Chapter 21
ADAM
It’s early when I wake up. Too early, considering how late we stayed up last night.
A smile creeps over my face as I recall all the things we did together.
Our bodies were so in sync. We knew exactly how to please the other.
Being with her is unlike any other sexual relationship I’ve ever had.
Maybe it’s our maturity. We’ve both been married before, and neither of us want to play games.
We know what we want in bed, and we aren’t afraid to ask for it.
Once our hearts are in the same place, we’ll be perfect together.
I was so afraid I fucked it up last night by blurting out the full extent of my feelings. I think I freaked her out a bit by admitting that I love her. The look on her face was truly filled with mixed emotions. I sensed she wanted to both run and hug me.
I know she feels more for me than she’s willing to admit. I get it. Just like mine, her own heart is at war with itself over her past love and the potential of a new love.
The possibility that she loves me too—or could with a little more time—is there. There’s no way she could make love to me like she did unless she feels something very close to those words, too.
I hear a sobbing sound coming from behind the bathroom door and frown. The door is closed. It wasn’t when we fell asleep.
“Camille?” I call out.
No response.
I slide out of bed, hunt down my boxers, and gently rap on the door. “Camille, are you okay in there?”
I hear a garbled sound that faintly resembles a yes, but I don’t buy it. Something has her seriously upset, and I need to know what.
I try the handle and the door cracks open. “Can I come in?”
She doesn’t answer me. Instead, I hear more sobs, and I can’t take another moment of it. I open the door to find her curled up on the floor next to the tub.
I move to hug her, but she swats me away. I close my eyes—my arms screaming to hold her, and my hands itching to soothe her. Her rejection stings.
I kneel next to her, taking care not to touch her. I don’t know what has her so upset. I don’t want to add to it, but at the same time it's killing me not to hold her. “Talk to me, Cami. Please.”
She shakes her head, her tears puddling on the floor beneath her. She looks so frail and defeated. So unlike the brave and strong Camille I’ve fallen in love with. Whatever has her upset is huge. I hate that she isn’t talking to me.
I can’t take it anymore, and I scoop her into my arms. She can be mad at me all she wants. I need her close to me. Thankfully, she doesn’t resist. I hold her close to my chest as I carry her back to the bed.
For a moment, she curls into me, letting me comfort her. Then she stiffens. I feel her entire body harden against my touch. She shakes her head as I sit down with her.
“No, no,” she mumbles as she pushes away from me and cries. “I can’t do this.”
I let her go, and she buries her face in the pillows. My eyes water, and I fight back my own tears seeing her like this. I need her to let me in and seeing her like this is tearing me apart. “What can’t you do, Cami? You’re not making any sense. What happened?”
“I can’t.” Her voice is muffled. “I need time.”
“Time,” I whisper. I close my eyes and push off the bed.
This is all my fault. I should have been more careful with my words. I’m a fool for letting it slip that I love her. She’s not ready to let a new love into her heart, and my feelings are too much for her. She’s not ready.
I’ve screwed everything up by letting my emotions get ahead of me.
How could I be so fucking stupid? Even worse, I let myself think everything was fine after she asked me to come home with her.
Maybe she was okay in her post-coital bliss last night, but clearly this morning she’s having second thoughts.
I do the only thing I can do. I gather my clothes—all of them. I’d been staying with her so much lately, I kept several changes of clothing at her house. Once my overnight bag is packed and I’m dressed, I return to her bedside. She’s still buried in her pillow, her face completely hidden.
“Cami.” Her name, which once tasted so sweet, now leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
This hurts far worse than it should. I haven’t known her that long, and somehow this pain is worse than when Irene left me.
Maybe that’s because I never really loved Irene.
I loved the idea of her, and the dream of the family we were supposed to create.
But this—Camille’s refusal to talk to me—this is hell.
She still doesn’t look at me. My heart shatters a little more. I steel my emotions and manage to speak these next words without crumbling into a pile of dust. “I’m leaving. I’ll give you your time.”
I wait for her to respond, but she remains silent. I take that as my cue to leave.
Fuck. How did things go so wrong so fast?
With one last glance back at her, I leave.
Twenty-four hours ago I woke up ready to have the best day of my life. Today, I feel like my life has been fucked all to hell all over again. And I have no one to blame but myself.
An hour later, I’m standing in my own bathroom, trimming my beard. We’re getting close to finishing up the renovation on Camille’s chalet, and I really should be there to see it through. I’m not needed. I just wanted to be the one to do this for her.
But I can’t. Not anymore.
My foreman can handle the details of the upstairs rooms without me.
In fact, he’d probably prefer I not be there.
I’ve never taken such an active role in the day-to-day activities of a remodel before anyway.
I design the plans, pick out products, and inspect the work being done.
Sometimes I’ll work beside my crew if I need to get away from my desk, but I’ve gone above and beyond for Camille.
Within a couple weeks, everything will be finished except for her master suite.
Despite her uncertainty with her private rooms, I have a plan based on all of our conversations. I planned to discuss some design options for her master suite with her today, but that’s not going to happen now.
Not after this morning.
The designs are a surprise. After breakfast, I was going to show her how I’d taken all her ideas and turned them into a calm, spa-like room she’ll love.
She’s been so indecisive about the bathroom choices, but I’m certain I’ve figured out what she loves the most. I was looking forward to seeing the look on her face when I showed her what I came up with and the sample products I’ve gathered.
But none of that will happen now.
It’s a little after one o’clock when there’s a knock on my door.
I look up to see Ricky leaning against the frame. “Hey, what’s up?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he says.
I sit back in my chair and toss my pencil on my desk. I’ve been working tirelessly on the design concepts for the mountain resort Craig asked me to bid on months ago. He finally got back to me this morning and wants me to fly to Chicago on Monday for a series of meetings next week.
It’s the perfect distraction to keep my mind off Camille. I wish it were working.
I’d almost given up on this project after not hearing back from him for so long, but if I understand him correctly, the job is mine as long as these meetings next week go well.
The local community is protesting the resort in favor of environmental protection. They brought in some environmental activist groups to help stop the development. Anytime activists get involved, things get complicated.
I get it. I consider myself an environmentalist and have always taken the needs of the natural environment into my designs. I think that’s the main reason the client decided to work with me. If anyone can alleviate the local concerns, it's me.
It also helps that the resort will practically be in my backyard. The construction site is only about twenty miles north of Watercress Falls. We’d be the closest town for tourists. Since the resort will cater to high-end clientèle, our business market would expand.
“Well.” Ricky’s voice is stern, and it makes me sink a little in my chair. “You gonna answer me or just sit there?”
I shake my head, and try to focus on him. “I’m sorry. What was the question?”
“What’s going on?” He moves into my office and sits in the chair opposite my desk.
“You’re not at Camille’s house, and you didn’t come by the coffee shop this morning.
When’s the last time you skipped coffee and pastries at the shop on a weekday?
Rachel says Camille is upset and needs to talk.
” He puts his hands up in air quotes as he says that last part.
“Just busy. Got a call from the Chicago client, and he needs new drawings by Monday.” I pick up my pencil and start to make notes in the margins, hoping that’s enough to get Ricky to drop it.
“Not buying it.” His voice is harsh.
I cringe as his glare cuts through me. I rub the bridge of my nose and sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Well, tough shit. We’re talking.”
“Ricky. Don’t push me. I’m not in the mood.
” I push up from my desk and face the window.
I can’t look at him right. I’m still way too emotional after what happened this morning.
Ricky has already seen me completely break down over a woman.
He doesn’t need to see me do it again. I should have learned my lesson.
But nope. Here I stand, heartbroken and foolish.
“Listen, man. Rachel said Camille is pretty cut up about something. Crying, and all. Said something about screwing up with you.”
“She didn’t screw up. I did.” I inhale deeply before I turn around and lean against the windowpane. My gaze is focused on the floor in front of me because I can’t get myself to look Ricky in the eye. “I love her. And like a complete idiot, I told her as much.”
“Jesus Christ.” He sits back and runs his hands down his face. “Can’t say I’m surprised. About you loving her. She’s pretty great. I take it she didn’t reciprocate?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t mean to say it.
It just came out. I told her not to respond—to take her time to process.
We went back to her house, and everything was fine.
At least, I thought it was. I woke up to find her in tears on her bathroom floor.
She wouldn’t talk to me. Just kept saying she can’t and that she needs time. ”
“Well, shit,” he huffs.
“Shit is right. I’d laugh if this weren’t so damn painful and about my life.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
I shrug because I don’t know what else to do anymore. “Nothing. Wait. Give her time like she asked. What else can I do?”
“Not much, I suppose.”
“At least I have the resort project now. I fly to Chicago on Monday. I’ll be there most of the week to finalize the conceptual details and help address some local concerns with the project. That should keep my mind busy.”
Ricky nods but the look in his eyes gives away his concern. “You gonna be all right? We can’t have you going off the deep end like you did with Irene.”
“I’m not there. I look and feel like shit. But I’m not going down that path again.” Nope, this path is different. This path is worse, but I can’t tell him that.
“Okay. But don’t be surprised if I watch you like a hawk. I don’t want to have to drag your ass back like last time.”
“Thanks. And I appreciate that.”
I won’t repeat last time. I won’t let myself succumb to that level of depression ever again.
I hurt. It’s worse than when Irene left, but I’m better equipped to cope with it. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve been preparing myself for this rejection since the day I found out she was a widow.