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My playfulness falls flat, though. Why is he frowning?
“I’m sorry. I probably sound like a coward, especially after what you went through with your family this weekend because of me.”
That’s what this is about? It’s not a race to see who bares their soul first. Swinging my legs off the couch, I go to him, tossing his jeans aside so I can cup his hands in mine.
“Being wary of circumstances you can’t control doesn’t make you a coward.”
“Thanks, but I still feel like one. I want to tell them. Somehow. I just…I don’t know how to do it.”
“Don’t compare what happened for me with you and yours. I got lucky with my family. It was an accident, so I don’t get any credit for being brave. Okay?”
The corner of his mouth ticks up. He nods, but I’m not convinced I’ve resolved his worries, judging by the distress in his features.
Cupping his cheek, I press a kiss to his lips. “Hey, here’s all that matters—when you do tell them, good or bad, I’ll be there for you. I promise. Okay?”
His features soften, and he smiles at me. “I don’t know why, but okay. Thank you.”
He doesn’t know why? I’m pretty sure the answer is the definition of a four-letter word I never appreciated until now. I think that blows needy out of the water.
CHAPTER 25
Cameron
“Promise me…we don’t have to become…one of those fit couples who check their Fitbits even when they’re at the grocery store,” I wheeze, trying to keep pace with Pete on the park path.
“You said you were up for a jog when I asked. I thought a weekend off from the orchard might be too inactive for you,” he calls over his shoulder.
I’m glad he’s finally slowing down, but I’ll miss the view of his ass in those sweatpants. Shit. I might pass out. No firm buns in sweatpants are worth a loss of consciousness. Stopping, I bend over and brace my knees to catch my breath.
“Your mom has had me on kitchen duty for the last four weeks. She takes it easy on me.”
Laughing, he stops and walks back to me, hooking his hand under my elbow to get me moving. I remember he said something about my heart exploding if I stopped suddenly. I thought it was his paranoia, but maybe there’s some truth in it because I can hear my pulse in my ears.
“Well, it was worth it,” he digresses. “You’re turning into a decent cook. I ate the rest of that lasagna you made last night for lunch today.”
“Decent?” I wrench my elbow back from him to give him a playful shove in the arm. “Don’t tell her that. I think she was hoping I’d become a gourmet.”
“Wouldn’t she have to be a gourmet herself first before she could make you one?”
“Have you not eaten her baking? She should have a cooking channel and her own line of kitchenware or…at least open a store. Seriously, whoever eats her food would be hooked for life.”
“They already have their apple stand.”
“They only sell apples out of it, but she gets requests for pies from people she knows. I mean a real store with coolers and pastry displays or a bakery, not a barn with the front door open. They could probably make as much, if not more, from her and your sister’s baked goods. Your mom even has a food handler’s license that she said she got for the fair.”
Mm. Now, I want her apple crisp. No wonder I can’t keep pace with Pete. I went from muffins to sugary-goodness-on-steroids. I’ve been over-carbing for weeks.
“Look at you.” He smirks, finally stopping our cool down walk.
“What?”
“An entrepreneur.” Stepping forward, he glances down at himself in disapproval. Frowning, he swipes at his forehead with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.
“I’m sorry. I’m sweaty, but–” He finishes the sentence with a soft peck to my lips.
I think my babbling has just been awarded a Pete Carver stamp of approval. “That was a way better idea than running.”
“Cameron?”
