“Fine.” I shrug. “I’ll break the news to Daisy Duke that sunset rides and picnics aren’t your thing.”
She tilts her head, shooting me an exasperated look. “That wasn’t what I was referring to.”
“Hmm. I can’t think of anything else I wouldn’t do again.” And that’s the truth. I plan on kissing Camilaa lotmore than just last night.
She shakes her head, fighting a smile. “I just think our situation is already messy enough. We don’t need to add an unnecessary physical element.”
“Maybe it is necessary.”
“Hess,” she chides playfully, like we’ve been doing this kind of back and forth forever.
I set my mug down and walk to the island, placing my palms on the counter in front of her. Camila stiffens despite the three feet between us. “Did you like kissing me? Because I liked kissing you.”
Surprised laughter puffs out. “Whether we liked it or not doesn’t matter.”
“I think it’s the only thing that matters.” I walk around the edge of the counter so I’m standing by her side. Her eyes widen as I lean into her space. Close enough to feel her breath. Closeenough that I know she feels mine. Close enough to see her pulse flicker at her throat.
“This isn’t a game to me, Camila. We’re no longer two people forced to live together, playing house. I like you. I like youa lot.And I think you like me too. I want to keep getting to know you and date you the way I would any other woman I’m interested in. So yeah, I plan on kissing you again when you’re ready or when the time is right.”
Her lips part, but no words come out.
My gaze flicks over her face, the faint freckles on her skin, the dark brown in her eyes. I hold her stare so she knows I mean what I say. “No more games or business deals. This is real for me. Okay?”
She swallows, barely nodding.
I back up, giving her the space I know she needs after everything I just said. I grab my keys off the counter and force my voice to be light. “I’m going to church with my parents and then to their house for dinner. I hope I can see you later tonight if you don’t have too much work to do, but if not, I’ll see you when I see you.”
And then I head for the door, grinning again in spite of everything.
Because last night proved it: there’s something here.
And I’m not letting Camila run from it forever.
Camila
The house isquiet when I push the front door open, the kind of quiet that comes with midnight. There’s a beat of disappointment in my heart, a wish that Hess would’ve waited up to see me after a grueling day at work. Who am I kidding? After a gruelingweekat work. We haven’t had a chance to connect since last Sunday night when we played checkers for two solid hours. But then Monday came, and the reality of my life set in, and I haven’t really seen him since. That’s really why I’m disappointed. But wanting Hess to wait up until I get home is a strange wish for a girl like me, a girl who prides herself on being independent and not needing anyone to get by. But tonight I feel overwhelmed and lonely and would love nothing more than to see Hess.
I’ve been conflicted since the kiss and since he laid out all his intentions. I’ve never had a man be that honest with his feelings before. His words scared me, probably because I want them to be true so badly. But then I went to work and let doubt creep intoevery corner of my heart, and I feel myself pulling away again. I can’t help myself. It’s my conditioned response.
I close the front door behind me and walk across the living room. Every light is off except one. A single glow spills from the kitchen, warm against the shadows. On the table sits a tall glass vase filled with a bouquet unlike anything I’ve ever been given—stems of deep-indigo blooms, pale-blush roses, and sprigs of something wild and fragrant I can’t even name. It’s striking and unexpected, carefully arranged, like it was chosen just for me.
My lips part, a smile tugging before I can stop it. Warmth rushes through me, funneling happiness, excitement, and fluttering in my stomach. Butterflies just from flowers on a table—but really from Hess’s thoughtfulness.
There’s a card propped against the vase with my name. I reach for it, sliding the small envelope free and opening it to read.
Here’s to choosing to make something beautiful and then fighting hard to make it last.
The words blur for a second before I blink them back into focus.
I know exactly what he means. It’s not just flowers. It’s not just a note. It’s Hess, slicing a line straight through the wall I’ve spent years building to protect my heart.
Terrifying. That’s what it is.
Because I don’t believe in things lasting. Not marriages, not promises, not love. I’ve seen too much, lived too much of the fallout.
And yet, my fingers brush the petals, soft and delicate, and for one dangerous moment, I ache for something more. Maybe I’ve built a narrative in my head that can be easily disproved by one good man.
Camila
