Page 133 of Raw Notes, Rough Nights

Cameron laughed. “Oh, absolutely. I’m not even going to pretend we won’t talk about you.” He paused. “I was also going to invite her to the opening of the exhibition on Friday night.”

I froze for half a second. “That soon?”

He appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. One glance told me he was ready to leave for college. “I told you mine was one of the last pieces to be selected. They’re finalising everything now.” He tilted his head. “Do you still want to come?”

A flicker of nerves skated up my spine, sharp and unwelcome. I pushed it down.

“Of course,” I said lightly. “In fact, I’ll stand next to the canvas and see if anyone manages to connect the dots.”

Cameron crossed the room and kissed me, slow, lingering, and deliberate. “They will,” he murmured. “I captured every inch of you.”

“Careful,” I said dryly. “You’re missing a few inches in that assessment.” I dropped the towel, my body betraying me instantly.

Cameron snorted, shaking his head. “Not exactly a still life,” he said.

“So what happens now? Do you have to start on something new straight away?”

He grinned. “I’m giving myself a week off. The college’s handling the promotion side.” He watched my face closely. “You okay?”

“Yes,” I said too quickly, then softened it. “Just… adjusting to the idea.”

Cameron brushed his thumb along my jaw. “You don’t have to be brave all the time.”

“I know,” I said. And I meant it.

He pushed out a regretful sigh. “I’ve got class this morning.” Then his eyes sparkled. “And a canvas to deliver.”

“Is it all wrapped up? You don’t want it to get damaged.”

He chuckled. “Will you stop worrying for five seconds? It’s in its own bag. And it isn’t as if I have far to go.” His gaze flickered down and he smirked. “And if you keep standing there like that, I’m really going to be late.” Another kiss, shorter this time, but no less charged, and then he was gone.

The flat felt different after Cameron left. I stood there for a moment, the towel still in my hand, listening to the echo of the door downstairs closing, the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. My body was still warm from the kiss, from the easy banter, from the way Cameron moved through my space as if he belonged there.

And that was the thing—he did.

We were natural together, effortless in a way I’d never quite trusted before. There were no sharp edges to sand down, no careful choreography of distance and approach, just shared mornings, half-finished jokes, casual touches that seemed like punctuation instead of disruption.

It should have scared me, but it didn’t.

I moved into the kitchen on autopilot, poured myself a glass of water. I hadn’t said it yet. There had been a dozen momentswhen it hovered on the tip of my tongue: late at night on the couch, Cameron’s head tipped against my shoulder; quiet mornings, when more often than not I woke with him in my arms; and the way Cameron looked at me when I conducted a rehearsal, as if I was something to be proud of.

I’d always been good with restraint, with waiting and silence. But this felt different.

This wasn’t fear holding me back—it was reverence.

I didn’t want to say it carelessly, to toss the words into the air like something that could be shrugged off or misunderstood. Cameron deserved more than that.

I leaned back against the counter and closed my eyes.

I’m falling in love with you.

The words were filled with a calm, steady certainty. I felt no panic. I wasn’t spiralling out of control.

That scared me more than anything.

I crossed the living room and picked up my notebook from the coffee table. It had been sitting there for days, empty pages waiting as they knew something I didn’t. I flipped it open, my thumb brushing the paper, then reached for a pen.

If I couldn’t say it out loud yet, I could write it.