Page 72 of Staying for You

She rests her chin on my chest and looks at me. “It’s like you just knew.”

I rub her back and keep looking to the ceiling. “I have onions too, so we can do some caramelized onions with it.”

“You speak my language.” She gives me a squeeze around my stomach.

I grin and keep her close, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

Having her in my bed is addicting.

“You should get a dog.”

“What kind?”

“Obviously a lab. Chocolate one. It’d be perfect for a mascot for The Escape.”

“Hmm. Not a bad idea.”

“I’m full of good ideas.”

I keep rubbing her back. “As evidence by what just happened.”

She giggles and lays her cheek on my chest. Kisses me there then sighs. Content. Happy. Satisfied.

“Tell me about what you’re writing right now.”

“You really want to know?” she asks, quietly. A little bit of that shyness coming back.

“Of course.”

She sits up, crosses her legs and doesn’t hesitate to launch in, telling me about the story she’s currently writing. It’s not lost on me that parts of the hero, as she called him, resemble myself, but I try my best not to let my chest get swelled with too much pride over that fact.

“I can’t wait to read it.”

Her expression stills and her lips press together tightly. “What?”

“What?”

“You said you want to read it?”

“Of course,” I repeat.

The way she seems surprised or shocked by the fact that I’d show interest in what she does for a living, only reminds me of the fact that her ex is an enormous toolbag. She deserves someone who gives a damn, just like she does. She is always asking me questions about The Escape, and fishing and the docks. Pretty much anything that is involved in my life, she wants to know about. Just like I want to know about hers.

I want her here in the summer so she can see what it’s like. But if I’m being honest, I want her here in the summer for more reasons than just that.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cami

“It’s amazing, Cami.”

I suck in a breath at my best friend’s words. “Really?”

“Yes. Your best work. Ever.”

She’s never once lied to me. At least, that I know of. Or, rather, not about anything regarding my writing career. It’s one of the things I appreciate, even if sometimes it was hard to hear.

Tears spring to my eyes and my nose starts stinging but I beat it back.

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