Chapter 28
Knox
Gravel crunches beneath the tires as we wind past a row of sugar maples and the small apple orchard my grandfather still insists on pruning himself.
Headlights sweep over a stretch of manicured lawn before resting on the house: three stories of white clapboard and green shutters, every window glowing like a memory.
I ease off the gas as the wraparound porch comes into view, columns straight and proud despite their age. My grandparents’ house has endured generations and maybe even a few family secrets.
A porch light flickers through the dusk, warm and steady, like it’s been eager for me to come back.
Vermont air feels different, cooler, lighter somehow, steeped in pine, cut grass, and a hint of sweet apples from the orchard.
I used to take it for granted growing up here, back when leaving felt like the only way to become someone else.
Now, easing into this driveway, I can’t tell if I’m coming home or revisiting a piece of myself I thought I’d buried.
Beside me, Cami leans forward, eyes fixed on the house. “It’s gorgeous,” she says, face beaming. For a moment, I watch her take in what I’d stopped seeing years ago: the porch swing, the lanterns, the amber glow from the kitchen window.
Her gaze catches on the porch light. “I love how it flickers before steadying. Feels alive somehow, like it’s happy to see us.”
“Yeah.” I throw the gearshift into park, eyes tracing the silhouette of the orchard through the trees. “House hasn’t changed much.”
She glances over, her smile as genuine as ever. “Why would it need to?”
I’m not sure if the quiet wrapping around us feels like peace or if it’s the certainty that I’m already in much deeper than I ever meant to be with a woman who doesn’t need perfection to see something beautiful.
I’ve pulled into this driveway with someone else before.
Different car. Different lifetime.
Back then, Jenna had called it “tasteful,” as if she were reviewing a real estate listing instead of meeting my family. She never noticed how the porch light flickers.
Cami notices things that may not matter to anyone else.
And that’s what scares me most.
Because every time she does, I fall harder.
Headlights fade when I kill the engine, leaving the porch light to hold its ground against the dark.
For a beat, neither of us moves.
I open my door and step out, pebbles shifting under my shoes, night air raising goose bumps along my arms.
Somewhere out in the orchard, crickets chirp as I open the passenger door.
Cami steps out, her hair lifting in the apple-scented breeze.
She surveys the house, head tilted back. “It’s bigger than I expected.”
Hands in my pockets, memories find me before I’m ready for them. “Grandpa always says that porch could fit three families if we ever run out of room inside.”
Her mouth curves. “I believe it.”
“Come on.” I clear my throat, shifting my focus to the tall, green door. “Let’s get inside before mosquitoes decide we’re dinner.”
As I push open the front door, its familiar creak greets me like an old friend. The scent of Grandma’s homemade laundry soap lingers in the air, fresh and unmistakably home.
Cami steps in beside me, gaze flicking to the framed photos lining the hall.
She pauses in front of one. “Is this you?”
A photo catches my eye—me at ten, all elbows and an oversized baseball cap, holding a fishing pole half my size.
“Yeah.” My mouth pulls to one side as the memory surfaces. “Caught my first trout that day. Grandpa made me clean it myself.”
Her eyes gleam. “You look proud.”
“Mostly terrified,” I admit. “He was supervising with a look that said, ‘Don’t screw this up.’”
Cami laughs, the sound bouncing off these old walls like a melodic echo. And there’s something about hearing it here, in a house built on fond family memories and love. It feels like her laugh belongs in this house. Like it’s never sounded more right anywhere else.
If we were back in Crystal Cove, we’d already be halfway to the shower.
It’s become our nightly ritual: start there, then again in bed, and again, voracious, as if our bodies know summer’s end is closing in.
Cami slips out of my jacket, draping it over the banister.
She steps in close, arms looping around my neck. “Are you feeling a bit more at ease?” she asks, tone tender, laced with care.
“Yeah.” My hands move along her back, tracing the curve of her spine through the thin fabric of her shirt. “I’m happy Grandpa’s hip isn’t broken. But getting him to rest while it heals is going to be a chore.”
Brow lifting, she looks up at me. “He didn’t strike me as the type to sit still.”
“That’s an understatement,” I say with a smirk. “He was already trying to convince Grandma to let him go home before the doctor even saw him. She wasn’t having it.”
Cami smiles, her thumbs brushing the back of my neck. “Sounds like she runs the show.”
“Always has,” I say, shaking my head slightly. “She and my mom will be home later tonight once he’s settled.”
Her gaze drifts over the photos and staircase before finding mine again. “It smells so good in here. Feels warm and cozy,” she murmurs. “You can tell love lives here.”
The word love hangs between us, an open door neither of us planned to walk through.
“Yep.” My gaze holds hers. “Love does live here.” I lick my lips. “You being here means a lot.”
Eyes searching mine, she says, “You asking me to come means a lot.”
Slowly, the world narrows to the hush between ticks of an old clock, a gentle hum from the fridge, and the heat of her pressed against me.
I lower my head, and our lips meet, the kiss deepening with every heartbeat.
Being with Cami feels easy in a way nothing else ever has, and I’m past pretending I don’t know what that means.
I’ve fallen in love with this woman. Period. Full stop.
“I should grab our bags,” I say against her lips, our kiss beginning to slow.
“Want me to help?”
“Nope. You head up. Guest suite is the last room down the hall.”
Cool air brushes against my neck as I cross the drive, then grab our suitcases from the trunk.
When I step back inside, Cami’s halfway up the stairs, one hand trailing the banister. “Wanted to wait for you,” she says.
“Are there monster-like attic squeals?” I tease, hefting the luggage and following her up.
“Ha-ha.”
At the end of the hall, I nudge open a door.
Nothing about Grandma’s guest suite ever changes: lamplight pooling over the dark blue comforter, a vase of fresh flowers, and that whisper of lavender she swears helps people sleep better.
Cami turns in a slow circle. “It’s perfect.”
“Grandma always keeps it ready,” I say, setting our suitcases down near the bed. “I think she secretly hopes someone shows up unannounced.”
“Worked out in our favor,” she says with a small smile.
I move in behind her, hands sliding around her waist. “Wanna check out the orchard?” I press a kiss just below her ear.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
Two hours later, Grandma’s kitchen buzzes with voices and the light clink of porcelain teacups.
“And this was Knox at the science fair,” Grandma says, tapping a photo in the worn leather album spread across the table. “He insisted on using real worms. Nearly gave the judges a heart attack.”
Cami’s laughter rings through the room, bright and unrestrained. “I can totally see that.”
“That’s nothing,” Mom says, sliding another photo toward Cami. “This one’s from the summer he tried to build a go-kart out of lawn-mower parts.”
“Tried being the operative word,” Grandma adds with a wink.
Leaning against the doorway, unseen for a second, I take in the natural buzz of conversation and Cami sitting between them like it’s nothing new.
“Please tell me there aren’t more of those,” I say finally.
Three heads turn toward my voice.
Mom smiles. “Oh, there are plenty, dear.”
Cami grins up at me, eyes dancing. “You were an adorable little menace.”
“Keyword little,” I mutter, crossing to them. “How did I go from unloading groceries to a full-blown roast session?”
Grandma chuckles. “Because we haven’t seen your eyes light up like that since you were knee-high, and this sweet girl you brought home feels like one of us.”
Cami meets my eyes, cheeks rose-colored, and she doesn’t look away.
Mom pours another cup of tea and slides it toward her. “My mother’s right,” she says. “Feels like we’ve known you for ages, Cami.”
I can feel the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “C’mon, you two. We don’t want to scare her off with all this Vermont-family charm.”
“Oh, hush,” Mom says, already out of her seat to put the groceries away.
Grandma starts telling a story about the summer I broke my arm, and Cami leans in, fully invested.
Figuring it’s safer to keep my hands busy than admit how good it feels to see her like this, I help Mom unpack the groceries.
“Come on, dear,” Grandma says, rising from her chair. “You have to see the photo wall. Claire’s been adding to it for years. She has pictures from every season.”
Cami’s face beams, light and jovial, as she follows her into the den, their voices trailing off while Grandma points things out like a proud curator.
Mom slides a carton of eggs into the fridge. “Cami’s lovely,” she says. “Gorgeous. Smart. Genuine. We both like her. A lot.”
“Yeah,” I say, stacking cans in the pantry. “She’s something special. One of a kind.”
She shoots me a sidelong glance. “So, how’s it been—the two of you living under the same roof? Sharing kitten duty and day-to-day routines?”
I huff a laugh, caught off guard by how easily the answer comes.
“Honestly? Feels like she’s always lived with me.
We slipped into a rhythm fast. Mornings.
Evenings. Chores. Even feeding those furballs at all hours.
” I shake my head, a smile settling in as it all comes back to me.
“In real life, I’ve got a housekeeper, but somehow, it feels good doing all that with Cami.
Weirdly normal. Like we’re newlyweds with kids who meow. ”