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No. Tristan loved me; I knew that in my soul. He was just scared. He needed more time, and I would give it to him.

Because he was worth the wait. He was worth everything.

So I’d wait for him forever.

Even though waiting would suck.

Chapter forty-two

Tristan

Late September

The past few months since Pride in the Mix had been blissful. I’d made a lot more progress with Emily, and I could tell I’d started to really heal.

Which was why I was here.

I swiped my sweaty palms over the thighs of my black khaki joggers, eyeing the front door of Bears and Brews from my table in the middle of the small dining area. Cameron wasn’t here yet, but I expected him any minute.

Reaching for my nearly empty chai latte—not my usual choice, but I liked them on occasion—I took a sip of the lukewarm beverage just as my bestie hurried through the front door. His face split into a smile when he saw me, and five seconds later, he was dropping into the chair across from me.

“Hey, Cametherson!”

My BFF rolled his eyes at my admittedly over-the-top greeting. It was my trademark, after all, and I wouldn’t disappoint an audience.

But . . .

Shit. Emily had made me realize I relied a lot on being the life of the party to hide any feelings I viewed as negative from my friends. And that wasn’t how I wanted to start this conversation.

Cameron opened his mouth to say something, but I held up my hand. My response was notably less enthusiastic, so much closer to my true feelings. Fuck, this was hard. “Sorry, I didn’t mean . . . just, uh, hi, Cameron.”

Cameron stared at me like I had two heads, his mouth falling open. Understandable. After a moment, he finally found his voice. “Um . . .” His appraising eyes narrowed at me, and I squirmed in my seat. “What’s going on with you?”

I shifted again in my seat, dancing lightheartedly—a clear deflection; even I knew that—yet refusing to meet his gaze. Then I froze.

Double shit. Emily had warned me about my body language, too.

Old habits were hard to break.

With a courage I wasn’t feeling, I slid back up in my chair and sat flush against the hard wooden back, spine straight. Cameron just watched me curiously, letting me figure out what I was going to do next without judgment.

Once I’d settled, he crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. His golden hair fell over his forehead, and he reached up with a graceful hand to swipe it away. “Okay, Tris, spill.”

One fidget later, I forced myself to meet his gaze. When I saw nothing but love and concern in his eyes, I released a breath and stretched my hands out on the table between us, palms up. Cameron glanced down at the movement then grabbed my hands, answering my clear invitation.

I was glad he understood. I needed connection to get through this jumbled mess in my head.

“Cameron, I haven’t really been truthful with you.” Well, that came out more intensely than I’d intended.

His eyes narrowed again, but he kept his hands in mine. “What do you mean?”

“I . . . shit.” I flipped my hair out of my face with a flick of my head. “You know how I’m always joking around, calling you off-the-wall names, stuff like that?”

“Of course.” Cameron smirked. “Part of your charm.”

I chuckled without humor. “Maybe. But it isn’t always a true reflection of who I am or how I’m feeling in that moment.”

Cameron’s eyebrow shot up. “It’s not?”