Chapter 22 #3
My heart swoons, getting big ideas. Ideas we still need to discuss. Try explaining that to the organ that’s now fallen harder for this man.
Cameron’s gone for a few minutes, and in that time, I don’t think the smile leaves my face. I’m such a goner for this man, falling deeper when he’s not here. Knowing he wants more than casual with me leaves me staggering with plans and ideas.
It’s not only my heart getting ahead of itself.
The balcony offers a spectacular view of the beauty of Whispering Tide, and my eyes scan the grounds.
Palm trees offer shade to the people below.
Twinkle lights illuminate one of the grassy areas.
In the distance, the brownish-blue water of the Atlantic Ocean shimmers.
The splendor of the resort adds another layer to being back in Cameron’s orbit.
Cameron’s footsteps drag my attention from the view. “Bless your heart,” I mutter when I spot the very large coffee cup in his hands. “It doesn’t bode well this place delivers here. It could be very bad for me. Very good, but terrible as well.”
Cameron nods. “I understand. I have a love-hate relationship with it myself. It’s easy to become addicted.” He hands my cup to me. “Where were we?”
My mind scrolls back to where we left off in our discussion. “Neither of us wanting casual.”
“Okay.” He drags his chair closer to mine, motioning me to scoot over so there’s enough room for both chairs on this side of the table. Which there isn’t. The fact he wants to be closer lifts my heart. “Not casual. So, dating?”
Thinking quickly, I add, “Exclusively.”
“That’s a given, but noted. Free yourself up for tomorrow night. I’ll take care of the details.”
“Like I’m so busy.” I can’t stop the eye roll.
“What about work?”
“Brought it with me. I’ve got some flexibility on hours, but I usually work about five hours a day, sometimes more, sometimes less. Next week will be busier because I added an extra project. Are your hours the same every day?”
He shakes his head. “No, not really. I don’t have set hours, though I tend to come to work early.
Some days I work a solid eight to nine hours.
On other days, it’s shorter. Occasionally, I’ll work a morning shift, and if there’s something at night I need to do, I’ll go home in the middle of the day and come back.
And I’ve been known to spend the entire day here, in some ‘working’ capacity. We’ll figure it out as we go.”
I don’t want to ask, but I need the answer. “And when I have to leave?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when it comes. Why did you only book four nights?” Disappointment settles into his features.
“Elisa did it. She’s the one who stranded me at the airport with a one-way ticket to paradise. Not that I’m mad or anything. Quite the opposite.”
“Remind me to thank her properly the next time you talk to her. What happens after those nights are up?”
“Hadn’t thought that far. Seems silly to waste money on a hotel suite when you live so close .
. .” I suck in a breath as my suggestion hangs between us.
I don’t know how he’s going to feel about my staying with him.
Does he have an extra bedroom? Would he want me “moving” in with him this soon in our relationship?
“My place is nice, but it doesn’t have quite the same amenities as what you have here, but the price tag on this suite is hefty. I agree it seems silly to waste the money on it. Even if it’s Elisa’s money.”
I laugh, the sound making Cameron jump. “As if Elisa has her own money. It’s Daddy’s credit card.”
“Ah. Why the two bedrooms?”
“I haven’t a clue, nor have I had a chance to ask her.”
“Was she planning on joining you?”
Hmm, hadn’t thought of that. “No?” I answer with a question. “Not that she mentioned. Though she’s queen of spur of the moment.” Giving it more thought, it’s something she would totally do.
“So let’s get our use out of the suite while you have it, and you’ll stay with me until you have to go back to the wasteland you call home.”
I chuckle at his use of “wasteland.” “Is that what you kids call anything that’s not paradise?”
He nods, not seeing anything weird about it. “Totes.”
The conversation lulls a bit, the silence not awkward. It’s odd for it to be comfortable, but I guess that’s how my relationship with Cameron has always been—comfortable, easy, casual.
No, not casual. At least not in the sense of a casual “fling.”
A pounding on the door alerts us to our food being delivered.
“Would you judge me for eating dessert first?”
Cameron questions the seriousness with a raised brow. “Feast out. I already did.” His gaze falls to the area between my legs, the location of his feast.
“Super.”
Cameron answers the door, carrying our takeout bag to the balcony. “The fries smell delicious.”
“Good thing we got enough so we don’t have to share.”
“Do you not share well, Juliana?”
“Not steak fries.”
“Noted.”
Over dinner, our conversation drifts to other topics, our “talk” long forgotten. Mostly because the basics have been ironed out, and we have to let the chips fall and things play out before we make life-altering decisions.
He shares stories of people he’s met and demands some rich people have. There was a point when he definitely censored his comments, not wanting to upset me.
I don’t know his exact financial status—neither current nor growing up—but I know his family wasn’t as wealthy as mine.
When they were kids, Preston took pity on him for being one of the “scholarship” kids at camp, and why he invited him to our house during the summer, somehow convincing our parents to foot the bill for his visit.
He never treated him differently because he wasn’t offered the same luxuries in life our grandparents’ money afforded us.
For me, he was always Cameron—Preston’s funny friend who I couldn’t help crushing on.
Now, he’s still that guy, in a grown-up’s body, and way more than a crush.
Being able to vacation at a place like Whispering Tide is a perk my money affords me.
However, having someone like the man sitting next to me, even if we were eating dinner in a concrete jungle, is more of the path I’m on.
Simple, comfortable, loving. That’s the relationship I want.
Nothing flashy. A partner, maybe some kids down the road, shooting the shit after work over burgers and steak fries.
Wow, way to get ahead of myself, jumping five to ten years into the future based on one conversation.
“We should go on a proper date,” I blurt out of the blue.
Cameron feigns contempt. He waves his hand over the mostly empty takeout containers spread out over the borrowed coffee table. “Does this not do it for you, Juliana Langley?”
For a second, I think he’s serious. My breath catches in my throat, and nerves flutter. I’ve offended him.
“You should see your face.” Attention focused on him, I take in the way he’s chuckling. The breath I’d been holding swooshes out. “I was kidding. Of course, we should go on dates. Now that we’re dating. Probably more than one. Starting with tomorrow night, remember?”
I recall something earlier about freeing myself up for tomorrow. Defending my actions, I state with a little less bravado, “For the record, everything about this dinner does it for me. You do it for me, Cameron. Being next to you, in any capacity, does it for me.”
The lines around his eyes soften as his finger tips my chin up. “Is it wrong to say ditto?”
So cliché. But a smile creeps onto my lips. “Not if you truly mean it.”
His head nods excitedly. “I wasn’t lying when I told you not to leave. There are so many things I want to explore with you, so many nights I want to sleep next to you, and as many mornings waking up with you cuddled in my arms. A proper date is only the beginning.”
His words set my heart soaring. They won’t be words for long. He’ll make sure they happen.