Jake blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What?”
She let out a nervous laugh, suddenly aware that her heart was slamming against her ribs. “You heard me.”
His lips parted slightly, then pressed together as if he were trying to process what had just happened.
Capri’s stomach clenched. Maybe she’d said too much. Maybe she’d ruined everything. But she meant it. She didn’t want to go another day pretending she didn’t know exactly what she wanted.
And what she wanted was him.
“You and me, huh?” she murmured, her voice unsteady. “What do you say?”
Jake pulled back just enough to better look at her, his eyes shining with something so sure, so unshakable, it took her breath away.
“You and me, Capri,” he said, voice low and full of promise. “Always.”
She closed her eyes for a beat, letting the moment sink in before letting out a chuckle of pure delight. “Hear that? My heart is pounding.”
Jake squeezed her hand and pressed it to his chest. “My heart is pounding too, just so you know.”
She couldn’t stop the tears.
At last, the future wasn’t a source of fear—it was a promise to reach for. She no longer shouldered the weight of going it alone, of always being the one to hold everything together.
She wasn’t just looking ahead—she was charging toward a life she wanted, a future full of possibility. The days ahead weren’t uncertain; they were wide open, waiting to be filled with love, adventure, and a life she was ready to embrace.
She was exactly where she was meant to be, beside the man she chose—the man who chose her right back.
27
The guy eased out of the driver’s side door and leaned against the side of his glossy black pickup, the kind of truck that never saw a dirt road, let alone a hard day’s work. His arms were crossed over his chest, and one boot was propped against the tire, the perfect picture of ease, like he had all the time in the world.
Sunlight caught the expensive watch peeking from beneath the cuff of his tailored jacket—a brand most kids his age wouldn’t even recognize, let alone afford. His blond hair was expertly tousled, just enough to look effortless, and his smirk deepened as he watched them approach.
“Well, well,” he drawled, pushing off the truck with a lazy grace. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me, Camille.” His eyes flicked briefly to Lila, full of casual assessment, then back to Camille, as if her mother didn’t exist. “That’s no way to treat a guy who’s got a vested interest, now is it?”
Camille crossed her arms, glaring. “How’d you find me?”
“Wasn’t hard. All it took was a couple of casual questions, and this town was more than willing to serve up the answers.”
A tense beat passed before Camille huffed, clearly unimpressed. Shifting gears, she gestured between them. “Mom, this is Blaine Newcomb.” She turned back to him, her tone flat. “This is my mom.”
“Well, hello Camille’s mom.” He extended a hand. “I’m Senator Newcomb’s son.”
His tone was smooth, just shy of condescending, the kind of confidence that came from knowing his last name carried weight—at least in some circles in this state.
“Speaking of moms, mine is sitting at a bar and grill in town. She wants to talk with you, Camille.”
Was he…smirking?
Lila barely hid her scowl. “That would be the Rustic Pine. Pete and Annie Cumberland are the owners. Friends of ours.” She wasn’t sure why she was rambling.
Blaine shrugged, like none of this was particularly important to him, but the way he watched Camille told a different story. “Yeah, Rustic Pine. That’s the one.” His gaze lingered on her, his smirk fading into a look of expectation. “She’s waiting for you.”
Camille shifted beside Lila, her shoulders tense. “I…I don’t know if now is a good time.”
Blaine sighed through his nose, like he was already tired of this conversation. “Cami, come on. She just wants to talk. You can’t keep hiding from this…situation.” His voice was smooth, even, but beneath the polished exterior was an unmistakable edge as his gaze dropped to her slightly swollen belly.
Lila’s gaze darted to her daughter, catching the flicker of hesitation in her expression and something else—reluctance, maybe even shame.
