Chapter 33
Camila
Hess and I spent the Fourth of July riding four-wheelers, taking turns on the homemade zipline, playing horseshoe, and eating classic American food.
As the afternoon stretches late, I find myself in the kitchen beside Anita.
She wipes down the counters while I rinse dishes and stack them carefully in the drying rack.
Through the open window, the breeze carries the sound of her grandchildren playing while her boys holler from a very competitive cornhole game.
Anita stops in front of the window, glancing outside. “I give that game five minutes until all four of them are on the ground, wrestling over the rules.”
I laugh. “Is that usually how it ends?”
“They’re all just a bunch of little boys in men’s bodies.”
“You did a good job raising them. They’ve been so welcoming to me.”
“If you can handle their teasing, they’re not so bad.” Anita glances at me, her smile soft but full of pride. “Nothing in life has mattered more to me than raising my children and seeing them build families of their own. Everything else is just extra.”
I pause, setting down the dish towel. “How did you do it? I mean, how did you build such a close-knit family and marriage and keep it going all these years? What’s the secret?”
She chuckles, shaking her head like I’ve asked a silly question.
“There’s no big secret. It just takes a lot of work.
A lot of choosing love, every single day, even when it’s hard.
And maybe a little luck, too, in choosing the right person who’s willing to put in that same amount of work right beside you. ”
Work.
That part I understand. I’ve always believed in hard work.
It’s what got me through law school, what built my career, what’s carried me when I didn’t have anyone else to lean on.
Work has always been my weapon, my shield, my answer.
I can outwork anyone. But I’ve never thought about applying it to marriage, to my marriage.
“I’m going to tell you what the preacher who married us said.” Anita leans against the counter, facing me. “He said every marriage needs to remember KFC.”
My brows furrow. “The fast-food chicken place?”
A soft blow of laughter puffs out. “Kindness. Forgiveness. Commitment. Those three things are the real secret to success. Now, I know there are plenty of sad situations where those three things don’t apply.
But in most cases, with a good man and a good woman, those things will strengthen a relationship. ”
Anita’s words stay with me as I step out onto the porch and find Hess.
Two kids hang from each arm as he spins in a circle until they fall off from dizziness.
Another nephew runs and jumps on his back, causing him to groan and fall over in fake defeat.
His smile is wide and happy as he looks up at me and waves.
I wave back, laughing to myself. He looks so at ease, so natural, like he was made for this.
Made for family. Made to be the kind of dad every kid would dream of having.
And made to be a husband who loves and respects his wife.
And suddenly, for the first time since I was a child, I let myself wish.
Not for success, not for control, not for independence.
But for something softer, fulfilling, and more impossible.
For this.
Hess
We spend the last hours of sunlight driving home to Queen Creek with easy conversation carrying the two-hour drive.
Back at the house, the night feels sweltering and hot, the kind of dry heat Arizona summers are known for, but that doesn’t stop us from laying out a blanket in the front yard to watch neighbors let off fireworks down the road.
The show isn’t impressive, given how far away my neighbors are, but there are flares of light that scatter in the distance then fade to black again.
Camila steps barefoot across the blanket, her dark curls tied up into a bun. She lowers herself down with me, both of us stretching out on our backs, and for the first time all day, it’s just us. No family, no noise, no teasing. Just the booms of celebration down the road.
“Thanks for coming to Prescott with me.” I keep my eyes on the sky and stars above.
“I’m glad I came. It let me see another side of you.”
“Good or bad?”
“Definitely good.” Her smile turns to me. “You’re going to make a great dad someday.”
“I don’t know about that. Being the cool uncle is a lot different than being a great dad.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re perfectly built to be a husband and a dad.”
“What about you? Do you want kids?” It’s a question I’ve been avoiding asking because I’m afraid of the answer. But it’s a question I need to ask.
She glances up at the sky. “Being a mother is something I wrote off. In my line of work, the children are always the losers because of selfish adults. They end up being used as pawns or screwed up because they saw too much too young. So, I promised myself a few years ago that I wouldn’t have children.
If you don’t believe in marriage, it’s difficult to hope for children. ”
My heart tanks. I’m not stupid. From day one, Camila has been nothing but honest about where she stood on traditional topics like marriage and family. I knew our goals didn’t entirely align, but I wanted to believe she was open to them if she found the right guy. Now, I’m not so sure.
“But…” she adds, causing me to turn and look at her, “when I was little, I used to play house and dream about becoming a wife and mother. As I grew up, I talked myself out of those dreams, but seeing you and your family the last two days has reminded me of that little girl who wanted that.” Slowly, her head shifts, and she meets my gaze.
“Maybe being happy as a wife and mother isn’t unattainable. ”
“Maybe it’s not. Maybe you just need the right partner.”
We stare at each other, letting the silence speak for itself. Carefully, like I’m afraid to ruin the moment, I slip my fingers into hers. Her hand is smaller than mine, soft and warm, and when she curls her fingers around mine, it feels right.
I take a breath, the weight of what I’ve been holding in pressing on my chest. “Camila, I more than like you. I don’t want to scare you off by saying too much, too soon. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t falling for you.”
Her eyes shine in the moonlight, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she shifts closer until her shoulder brushes mine. Slowly, she leans in and presses her lips to mine.
The kiss is soft, tender, unhurried. It isn’t about passion or hunger.
It’s about hope and letting go of fears.
About her choosing me in this moment and the idea of a life I could offer her, despite her deep-rooted reservations.
I cradle her cheek with my free hand, my thumb brushing the line of her jaw as her lips move against mine again, steady and sure. She tastes faintly sweet, like lemonade and watermelon, and I let myself sink into it, savoring every second of this strong, accomplished woman.
She kisses me again, lingering this time.
I roll our bodies as we kiss so I’m leaning over her, careful and gentle, holding her like she’s the most precious thing to me.
Her hand rests against my heart, and it feels too fast, too loud, like it’s trying to tell her everything I want to say but can’t say yet.