Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Kate
If satisfaction could pay bills, I’d be sitting on a beach somewhere. If clarity came bundled with it, I wouldn’t be so lucky. Instead, I’m driving to my mom’s house with my pulse doing its own thing and a stomach full of butterflies that have zero interest in behaving.
Cam and I were supposed to be uncomplicated.
Fun. A way to let off steam without rearranging our lives.
No feelings, no expectations, nothing that risked spilling into the parts of me I protect most fiercely.
But the way he looks at me, the way he shows up, the quiet steadiness tucked beneath his teasing, it all pushes at boundaries I’ve spent years reinforcing.
And then he asked to do something very outside of our agreement, outside of sex.
Sure, he framed it around waffles and an afternoon for Evie, but it was still a date in disguise.
Turning him down felt awful. He didn’t deserve the clipped answer I gave him.
But the thought of blending worlds—mine, his, Evie’s—sets off every alarm I have.
My daughter doesn’t get introduced to anyone I’m involved with.
Not until it’s something real, something lasting.
And even though Evie knows Cam, she knows he’s a friend, nothing more.
I pull into my mom’s driveway, force out a breath, and paste on the kind of smile that hides everything I haven’t figured out yet. The second I step out of the car, the screen door bangs open.
“Mommy!”
Evie launches herself at me—curls flying, sneakers untied, backpack bouncing against her tiny frame. I crouch down just in time to catch her.
“Hey, sunshine.” I laugh, pressing a kiss to her cheek. She smells like sunscreen and peanut butter. “Did you have fun with Grandma?”
She nods with the seriousness of someone reporting official business. “We made sandwiches, and I helped fold towels, and I’m not supposed to tell you but Grandma let me have a popsicle before dinner.”
I look up at my mom on the porch. She waves, entirely unbothered.
Evie beams. “It was blue. My tongue’s blue. Wanna see?”
She sticks it out before I can respond.
“Very impressive,” I say, fighting a laugh because she’s so proud of herself she can hardly stand it.
She studies me with narrowed eyes, head tilted in that way she gets when she’s about to expose something I don’t want exposed. “You look happy. Did you do something fun?”
I cough, reaching for casual. “I, uh…did laundry.”
Evie slips her hand into mine, swinging our arms. “Did Coach Wells come over and help you with the laundry?”
I stop mid-step. Behind us, my mom tries and fails to hide a laugh behind her lemonade.
“Where did you hear that?” I ask, aiming for calm and landing somewhere closer to strangled.
“Grandma said you’ve been ‘seeing’ him,” Evie announces, complete with tiny air quotes.
My mom sighs. “We talked about keeping Grandma’s gossip to ourselves, sweetheart.”
I press a hand to my forehead. “Mom, why would you tell her that?”
Evie shrugs, completely unbothered. “You said secrets make your tummy hurt. I didn’t want my tummy to hurt.”
I close my eyes. “Right.”
She bounces once. “Coach Wells says I’m a natural athlete.”
“I’m sure he did.”
“He also said I hit better than most of the boys.”
I nod. “He’s obviously a man of great wisdom.”
Evie leans forward, voice dropping into what she believes is a whisper. “Are you gonna marry him?”
My breath catches. “What? No! He’s—he’s just a friend.”
Her brows rise to her hairline. “Like Aunt Brynn and Uncle Knox were ‘just friends?’”
My mother nearly chokes on her drink.
“All right,” I say quickly, grabbing Evie’s backpack before the conversation gains momentum. “That’s enough matchmaking for one day.”
Evie twirls ahead of me toward the car, already spinning in her own world. “I can be the flower girl!”
“Evie,” I warn, but she’s already climbing into her booster seat, completely absorbed in planning a wedding that will never exist.
My mom leans against the porch rail. “She’s not wrong, honey.”
I point at her, firm. “Not one word.”
She raises her palms in surrender. “Fine, fine. But he is handsome.”
“Goodbye, Mom.”
I buckle Evie in, shut the door, and take a steadying breath before sliding behind the wheel. We barely make it to the end of the street before Evie starts in again—her favorite songs, her new theory about the neighbor’s cat, the story of how she saved a worm on the sidewalk.
As we turn into our driveway, my cheeks ache from smiling. Just being with her quiets the noise in my head—the part that worries, the part that overthinks, the part that keeps replaying Cam saying my name.
Inside, Evie kicks off her shoes and heads straight for the living room. “Can Coach Wells come to my birthday party?”
“We’ll see,” I say, knowing full well my heart stumbles every time she says his name.
“He can bring baseball cards!”
After I get Evie to bed, the house looks like a tornado of glitter and Goldfish crackers. Her bedtime story turned into three stories, then a five-minute negotiation about brushing teeth, followed by a tearful discussion about why she can’t sleep with her soccer ball.
Now, finally, the quiet settles.
I pick up the blanket she left on the couch, fold it, and drop onto the cushions with a sigh that comes from somewhere deep. My muscles ache in a way that has nothing to do with motherhood and everything to do with the afternoon I spent tangled up in Cam Wells.
Physically? I’m still floating. Emotionally? I’m a disaster.
I tilt my head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling fan spinning in lazy circles. Somewhere between the soft laughs and the slow touches, I let myself feel too much.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table, and my heart jumps before I can stop it.
I pick it up, already bracing for his name—and immediately feel ridiculous when it’s just Brynn.
She’s sent a picture of Knox wearing a sun hat clearly not made for adult humans.
I snort and text back, he’s glowing, then set the phone down.
I try not to look at it again. I fail almost immediately.
Eventually, I cave. I unlock the screen and scroll up to his thread, the one from last night still sitting there with that line I can’t get out of my head. Use your words, Kate.
It shouldn’t make me smile. It absolutely does.
Before I can think twice, I type:
Kate:
Evie says hi. And that you’re invited to her birthday.
Three dots appear right away.
Cam:
I’ll bring a gift.
Kate:
She said baseball cards.
Cam:
I figured. What about you—how are you?
I stare at the question. It’s harmless, simple, nothing dramatic. But it knocks something loose because no one ever asks me that without expecting a bright answer I don’t have energy to give.
Kate:
Fine. Tired.
Cam:
You never say good. Always fine.
Kate:
Fine is still good. I just know I need to clean the kitchen and pick up the living room before bed and I have no desire to do so.
A short pause, then:
Cam:
You’re allowed to be tired, Katie. You don’t have to hold it all together.
The words land heavier than I want them to. I press my lips together, trying to seal in everything that rises to the surface.
Kate:
It’s easier this way.
Cam:
Easier doesn’t mean better.
I don’t answer. I can almost see him—waiting with that steady patience that makes me feel seen in a way I’m not ready for.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard, indecisive. I could reinforce the boundary. Keep us where we agreed. Pretend it doesn’t matter.
Kate:
Goodnight, Wells.
The bubbles appear, disappear, then return again.
Cam:
Night, Katie.
I set the phone down beside me and close my eyes. The kitchen can wait until morning.