Chapter 32
Cami
Four days left.
Four more sunrises, sunsets, tiny paws, baby purrs, and handfuls of perfect moments I want to bottle up and take with me to New York.
It’s strange how time feels different now, almost like summer’s moving faster just to spite me.
The air still smells like sea salt and jasmine, but even that feels fleeting.
Every sound—the waves, the seagulls, the kittens’ meows, Knox’s voice—sounds different when you know you’re running out of time to hear it.
We agreed I’ll bubble-text him once I’ve made it to my apartment in New York, take a week to get settled, then decide if I’m ready to move us into the real world. I appreciate how patient Knox has been. No pressure, no expectations.
And yet, every day since Vermont, the unspoken thing between us seems a little heavier. I keep wondering if I should tell him what’s already true in my heart. But the words feel fragile, like saying them out loud might jinx the one thing I can’t bear to lose. Him.
On the kitchen counter, our bubble phones sit side by side—yes, mine is fully charged—and every time I pass them, I get the same ridiculous urge to check mine, just to make sure it still works.
I open the sliding glass door, settle onto the deck lounge, legs tucked beneath me, as I sip iced tea. Knox ran into town to grab groceries and whatever else he claims we’re out of. Probably a sweet excuse to give me some space before the inevitable goodbye countdown begins.
My phone buzzes against the side table.
Paxton: So…how was Vermont? Did you meet the entire fam? And how is your future grandpa?
For a second, I just stare at the message. Vermont feels like a dream I’m scared to wake from. It still clings to me. The warmth of his grandmother’s kitchen. How all of that also felt borrowed and mine all at once.
Me: Met the whole crew. His mom. His grandparents. Grandpa (Sy) is much better. Hip is all healed. Had loads of fun. They made me feel so welcome. I teared up when we drove away.
Paxton: Ugh. You’re living in a Hallmark movie.
Me: Pretty much. Only with lots of sex and fewer sweaters.
Sunlight catches the rim of my glass, scattering gold across the deck. My reflection in the iced tea looks calm, but inside, I’m anything but.
Paxton: Speaking of tearing up…time to spill the tea. You’ve got that “I’m keeping a secret” tone in your text bubbles.
I roll my eyes at his shenanigans.
Me: Fine. Knox said he loves me.
Even typed out, the words make my pulse quicken. I still can’t believe he said it, normal as breathing.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear. The pause stretches so long, it feels like he’s typing and deleting a dozen possible reactions.
Paxton: NO. WAY. Are you serious???
Me: Yep.
Paxton: What’d you say?
Me: Nothing. Because I’m a chicken.
I rest my head back against the chair, the ocean a steady hush beneath my heartbeat. I’m still trying to convince myself it was the right reaction.
Paxton: WTF Cami!!!!
Me: I panicked! It felt too big. And we promised no falling.
Paxton: You’re ridiculous.
Me: Tell me something I don’t know.
Text bubbles bounce.
Paxton: But you’re also adorable. How’s it been since then?
I smile despite myself. Paxton’s always known how to snap me out of my own spiral.
Me: Normal. I mean, he told me I didn’t have to say it back until I’m ready.
That memory makes my throat tighten. Knox made it sound like feeling it’s enough.
Paxton: He’s giving Prince Charming vibes.
Me: Right?! And the last two weeks we’ve been floating on an even larger cloud nine. Romantic dates, more summer festivals, sunset gazing under a cozy blanket, cooking meals together, toe-curling sexy times.
Paxton: I’m literally fanning myself. Please tell me he has a twin brother who makes bad decisions and appreciates a man who can keep up.
I chuckle, startling a seagull off the railing.
Me: I can’t imagine being without him.
Even through text, the words land heavy.
Paxton: What about those cute fur babies? You two splitting custody?
Me: We worked it out. I’ll explain when I see you.
Paxton: Alrighty. When do you land at JFK?
Me: Saturday around noon. My dad’s picking me up from the airport, taking me to lunch, then to the new apartment.
The thought makes my stomach twist. Saturday feels both forever away and yet way too close.
Paxton: We have to go out for drinksies. I found this cute bar in SoHo.
Me: I can’t drink…POTS, remember?
Paxton: MOCKTAILS babe. We’ll even have the tall, dark, and hot bartender (who I might have a teenie crush on) throw in umbrellas for flair. Saturday night? 8pm?
Me: Deal. I’ll text you my new address once I’m settled. Dad’s still convinced every Uber driver is a serial killer / kidnapper.
I set my phone back on the side table, sun dipping low, painting the sky in blush and gold.
Somewhere inside, the kittens must be running amok, and I picture Knox walking through the door, arms full of groceries, smiling like he always does when he spots me.
Four days left.
And I already know it won’t be nearly enough.
Two days later, the smell of roasted garlic hits before we even make it up Millie’s steps.
Knox balances two bottles of wine in one hand and the kittens’ carrier in the other. “You sure they wanted us to bring dessert and fur brats?”
“Millie insisted,” I say, pushing the door open. “Something about ‘every dinner being better with chaos.’”
He chuckles, low and warm. “Sounds about right.”
As we step inside, we’re swallowed by warm ambiance—jazz playing from a CD player, mismatched candles flickering across the table, and the smell of lemon and butter so rich, it practically hugs me.
“Look who decided to grace us with their presence!” Millie announces, emerging from the kitchen with a dish towel over her shoulder. Margo and Elena trail behind her, each armed with a dish large enough to feed a small army.
“We come bearing wine, kittens…” Knox says, holding up two bottles of rosé.
“And dessert,” I add, showcasing the homemade apple cobbler Knox and I prepared together.
“Wonderful.” Margo gleams. “Wine, kittens, and carbs. My three love languages.”
They usher us toward the table, voices overlapping, and for a second, it feels like family.
We eat until we can’t move. Elena tells stories about her ex who tried to impress her by deep-frying a turkey in his apartment. Millie rolls her eyes at every word, and Knox keeps refilling her wine just to see how many times she’ll say “Oh, good heavens.”
He looks completely at ease, one arm resting behind my chair, his laugh blending into theirs.
I catch myself watching him more than anything. He leans back in his chair, sleeves pushed to his elbows, laughter creasing the corners of his eyes. When his gaze slides to mine mid-conversation, my pulse stutters.
It hits me. How easily I fit beside him. And how much it’s going to hurt to leave this version of us.
“So…Cami,” Margo says suddenly, jolting me back. “Are you ready for New York? Your big-girl job?”
Forcing a small smile, I nod. “Yeah. Saturday.”
“Ugh,” Elena groans. “We were just starting to like you.”
Knox looks over, gaze teasing. “Same.”
Millie waves her fork. “Nonsense. We liked her from the start. Anyone who keeps our plants alive and doesn’t clog any drains, earns permanent residency.”
“Or at least visitation rights,” Margo adds. “You two figured out what’s next? Gonna make this thing between you official? Weekend meet-ups?”
Knox chuckles under his breath. “Something like that.”
Elena leans forward. “And what about you, Knox? Offloading the penthouse?”
He nods once. “That’s my plan. I’ll head back to New York a few days after Cami leaves, get it listed, and”—he pauses, glancing toward me—“start renovations on the house next door come spring.”
Millie perks up. “Renovations? Ooh, that means you’ll be back again every summer?”
Knox smiles. “Or more often than that. I’m planning to slow down a bit anyway. Focus on my main business, hand off some accounts, do a little mentoring before I step back.”
Margo lifts her glass. “Look at you, early retirement energy.”
“More like peace and quiet energy,” he says, laughing softly.
Elena snorts. “Give it a week. You’ll be climbing the walls.”
Knox’s gaze flicks to me, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Hopefully not.”
Laughter breaks out again, and I join in, but my throat tightens halfway through. Because no matter how light the conversation, the clock in my head won’t stop counting down.
Later, when apple cobbler plates are empty and the candles have burned low, Millie hugs me at the door. “He’s a good one, sweetheart. And you two are so good together.”
I swallow hard, smiling even though it aches. “I know.”
Knox thanks them for dinner and guides me toward the porch, his hand warm at my back. Stripe and Shadow mewl from their carrier, tiny faces pressed together, having been perfectly behaved all evening. Typical, since most little monsters save their chaos for home.
As we walk down the steps, the sky stretches dark and endless over Crystal Cove Beach, stars winking against the night tide.
Two days left.
And even the night sky feels like a memory forming in real time.