bet that she and I were heading in the same direction. I scrambled at what to say while her feet scurried along the pavement.



Say something! “Where you headed?” Clever.



She stopped and turned.



“Uh,” she said, seeming embarrassed. She thought twice for a moment before stiffening her body and raising her chin. “I’m headed to...” Confusion set in. She glanced down at the same piece of paper I, as fate would have it, held in my own hand. “Hope House, on One Hundred and Second,” she finished.



“What a coincidence,” I teased with a slight grin.



“You too?” She asked, one eyebrow raised. Cynical, a product of the system.



“Yup, what can I say? Looks like we share the same amount of luck.”



“Which would be?” She asked.



“Nil, if you’re going to Hope House.”



She laughed at our dire situations which was pretty much all you could do.



“Want a ride?” I asked. She didn’t answer me, obviously not willing to trust me, so I offered, “Listen, by the time you walk there they’ll be closed and definitely won’t have any spaces open. If you ride with me, at least we have a chance of getting a spot for the night.”



She sighed. “A valid point,” she said, looking around for my car.



I’m embarrassed by this. “Uh, “ I said, scratching the stubble on my chin with the backs of my fingers. “I don’t actually own a car.” I point to my vintage nineteen-fifty Indian motorcycle. “Come on. It’s better than walking, right?” I stuck my hands out in offering.



She smiled slowly in appreciation, her mouth curling up at the sides and her eyes squinting into the sun. Her head bobbed slowly up and down on her neck. A silent yes. “I’d probably pick this over any car on this street.” She stood back and admired it. “Solid black,” she said. I nodded, intrigued. “Nice,” she simply added.



“You think so? I plan on fixing her up when I get the time and, of course, the money. She’s been good to me, though,” I said, patting the handlebars. “She’s pretty much all I have in this world.” Harper looked at me as if in pity or maybe it was understanding. I really hoped it was understanding because if a girl that beautiful pitied me, I didn’t think I could stand it. “Hop on,” I said. She straddled the back of the leather seat and slid her duffel across her chest to sit behind her. “Uh, you might want to, uh,” I said awkwardly, struggling with how to ask her to push her hair back so I could fit my helmet on her.



Instead, I set the helmet on the seat between her legs and brazenly ran my fingers through her hair. It flowed off her shoulders and settled onto her back. The scent of her shampoo bombarded me one more time and I swayed slightly at the assault but regained my stance. I grabbed the helmet off her lap and fit it onto her head. She giggled at the awkward familiarity of it.



“Sorry,” I said. “But I wouldn’t dream of putting you on the back of my bike without this.”



“It’s alright,” she said, but paused. “Why? Are you an unsafe driver?”



"No, uh, my parents died in a car accident when I was four,” I said matter-of-factly.



"Oh, I'm so sorry.” She had the decency to look sincere. That was pretty refreshing, actually.



"It's alright," I sighed, shrugging my shoulders. "I barely remember them."