Only Oscar (Wattys 2022 Shortlist!)

Chapter Twenty-One

Oscar propped a shoulder against the door frame and smiled indulgently. "What have you lost?" 

The room looked like a tornado had hit it. Though, to be fair, it took a trained eye to notice it was any different from how it usually looked. 

He'd always liked the way she Calliefied her bedroom.

It was filled with splashes of bright silk, satin and lace, topped off with an eclectic collection of unique hats, costume jewelry, finely woven scarves and dozens of the small, sparkly things which caught her eye over the years. There were hints of the varying lotions she used and her favorite perfume in the air, too. Scents he would always associate with her and the time they spent in her, currently unmade, bed.

Chaotic and colorful. That was his girl. 

"My locket and the ring Beth gave me last Christmas," she replied as her head disappeared into the bottom of the closet. "The opal one you said you liked a couple of days ago. And my red shoes. No, scratch that, I just found the shoes..."

Nudging off the door frame, Oscar stepped over to the dresser. 

"The ring is in the jewelry box your mom gave you for your eighteenth." He glanced up, reached out and hooked his finger under the gold chain hidden beneath a scarf on a corner of her mirror. "And your locket is here, too."

He narrowed his eyes at it as Callie wriggled back out of the closet, sat on the edge of the bed and put on her shoes. We meet again, nemesis. 

One of these days he vowed he would make it into the hallowed ground Callie had reserved for special relationships. Then he opened it and blinked in surprise. 

"You put pictures in it."

"You were the one who complained about the lack of them," Callie countered as she appeared at his side, looked in her jewelry box and sighed. "I swear that ring wasn't in there a minute ago."

"They're pictures of us." 

Not recent ones, the faces looking back at him belonged to the kids they'd been not long after they met, but that wasn't the point.

"So?" She lifted a brush off the dresser and dragged it through her hair.

"When did you put them in here?"

"After you rescued it from the fountain in Central Park."

Oscar raised his chin and looked at her reflection. "You mean the time you dropped it while dancing in the fountain and I almost got arrested by a cop who thought I was stealing the coins that folks toss in there when they make a wish?"

She shot him a small smile. "Yeah."

Good times.

He watched as she twisted her hair up, clipped it in place and studied the result from side-to-side in the mirror. "And these pictures have been in there since then?"

It had to have been three, maybe four years ago?

"Yup."

How she could be so nonchalant about something that meant so much to him was a source of amazement to Oscar. But then, if he'd never mentioned how badly he wanted to have his picture in there, how was she supposed to know? 

It wasn't like she could read his mind.

He shook his head when, dissatisfied with the result, she took her hair down and started over. "Leave it down."

"You like it up. You said that way you can kiss my neck when I least expect it." She set the brush aside. "Is there a word for people with a neck fetish?"