Page 26 of Under My Skin

“I can’t imagine ever living anywhere else. Whenever I have to go to my gallery in Chicago, I get so homesick that I’m only there a few days.” She laughs and then turns away, going back to looking at the dark sky. “My agent wants me to move to Chicago and have a full-time presence there. She says it’ll make me even more successful.”

“But you don’t want to leave?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Nope. That sounds pathetic, right?”

“Nah, it doesn’t,” I say, still staring at her. “I actually talked to my dad about this. Wanting to be home. Live the simple life. I get it.” I clear my throat, getting a little choked up thinking back to that conversation with my dad years ago. “I would get homesick all the time, too. Especially in college. I missed my dad and my sisters. That was the downfall of playing professional football—I had no say in where I played and where I lived.” I take a deep breath and turn my gaze back to the sky as well. “I always told myself that I would live here during the offseason and move back once I retired, but Renee refused, then we had the girls, and I guess I just settled into a routine and got used to things the way they were.”

She ponders that for a second, like she’s wondering if she should pry. And then she settles on, “That must have been hard.”

“It was. But I’m home now, and it’s the best decision I’ve made in a really long time. I wish I had done it sooner, obviously, but better late than never, I guess.” I put my hands behind my head and get comfortable, losing myself in the black abyss and twinkling stars. The silence stretches, and a minute passes before either of us speaks again.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable the other night, by the way. I guess I was just caught off guard and didn’t know how to act, so running seemed like the best option.”

“That’s good to know.” I smile to myself, surprised she’s bringing it up, and thank my lucky stars that I didn’t obliterate whatever chances I have atsomethingwith her.

We sit in silence again, no further talk regarding the other night or the tension between us. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve overstayed my welcome when she shifts a little on the blanket, turning to me and reaching out to touch my arm. “I’m glad you’re home, Cameron,” Lizzie utters shyly and almost too quietly for me to hear.

“Me too, Lizzie,” I reply just as quietly, so as not to break this bubble we seem to be in.

We lie there looking at each other, and while it seems like the perfect moment to lean in and press my lips against hers, I decide against it. Being here with her but not acting on my urges feels significant for some reason. And lying under the stars with Lizzie Montgomery quiets my mind and makes me feel more content than I have in a really long time.

That has to mean something.

* * *

Me: Meet you outside in five?

Lizzie: Already here.

For the next three nights,I meet Lizzie outside under the big oak tree after the girls fall asleep, and we lie on her blanket less than a foot apart. We stare at the stars and talk about everything. I tell her about my marriage to Renee—and the divorce. The injury that ended my NFL career.

I also tell her about my plans for opening a gym here in Brantley Falls with one of my college buddies, Wyatt Jensen, who plays professional hockey in North Carolina. Since I retired, I’ve felt like I needed something to do outside of raising the girls and focusing on all my failures. I’m obviously passionate about fitness, and I think it’d be a lot of fun for Wyatt and me to run it together.

As much as I’m excited to do it, I’m also hesitant. I’m scared to start something and fail and would rather not share any of my plans in case I don’t have the courage to ever get it off the ground.

If it never sees the light of day, it won’t be as much of a failure if no one ever knows about it. And considering my losing streak lately, I would really like not to add that to my list.

Which is why I haven’t told anyone about it. I haven’t told my sisters or brother-in-law. Not even Theo, Liam, or Reid.

But I do tell Lizzie.

I also tell her I don’t want to farm my dad’s land anymore after this season. I don’t want to have a working farm anymore—period. I just want to enjoy being back without the business side that comes with it.

Luckily, I have enough guys working for me that I don’t have to do anything except write checks. Not that I can’t get my hands dirty if I need to. I just don’t want to, and it’s not like I need the income anyway. I feel guilty, though, like I’m letting my dad down in some way, even though I know he wouldn’t care.

Besides all that, I talk a lot about the girls. And I mean,a lot. Lizzie hangs on my every word, asking questions about them and complimenting them so much. I know it’s sincere because her eyes light up every time they’re mentioned.

Lizzie tells me about how she got discovered by a big-time art purveyor passing through Des Moines for a business meeting and came across one of her pieces on display in the office building.

She tells me about how she’ll never leave Brantley Falls because she wants to stay near her parents and raise kids who will have the same childhood she did. She lets it slip that it took her parents a long time to get pregnant with her and that they had all but given up before it finally happened when they were in their forties, so she wants to be here to take care of them as they age and need more help, which I find admirable. And admittedly guilty, since I wasn’t exactly there for my dad when he needed me.

She also goes into great detail about her hopes to grow her pottery studio in town to offer all sorts of classes for all ages as she tells me stories about the kids in her pottery classes during the summer. The passion for what she does shines through in every word. It’s refreshing to watch, and I can’t take my eyes off her.

It’s also never been this easy to talk to anyone. Not even with my best friends, and definitely not with Renee. Being with Lizzie feels so natural and effortless. I find myself not noticing the age gap between us, which I thought would be crazy obvious. The way she talks and acts speaks of someone more my age, not ten years younger. I would never believe she was just twenty-four based on the stuff we talk about.

The conversation flows, and midnight comes around before we know it, which is when we call it a night. We always work together to fold the blanket, and then I walk Lizzie to her door and say good night. We don’t hug or kiss, not even a peck on the cheek, because I can’t trust myself not to go for more, and I know she’ll give it to me because her eyes reflect what I know is in mine.

Desire.

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