Chapter 26
Knox
I fumble for it off the nightstand, groggy and half-blind, screen glowing against the soft wash of early sunlight.
“Hello?” I answer, the word scraping out like sandpaper.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Mom?”
Cami stirs, murmuring something unintelligible, then drifts deeper, her back curving toward me.
“What’s wrong?” Silence on my mom’s end snaps me wide awake, dread coiled hard in my gut.
“It’s your grandfather,” Mom says, her tone tight. “He fell last night. We’re at Brattleboro Memorial.”
Cold tremors run through me.
Grandpa.
The man who taught me how to cast a line off the dock—patient even when I snagged more seaweed than fish.
The one who, even at seventy-nine, still beats me at chess.
“How bad is it?” I push upright, pulse already speed-racing.
“Bad enough they’re keeping him. He’s in pain, Knox. His hip might be broken.”
Mom’s words hit like shattering glass. Sharp. Echoing. Impossible to sweep away. I’m already swinging my legs out of bed, tugging on a bathrobe, mind running faster than my body. Three-and-a-half-hour drive. I can make it.
Floorboards creak beneath me as I step into the hallway, phone still pressed to my ear.
“And Grandma?” I ask, the door cracked open behind me.
“She’s here at the hospital with me.”
I brace my hand on the door frame. “What happened?”
“He tripped while getting out of bed. Your grandmother didn’t hear him at first. He didn’t want to wake her. By the time she got him up, he couldn’t put weight on it.” Her breath hitches. “He’s been so stubborn lately. You know how he is.”
Grandpa’s as hardheaded as they come. He refused to let me carry his groceries in when I was there for a few weeks before coming here—said I’d slow him down.
“Driving up today,” I say, already planning the route in my head. “We should be there by noon.”
“We?”
Peeking through the cracked door, I catch a glimpse of Cami still tangled in our sheets, hair spilling wild across the pillow, one arm draped over where I’d been.
Will she want to come with me?
“I’ll explain later.”
“Okay. Drive safely. And thank you, sweetheart. He’ll be so happy to see you.”
Hanging up, I stare up at the skylight, early light brushing over a sky still edged with gray.
Grandpa’s going to be okay. He has to be.
As I step back into the bedroom, Cami’s already sitting up, the sheet pulled over her chest, wavy locks falling loose around her bare shoulders.
“Everything okay?” she asks, raspy from sleep, concern flickering in her eyes.
“My grandpa fell last night. They’ve admitted him. Broken hip, maybe.”
“Oh, Knox…” She sits up straighter, the sheet sliding low against her chest, worry sharpening her features.
“I’m driving up to Vermont this morning.”
“Vermont?”
“Yeah.” I settle beside her, hand wrapping around hers. “That’s where I’m from.”
Cami’s hand squeezes mine, the warmth in her gaze steadying me in a way no one else ever could.
“Then you need to get on the road.” She tosses the covers back, already headed for the closet, every bare curve testing my focus when I can’t afford to be distracted. “I’ll pack your bag while you shower.”
“Hey, wait—” I catch her wrist before she gets too far, tugging her gently back toward me.
She turns without hesitation, easing onto my lap, knees bracketing my hips as her arms loop around my neck, her signature scent nearly pulling me under.
I brush my mouth over hers, slow but hungry. “Come with me.”
Blue eyes search mine before she murmurs, “But, the kittens?”
“Do you think the Trouble Triplets would love to hang out with them?” A grin tugs at my mouth despite the worry about Grandpa pressing in. “Honestly, I don’t think they ever planned on giving Stripe and Shadow back last time.”
Amusement sparks in her eyes, full lips lingering near mine. “Millie did threaten to keep them. Again.”
“Right?” I shake my head. “I’ll text her. And if they’re in, we’ll drop our spoiled fur brats off with copious instructions.”
“Shall we pack then shower?”
My gaze roams over her, the heat between us igniting as always.
“How about we shower…then pack?” My hands glide down her spine, savoring the warmth of her skin. “I’m happy you’re coming with me.”
“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” Her lips graze mine, assurance in how she breathes me in. “You were here for me when I needed it. Now it’s my turn.”
Before I can even lift my hand to knock, Millie opens the door in a floral robe and fluffy slippers, her eyes crinkling like we’re about to hand-deliver another lottery check.
“There they are!” Her hands are clasped like she’s been waiting all morning. “My sweet fur babies!”
“Morning, Millie.” Cami smiles as she steps past me with their litter box.
“Come in, come in.” Millie waves us inside. “We’ve got their spot all set up by the bay window.”
“Thank you again for doing this.” I follow them inside, playpen in one hand, carrier in the other. “Really appreciate you three.”
“Please. It’s an honor,” Millie says, already crouched down to peek inside the carrier. “We absolutely love spending time with these gremlins.”
The familiar blend of cinnamon and fresh coffee greets us, a scent that clings to this house like a welcome mat. Sunlight glints off glass figurines in the window, scattering little rainbows across the shiny hardwood floor.
Millie opens the carrier door, and both kittens tumble out as if they own the place. Shadow immediately darts toward the curtains while Stripe starts climbing Millie’s leg like she’s a cat tree.
“See?” Millie beams. “This is their second home.”
“We brought all their supplies.” I set up the playpen near the window. “Plus extra bowls, a few favorite toys, and enough wipes to serve a small biohazard event.”
“And, of course, lots of food,” Cami says, unloading a bag. “They’re on a mix of formula and canned food. Half and half. It’s all labeled.”
“Don’t forget their probiotics,” I add. “Only a pinch sprinkled in.”
“Ooh, fancy,” Margo calls from the kitchen. “Shall we mix it with sparkling water and call it a spa day?”
Elena breezes in with a notebook and pen like she’s about to take minutes. “Did they eat?”
“Yeah, about fifteen minutes ago, like little monsters,” Cami says with a giggle.
Millie kneels beside the playpen, gently guiding the kittens in. “Our babies are gonna be spoiled rotten. You may never get them back.”
“That’s what we’re afraid of,” I mutter, only half joking.
Margo walks in from the kitchen and hands Cami a small tote bag. “Road snacks. Trail mix, cucumber sandwiches, candy, electrolyte packets for you, honey.” She winks. “And a road-trip card game called Would You Rather: Couple’s Edition. In case things get too quiet.”
As if things between us have ever been quiet.
“Thank you,” Cami says, her smile flickering into something fragile. “This is really sweet.”
“Yes, thank you all. For everything.” I clear my throat. “We’ll only be gone a few days.”
“Oh, take your time,” Millie says, rising to her feet with a hand on her lower back. “Tell your grandparents we’re thinking of them. And let your grandma know I still make the best appleberry pancakes.”
I bite back a laugh, remembering Millie and Grandma having a years-long appleberry-pancake rivalry, and how, when I spent summers here as a teen, I always wound up being the judge. “Will do.”
“We’re all praying.” She squeezes my hand. “Your grandpa will be fine.”
Cami hugs the Triplets, then crouches to press a kiss to the top of each kitten’s head as they paw toward her.
I follow, giving Stripe a scratch behind the ears and Shadow a chin rub. Leaving them, even with the Trouble Triplets, feels like handing over tiny pieces of us.
“Be good,” I coo in a way I never imagined. “And don’t let Auntie Margo teach you how to play poker.”
“Too late.” Margo winks.
“Safe travels, and don’t forget to text when you get there!” Millie says, hands on hips.
We step into the hush of morning, Crystal Cove’s sky beginning to blush. Cami’s fingers find mine, and the world sharpens into focus again.
“You okay?” she asks as we head toward the car.
“Yeah.” I give her hand a squeeze. “Better now.”
Highway 91 stretches in front of us, the sun cresting through puffy clouds. A nineties playlist slips to the periphery as thoughts of Grandpa’s fall sink heavy in my chest. He’s seventy-nine, and even the word hip feels different at that age.
One last glimpse of the coastline flashes in my rearview—glittering water and lazy gulls—before it fades into scrubby pines and the rhythm of green signs.
Cami’s quiet beside me, her thumb tracing the seam of her jeans. Her reflection in the window catches the light, thoughtful and a little far away.
Glancing down, I thread my fingers through hers, lifting her hand to my lips for a kiss that lingers just long enough to say what I don’t.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
A smile lines her face as her gaze flicks to mine, searching, like she’s deciding whether to let me in. “You know…if I hadn’t panicked about those attic squeaks, I might not be here right now.”
My pulse catches. Is she teasing or testing me?
“Wanda deserves a medal,” I say without looking away. “But let’s be honest: you’d be here regardless.”
She grins, a spark of sunlight catching in her eyes. “You saying fate would’ve led me into your bed one way or another?”
“Not in those exact words…”
Her smile deepens, eyes glinting beneath her lashes. “Guess we’ll have to see what else fate has planned.”
Needing a shift, I clear my throat. “You nervous? I mean, about meeting the three people who practically raised me.”
“Never met anyone’s family before, not counting friends.” She twists a lock of hair around her finger. “So yeah, a little nervous.”
Even though I keep my expression neutral, it hits hard. The asshole who wrecked her never once brought her home. Figures.
I pause, letting that sink in. What it means. What she’s giving me. What I’m giving her.
“They’re going to love you, Bubble Girl.” I glance over, half smiling. “Probably even more than they do me.”
“Hope so. And I’m looking forward to seeing where you grew up.”
“Well, brace yourself.” I shift my grip on the wheel, focusing back on the winding road ahead. “Putney Hollow’s tiny. Too many trees, not enough takeout, and more apple festivals than any sane town needs.”
She laughs, brows arched in surprise. “Apple festivals?”
“Every fall,” I brag. “Hayrides, pie contests, cider tastings, awkward folk dancing. Grandma makes a killing on her famous apple butter.”
The road curves past clapboard houses and low stone walls, commuter traffic thinning as strip malls give way to stretches of scrubby pine. In the side mirror, the last glint of water fades to green.
“My grandparents have an orchard out back,” I add. “Just a few rows, but Grandpa swears they grow the best Macs in all of Windham County. Every September, I’d pick until my arms ached, bees droning low over bruised fruit, the air sharp with sugar, the crunch clean in my teeth.”
Cami tilts her head, a grin blooming on her face. “Wow. You’ve got layers, Cat Whisperer. Every time I think I’m catching up, you hand me another piece.” She shifts in her seat. “Where does Crystal Cove fit in?”
“Summer escape.” A smile curves my lips. “Every year until college.”
Her gaze lingers, curious. “And college was…?”
“New York. Columbia.”
She doesn’t push, but the silence between us stretches.
“Master’s in Finance and Economics. Sound familiar?” I offer a wink. “And…where I met my ex-wife.”
The GPS flickers: two hours to go. Trees blur past, tall, green, and familiar in a way I didn’t realize I’d missed.
“Columbia was supposed to be my ticket out of small-town predictability and people who’d known me since birth,” I say.
We pass a timeworn farmhouse with peeling shutters, half-hidden behind overgrown weeds. The road narrows between low stone walls and wildflowers bowing in the late-summer breeze.
“Jenna liked that I could talk investments over wine and calculate ROI in my sleep. But she edited out the parts of me that didn’t fit her idea of us.
Vermont. Crystal Cove. My grandparents. Sunday check-ins.
None of it was glossy enough for the image she wanted.
” My grip tightens on the wheel. “When we got married, I traded maple syrup and apple skins for high-rise views and city glare. Somewhere in the swap, I lost myself.”
With an exhale, I flick a glance at Cami, and she’s watching me, that familiar focus in her eyes, listening as if my words matter.
“I didn’t realize how much of myself I’d rewritten to appease her”—my eyes flick back to the road, trees flashing past in green blurs—“until after she cheated. Until after the marriage ended. Until I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the guy staring back.”
“And…” she says, squeezing my hand, “who do you see now?”
I steady my attention forward but feel her gaze trace my skin like sunlight. “Someone you’ve helped me remember.”
“Handsome, grumpy, and secretly a cat whisperer?” she teases.
I chuckle. “That’s my whole brand.”
Beneath the banter lies a truth I don’t need to say aloud: with Cami, I’m not rewritten, not revised, not redrafted.
I’m simply…me.