34. Cami
Cami
Springsteen by Eric Church
I wake to the warmth of Jack’s hands on my waist and the press of his mouth against the back of my shoulder. Sunlight’s barely stretching across the curtains, golden and soft. Outside, the ranch is still asleep.
But here, it’s just us.
I shift slightly and feel his chest against my back, the heat of him sinking into me. His hand slides up under the hem of his shirt, the one I stole last night after he made me forget my own name.
“Morning,” he murmurs, voice still rough and sleepy.
“Mmm,” I hum, eyes still closed. “Is it?”
He laughs softly, then kisses the curve of my neck, his stubble scraping just right.
I roll to face him, and the look in his eyes nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. All sleepy heat and absolute adoration .
“I love you,” he whispers, brushing his thumb across my bottom lip. “I never stopped.”
I stare at him for a long beat. Then I pull him down and kiss him like I believe him, because I do. Because I feel it. Because I know it now.
And as the sun creeps higher outside the window, we forget everything else.
The only things that matter are lips, skin, tangled sheets, and whispered promises we mean this time.
I’m still floating on the sunrise high of Jack’s hands and his whispered promises when the white SUV pulls into the driveway.
I freeze mid-coffee sip. “Uh, oh.”
Jack, shirtless on the porch like a damn cowboy ad for sin, squints toward the gravel. “Expecting someone?”
“Nope,” I say grimly. “That’s my mother.”
He straightened slightly but didn’t flinch. “Want me to tell her you're busy?”
“Just… let's see what she wants. Behave,” I warn with a smirk.
My mom has been oddly trying. While I am giving her a chance, a part of me is still waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“No promises,” he mutters with a grin.
The car door opens and out steps Teresa Wilder, hair smooth, outfit crisp for Bridger Falls. Her expression is unreadable as she takes in the porch, the coffee mugs, Jack.
She walks toward us with slow, deliberate steps, like she’s preparing for battle or a funeral. Or maybe both.
I steel myself, preparing for the other shoe to drop with her. She's been on her best behavior lately but that doesn't mean we're over everything that has happened.
“Morning,” she says, and her voice isn’t sharp. It’s… cautious. Interesting.
“Hey,” I answer, unsure whether to go full sarcasm or play it safe. I land on cautiously neutral.
“Teresa,” Jack says with a polite nod.
She glances at him, then, surprisingly gives him a small smile. “Jack. You look well.”
“Thanks,” he replies. “Ranch life agrees with me.”
“That's good,” she says, quieter.
There’s a pause, and for once, it’s not filled with passive-aggressive daggers.
“I heard about the show,” she continues, glancing between the two of us. “The… finale. And everything that’s happened since.”
I tense, waiting for the lecture.But it doesn’t come.
She looks at me fully now, eyes softening in a way that guts me. “You look happy, Cami.”
I blink. “I… am.”
Teresa nods once. “Good. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Even if I didn’t always say it the right way.”
I stare at her, stunned.Jack rests his hand lightly on my lower back, grounding me.
“You came all the way out here just to say that?” I ask.
She huffs a small laugh. “And to see it for myself.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Jack, God bless him, steps forward slightly. “I love your daughter. I know we have history. But I’m not going anywhere. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life making sure she knows she’s happy.”
Teresa studies him for a long, long moment.
Then, shockingly, she smiles. “I believe you. ”
She turns to me. “You’ve grown into something strong and fierce and bright. I see it now. I just wanted you to know… I’m proud of you. Both of you."
That’s when my throat tightens.
Because that's something I never thought I’d hear from her. Maybe she’s not perfect. Maybe she’s not the warmest or easiest. But she’s trying. And right now? That’s everything.
I nod, blinking fast. “Thanks, Mom.”
She gives one more small smile, then turns back toward the car. “I’ll let you two get back to your morning. I hear there’s a party tonight?”
“At The Black Dog,” I say. “You coming?”
She pauses. “I might stop by.”
Then she gets in the car and drives away, dust trailing behind her, leaving Jack and me on the porch in stunned silence.
He bumps my shoulder. “That went better than expected.”
“She said she was proud of us.”
He smiles. "She did."
I lean into him. “Yeah. She did.”
And somehow, the whole world feels a little lighter.
By the time we get into town, it’s everywhere. Everyone is discussing us and our ranches. We're way more exciting than the reality show that is finally packing up and leaving town.
Wilder and Jessop Ranch are officially the romantic scandal of Bridger Falls.
We stop at the feed store, and Earl grins at me like a kid on Christmas.
“Took y’all long enough!” he cackles. “I lost thirty bucks in the pool! ”
“There was a pool?! ” I say, teasing him because Earl is just the best old man there is.
Jack grins, “Of course there was.”
“Everyone bet you two would implode by the second week of filming,” Earl adds. “But dang if you didn’t do the slow burn proud.”
“Is this why Mrs. Thornton from the post office winked at me this morning?” I mutter.
Jack grins. “You’re famous now.”
“Correction," I hold up a hand, "we're famous now. God help us.”
The whole damn town is packed into The Black Dog when we get there.
Like standing-room-only, every-table-taken, people-out-on-the-patio kind of packed.
We can barely find a parking spot.There are even tents outside and people are selling merch.
I take a deep breath and sigh when I see t-shirts with our faces on them. "Okay, that's just weird," I lament.
Making our way inside, we’re met with string lights glowing overhead, country music drifting from the jukebox, and the smells of barbecue, whiskey, and trouble heavy in the air.
Someone, probably Maggie, has strung a banner across the back wall that reads:
“LOVE WINS (AND COWBOYS LOSE BETS)” in bold red glitter letters.
Jack laughs when he sees it. “Subtle. I take it Maggie won.”
I nudge him. “You’re the one who made it all dramatic. Walking off stage. Confessing your love. Kissing me like the cameras weren’t rolling.”
“You kissed me back," he hedges.
“You kissed me first."
“Pretty sure we’re both guilty then," he says as he leans over to kiss me.
“Pretty sure you’re lucky I didn’t punch you in front of the whole town for almost fake-proposing to someone else.”
He grins, grabbing my hand as we move through the crowd. “But you didn’t.”
“Barely.”
People notice us. It’s not subtle.
“Oh my God, it’s them!” someone shrieks near the dartboard. “It’s cowgirl Barbie and ranch Ken!”
"Hey, put that on a t-shirt!" someone yells across the bar. "I'd buy it!"
“That was way better than any finale I’ve seen on Netflix,” says Mrs. Fernandez as she fans herself with a bingo card.
“Lost twenty bucks on them,” grumbles Dale, nursing a beer at the bar. “Thought for sure he’d pick the influencer.”
“Pay up, Dale!” Maggie calls from over by the bar. “I had ‘slow-burn chaos love confession’ on my bingo card.”
I blink. “There was a bingo card ?”
“There were also brackets, ” Tucker yells from across the room, holding up a laminated sheet of paper. “Brackets, Cami! I was eliminated in week one when Jack kissed the dog before he kissed anyone on camera.”
Jack tips his hat to him. “Love is my favorite dog.”
We weave our way through the crowd, people patting us on the back, handing us drinks, shouting congratulations, and thinly veiled gossip. My cheeks hurt from smiling, but for once, it didn’t feel like too much.
It feels right.
We finally find a corner table near the back, tucked between the pool table and a decorative saddle mounted on the wall. Jack pulls me into the booth beside him, one arm draped behind my shoulders, his fingers lazily playing with the ends of my hair.
“Still feel like chaos?” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear.
“A little,” I admit .
“You okay?”
I glance at him. This man. My man. The same boy who used to sneak me licorice from the gas station. The one who broke my heart when he walked away after high school. And the one who put it back together one sunrise ride, one confession, one kiss at a time.
I nod. “I’m better than okay.”
A cheer goes up from the other side of the bar.
Weston’s trying to teach someone how to two-step while Maggie claps and encourages this.
Good, Weston can be her next matchmaking project.
Poppy and Ollie are dancing like lunatics on purpose in front of the old jukebox, and people are laughing.
I glance over, and Jenna’s sitting at the bar, drinking a martini and muttering to herself while Tucker tries to convince her this was actually good for her career.
Jack’s still watching me. I can feel it without even looking. “You sure you’re okay with all this attention?” he asks, voice low.
“Nope,” I say. “But I’m okay as long as you're by my side.”
He turns toward me slowly, that easy cowboy smile curling at the edges. “Say that again.”
“I’m okay with you,” I say softly. “And your stupid hat. And your early morning rides and the way you make everything feel bigger and steadier and, ugh. Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re in love with me, and it’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”
He grins. “That’s because I am and it is.”
I lean in, resting my head on his shoulder. “Then you better dance with me later.”
“I was planning on it,” he says with a smirk that tells me he isn’t talking about actual dancing.
I don’t know how long we sat like that. People come by.
Talk. Laugh. Slide drinks down the table.
Poppy shows up with a plate of nachos and no context.
Someone gives Jack a baby goat sticker wearing a cowboy hat.
He slaps it onto his phone case like it’s a badge of honor.
Somehow Walker's goats have made it into merch, and everyone is obsessed with goats now ever since he thought he was buying two and somehow ended up with two dozen.
Later, when the lights dim a little more and the music slows down, Jack tugs me to my feet and pulls me into the open space in front of the bar.
He wraps his arms around me. I slide mine around his neck.
“Wilder,” he whispers, spinning us slowly. “You look like trouble in that dress. I can't wait to take it off of you later.”
“Good,” I whisper back. “You deserve some trouble.”
We dance. Not perfectly. Not gracefully. But I wrap my arms around him and hold him tight.
The song’s soft and slow, something about home and heartbeats, and Jack’s fingers curl around my waist like he’s memorizing the shape of forever.
“This is real, right?” I ask because sometimes it still feels like it could all slip away.
He kisses my temple. “It’s real. It’s messy. It’s us. ”
“You gonna build me a porch swing?”
“Already halfway done.”
“You gonna kiss me under our tree again?”
“Every damn day.”
And when I lean in and kiss him under the fairy lights, surrounded by the loud, nosy, ridiculous town that raised us, it’s not about performance or drama or proving anything anymore.
It’s just love. Loud. Wild. Rooted. Ours.