Callum spared her a glance before his face darkened. With a gruff hmph, he tossed the vegetables into the basket and stalked off toward the house without another word.

  Clarissa blinked. What did I do to offend him now? When she followed him inside, she noticed something unusual. A pile of neatly folded clothes sat on the bed. Curious, she picked them up—old-fashioned, but brand new. The fabric was soft, well-made.

  "Mom, did Grandpa bring these?"

  Clementine nodded, looking a little shaken. "Yes… He came in, dropped them off, and left without saying a word.”

  Clarissa’s lips curled into a knowing smile. So that’s how it was.

  She wasted no time picking out a dress and slipping into it. It was a traditional button-down design, ankle-length, with delicate embroidery across the fabric. Surprisingly, it was breathable and light—perfect for the heat.

  When she stepped out again, Callum was already setting the table, hot dishes steaming in the evening air. There was enough food for three.

  Clarissa didn’t hesitate—she walked right up to him with a dazzling smile. "Thank you for the clothes, Mr. Callum. I really like them."

  Callum’s scowl deepened. "Who said I was giving them to you?"

  Clarissa just smiled brighter.

  There was no anger left for him to unleash this time. Instead, he grumbled under his breath, shaking his head. “What a sly little girl.”

  After breakfast, Clarissa went to the car and retrieved the gifts she had prepared for Callum—among them, a beautifully cultivated bonsai tree she had bought for a steep price.

  She had a feeling he'd like it. And she was right. Though he huffed and scoffed at the other gifts, pretending not to care, the moment his eyes landed on the bonsai, his expression subtly shifted.

  He lingered. Then, when he thought no one was looking, he picked it up and carried it to his room.

  Clarissa and Clementine exchanged a silent look. Success.

  Encouraged, they spent the afternoon tending to the yard—pulling weeds, watering plants, making the place look more inviting. By the time they finished, the sky was painted in streaks of orange and purple.

  Clarissa wiped the sweat from her brow and stretched, enjoying the cooling breeze. And then—

  She caught sight of someone walking toward the house. Something about him tugged at her memory, a sense of familiarity gnawing at the back of her mind.

  She narrowed her eyes, studying his face, and then it hit her. James.

  Atticus’ uncle. Did James live here? Clarissa hesitated, debating whether to say hello, but he didn’t stick around long enough for her to decide. He walked away quickly, not sparing a glance in her direction.

  Figures. He probably didn’t even remember her. The only thing that mattered to him was his connection with Atticus.

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  Shrugging it off, she picked up the heavy bucket and headed inside. Callum was nowhere to be seen, and Clementine was busy cooking in the kitchen. Opening the fridge, Clarissa noticed something—there was barely any meat left. Just a small chunk, tucked away in the corner.

  Clementine sighed. "There's not enough food."

  Callum was a man who lived alone—he probably never bothered stocking up. He only cared about fresh ingredients and never kept much at home.

  "I saw a small market at the entrance of the village," Clarissa said, already tying up her hair. "I'll go grab some things."

  "Alright, but be quick." Clementine rattled off a list of ingredients, and Clarissa memorized them before heading out.

  The village market was small but packed with variety. The air was thick with the scent of fresh produce, spices, and raw meat. Stalls lined the narrow paths, run by chatty vendors who welcomed her with warm smiles.

  Clarissa’s beauty didn’t go unnoticed. The old ladies selling vegetables slipped extra garlic and onions into her basket. The butcher threw in some bones for free when she bought pork.

  By the time she was done, her basket was overflowing, and she struggled to carry it all.

  Just as she was about to adjust her grip, a group of schoolchildren ran past, laughing and pushing each other as they dashed down the path.

  Clarissa didn’t react fast enough. One of them bumped into her, and the basket tipped. Vegetables scattered across the dirt road—tomatoes rolling toward a nearby stall, leafy greens tumbling into a pile of straw. A couple of potatoes even made their way under someone’s cart.

  "Damn it," she muttered, crouching to pick them up. Then—

  A pair of clean, slender hands reached down, gathering the fallen potatoes before she could.

  "Thanks—" she started, but then the voice stopped her cold.

  "No need."

  Her head snapped up. Atticus. He had changed—just enough to be noticeable. The same sharp, delicate features, but his expression was colder, more guarded. His school uniform—a plain blue-and-white set, simple and even a little outdated—still somehow looked good on him.

  "You…" she trailed off, unsure what to say.

  Atticus didn’t wait for her to finish. He placed the potatoes back in her basket and effortlessly lifted it. "You're on the way. I’ll take you home."

  Clarissa blinked. On the way? He hadn’t grown much taller, and his arms were still thin, but his grip was steady, strong.

  "You’re back in school?" she asked, noticing the uniform again.

  "I guess so."

  Clarissa raised a brow. "What do you mean, ‘I guess’?"

  Atticus pursed his lips, offering no further explanation. Instead, he turned the question on her. "Why are you here?"

  "Visiting family during the holidays," she answered. "What about you? Are you… doing okay?"

  "It's fine." His voice was as cool as ever—detached, unreadable.

  Clarissa studied his expression, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Still, the fact that he was in uniform meant James must have agreed to pay for his education. At least he hadn’t completely abandoned his nephew.

  Just as she was about to say something else, Atticus suddenly stopped walking. "We’re here."

  Clarissa glanced up, realizing they were already at Callum’s house. Atticus handed her the basket, then turned to leave without another word.

  "Wait—where do you live?" she called after him.

  He hesitated, just for a second. Then—

  "It’s nothing special. You’re better off not coming." And with that, he was gone.

  "Clarissa, why are you just standing there? You didn’t even tell me you were back!" Clementine’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

  Clarissa turned with a smile. "I ran into an old friend on the way. Let’s go inside."

  By the time dinner was nearly ready, the smell of home-cooked food filled the house. Callum—who had been holed up somewhere in deep thought—finally emerged, drawn out by the enticing aroma.

  From the doorway, he spotted Clarissa and Clementine bustling around the kitchen, setting the table and stirring pots.

  His gaze softened for just a fraction of a second. The table was already full—steaming plates of vegetables, fragrant meat dishes, warm broth. Everything was carefully prepared, neatly arranged.

  Clarissa turned just in time to see him standing there. Smiling, she greeted him, "Mr. Callum, you’re just in time! I was about to call you. Dinner’s ready—if you’re hungry, go ahead and eat."

  Callum snorted. He looked like he wanted to say something sharp, but at that exact moment, his stomach betrayed him—growling loud enough to be heard.

  Clarissa stifled a laugh. For once, Callum held his tongue.