Chapter 45 This is my room
This is my room
Having Camille here in the home I grew up in does something to my heart. It means more than I expected. Seeing her in this space that shaped who I am, it anchors something I didn’t know was floating. I just want to kiss her and hold her, and tell everyone how I feel about her.
How much I love her.
Part of me knows it’s probably too soon for that yet.
I don’t even know if she feels the same yet.
But I do. God, I love her.
I don’t know when it happened exactly. Maybe since she started to finally let me in, or maybe it’s been since I first met her, buried under the knowledge that I couldn’t have her.
But it’s real now. Bone-deep.
Quiet, fierce and unwavering.
She’s everything.
The way she hums along to a song only she can hear while she cooks or draws, the way she scrunches her nose when she’s trying not to smile. The way she handles everything that’s thrown her way.
The strength it took for her to leave, to rebuild herself. She’s one of the bravest people I know. And all I want is to protect that light in her. To make her laugh every damn day.
To love her in all the ways she never got before.
If she never feels the same way about me, I’ll still be here.
Because loving her isn’t about what I get back, it’s about who I get to be when I’m near her.
And I’ve never liked myself more than when she’s looking at me, like I might be worth something to her.
My mum interrupts my train of thought. “Patrick’s on his way back over, he ducked home for a quick shower. Nicole and I are still working on the sides.”
“Is Derick coming too?” I ask Nicole.
“Nope, he’s busy. Again.” Nicole says bluntly, clearly annoyed.
“Go and give Camille a tour of the house,” Mum ushers off.
“Alright.” I give her a kiss on the cheek before they walk off to the kitchen.
I grab Camille’s hand.
I have an idea. I take her to my old room.
“And this,” I push open the door, “is my old room.” I close the door behind her. She looks around the room smiling.
“It’s nice. Are you planning to show me around the rest of the house or are you going to lock me in here?” She laughs.
I don’t.
I lock the door.
It’s a stupid move—reckless, maybe. But I can’t help it.
She’s standing there with that soft smile and those blue-grey eyes, looking around my childhood bedroom like it holds my secrets, and suddenly all I want to do is kiss her.
To pull her close and remind her she’s safe here.
That she’s wanted. That she’s mine, if she wants to be.
I step toward her, slow and steady, watching the way her breath catches as I close the gap between us. I gently lean her back against the door, and I press one palm beside her head, close but not touching. Just giving her the chance to stop this, to stop me. But she doesn’t.
She tilts her chin up and whispers, “You’re so naughty Lucas.”
I lean in. “You like it.”
“Maybe I do.”
Her mouth meets mine like it’s been waiting for this—like she’s been waiting.
And fuck, I’m gone. There’s nothing hesitant about the way Camille kisses.
She’s heat and softness and urgency wrapped up in one perfect package, and when she presses closer, hands gripping the hem of my shirt, I feel like my knees might give out.
She makes a soft sound against my lips and it damn near undoes me.
I kiss her harder, deeper, one hand sliding to her waist and the other cradling her jaw. I want to touch every inch of her, memorize the shape of her, show her with my body what I’ve been feeling for weeks.
But then she pulls back, lips parted, breathless.
“Wait—Lucas—”
I freeze. “Too much?”
She shakes her head, biting her lip. “No. Not too much. Just… not here. Not the first time I meet your family. Your mum’s literally making dinner in the other room.”
I blink, then laugh, because—yeah. She’s right. What the hell was I thinking?
“Shit. You’re right. I got a little carried away.”
She smiles up at me, cheeks flushed. “You’re not the only one.”
I brush her hair behind her ear and drop a kiss to her lips. “Okay. Tour it is.”
I adjust myself in my pants before I unlock the door and lace my fingers through hers.
We walk the hallway slowly, her fingers warm in mine. I show her the living room, the sunroom with the good light, the timber floors I updated last summer with Patrick.
She listens to every word, asks questions, smiles at little things, even the photo of Patrick in year ten with the worst mullet known to man.
When we get to the height wall, I stop.
“This,” I say, pointing to the faint pencil marks on the frame, “was sacred ground.”
She leans in, inspecting them. “Lucas, Patrick… Nicole. You were the tallest?”
“Was. Patrick had a small growth spurt by the time we stopped measuring ourselves.” I admit.
Her gaze lands on a messier scrawl, a faded mark higher than the rest.
Dad.
She runs a finger gently over it.
“You miss him,” she says softly.
“Every day.” I swallow hard, blinking back the heat in my eyes. “I reckon he would have liked you.”
“Yeah?” She smiles.
“Yeah. You’re strong, smart, and you don’t pretend to be anything you’re not. He respected that kind of thing. You would have had him wrapped around your little finger.”
She smiles, soft and a little sad. “I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”
I tug her in gently, kiss her temple. “Me too.”
We finish the tour and loop back toward the kitchen, where Mum and Nicole’s voices float down the hall, and I feel… settled.
She fits here.
She fits with me.
And I think that maybe she’s ready to do this with me.
But I’ll wait as long as she needs.
She’s worth it.
Mum’s standing by the kitchen counter, her hands busy. She looks up as we walk in.
“So, what’d ya think?” She says, eyes sparkling.
“Incredible.” Camille smiles, then offers, “can I help with anything?”
“No, you’re the guest tonight.” Nicole says.
“We got it covered.” Mum adds, then looks at me. “Your brother’s here, can you give him a hand plating the meat please Lucas?” She starts to hand me the empty dishes for the meat.
“Sure, no worries Mum.” I take the plates off her to head outside. “You good?” I ask Camille before I leave.
She smiles peacefully. “I’m great.”
When I head out onto the back patio, I see Patrick standing next to the smoker and the fire pit. Sally and Henry—the Border Collies—linger around him happily.
I give him a wave when he sees me. He lifts his hand that’s holding a can of coke. Patrick hasn’t had a drink of alcohol since everything happened and whenever I’m around him, I won’t drink either.
“How’s it going brother? Mum wanted us to start plating up the meat.” I put the dishes down on the table next to the smoker.
“No worries. And yeah mate, it’s been alright.” He nods and takes a sip of his drink. “Want one?”
“Sure.” I bend down and give both dogs a pat.
He grabs a can from the esky under the table and hands it to me. I crack it open and take a long drink.
We work in comfortable silence, plating the meat as the last rays of sun stretch across the paddocks.
Rick—Patrick—he’s always been the quiet one. Steady. Dependable. He became more private since he lost his family. I could see how much it changed him, understandably. And I know better than to push for conversation when he’s not offering it.
So I just stand beside him, letting the silence stretch, feeling strangely at peace.
I am home. Camille is here. The sky is glowing. And everything feels exactly as it should in my life.