Page 36 of The Best Bad Decision

“I’ll be here,” he says with a soft smile, then lets himself out. As the door clicks shut behind him, I tip my head back and let it collide with the wall.

November in Arizona is nothing like November in London. London is damp, grey and cold, but Arizona is bright and sunny with the temperature in the high eighties. Cam comes over early and makes pancakes for breakfast, to Maisy’s delight. It feels so domestic—Cam working in the kitchen, Maisy sat up on the counter watching him cook and stealing pieces of strawberries, while I take a much needed moment to shower alone and pack our swimsuits and Maisy’s toys for the day.

It feels nice. It feelsright. It feels right to have him with us, laughing with us, taking care of us. I swore I wouldn’t get attached, but when he feeds Maisy and then slides a plate of fluffy pancakes and fresh berries in front of me, my resolve splinters. It’s breaking more every single day.

Maisy and I dress in sundresses and slather ourselves in sunscreen before we leave the Airbnb to drive to Cam’s parents’ house. Carla and Alan Whitehouse have a stunning ranch-style house on the edge of Chandler, just outside the city. It’s a sprawling, single-storey home with an open-plan living space, family photos on the walls and warm wood tones throughout.

His parents have been nothing short of wonderful. They greeted us both with warm hugs and a basket full of gifts for Maisy, and theyhave lavished us with attention and love ever since. The first hug lifted a weight off my shoulders I hadn’t even realised I was carrying. Some nerves are inevitable, and I expected that I was carrying and suppressing them, but the way a knot in my stomach released as Cam’s mum took me in her arms and kissed my hair made my knees buckle. And now, as I sit on the back porch and sip at a glass of fresh, homemade lemonade, I breathe deep and easy. Cam grins at me from the pool, where he and his dad are teaching Maisy how to tread water.

Carla is tending to the turkey and before long, she calls us into the dining room where we sit down for an early dinner and tuck into the most fabulous spread of food—a long table laden with turkey, ham, potatoes, salad, and about twenty different sides and sauces.

I’m absolutely stuffed before I even clear half of what’s on my plate. Everyone adores Maisy and her three-year-old zest for life and food; she has everyone in stitches as she has Cam pile her plate high with mac and cheese, and eats it spoonful by huge spoonful, smearing cheese around her mouth as she goes.

After our feast, Carla and I sit and talk on the porch, surrounded by glowing solar lamps as the daylight begins to fade, while Cam, Alan and Maisy return to the pool.

“That’s some girl you’ve got there,” Carla nods towards the swimming trio, smiling all the way to her warm brown eyes. They’re a unique, earthy shade, ringed with the same green as Cam’s and Maisy’s. She’s a beautiful woman with fine bones and a natural glow to her skin, and she looks just like her son.

I smile in agreement.

“Yeah, she’s pretty great,” I admit. “She’s definitely the best of me.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Carla admonishes. “It takes a great woman to raise a great little girl like that. And besides,” she continues, pausing to take a sip of her wine. “I see the way my son looks at you, and he doesn’t look like that at just anyone.”

She winks at me with a glint in her eye and now I know where Cam gets his mischievous sparkle.Howdoes he look at me? What does she mean? I glance over to the pool to find him waist-deep in the clear water, bare chest tan and covered in water droplets. He’s watching us with a soft smile, but something I can’t quite place burns bright in his green eyes. Maisy grabs his arm and the spell is broken. He turns away from the porch, returning his attention to the inflatable beach ball in the water.

We stay in the backyard for the rest of the day, and Maisy spends most of it in the pool, only leaving the water for food, bathroom breaks, and for me to reapply her sunscreen. It’s getting dark by the time we leave, and Maisy is tired and happy, a little pink from a day spent in the sun and surrounded by more love than I ever could have dreamt of. When we get back to our temporary cottage, Cam follows us inside and unloads the bag of leftovers from his mother into the fridge. Then, as I gather things for Maisy’s bath, he runs the water and strips her down, tickling her belly and blowing raspberries onto the soft skin, making her screech with laughter.

“DADDY! Your face tickles!” She shrieks, wriggling out of his grasp. He chases her from the bathroom to the bedroom, roaring like a dinosaur, lifting her and carrying her upside down, kissing her toes as they kick past his face. He deposits her gently into the warm water and laughs when she splashes him. He washes her hair gently, massaging the shampoo into her curls and then covering her eyes as he rinses. He helpsher soap her body with tender hands, then pushes a handful of white, foamy bubbles to her chin like a beard. She cackles and he leans in to place a big, smacking kiss on her head. I lean against the wall outside and watch from a distance. I don’t want to intrude on this moment. The way he loves her sends all kinds of feelings into my belly—and straight into the space between my legs.

Camden fucking Whitehouse.

He stole my soul that night in Singapore. He took my breath in Santiago, and he’s been stealing pieces of my heart every day ever since.

twenty-one

Cam

This is it. HavingAmie and Maisy here—this is it for me.

I’ve never imagined settling down with a wife and a kid and a dog but since meeting Amie in Singapore, I can’t imagine a future without her in it. She’s the only face I saw for a long time. And now Maisy’s is there too. They’ve been here all of a day and a half and I don’t want to let them go. I don’t think I can.

It’s not like I’ve never been in relationships. Okay, there haven’t exactly been many of them, andokay, none of them have lasted more than a few months. My job has always come between us—time away from home turning into a catalyst for the breakdown of something that might have become love.

Being flight crew is almost more of a lifestyle than a job. It’s something that dictates everything. When you sleep, when you eat, where you go. It’s something you don’t reallygetuntil you do it, and it’s something that’s proven to be a sticking point in the past, impossible for any women I’ve dated to understand.

And then I met Amie. Immediately, something about her called to me. And sheunderstood, because this is her life too. But what if that’s another sticking point? What if, because we’re both always flying, always moving, we’ll never be able to connect? What if, because of ourjobs taking us away all the time, it becomes too much? The thought of one of us giving up a job we love is unconscionable—the bitterness and resentment bubble almost unbidden just imagining it. I don’t want to give up my job any more than Amie does. I would never ask it of her, and I know she’d never ask it of me, either. But how can we be together, how can we raise our daughter, if neither of us are home?

I pull my glasses from my nose and toss them on the mattress beside me. I already commute from Phoenix to San Francisco to fly—what’s another couple of hours? There are openings for experienced captains at my airline’s bases in Boston and New York, and I’ve just composed an email to inquire about moving.

I need to talk to Amie about it. But first, I’m going to pick them up, drive them to my parents’ house, and spend another day with all of my favourite people in one place.

I thought I loved flying, but I never imagined life could feelthisgood.

Usually, on Black Friday, my mom drags my dad to the outlets and drains his credit card with her Christmas shopping. Today, though, she has more important things to focus on: her granddaughter and Amie, who I’m pretty sure my mom has already adopted as a surrogate daughter. We’re spending the day in the backyard, picking at Thanksgiving leftovers and enjoying the sunshine. Amie and Maisy are in the pool, and my parents and I are on sun loungers, watching the girls play.

I’m obsessed with the changes in Amie’s body since our night in Singapore. She’s still lithe and athletic but her curves are more defined; her hips are a little wider, her belly a little softer, her tits a little bigger.

My eyes catch on the bare skin of her torso, golden and glowing from spending the last couple of days in the sun, and I’m struck. I can’tbelieve my little girl grew in there. It blows my mind that the shrieking whirlwind splashing in my parents’ backyard pool right now grew from a tiny dot in Amie’s belly. It’s the sexiest fucking thought I’ve ever had when I remember that I was the one who got her pregnant in the first place. It fills me with a feral, animalistic pride, and my shorts tighten. I shift in place, adjusting my swelling dick surreptitiously and hoping no one notices.

---