Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
Camille
The Great Stable Escape
The warm glow of the fireplace and the chatter from the dining room make me feel almost—dare I say it?—at home. Killion’s family is loud, overwhelming, and the complete opposite of mine, but somehow, I’m not drowning. I’m surviving. Thriving, even.
That is, until Lucian’s dog, Sarah, comes trotting into the kitchen like she owns the place. She’s a beautiful Vizsla with sleek reddish-brown fur, floppy ears, and bright amber eyes that glint with an intelligence far too mischievous for her own good. Her tail wags furiously, a blur of energy and trouble waiting to happen.
“She’s cute,” I say, watching as Sarah sniffs around the counter like she’s conducting a search and rescue mission.
Lucian, sitting at the island with what has to be his fifth helping of pie, grins. “Yeah, she’s adorable. And smart. Too smart. She knows how to open doors if they have handles or latches.”
I blink, staring at Sarah as she stands on her hind legs to sniff a dish towel. “Like . . . with her paws?”
“Sometimes,” Lucian says, shrugging like this is perfectly normal. “Mostly she just jumps at the handles until they give in or uses her nose to move the latches. It’s hilarious.”
“Hilarious,” I repeat flatly, a sinking feeling blooming in my stomach as Sarah’s tail wags harder. She sniffs the air, zeroing in on the back door like a heat-seeking missile.
And then, just like that, she bolts.
“Wait—”
But it’s too late. With an impressive leap, Sarah hits the door handle, and, sure enough, the door swings open like she’s been doing this her entire life .
“Lucian,” I shout, pointing as the dog takes off like a rocket.
Lucian doesn’t even look up from his pie. “She’ll come back. She always does.”
“Lucian, your dog just escaped,” I snap, grabbing my coat in a panic.
“She’s a very independent woman,” Lucian says, waving a fork dismissively.
“She’s trouble,” I mutter, throwing on my jacket and heading for the door.
Killion steps into the kitchen just in time to hear me. “What’s going on?”
“Your brother’s dog just escaped,” I say, glaring at Lucian, who still hasn’t moved.
“Again?” Killion groans, rubbing the back of his neck.
“She opened the door,” I exclaim, my tone accusing.
“She’s a very talented girl,” Lucian says with a shrug, finally taking a sip of his drink.
“She’s gone,” I shout.
Killion grabs his coat, muttering something about how this always happens, and follows me outside. The crisp November air bites at my cheeks as we jog toward the stables, Killion’s long strides making it hard to keep up.
“Why the stables?” I ask, nearly tripping over a rock.
“Because that’s where she always goes,” he says, sounding more amused than worried. “She loves the horses.”
“Of course she does,” I mutter. “Why wouldn’t she?”
When we reach the stables, the barn doors are wide open, creaking slightly in the breeze.
“She can open these too?” I ask, incredulous.
“Yep,” Killion says, stepping inside.
The stable smells like hay and horses, warm and earthy in a way that would usually be comforting. But not now. Now, Sarah is wagging her tail furiously by an open stall, looking way too pleased with herself.
“She opened one of the horse stalls,” Killion groans.
Lucian jogs in behind us, finally looking concerned. “Dad’s going to maim me if we don’t get Blaze back,” he mutters, eyeing the empty stall.
The horse—a massive, chestnut beauty with a white blaze down its nose—is trotting casually toward the barn door like it’s out for a Sunday stroll.
“Oh, no,” I whisper, my eyes widening.
“Relax,” Killion says, rolling up his sleeves. “It’s not two horses this time.”
“This time?” I choke out.
Sarah barks happily, clearly proud of herself.
“Okay,” Killion says, already moving. “You grab Sarah. I’ll handle the horse.”
“Oh, sure,” I say, dripping with sarcasm. “Let me wrangle the four-legged escape artist while you channel your inner horse whisperer. Sounds completely fair. ”
He flashes me a grin that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. “Teamwork, baby.”
“Teamwork, my ass,” I mutter, lunging for Sarah. But she thinks it’s a game, darting out of my reach with a playful bark.
“Sarah, stop,” Lucian calls with a commanding voice. “Come.”
The dog freezes mid-bolt, her ears flicking back. She looks at Lucian, then at me, then back at Lucian, before finally trotting over to him like an obedient angel.
“You could’ve done that ten minutes ago,” I grumble, brushing hay off my jeans.
He grins. “Now how fun would that be?”
Meanwhile, Killion approaches the horse with calm, practiced ease. He clicks his tongue, murmuring something low and soothing as he extends his hands. The horse slows, its ears flicking toward him, and I watch, mesmerized, as he gently grabs the halter.
“Gotcha,” he says softly, patting the horse’s neck.
“That was . . . weirdly impressive,” I admit, still holding my hands on my hips like I did all the work.
“I’ve got skills,” he says, leading Blaze back to its stall. “Growing up here has its perks.”
“Oh, I’m sure you were just a regular horse whisperer growing up, weren’t you?”
“Jealous?” he teases, shutting the stall door securely .
“Of you? Never,” I say, though my smile betrays me.
He steps closer, his grin softening as his eyes meet mine. “You okay? No injuries from our little adventure?”
“Just my dignity,” I say, brushing at imaginary dirt on my jacket.
He chuckles, leaning down to press a quick, lingering kiss to my forehead. “You handled yourself pretty well.”
“Yeah, well,” I say, glancing at Sarah, who’s now lounging by Lucian’s feet like she hasn’t just caused complete mayhem. “Your brother’s dog is the real mastermind here.”
Lucian smirks. “She’s brilliant. You just have to keep up.”
“Next time, you’re chasing her,” I shoot back, heading toward the house.
“Next time just tell her to stop. Very simple,” he calls after me, laughing.
As Killion falls into step beside me, he takes my hand, bringing it to his lips with a kiss so soft it sends a shiver through me. The gesture is effortless, like he does it without even thinking.
“I love you, you know?” he says, clearing his throat he adds, “Thank you for coming with me.”
His words land somewhere deep, unraveling a knot I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying. My steps falter slightly, and I glance up at him, my heart doing that annoying thing where it skips like it’s auditioning for a romcom montage.
“You really love me?” I ask, my tone light and teasing, even though his words hit me like a tidal wave. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I am, Cam. You’ve always been it for me. My soulmate, the love of my life,” he
“I love you too,” I finally manage. The words feel big, bigger than the moment, but true all the same.
His grin fades into something warmer, more serious. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, though, every part of me feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something terrifyingly wonderful.
We stop just a few feet from the porch, the glow of the house spilling out around us. He turns to face me fully, his hands coming up to frame my face, his thumbs brushing lightly over my cheeks.
“Sorry again for . . . you know, fucking up fourteen years ago,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine like he’s afraid to blink and miss my reaction.
“We were young,” I say, my voice soft but steady. Then I let out a breath and break his gaze, staring at the ground like it holds all the answers. “And if I’d been in your place . . .” I trail off, forcing myself to meet his eyes again. “I probably would’ve done the same. Leave because everything back then felt huge—like life-or-death huge. And now? It’s just . . .” I shrug, letting the words hang between us .
And then he kisses me.
It’s not rushed, not one of those desperate, pin-you-to-the-wall kind of kisses. It’s slow—deliberate. Like he’s testing the waters, waiting for me to pull back. But I don’t. God, I don’t.
His lips are soft but firm, and the way he tilts his head just right makes my brain short-circuit. I feel it everywhere, from the tips of my fingers gripping his jacket to the slight tremble in my knees. It’s like he’s rewiring something inside me, flipping switches I didn’t even know were broken. Every moment I doubted this—doubted us—just dissolves.
By the time we pull back, I’m breathless. My lips tingle like they’ve been electrocuted (in the sexiest way possible), and my thoughts? Oh, they’ve completely abandoned me, probably off sipping margaritas on a beach somewhere.
He leans in, resting his forehead against mine, and his breath mingles with mine in the crisp night air. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispers, his voice low and thick with promise. There’s something tender there, too, and it makes my chest ache. Not in a bad way, though. More like my heart’s growing three sizes, Grinch-style.
I manage a smile, though I’m still working on that whole breathing thing. “I might, Crawford.”
His laugh is soft and warm, and it curls around me like a blanket fresh out of the dryer. He presses another quick kiss to my lips—just a teasing brush—before straightening up and taking my hand.
“Come on,” he says, his thumb sweeping over my knuckles as he tugs me toward the house. “Let’s go back inside. Maybe we can . . . head to bed?”
I stop dead in my tracks, my brow lifting. “Huh? We’re sharing a bed? Are we talking actual sleeping, or are we finally breaking the no-sex clause you’ve been clinging to like it’s some sacred vow?”
His lips twitch like he’s trying not to smile, but he fails miserably. “We can break it, but only if you’re a good girl.”
A laugh bursts out of me, sharp and loud, and I don’t even try to smother it. “Oh, I can be very good.” I lick my lips.
He grins, all wicked confidence now, and it sends a shiver down my spine. “We’ll see about that.”
And just like that, he tugs me inside. But the heat in his eyes? That promises we won’t be doing much sleeping.