Chapter 28
Camila
The house is quiet when I push the front door open, the kind of quiet that comes with midnight.
There’s a beat of disappointment in my heart, a wish that Hess would’ve waited up to see me after a grueling day at work.
Who am I kidding? After a grueling week at work.
We haven’t had a chance to connect since last Sunday night when we played checkers for two solid hours.
But then Monday came, and the reality of my life set in, and I haven’t really seen him since.
That’s really why I’m disappointed. But wanting Hess to wait up until I get home is a strange wish for a girl like me, a girl who prides herself on being independent and not needing anyone to get by.
But tonight I feel overwhelmed and lonely and would love nothing more than to see Hess.
I’ve been conflicted since the kiss and since he laid out all his intentions.
I’ve never had a man be that honest with his feelings before.
His words scared me, probably because I want them to be true so badly.
But then I went to work and let doubt creep into every corner of my heart, and I feel myself pulling away again.
I can’t help myself. It’s my conditioned response.
I close the front door behind me and walk across the living room.
Every light is off except one. A single glow spills from the kitchen, warm against the shadows.
On the table sits a tall glass vase filled with a bouquet unlike anything I’ve ever been given—stems of deep-indigo blooms, pale-blush roses, and sprigs of something wild and fragrant I can’t even name.
It’s striking and unexpected, carefully arranged, like it was chosen just for me.
My lips part, a smile tugging before I can stop it. Warmth rushes through me, funneling happiness, excitement, and fluttering in my stomach. Butterflies just from flowers on a table—but really from Hess’s thoughtfulness.
There’s a card propped against the vase with my name. I reach for it, sliding the small envelope free and opening it to read.
Here’s to choosing to make something beautiful and then fighting hard to make it last.
The words blur for a second before I blink them back into focus.
I know exactly what he means. It’s not just flowers. It’s not just a note. It’s Hess, slicing a line straight through the wall I’ve spent years building to protect my heart.
Terrifying. That’s what it is.
Because I don’t believe in things lasting. Not marriages, not promises, not love. I’ve seen too much, lived too much of the fallout.
And yet, my fingers brush the petals, soft and delicate, and for one dangerous moment, I ache for something more. Maybe I’ve built a narrative in my head that can be easily disproved by one good man.