Chapter 46
Chapter forty-six
Cam
She doesn’t pull away after I finish speaking. Her fingers hover at my shirt like she’s afraid to hang on too tight. I take her in all at once: those tiny freckles across her nose, the flutter of her pulse in her neck, the way her bottom lip presses between her teeth when her mind starts racing.
She stays right where she is, back against the counter, my hands still braced on either side of her. I give her space without stepping back. I’ve learned the difference with her—when she needs room to run and when she needs steadiness to lean into. Right now, it’s the second one.
Her eyes stay on mine, searching. I can practically see it happening—the way her shoulders ease, the way her breathing slows. This isn’t fear spiraling. This is clarity settling in. She exhales, long and controlled. Then she lifts her gaze fully to mine.
“You don’t have to fix this,” she says quietly.
“I know,” I answer just as quietly.
“I mean it,” she adds. “I don’t need solutions right now. I just needed to talk it out.”
I nod, shifting my weight back a fraction but keeping my hands where they are. “That’s okay. Whatever helps you through this, I can do it.”
She studies my face for a long second. Her hands lift, resting on my chest.
“I’ve been thinking,” she says. “About us.”
Something tightens in my chest, but I stay quiet. This is her moment.
“I used to believe I could keep this contained,” she continues. “That I could let it be something fun without letting it become something bigger.” Her mouth curves slightly. “I told myself I was protecting Evie. Protecting myself.”
Her fingers curl lightly into my shirt. “But you didn’t stay in the box I made for you,” she says.
“Sorry?” I say lightly.
“Don’t you dare be sorry.” She shakes her head. “You didn’t agree to all this out of any obligation. You have stayed by my side.” She swallows. “You never made me feel like I owed you anything.”
My pulse kicks hard at that.
“I haven’t had a lot of luck in love,” she goes on. “And it always came with expectations or pressure.” Her eyes lift to mine again. “You never rushed me.”
I lift a hand, brushing my thumb along her jaw, feeling the warmth of her skin under my touch. She leans into it instinctively.
“You loved me out loud,” she says. “And then you waited.”
The words land heavier than she probably realizes.
“I don’t feel cornered,” she continues. “I don’t feel rescued. I feel…chosen.”
My breath leaves me slowly.
“And I’ve realized…” she says, voice shaking, “I’ve realized that even if everything with Daniel disappeared tomorrow—if the court case vanished and life suddenly got easier—I wouldn’t want this to end.”
Her palm presses flat against my chest, right over my heart.
“I love you, Cam.” She exhales. “I didn’t fall for you because you helped me,” she adds. “I fell for you because of who you are. Because of the way you see Evie. Because of the way you see me.” Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t look away. “I love you because you’re patient and kind and consistent.”
For a second, I don’t move at all as something shifts inside me. I didn’t expect this tonight. I told her I loved her without needing anything back, and I meant it. I would’ve waited. I was already waiting.
I cup her face gently, resting my forehead against hers. “I love you too, Katie.”
Her breath stutters, then she laughs softly, like she didn’t realize how tightly she’d been holding herself together.
Her lips curve into a genuine smile now. “That felt terrifying. And also…inevitable.”
“Maybe it was. But whatever brought us together, I’m thankful for it, because damn it, Katie, I love you so much.”
“So you should probably break your lease at your place. It’s silly you’re still paying rent there anyway.”
“Consider it done.”
I tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and can’t contain the grin on my face. Fuck, she makes me so happy.
“Cam…” she warns.
“What?”
“Stop smiling like that.”
“Can’t,” I tell her. “That’s my Katie Prescott-loves-me-smile.”
She peeks at me through her fingers, exasperated and endearing as hell. “You’re silly.”
“I’m happy,” I correct. “Huge difference.”
She lowers her hands, and something shifts. The fight drains out of her, replaced by something raw and open.
She laughs, breathes shaky, like something inside her finally unclenches. “You’re going to ruin my five-year streak of determined independence.”
“Good,” I whisper against her mouth. “It was a terrible streak.”