“Well, aren’t you?” I tease, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “It’s always at ten percent.”
“I’ve gotten better at keeping phones charged since England.” She laughs quietly, eyes glinting in the low light. “What about the kittens? Whatever happens, they shouldn’t be separated.”
I think for a moment, the sound of the waves and our breathing filling the room. “You’re flying. I’m driving. I can take them with me to New York. Once you’re settled, you can bubble-text me, and I’ll bring them to you or have them dropped off, no strings, if that’s what you decide.” I exhale. “They belong with you. They always did. Found in Millie’s attic underyourhouse-sitting watch. Wanda literally picked you to be their mom from the start.” A smirk tugs at my mouth. “I’m just the bonus guy who helped make it happen.”
She blinks slowly, lashes damp, the corners of her mouth tugging somewhere between a smile and surrender. I can see her turning it over—what I said, what it means.
“They didn’t just pick me,” she says, barely above a whisper. “They pickedus. But you are right about being the bonus guy. You’remybonus guy.”
Her words hit somewhere deep, knocking the air right out of me. I huff a quiet laugh because if I don’t, I’ll probably say something I can’t take back.
“Best title I’ve ever had.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “Even better than ‘cat whisperer.’”
Cami’s smile lingers as her eyes flutter closed, the corners of her mouth curving like she’s still holding the thought. Within minutes, her breathing slows, syncing with the steady pulse of the waves outside.
I lie here, watching her, wishing I could freeze time. Because if the world stopped right now, I’d be fine with it.
CHAPTER 32
Cami
Four days left.
Four more sunrises, sunsets, tiny paws, baby purrs, and handfuls of perfect moments I want to bottle up and take with me to New York.
It’s strange how time feels different now, almost like summer’s moving faster just to spite me. The air still smells like sea salt and jasmine, but even that feels fleeting. Every sound—the waves, the seagulls, the kittens’ meows, Knox’s voice—sounds different when you know you’re running out of time to hear it.
We agreed I’ll bubble-text him once I’ve made it to my apartment in New York, take a week to get settled, then decide if I’m ready to move us into the real world. I appreciate how patient Knox has been. No pressure, no expectations.
And yet, every day since Vermont, the unspoken thing between us seems a little heavier. I keep wondering if I should tell him what’s already true in my heart. But the words feel fragile, like saying them out loud might jinx the one thing I can’t bear to lose. Him.
On the kitchen counter, our bubble phones sit side by side—yes, mine is fully charged—and every time I pass them, I getthe same ridiculous urge to check mine, just to make sure it still works.
I open the sliding glass door, settle onto the deck lounge, legs tucked beneath me, as I sip iced tea. Knox ran into town to grab groceries and whatever else he claims we’re out of. Probably a sweet excuse to give me some space before the inevitable goodbye countdown begins.
My phone buzzes against the side table.
Paxton: So…how was Vermont? Did you meet the entire fam? And how is your future grandpa?
For a second, I just stare at the message. Vermont feels like a dream I’m scared to wake from. It still clings to me. The warmth of his grandmother’s kitchen. How all of that also felt borrowed and mine all at once.
Me: Met the whole crew. His mom. His grandparents. Grandpa (Sy) is much better. Hip is all healed. Had loads of fun. They made me feel so welcome. I teared up when we drove away.
Paxton: Ugh. You’re living in a Hallmark movie.
Me: Pretty much. Only with lots of sex and fewer sweaters.
Sunlight catches the rim of my glass, scattering gold across the deck. My reflection in the iced tea looks calm, but inside, I’m anything but.
Paxton: Speaking of tearing up…time to spill the tea. You’ve got that “I’m keeping a secret” tone in your text bubbles.
I roll my eyes at his shenanigans.
Me: Fine. Knox said he loves me.
Even typed out, the words make my pulse quicken. I still can’t believe he said it, normal as breathing.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Reappear. The pause stretches so long, it feels like he’s typing and deleting a dozen possible reactions.
