Chapter 7
Dani
The milkshake party the night before had left me in my own sugar coma and left my cheeks aching from smiling for hours after I left Logan and Harper’s.
Needing some best friend time, I made my way to Cami’s.
Slipping into her house without knocking.
The door was always unlocked for me, and we’d never been the type to stand on ceremony.
Our friendship went back to high school cheer tryouts, and even after she had kids, we never drifted.
I was there for the appointments, the school events, the everyday chaos—I loved being their aunt.
And Cami was there for me, too. Her house had become my shelter when the weight of my parents’ expectations pressed in, and I needed somewhere to breathe.
Inside, the house smelled like vanilla and lemon cleaner layered over laundry detergent. It was lived-in. Loved-in.
Wedding gifts lingered everywhere, no longer stacked in neat piles but half-unwrapped, already folded into daily life.
A new serving bowl rested on the counter, candles burned low on the bookshelf, and cards lined the mantel in a crooked row.
Clearly, someone’s attempt at order was abandoned halfway through.
The walls had filled in since Hunter bought the place. A year ago, the hallway was blank, but now it was lined with framed photos. Beach days, kids tangled together on the couch, Cami and Hunter caught mid-laugh, the kind of moments that felt real, not staged.
I set a bottle of wine and cookies for the kids I’d brought on the counter as I slipped off my shoes, letting the house settle around me.
I called toward the back of the house, “Cami, what’s the plan here? Reorganize? Or can we drink wine like responsible adults?”
She laughed, yelling back, “Wine first. Organization can wait.”
“Excellent. I accept your terms.”
I leaned against the counter, soaking in the serene hum of their home. A rare occurrence, as Hunter had taken the kids to the park while Cami attempted to catch up on chart notes.
She appeared a second later, hair up in a messy bun, carrying two wine glasses in her hands. “I hope you have that key chain I bought you for your birthday because you’re opening the wine. I have no idea where the corkscrew is, and I’m ninety percent sure I lost it.”
I laughed, setting my purse on a stack of kids’ drawings before opening the bottle. The cork opened with a pop, and Cami cheered.
We carried our glasses out to the deck, where the evening light had turned the wood gold. The yard felt like a half-finished dream. There were potted plants lined up in a row waiting to be planted, a covered pool still waiting to be opened, and the faint scent of cut grass drifting in.
“Okay,” I said, sinking into one of the chairs. “This place is beautiful.”
Cami smiled, looking around like she still couldn’t believe it. “Hunter’s been talking about hosting everyone for a barbecue once we recover from the wedding.”
“Everyone, meaning Logan and Harper?” I teased, swirling my wine.
Her smirk was immediate. “And maybe a certain overworked, emotionally unavailable lawyer I know?”
I groaned. “Oh, we’re starting there.”
“Of course we are,” she said. “You think I missed the way you looked at him during brunch?”
“Cam.”
“What?” She raised her hands innocently. “He’s cute.”
I hesitated, a small, involuntary flinch betraying me before I could snap into nonchalance. “I barely know him.”
“Uh-huh. And yet you picked out earrings before brunch, didn’t you?”
I glared. “You have no proof.”
She grinned, smug and unrepentant. “Please, I know you. You only wear those little gold hoops when you want to ‘look casual but not too casual.’”
“Remind me to never invite you to cross-examine me,” I said, sipping my wine.
She sat back, eyes softening. “You like him.”
I hesitated. “I like Harper.”
“And?”
“And he’s…” Intriguing,” I admitted, my voice softening. “But in a moody ‘I put on a tough face, but my six-year-old turns me to mush’ kinda way.”
“Exactly,” she said. “You spend ninety percent of your life in courtrooms, case files, the pressure cooker that is your brain, just live a little.”
I made a face. “Thanks for that glowing character summary.”
She smiled. “You know what I mean.”
I didn’t answer right away. She was right, and we both knew it.
Cami had seen every version of me: the overachieving valedictorian, the stressed-out undergrad, the law student running on caffeine and nerves, the new attorney trying to prove she belonged.
She’d watched me fold under my parents’ expectations, then unfold again, always trying to hide the disappointment.
“You know,” she said, her tone gentler now, “my kids think you’re a superhero.”
“Because I bring them snacks and let them get away with whatever they want. It’s my job as the fun aunt.”
“No. It’s because you show up. Because you always do.” She paused. “But you never show up for yourself.”
I stared into my wine, pretending to study the reflection of the sky. “Okay…you’re being dramatic again.”
“It’s true,” she said simply.
I sighed. “Cami, I’m fine.”
“Is it?” She countered.
I hated that she could say that, and I couldn’t argue.
“I just…” I exhaled, setting my glass down. “You know how my parents are. Success isn’t optional. She‘s always like —”
“Comfort is for people who’ve already achieved something.” We say mockingly in unison.
Cami’s expression softened. “And you believed her.”
“Still kind of do.”
She reached across the table and touched my hand. “You’ve achieved plenty, Dani. Look at all you’ve done. You graduated a year early, you’re the youngest lawyer in the office.”
The truth sat between us, simple but heavy.
We sat in silence for a while, the kind that felt earned. Cicadas started up, and somewhere down the street, a dog barked at a car passing by.
I took another sip of wine. “You know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“The first time I met Logan, I barely noticed him.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “What?”
“It was when you two moved in here,” I said, smiling at the memory. “He came to help Hunter haul that ridiculous grill.”
“Oh my God, the grill,” she groaned. “The one Hunter swore would ‘totally fit’?”
“That’s the one.” I laughed. “I showed up with takeout, and there’s Logan, carrying the heavier end, muttering about bad decision-making.”
Cami snorted. “That sounds like him.”
“Yeah. Right before I spilled that margarita on Hunter’s shoe.’”
“I totally forgot about that!” She laughed.
“Well, he didn’t.” I smiled faintly. “I remember thinking he had nice eyes, but that was it. I didn’t know who he was then. Still don’t.”
Cami’s smile faded, her eyes softening. “He’s been through a lot. Losing Elena like that…He’s quiet, but he’s a good guy.” The words hung in the air, and I felt a sudden tightening in my chest.
“What happened?” I asked carefully. “I get the impression she’s gone, and it’s… big. But he hasn’t said, and I don’t want to push.”
“She passed during childbirth. Never even held Harper. But that’s all I can say, it’s his story to tell. He struggles with it. Hunter said it was a really dark time for him.”
I fiddled with the rim of my glass. “All that…I can’t. I can’t even imagine. And somehow, he still shows up for Harper. And she’s… she’s such a good kid.”
Cami nodded, a gentle, knowing smile playing at her lips.
We sat without speaking, both of us thinking about loss and rebuilding, about how life keeps moving even when it feels like it shouldn’t.
Then Cami said, “He deserves someone good,” looking at me suggestively.
I let out a slow breath. “Cam…”
“I’m not saying you have to fall in love with him, Dani.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“I’m saying you don’t have to keep proving you’re untouchable,” she said softly. “You can want things. You can have things. You don’t need permission.”
The lump in my throat surprised me. “I’m just not used to… slowing down.”
“Then start small. Like Milkshakes.” She said, gently pushing my shoulder.
I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re as bad as Harper.”
“I take that as a compliment.” She said, flipping her hair over her shoulder.
We stayed out there until the sky turned indigo and the string lights flickered on overhead. The conversation drifted—from work, to the twins’ latest slime obsession, to the fact that I still hadn’t finished decorating my apartment. Even after the laughter faded, her words lingered.
Later, when I was driving home, windows down, night air curling through the car, music blasting, I passed the park where I’d first truly seen Logan.
I remembered the way Harper had grabbed my hand that day, and how Logan had watched us, A hint of amusement lingered, but it was tempered by something warmer beneath it.
Cami’s voice echoed in my mind: You don’t need permission.
Maybe she was right. Maybe I didn’t.
But old habits die hard.
When I got home, I dropped my keys on the counter and glanced at my phone, half-expecting a message that never came. The apartment was still, the hum of traffic outside the only sound.
I poured a glass of water and leaned against the counter, staring out at the city below.
Maybe Cami was right. Maybe I worked too much, thought too hard, played things too safe.
But maybe, just maybe, I was starting to want something more.