Chapter Seventeen
The airflow in the trunk was stale and dry, like breathing in crumpled paper, as I grabbed the smallest bag—it was all Cam would allow me to carry.
I had to fight the itch of a cough as we stepped over the threshold into the cabin, and it hit me immediately: it looked as if it had been abandoned for years, dust motes swirling everywhere in the weak afternoon light.
Cam didn’t waste a second. He dumped our bags on the scuffed wood floor, then made a lap around the place, unlocking and opening each window one by one.
“Going to have to let it air out a bit,” he said, his voice echoing off the empty walls. “Dad said he hasn’t had a chance to call a cleaner up here in a while.”
I shrugged. “No big deal,” I said, wrestling the suitcase down the hallway toward the main bedroom.
We spent what felt like forever dusting, unpacking, sneezing, but eventually the place looked fresh, like we’d summoned a new skin over the old bones. I eyed the sunlight peeking across the rug and felt a small jolt of satisfaction.
“I’m going to get a fire going,” Cam said, already at the fireplace with practiced hands.
It wasn’t even cold out, not really—but the idea of a fire seemed too cozy, too picturesque to protest. I let him have his ritual.
I picked a bottle of wine from our grocery bag—a pinot, something light and berry-sweet—and uncorked it, pouring myself a glass.
The sound of the cork popping was like a sigh.
I padded out through the sliding glass doors to the small patio.
Two wooden chairs straddled a round end table facing a quiet fire pit.
There was no flicker, no flame, but I didn’t mind.
I just sat back, glass in hand, letting the chorus of crickets and breeze start to unknot my nerves.
Behind me, Cam was somewhere near the woodshed, chopping at the logs in tidy, rhythmic swings. The crack and thump of wood was like a metronome, even and steady, and I found it oddly soothing. I closed my eyes, sipping my wine, letting the peace settle around my shoulders.
Then my phone buzzed. I almost ignored it, but curiosity won. I fished it out and saw the message.
I hate that I didn’t get to see you at work today.
Nate. My pulse danced in my wrist. He’d been gone for once—the rare time he didn’t show up at the shop. Mr. Porter had apologized, said Nate was drowning in his “real job,” too behind to come in.
That always made me feel guilty, somehow, even though I never asked Nate to visit the store. But I knew he did it for me.
Since our kiss, he’d been different. Open. He lingered, found excuses to brush my hair from my face, to let his fingers graze my cheek under some innocent pretense. I should have shut it down. I knew I should have. But I didn’t want to.
I missed you today too. It’s just not the same without you.
Cam appeared beside me so silently I almost startled. He’d poured himself a glass of wine too, and now he dropped into the chair next to mine, the wood creaking beneath him.
“Who’s that?” he asked, nodding to my phone. “Rachel?”
I slid my phone away, shaking my head. “Just a friend.”
“A friend?” He sipped the wine; eyes fixed on the trees. “What friend?”
“Mr. Porter’s grandson, Nate.” I said it quickly, hoping honesty would be enough. “You know, the bookstore owner. The croissants? I told you about that ages ago—I take the pastries there for him and his employees. Nate is his grandson.”
“Okay,” Cam said slowly, suspicion leaking into his tone, “but that doesn’t explain why Mr. Porter’s grandson would have your phone number. Or why he’d be texting you.”
Oh, here we go.
“Really Cam?” My words came out sharper than intended. “Do you honestly want to go there tonight? Do you feel entitled to ask? Need I remind you about the aquarium?”
Cam’s back went rigid, jaw clenching, anger lighting up his face. It almost made me laugh; for a man with his particular track record… “You’re not sleeping with him, correct?”
I stared, completely floored.
“What if I was?” I hissed, standing so quickly my chair scraped the patio. “What right do you have to ask me that? No, I’m not sleeping with him, but that’s my business. Not yours, not anymore.”
I slammed my glass on the table, louder than I’d meant to. The crystal fractured and a jagged wedge bit into my palm, right along the heartline. Blood welled up immediately.
Cam shot to his feet and caught my wrist, turning my hand over with rough urgency.
“Come on,” he muttered, steering me straight inside.
In the bathroom, he yanked open the medicine cabinet and dug out a tired-looking first aid kit.
I stuck my hand under the faucet, watching the water run pink down the drain.
He pulled me to him, gently dabbing at the wound, then slathered it with antibiotic cream before winding gauze and a sticky bandage around it.
“Thank you,” I said to the sink, my voice small and unfamiliar.
“I’ll always take care of you.” His words were so automatic I almost missed the edge of pain beneath them.
I didn’t answer.
He didn’t look at me at first, just focused on the bandaging. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. His shoulders slumped. “I know I shouldn’t question you, especially after everything. But Livi, the thought of you with someone else—it makes me see red.”
He lifted a hand to stop my retort. “I know. I know it’s not fair. I’m being a hypocritical asshole and I know it. Please just… tell me again you’re not sleeping with him.”
“I’m not.” That much, at least, was true. He didn’t need to know about the kiss.
He looked relieved, but then, “Are you planning to?”
I shook my head, slow and deliberate. I didn’t plan to. But I hadn’t planned that kiss either.
“You’re all I need,” I said finally. And it wasn’t even a lie. “I just wish it went both ways.”
He pulled me into his chest, his lips against my hair. “We’ll get back to that. I promise. I just need a little more time.”
A sound escaped me, a broken little sob, and I didn’t even try to stop it. “I don’t know how much time is left in me to give you, Cam. You’re tearing me apart.”
“I’m so sorry, baby. So, so sorry.” His tears were hot on my scalp, wet and real, and for a second the anger I’d carried felt small and foolish.
∞∞∞
When Cam’s alarm exploded the next morning—a shrill, hand-cramping ring—I groped for the phone, ready to heave it across the bedroom.
“Whoa there, Nelly,” Cam laughed, wrestling it away and killing the noise. “I’m going to need this in one piece.”
“I thought this was a vacation,” I groaned, burrowing deeper in the tangled sheets. “Why are we awake?”
He grinned at me, hair sticking up in wet clumps. “Because I’m renting jet skis and we’re going to have some actual fun. Coffee first, though.” He gave my butt a light smack and headed for the shower.
I stretched out on the bed, sore in the best possible way. The night before, Cam had been relentless, intense, almost desperate to show me I was still the only one. My body ached, and I reveled in every delicious twinge.
I wandered into the kitchen, seeking out the old coffee maker on the counter. I fumbled with the buttons, grateful I’d remembered to bring a bag of my favorite blend from the store—the stuff in the pantry here was probably older than our marriage.
As the coffee dripped, the warm, tangy aroma filled the cabin, pulling me back to life.
Cam strode in wearing nothing but a towel, skin damp and bronze from the shower. I let my eyes wander and didn’t bother to hide it; some routines deserved to be savored.
He caught me ogling and smirked. “Like what you see?”
“Haven’t I always?” I shot back.
His voice dropped lower. “I hope that never changes. Happy birthday, baby.” He leaned in and kissed me. Mint and heat and a rush that made me dizzy.
“Coffee?” he asked, eyes glinting.
“Doesn’t really go with toothpaste,” I pointed out.
He waved me off. “Don’t care. I need the energy. You wore me out last night.”
He wasn’t wrong. Three orgasms in a row—I was still impressed with myself.
I poured two mugs, doctoring mine with cream and sugar, and handed him his black. He took a sip, frowned thoughtfully.
“Did you switch brands?”
“A while ago,” I said. “You never noticed?”
He tasted it again. “I noticed. Just didn’t ask. This is better, though.”
“It’s a new flavor of the same brand. Raspberry notes.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Since when did you become a coffee connoisseur?”
I shrugged, stirring mine. “They sell it at Mr. Porter’s shop.”
“I thought it was antiques?”
“Mainly, but he does coffee and books too.”
He grinned, a little sly. “You must spend a lot of time there.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not really. I just go through books fast. It’s my favorite place…”
He cut me a sideways look. “Is it your favorite because of a certain grandson?”
“Don’t start that again,” I groaned. “I told you. We’re friends.”
He dropped it, hands in the air. “Alright, alright. But you should get ready.”
“Says the man in a towel,” I teased.
He whipped the towel off his waist and snapped it at me, and I shrieked, laughing, fleeing to the bedroom.
I picked out a pink flowery bikini, threw a sheer white cover-up over it, and slipped on matching pink sandals. Hair up in a messy bun, sunglasses, done.
“I’m ready,” I announced, popping out of the bathroom.
Cam had changed into his own swimming trunks and a tank, looking like an ad for beach vacations everywhere. He was so annoyingly hot it made my knees tingle.
“We’ve got all night for that, babe,” he winked, seeing my reaction.
We locked up the cabin and followed the winding path down to the rental booth—a mile or so, shaded and quiet, the songs of birds rising overhead.
“Sometimes I wonder why we ever wanted the city,” I mused aloud. “It’s so peaceful here.”
He snorted. “Jobs, babe. Not a lot of tech startups out here.”
“There’s more to life than money.”
“That’s easy to say when you already have it.”