Never Bargain with the Boss (Never Say Never Book 5)
Never Bargain with the Boss: Chapter 16

Back away from the hungry lion. That’s what I should do, but instead I find myself poking it with a big stick. Even more than I did this morning.

Get dressed for outside temps. Meet in the kitchen in twenty minutes.

It’s several hours after breakfast when I send the text to both Cameron and Grace, expecting both excitement and confusion. And maybe a few excuses about why this is a bad idea. Those’ll come from Cameron, of course. But I’m not letting him off that easily, not after what happened.

This morning was a clusterfuck of epic proportions on both our parts, but I refuse to let it send us into some backslide toward awkwardness and avoidance when we’ve been doing so well. So my plan is to do exactly what Cameron suggested—pretend it never happened. It was just one admittedly awesome moment of weakness.

No big deal, I think. Just a little-bitty, teeny-tiny oopsie. Granted, one that still has my body vibrating like a plucked guitar string, but I’m choosing to ignore that.

Because as much as Cameron and I could use a distraction, Grace needs one today.

She’s my ace in the hole. Cameron can argue all he wants and pretend he has work to do in an attempt to avoid me, but as soon as I say it’s for Grace’s benefit, he’ll cave like the doting father he is. I’m counting on it. And if not, I’ll bring out the big guns… which I haven’t exactly figured out yet, mostly because I don’t think I’ll need them.

Tears? Guys hate it when women and children cry and will do anything to stop the leaking.

Hopefully, it won’t come to that, but if it does, I’ll poke myself right in the eye to draw out some good waterworks. Anything for Grace! I realize now that she’s got me wrapped around her finger too. Sneaky, sweet girl.

Eighteen minutes later—Cameron because he’s punctual, Grace because she’s eager for anything—they appear in the kitchen. Grace is wearing tennis shoes, jeans, and a hoodie, and I can see the sleeves of the long-sleeved shirt she’s wearing beneath it peeking out at the sleeves. “Good layers,” I tell her approvingly. Cameron has on handmade Oxfords, jeans, a button-up, and a navy-blue sweater that makes his eyes pop. I swear he’s standing taller, eyes filled with anticipation, like he wants a compliment too, so I give him a little poke. “Good, except you probably want tennis shoes or boots.” I point at his feet, and he looks at his, Grace’s, and then mine, which are shod in my favorite combat boots. “Trust me.”

I bought these things at a thrift store, nearly new. They’re name brand Dr. Martens, not the knockoff shit that’ll fall apart with a hard sneeze, and they’ve seen me through hell and back. I don’t think today will be that bad, but I definitely chose them, and my jeans and sweatshirt, knowing what we’re about to do.

“Where are we going?” Cameron asks suspiciously.

“It’s a surprise.” I flash him a coy look, daring him to say he can’t go after already showing up dressed and ready. He doesn’t like surprises. Unless they’re planned, scheduled on his calendar, and pre-approved by him, which by definition, means it’s not a surprise. “Go change.”

Poke, poke, poke.

“Yeah, Dad. Hurry up so we can go! I love surprises!”

For as reluctant as Cameron is, Grace is whole-heartedly on board with whatever’s coming her way today. I’m hoping that means her calls with Bella and Trinity went well, but we’ll get to that conversation. In the meantime, I want to take her mind off last night and put a smile on her face. More importantly, Grace’s eagerness works, and Cameron returns in a pair of ankle-high winter boots that are actually perfect, although he doesn’t know it.

We take my car, Grace climbing in the back without comment and Cameron folding himself into the passenger seat. He’s frowning, obviously not happy about the lack of control over the driving or the destination, but that only makes me smile wider at him.

Pokity-poke-poke.

I wiggle in my seat, laughing internally at his increasingly stern expression. A few minutes later, I tell them both, “Okay, close your eyes.” In the rearview mirror, I see Grace quickly do as I’ve asked, even covering her closed eyes with her hand, but when I turn my gaze to Cameron, he’s staring right back at me. His eyes are hard, his expression flat, and his jaw set. I blink innocently, not backing down, and slowly, giving me a warning the whole way, his eyes slide shut.

He needs fun in his life. Both he and Grace do. Especially together. Which is why I’ve brought them here…

“Okay, open!”

I’m most curious about Cameron’s reaction, but I keep my attention on Grace, figuring her usual happiness will counteract Cameron’s sure-to-be grumpy response. As she opens her eyes, they go wide, her mouth drops open into a perfect O, and then her excitement… falls faster than a bowling ball off the Empire State Building.

“A pumpkin patch?” she asks, disappointment bleeding into every word. “Aren’t those for little kids?”

“Uhm, I don’t know. I’ve never been to one,” I say uncertainly, looking out the car’s window at the hand-painted signs proclaiming ‘Peter’s Patch’, the rows of orange pumpkins, a tall scarecrow on a stick with a few people posing for a picture beside it, and more. “There’s a maze, a hay ride, and a petting zoo, plus you can pick a pumpkin to take home, all as a package deal. I thought it sounded fun, but it’s okay, we don’t have to stay.”

I end with a dismissive shrug, trying to quickly swallow down my own disappointment so it doesn’t show. I wanted this to be a good day, so I’d gone searching for local activities. I thought I’d found the perfect thing, but apparently not.

I risk looking at Cameron, expecting him to be appalled at the idea of messy hay, dirty animals, and dirt-covered pumpkins. But I find him peering back like he’s sliding the puzzle pieces of me around in his head.

Good luck, I think again. I’m definitely a puzzle, but there’s no smooth edges that fit together nicely and the picture when I’m complete is just a bunch of squiggly lines and random dots. I’m like modern art, as done by a child, with half-dried out glue sticks, glitter shakers, and fuzzy pompoms. I might not even have all the pieces, if I’m being honest.

“Let’s do this,” he declares.

Shocked to my core, I gawk at him. “Really?”

“Really?” Grace echoes from between the seats, where she’s leaned forward to be involved in the conversation and see out the front window. She scans the patch like maybe she’s missing something vital, like a Starbucks kiosk.

“Yeah, why not? Sounds fun.” His assertion would almost be believable if I didn’t see the tic in his cheek. He’s irritated, likely at me for dragging him along on this escapade. But he opens the door and gets out. Grace and I lock eyes, both confused at Cameron’s uncharacteristic agreeableness, but then do the same and climb out of the car.

“Welcome to Peter’s Patch,” a teenager calls from beneath an archway created entirely from pumpkins, hay, and corn stalks. Well, there’s probably some supporting structure, but if there is, it’s all hidden by the fall-themed bits and baubles. “Three? That’ll be thirty bucks.”

Having read all the details on the patch’s website, I reach into my pocket for the cash I brought. But Cameron clears his throat and pushes my hand away from the attendant. “I’ve got it.”

Normally, I’d argue. This is my idea, and I’m basically dragging them along with me, so it should be my treat. But I’m a little dumbstruck by the feeling of Cameron’s hand touching mine. It’s the only excuse I can come up with for why I let him pay our way.

“Now what?” Grace asks as we pass the archway and head into the activity area. She’s looking around like she still has serious reservations about this, but her eyes linger a little longer on the maze.

“How about the corn maze?” I suggest, running with it.

Cameron side-eyes me, knowing exactly what I’m doing because he can read his daughter too and is just as big a sucker for her as I apparently am. But he silently escorts the two of us toward the stalks which are so tall you can’t see over them. The lady working there tells us the rules, which basically consist of ‘find the exit as fast as you can, but don’t go through the corn’. As soon as Grace hears it’s a race, she lines up at the official starting line.

“Readysetgo!” she announces, like it’s one word. She takes off before she even finishes the phrase, sprinting ahead, a trail of dust and corn leaves rising behind her.

Cameron and I glance at each other, smiles blooming. “Guess it’s not so little-kid, after all, huh?” I joke sarcastically, and he laughs.

Grace turns a corner ahead but almost instantly reappears. “Dead end. Come on!” She waves for us to follow her, and though we momentarily feign reluctance, we chase after her.

It turns into a race for the ages, each of us trying and failing to beat the others… around corners, down straightaways, and ultimately to the exit, which we can’t seem to find. It gets so serious that Cameron even holds Grace back at one point, despite her loudly shouting that he’s cheating. Laughing, I agree with Grace, mimicking a referee, “Interference on the corn maze! Penalty, one ear.”

“Every man for himself!” Cameron cries out gleefully, taking off and nearly blurring past me.

Grace has youth on her side and Cameron’s fit as hell, so it’s mostly a battle between the two of them as they run laps around me, but I’m getting a good ab workout by laughing at their antics. This is what they needed, what we all needed. A bit of silly, a dash of goofy, and a whole lot of rowdy.

By the next turn, Grace is ahead, leaving Cameron and me behind in another dead end. Or shit, is it the same one? I have no idea, and apparently less than zero knack for mazes because I’m completely turned around and all the corn looks the same. “Have you really never been to a pumpkin patch?” he asks, his breaths a little quicker from racing his daughter. Morning workouts only go so far, not that I’d be any better.

I shake my head. “No. Have you?”

He cants his head like he’s thinking back. “Yeah, probably. Mom always took us to stuff like this. I don’t remember anything specific, but it’s probably because it was just the normal thing in the fall.”

I can see that. It’s not that Cameron didn’t appreciate it, but when something’s an automatic, it doesn’t have the same impact that it does when it’s a one-off, special thing.

“What do you want to do the most?” he asks.

Kiss you.

That’s the truth, but I can’t say that. Not here, not now.

“Everything,” I answer. “The hay ride, the petting zoo, the pumpkins, the picture with the scarecrow. All of it.”

“Then let’s do it.” He nods like that’s been decided, then rolls his eyes. “But first, we’ve got to find our way out of here.” He looks around, but given we’re at a dead end, there’s only one way to go. Back the way we came.

I groan, dramatically throwing an arm to my forehead and proclaiming, “Leave me behind. I’ll only slow you down. Save… yourself…” I trail off, my voice getting weaker. “Cough, cough.” I don’t actually cough, but rather say the word for effect.

Cameron laughs at my theatrics and grabs my hand. “No way, we’re all making it out of here alive.”

Hand-in-hand, he leads me through the rest of the maze, going as slow as I need, even though he could sprint through this thing. When we finally find the exit, Grace is standing there waiting for us with a victorious smile on her face.

“There you are! I won!”

Her eyes drop to our clasped hands, and though I’d swear her smile grows a bit wider, I instinctively release Cameron. I feel the loss, my hand instantly feeling colder without being wrapped in his warmth, but I don’t want Grace to be confused about my role here. I’m her nanny, that’s it.

A tiny, regretful prick stabs my heart again. I wish I could be more… for her, for Cameron, for this sweet little family of two.

But that’s not what I’m meant to be.

I’m here to remind them that life can be fun, and amazing, and full of joy, even after a bad thing happens, and that it’s okay to live after loss. Especially after a loss, when it might be more important than ever.

Playing that up, I rush for her, grabbing her in my arms and spinning her around, her legs dangling ungracefully. “I thought I’d never see you again!” I declare. “It’s a good thing your dad was there to save me.” I play-bat my lashes at him. “My hero!”

Grace laughs and so do I. But Cameron? His hand, the one I released, is tightened into a fist and he looks irritated again.

Probably at me.

“Did you see the way that goat tried to bite me?” Grace gushes on the way home, sounding much more offended than she should be.

“In his defense, you had the food pellets,” I remind her. “If someone were holding your favorite Frappuccino hostage, I bet you’d do a whole lot more than nibble them.” I mime taking a big chunk out of someone, growling as I clack my teeth together T-Rex style.

“Yeah, but he’d already had two handfuls and the cutie patootie mini cow hadn’t had any,” Grace counters. “He was probably starving. The goat should’ve shared.”

I hide my snicker, because none of the animals at the petting zoo were missing any meals. In fact, today was probably like their trick-or-treating gorge, only on animal-safe pellets rather than Hershey’s bars.

“I’m not sure goats have manners the way people do.”

“Well, they should.” She crosses her arms, looking out the window, but she’s smiling happily.

For something she decreed ‘for little kids’, we all had fun. The maze was a laugh riot. The hayride was jarring and bouncy but the farmer driving the tractor told both funny and spooky stories, and somehow, we ended up with Cameron sitting in the middle of Grace and me, which meant that every other rut sent us careening into each other. We spent nearly thirty minutes wandering the rows of pumpkins, each of us determined to find the ‘perfect one’ but all with different definitions of what that entailed. Cameron’s is the stereotypical round, orange globe. Grace chose a chalky white, flat one because ‘aesthetics’, she said. And of course, I picked the bumpy, multicolored one because different is always good in my book and the pile of ‘ugly’ and ‘unwanted’ pumpkins had made me sad. I’d very nearly bought them all just so the inanimate gourds wouldn’t feel bad, but Cameron reminded me that I probably didn’t have room in my trunk for that many and I’d reluctantly agreed. Despite Grace’s thoughts on the one greedy goat, the petting zoo was hilarious, mostly because of Cameron’s horrified reaction to the way the dusty, dirty animals felt when he finally took the plunge to pet them, like he was petting diseased steel wool. I’d laughed even harder when he used three heavy squirts of the provided sanitizer to decontaminate his hands after. He acted disgusted, sticking his tongue out and making a gagging noise, but I saw his little smirk. He did it to make us laugh.

He went along with it all. For Grace.

And for you.

All day, the little voice in my head has been trying to make today have more importance than it should. But it’d felt so nice to simply play and have fun together. I’d felt included, and that’d been nice. It sure hadn’t felt like work.

It’d felt like family.

That sense of family continues when we crowd into the kitchen to carve Cameron’s huge orange pumpkin, scooping seeds and guts out and threatening to smear the ooey gooeyness onto each other, which quickly turns into a three-way chase around the island. When Cameron’s long arms reach across the counter’s expanse and he gets a bit of pumpkin on Grace’s nose, I save her by teaming up with her against Cameron. I play dirty, though, and with a whisper, remind her that she doesn’t have to go around the island… she can go over it, and with our shortcut plan in place, I help her jump up and get a handful of orange goo on Cameron’s cheek before he can react to Grace suddenly going from two feet away to looming over him. None of us come out of the battle unscathed by pumpkin guts, but it all washes off in the sink, and the completed jack-o-lantern looks adorable with its crooked gap-toothed grin.

After dinner, Grace disappears upstairs, saying she wants to talk to Bella and Trinity again before school. She hasn’t revealed too much of their conversation and I’m trying to give her the time and space she needs, hoping tomorrow goes well for her.

It could go wrong. Or even really wrong depending on how far Hannah wants to take things.

But Grace seems prepared, or at least she isn’t asking for advice on how to fistfight Hannah, which I’m taking as a win. I can teach her a lot, but how to throw a punch isn’t one of them. The last time I tried, I sprained my wrist and had to wrap my hand for two weeks.

“Tea?” I offer, holding two empty mugs.

“Yes, please.”

Cameron starts the dishwasher as I microwave the water, and with teabags slowly sinking into our mugs, we step onto the back patio. The full strength of fall is in the air tonight, making it chillier than it has been, and even though I’m still in jeans and a sweatshirt, a shiver runs through me.

“Brrr! I’m gonna get a blanket.” I turn back into the house, grab one of the soft, fluffy throws from a basket in the living room, and reappear back outside in mere seconds. In that time, Cameron has flipped the switch for the fireplace and taken his usual spot on the far end of the couch. He’s playing absently with the teabag in his mug as he stares out over the dark back yard, looking like something is weighing heavily on him.

He was fine all day and at dinner, which leaves one thing likely on his mind. This morning.

I make an impulsive decision and sit down right beside him so we can share the blanket. But as I unfold and spread it over the two of us, he balks. “Riley.” He drags out my name like it’s a warning in and of itself, which is sometimes the case. Luckily for him, I’m not trying to cause drama. This time.

“Don’t make it weird. It’s chilly, and we can share like adults.” He makes a sound of disagreement, but I don’t give him the chance to argue. “It’s not like I’m giving you a hand job under the covers or you’re rubbing me off…” I lean his way to deadpan, “Again.” My laughter runs through every word.

Okay, maybe a little drama. Just to keep him from going back to his stiff, uptight ways.

He chokes, even though he hasn’t so much as sipped his still steeping tea. “Goddammit,” he curses, side-eyeing me with a sharp frown. “Could you not? Grace might hear you and get the wrong idea,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

“Calm down,” I say with a smile as I bump his shoulder with my own, trying to bring him down to Defcon 5 instead of the panicked, near-nuclear level he’s operating at now. “Grace is upstairs on the phone, blissfully unaware of anything going on outside her bedroom door. I think the one you’re worried might get the wrong idea is… you.” I point a delicately pink-painted nail his way and smirk.

“Seriously, we should talk about this morning, seeing as we’re such adults and all.” He throws my own words back at me with a wry twist of his lips.

He makes it sound like we haven’t already addressed this. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a done deal, so I shake my head, sinking down deeper into the couch and pulling the blanket up to my chin. “Nope, no need. I get it. Sleep sex oops-a-daisy.” I cut my eyes to him. “Unless you’ve got some kink about fucking sleeping people?” I arch a brow, questioning whether that’s the case. “I’m not one to yuck someone’s yum, buuut…”

“What? No,” he sputters.

He’s totally spinning. I bet he’s never even thought of a kink like that, and I can’t help but grin because I’ve been spinning since this morning, so it’s only fair he gets a little taste of his own medicine. I’d known instantly who was behind me, even in a half-woke state. The feel of Cameron’s arms around me, the lingering scent of scotch mixed with his soap, and the low groan that’d rumbled in his throat. Oh, I knew exactly who he was and what he was doing.

And I welcomed it.

Maybe in the light of day, with a clear head, I would’ve had second, and maybe even third thoughts, but in that moment, I’d let the way it felt carry me away into a bad decision. Because it felt amazing.

I did, however, think he’d known what he was doing and who it was with. That had been a smack to my ego, but I’ve decided to forgive him for that because honestly, the orgasm was worth it.

“Alright, then, we’re fine,” I tell him, shrugging dismissively. “We fell asleep, and a body against yours feels good, especially for two near-celibate people like us, and we got a little reckless.”

“I’m not celibate,” he argues. “Or reckless.”

I snort-laugh, which sounds completely unladylike, not that I’ve ever claimed to be one of those. “That’s what you’re disagreeing with? When we’ve already established that neither of us date, ergo near-celibate.” I emphasize the word pointedly. “And if you didn’t feel this morning was reckless, you wouldn’t be freaking out on me now.”

He clacks his mouth shut, his pearly whites snipping together hard enough to make me wonder if he’s chipped a tooth. But he manages to grit out, “I’m not freaking out.”

Nodding vehemently, I agree. “Yeah, sure. Totally. Not even a little bit.” I hold up my finger and thumb a skinny inch apart. He growls, and by my way of thinking, it’s his acknowledgement that he’s absolutely panicking, so I smile sweetly at him, wanting him to know I’m not a sore winner. “It’s okay, Cameron. We got carried away, we won’t let it happen again. No need to fire me, or freak out, or fantasize obsessively about doing it again.” I let my eyes drift off like I’m definitely daydreaming about a particularly long, hard something, before I blink and refocus on him with a smirk. “No big deal.”

I’m still poking at him. Testing him and finding those edges and limits where I push too far. The tic in his cheek is back, so I know I’m getting close. I take a sip of my tea to hide my satisfaction.

“Riley, I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me, or like I took advantage of you and the situation⁠—”

I hold my hand up, silencing him. He’s reverting to some coldly professional, pseudo-business babble like I’m threatening to go to HR over what happened, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. Was what we almost did stupid? Yeah. But I’ve done stupider things before. And though he probably hasn’t, he doesn’t need to beat himself up over it. Doing dumb shit is fun sometimes, and that’s okay.

“The only thing that made me uncomfortable was my still-pulsing pussy hitting the hard floor,” I inform him primly. He swallows thickly, and I swear his eyes dip down as though he’s imagining what’s beneath this blanket. I nearly dance in my seat at the fun I’m having winding him up. He needs this in his life, a little mess and chaos, a bit of unexpected and impulsive. “And you sure as hell didn’t take advantage. I knew what I was doing, and I knew what you were doing. I’d say you knew what you were doing too– as in, it was good, not that you were aware, which we’ve already established you weren’t and is quite the hit on a girl’s ego—but if I gave you a compliment like that, your head would get even bigger and neither of us needs that.”

He blinks several times, like he’s replaying my long run-on sentence for clarity. “Are you saying…” He frowns hard, his brows furrowed low over darkening eyes. “Are you saying that you wanted… that?”

I sigh heavily, like I’m the one frustrated by him, but it’s a ploy. “I would never approach you. It’d be inappropriate.” He starts to speak, and I place my fingers over his lips, glaring hard, to shut him up so I can finish my thought. I’m 99.03% sure no one has ever dared to do that to him, given the way his eyes pop open wide in shock. But as I continue, he stays quiet, even when I slowly remove my hand, so I’m calling it a win. “And you would never approach me for the same reason. Our bodies have other ideas, and that’s understandable. You’re gorgeous, and smart, and a good dad. You’re sexy as hell, Cameron. And while I’m not everyone’s cup of tea…” I smile into my mug at the start of the analogy.

“You’re like a damn fairy,” he spits out, interrupting however I was going to describe myself, which definitely wasn’t as a mythical creature. Can’t say I’m mad at it, though. I might even kinda like the idea. “Flitting here and there, with your own musical accompaniment, leaving behind smiles and happiness. And all the while, flashing peeks of your belly and your tits that drive me wild. The only thing worse is your ass that I want to smack every time you walk away from me.” His voice has gotten rougher and rougher with every word, and by the end of his rant, he’s nearly growling and his frown has turned into a deep scowl like he’s angry at my very existence.

My breath hitches at his outpouring of words, each one a deeper, darker admission than the last, as fire ignites inside me. Not in my whole body, but rather one very centrally located part who thinks Cameron smacking my ass sounds like an absolutely stellar idea.

He doesn’t hate me, that’s for sure. There have been times, especially at first, when I wasn’t sure. I’d find him staring at me with his perpetual frown on his face and think he was about to escort me to the front door right then and there. But other times, more recently especially, he smiles and laughs at my and Grace’s silly antics, and he does seem to be a fan of my backside. Still, I didn’t think it’d gone beyond tolerance, or maybe mild appreciation of my amazingness. I certainly didn’t think a single one of those frowns or glares was because he wants me and is holding himself back.

“Wow,” I breathe, staring at him wide-eyed. “I had no idea.”

Looking furious, but I’d bet it’s mostly at himself, Cameron tries to get up, effectively running away from what he’s just said. I grab his arm, holding him in place. “Oh, no, you started this with all your ‘let’s talk like adults’ bullshit. No jumping off the roller coaster mid-ride after the first scary drop. We’re in this now.” Thankfully, he does remain sitting, though he’s gritting his teeth like he can barely stand to be this close to me.

“Riley.” I think he intends it to be a scold, but it comes out a plea. The heat in his eyes has electric tingles shooting through my whole body, and when his gaze drops to my lips, I even wonder if he might give in and kiss me. It’d be completely unlike him, but I want it anyway. Hell, maybe that’s why I want it? I stand by my usual desire for those around me to be predictable, but to be the woman who gets a man like Cameron to break through his self-imposed prison would be a heady, addictive power.

I can even feel it in my mind, him taking control while simultaneously losing it. His lips, so often pressed into a hard line, going soft as they work over mine. That sexy rumbling deep in his throat this morning, I want more of that. I want his hands on my body—my face, my breasts, my clit, filling me. I want that big, thick dick I felt against my ass this morning—in my mouth, my hands, my pussy.

I can feel the kiss about to happen, like it’s buzzing in the cold air between us, so palpable that I lick my lips in preparation. I watch the war waging inside him and wonder what will win—his integrity or his lust. His head or his heart. Or more specifically, his mind or his dick.

I want to find limits and I’ve found Cameron’s. I could push him further, see what happens on the other side of his control, but I think we’d both pay a price for that. He’d beat himself up, and that’s not what I want. I shouldn’t get my way at the expense of his getting his. I know where the line is now, for Cameron and for me, so I smartly back away with the insight that I desperately needed.

“What you said only further proves my point,” I tell him softly in his ear. “We’re two adults, both awesome in our own ways, and our bodies responded to one another. It’s perfectly natural, but we’re not animals who have to act on whatever we feel. We can choose restraint… if we want to.” I let the question of whether that’s what Cameron truly wants bleed into the suggestion, but he doesn’t take the bait even though his hungry eyes are locked onto my mouth.

Though he doesn’t move an inch, I feel him pull away from me. Away from the kiss he wants as desperately as I do. “Keep the focus on Grace. She’s what matters.” He nods like everything’s been decided. And for him, I suppose it has been. Putting all his energy, effort, and mental focus into his daughter is how he operates, his safe space.

“Right, Grace.” I agree because he’s right, but secretly, I know that Cameron matters too. I want to make them both happy.

The silence between us grows, both of us ruminating on what we’ve said and what we’ve decided. It’s the right thing to do, I know that. But if that’s true, why does it feel so wrong? Because it does. With my hip pressed against Cameron’s beneath the warm blanket and his frown looking so adorably cute, it feels so very wrong. And not in the fun, naughty way, but rather in a denying the inevitable sort of way.

“Why did you get out of the car at the pumpkin patch? Grace didn’t want to go and I said it was okay, just a silly little idea, but you got out.” It’s been bugging me all day. I know Cameron would never knowingly and willingly volunteer to do something like we did today, but he did, and I haven’t figured out why.

He stares out over the yard, not meeting my eyes as he admits, “Because you looked so fucking disappointed and it killed me. You wanted to go, so I wanted to take you.”

A thrill shoots through me because that means that whatever Cameron feels for me isn’t solely physical, and that’s an important distinction.

I spend my life making everyone happy, taking care of everyone else, and I love it. It brings me joy and satisfaction in a way I can’t express. But having someone want to do something nice for me because they give a shit about my happiness is a rare occurrence, and I want to bask in it for a moment, really wallow around and relish it fully.

“Thank you,” I say solemnly, not sure I can possibly explain how important what he did for me is. “It was fun, right? You had a good time?” I know I sound needy, but I can’t give a shit about that when I need him to say it. That reassurance will soothe something deep inside my scarred, fucked-up little heart where I can only be happy if the people I care about are too.

He lays his arm along the back of the couch, effectively wrapping it around me even if he’s not actually touching me, and quietly confesses, “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.” The concession comes with a smile teasing at the corner of his lip, almost begging to be provoked into more. So I poke him in the ribs where he’s made himself vulnerable and he grunts at the rebuke. Rolling his eyes dramatically, he grumbles, “Fine, it was fun, and I had a great time.”

I wiggle like a happy puppy, feeling like I did exactly what I set out to do. Or maybe even more than I hoped to. “Then you’re welcome for dragging you out there,” I declare sassily, and he chuckles at my unexpected response.

“So,” I drawl out, “speaking of Grace, how do you think tomorrow’s gonna go?” I nibble my lip, nervous for her.

“You’d probably know better than me,” he admits, shaking his head. “This tween girl stuff is about a million times more complicated than I thought it’d be.”

I talk Cameron through possible scenarios—some as benign as Hannah says and does nothing, and others as dire as the girls getting into it at school. And it does exactly what I’d hoped it’d do—distracts us until long after our tea mugs are empty, the night has turned downright cold, and we really should go to bed. Separately, of course.

But we sit here, talking about Grace, the pumpkin patch, and whatever else comes up, until I figure out that we’re both stalling and studiously avoiding discussing the desire weaving deeper and deeper through us.