3. Camryn
Three
Camryn
Of course, this is the moment my stomach chooses to let out the loudest rumble of all time. Seriously, it sounds like I’m hiding a bear under my hoodie.
“Are you hungry?” he asks slowly, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly.
“Oh, did you hear that?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
“I think people on the other side of Lake Ontario heard that.”
My face heats but l laugh. “I’m starving.”
“Come on. Let’s find something for you to eat.” He tips his head in the direction of the kitchen, and I follow him like a happy little puppy.
The kitchen is exactly as I remember it. Gleaming floors, polished marble countertops, sleek dark wood cabinets, and more enormous windows that look out onto the city.
Jacob opens the fridge and starts rustling around while I walk aimlessly to the windows.
Everything looks so small, so close from all the way up here, as if I could reach out and touch a skyscraper kilometers away.
I suddenly feel weary, the stress of the night crashing down on me, and I sink into one of the steel and leather chairs around the glass-topped table.
I look over to see Jacob rolling his sleeves up, revealing corded forearms that make me press my thighs together. A lock of hair falls forward onto his forehead as he begins slicing cheese.
“So. Tell me everything,” he says easily as he works. “How have the past four years been for you?”
I lean back in the chair, enjoying the view. “Good. Great, honestly. I graduated from from York University last year with a degree in business, and now I’m at the Rotman School doing my MBA.” He stops slicing and looks up at me.
“You’re at Rotman?” He sounds impressed. I like impressing him.
I grin and nod. “I am. The apartment I’m currently living in is graduate student housing through the university. Which is why I don’t exactly have money for a hotel or anything. Poor student and all.”
He waves away my comment with his knife. “You can stay here as long as you need, Camryn. We might not technically be family anymore, but I meant it when I said I’d always be here for you.”
“I appreciate that.” I shrug. “I just…it’s been four years. I would’ve understood if things had changed.” For all I knew, he could’ve been married, had a young family. I’d never read anything like that online or in the society pages, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t have happened.
I glance around, looking for signs that anyone other than him lives here.
He gets out a can of tomato soup, pours it into a saucepan and sets it on the stove to simmer. “How’s…” He clears his throat and focuses on buttering the bread in front of him. “How’s your mother?”
“Oh, fine. She moved back to France not long after the divorce was finalized.”
He stops and looks up at that, his eyebrows knitting together. “She just left you here?”
“I’m not some helpless kitten. I was nineteen when she moved. Busy with my own life.”
His gaze locks on me again, and I wish I could tell what he’s thinking. “I’m sure you were. You’ve…” He hesitates for a second, then says, “You’ve really blossomed.”
I blush and tilt my head. “I’m not the shy kid who used to live here. Not anymore.”
“I can see that.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You know, I am who I am in part because of you.”
He stirs the soup, frowning down at it. “Me?” Then he looks up, and I can’t stop staring at this man for the life of me.
I nod. “When you danced with me on the night of my prom and said all of those…those wonderful things, it meant a lot to me. I started to believe in myself more, care less what others thought. Because if you could see me that way, then…” I shrug. “It must be true.”
A heavy silence falls between us, and for a second, I wonder if I shouldn’t have said that. But then he grins. “Maybe I’ve got a second career coming as a motivational speaker then.”
I laugh. “Maybe you do. Although motivational speakers usually aren’t…scary.”
He looks up at me again. “You think I’m scary?”
“Me? No. But to most of the world? Oh, yeah. In one of my finance classes, we actually did a case study on you, and the hostile takeover of SMG bank.”
He rubs a hand over his mouth and tsks. I swear I feel that sound in the hollow of my stomach. “Hostile is such a loaded word.”
“What would you call appealing directly to shareholders via tender offers and proxy fights despite the board’s opposition?”
“A smart way to get what I want.”
Our eyes meet, and a wolfish grin slides across his face. I can’t help but return it.
A moment later, he brings me a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of steaming tomato soup. “The ultimate comfort food,” I say, the scent of the tangy tomato and the buttery melted cheese making my mouth water. “Thank you.”
He sits down across from me. “My pleasure. Eat up.” He watches intently as I raise the sandwich and take a bite.
“Mmm,” I mumble, holding my hand in front of my mouth. “So good.”
His eyes have gone darker, and they’re zeroed in on my mouth. Heat flickers low in my belly.
“You have a crumb,” he says as I set the sandwich back on the plate. “Just here.” He starts to reach out for me, but then it’s like he realizes what he’s doing and instead gestures at his own face, showing me the location of the crumb.
“So are you—“ I say at the same time that he says,
“Tell me about—“
We pause, laugh, and he gestures for me to continue. “So are you seeing anyone?” I ask. I might be intruding on his life by staying here, and I don’t want to cause problems for him.
But he shakes his head. “No, I have no time for that. You? Although, I suppose if you had a boyfriend, you’d be there instead of here.”
I grin ruefully. “Nailed it. No boyfriend.”
My skin prickles with awareness as he watches me take a sip of soup. “That’s surprising,” he murmurs, sitting back in his seat.
“Oh?”
He opens and then closes his mouth, as though he’s thought better of whatever it was he was about to say.
Instead, he steers the conversation back to school, friends, work as we catch up.
Soon, my food is gone, my stomach is no longer rumbling, and my cheeks hurt from smiling.
I’d forgotten just how charming and engaging Jacob can be.
He’s more than just good looks. He’s smart as hell, interesting, and has this way of listening to others that makes them feel incredibly special.
Okay, I might be projecting a teensy bit on that last one, but who can blame me?
I catch sight of the time on the oven’s display screen and jolt. How have we been sitting here for over an hour?
“Thank you, for the food, and for…for helping me.”
He stands and takes the dishes over to the massive island in the middle of the kitchen.
“Of course.” When he looks up, his eyes meet mine, and even though he’s ten feet away, I feel his gaze like a physical touch.
That heaviness settles between us again, and it’s utterly silent in the penthouse.
I’m suddenly very aware of my breath, of my pulse in my throat.
“I’ll just…grab my bag and head up to bed, I think,” I say, brushing my hands over my leggings. “I have class tomorrow morning, and it’s been a hell of a long day.”
He nods. “Do you need a ride to campus in the morning? I can have a car take you.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I usually take the subway.”
His lip curls slightly at that. “I’d feel better if you let me arrange a car for you.”
My eyebrows raise. “The subway’s perfectly safe, especially at eight in the morning.” It’s mostly just students and commuters with headphones on, pretending we’re not all in each other’s personal space.
He braces his hands on the island, and my mouth goes dry at the way it pulls his shirt taught over his broad shoulders. “Let me take care of you, Cam.”
Oh, god. There’s that sentence again, the one that makes me feel like my brain’s about to short circuit. It does something to me, something I don’t fully understand but that I really like. A lot.
I find myself nodding. “Okay, sure. Thank you.”
He shoots me a grin. “Good girl. You remember where your old room is?”
I nod, my skin hot and prickling, my stomach dipping and swirling. The things I would do to hear him call me good girl are indecent, especially given that he’s twenty-six years older than me and used to be my stepfather.
I don’t know what else to say, so I turn and head back toward the living room so I can grab my bag. It’s a light pink duffel bag with cherries on it that looks completely out of place in Jacob’s penthouse. I sling it over my shoulder and duck back into the kitchen.
“Good night, Jacob,” I say, watching as a pushes a hand through his hair, leaving it slightly disheveled.
“Night, Cam,” he says, his voice a little rough. He clears his throat. “Let me know if there’s anything you need. You know where my room is.”
My stomach plunges down to the floor and then up into my throat at the thought of Jacob’s bedroom.
The one he used to share with your freaking mother, I remind myself, because I can feel this little crush already threatening to spiral out of control.
And yet, coming here doesn’t feel like a mistake. Sure, I didn’t have anywhere else to go, but something about this place still feels like home. A part of me knew I could still count on Jacob after all these years.
I head up the stairs to my old bedroom, which isn’t decorated like a teenage girl’s room anymore, but it’s just as big as I remember.
A king-sized bed on one wall faces an enormous TV mounted to the opposite one.
Fancy wood paneling covers the walls, and the bed’s headboard is made of tufted leather and reaches almost to the ceiling.
A plush cream rug covers the wood floor under my feet, and a sofa sits at the far end of the room, facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, currently covered with dove-gray curtains.
A fireplace sits in one corner, and a large bookshelf in another.
It’s all very neutral in a way that screams quiet luxury.
I poke my head into the adjoining ensuite bathroom and find it’s mostly as I remember it. Same bright white floor, same floating vanity and softly backlit mirror, same walk-in shower and soaker tub.
I peel off my clothes and step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the day. I know I’ll still have to deal with the flooding tomorrow. I’ll have to find out how long it’ll be before my apartment is fixed, and how to go about getting my things replaced.
I’ll also have to find a way to live with Jacob without doing or saying anything wildly inappropriate. He’s doing me a massive favour, and I need to be on my best behaviour.
Plus, it’s not like he’d actually…not when we used to technically be family. Not when he’s old enough to be my father.
That thought makes an ache pulse between my legs.
I’m such a freak.
I sigh, tipping my face up into the warm spray, trying to push it all out of my mind.
I dry off, change into my only pair of pajamas, and climb into the world’s most comfortable bed, falling asleep almost instantly.