Chapter 19 Miranda — Surprise re
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, William Shakespeare
I dragged my tired feet through the terminal, excited to be home but exhausted by the journey.
Three months had flown, and I found myself renewed, inspired, and beyond eager to apply my new techniques.
I’d made some great friends at the retreat, and although I was there to enrich myself professionally and artistically, my sojourn in Lyon had become so much more.
I felt refreshed, and while I was quite social when I was there, I’d spent a lot of time alone, reflecting on what had brought me there.
My case made its appearance, and I dragged it out into the meeting area, ready to sweep my beautiful sister into the world’s tightest hug.
I looked like a mess. I’d untied my hair in the plane to be more comfortable and then tied it again roughly when we landed.
I was certain I had bags under my eyes, and my lips were dry from the flight.
There was also just that gross feeling you had from sitting for hours that only a hot shower could remedy.
“Randa!” My sister’s excited voice rang out across the strangely quiet airport, and I made a quick dash in her direction.
I had missed my family so much. She hugged me with equal enthusiasm.
“I’m so glad you’re back! God, we missed you,” she whispered.
“I missed you too, Jules! We have so much to catch up on.”
“Welcome back Miranda! Fuck, you look tired,” Seamus muttered. Okay, so he was the bear, not the zombie.
“Right back at you, bro. But at least I—” My words died in my throat. Next to Seamus stood Cam W. Tall, steady, unfairly awake-looking Good Cam. And in his hands? Coffee. Actual, steaming coffee.
What the fuck was he doing at the airport at the ass-crack of dawn? Even Cordy had refused to come, citing “beauty sleep” as her reason. Lucy was less diplomatic and had just said “Not on your life, babe. I might get up at that time to greet Henry Cavill at the airport, but not you.”
“Cam …” I greeted, for some reason wishing I didn’t look like I’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. “You’re here.” My tone lifted on the last word, making my statement sound like a question. “Did you get lost on your way to somewhere reasonable, like bed?”
Jules snorted, clearly enjoying the show. Seamus dramatically checked his phone for the time, apparently trying to send the message that he was not up for grand reunions and just wanted to return to bed.
Cam’s smile was soft, not teasing, not smug. Just … kind. “Your sister said you were landing at this ungodly hour. Thought I’d keep her company. And—” He held out the coffee. “Figured you could use this.”
I reached for it automatically, fingers brushing his. Heat shot through me, probably from the cup, definitely not from him, no sir.
“Oh. Uh. Thanks.” I clutched the coffee like it was my lifeline.
“No problem,” he responded enthusiastically: way too much pep for the ungodly hour.
He stepped forward with his arms out. We’d shared a few hugs now, but this felt odd.
We didn’t have that meet-you-at-the-airport-for-a-giant-hug relationship.
I closed the gap and gave him a “bro hug,” patting his back three times and then pulling away.
It helped that one hand was busy with my coffee, so the bro pat was my only option.
When the distance between us returned, I immediately missed his warmth.
He’d been so sweet and diligent with his encouraging texts while I was away.
Every morning, my time, he sent a “good morning” text, and at night, he’d relay some stories from home, either about Lucy or Nettie, or just general neighborhood news.
I’d updated my socials about a presentation I was doing at 1 pm French time, only for Good Cam to text me five minutes before I presented my work.
It must have been about 4 am his time, so his gesture was incredibly thoughtful and touching.
Bad Cam would never have thought to do such a thing.
I’d fallen into the unhelpful habit of comparing the Cams, with Bad Cam always coming out the loser. I had to stop that pattern.
I also had to block Bad Cam. He’d continued texting, and not wanting to worsen the blood between us, I’d just ignored him but not blocked him.
I knew he was seeing Jess casually. Casual was all he was capable of.
He was probably seeing other women too, but I couldn’t find it within myself to care.
Better that Jess try to wrangle him into adulthood than me, but I didn’t understand why he continued to send me “I love you” texts if he’d moved on.
He continued to look at me with a soft expression, leaving a kind of silence that I had the compulsive need to fill.
In my jetlagged brain fog, I blurted “Wow. You actually … brought me coffee. For me. Like, at three in the morning. I don’t think anyone’s ever done that.
I mean, people have given me coffee before, obviously—baristas, for example—but that’s their job, not…
you know, this. Like, I mean, cleaners have to clean toilets but to do it just as a favor for someone …
” This was mortifying. I looked like hell, I had an escapee underwire digging into the underside of my boob, and I was spewing verbal diarrhea at a man who had done more for me in the past few months than any other male in my life had, apart from my dad of course.
My face burned. “I didn’t mean—you know what, forget it. Thank you for the coffee. I’m going to stop talking now.”
“Please don’t,” Cam said quietly, eyes lingering on me with that softness again.
I gulped my coffee, using it as a shield. Jules elbowed me, grinning. “Smooth, Randa. Real smooth.”
The ride home would be at least 40 minutes.
I could see it now. Jules would drive, given that Seamus was barely conscious, singing quietly along to music and leaving me with Cam in the backseat.
Given I couldn’t seem to control my mouth in this jet lagged, holy mess of a state, this would no doubt be the most awkward 40 minutes of my life, and that was a huge statement given the many other disasters on my personal highlight reel.
There was the time I introduced myself to my former boss’s wife and accidentally called her by his ex-wife’s name (they’d divorced ten years earlier and apparently still hated each other).
Then there was the wedding where I tripped going up the aisle and took out two floral arrangements and half a bridesmaid with me.
Oh, and who could forget the time I sent out invitations for the art fundraiser and only noticed after they’d been delivered that instead of “Silent Auction,” I’d written “Silent Action.” Everyone thought we were hosting some kind of avant-garde performance piece where people mimed their feelings for charity.
My inbox was full of “Will there be costumes?” and “Do we need to prepare a routine?”
So yes, this might be awkward—but tragically, it wasn’t uncharted territory. If anything, humiliation and I were on a first-name basis. Still, for reasons I didn’t want to acknowledge, I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of Cam. Well, make a bigger fool of myself than I already had.