Page 62 of The Way We Fell

Cam

gotcha (salute emoji)

don’t suppose you know her ring size?

As a matter of fact, my guy, I do. Despite being curvier than Amie, and despite her being several inches taller than me, our hands are just about the same size, and there’s a box on my dresser of costume rings and other jewellery we trade back and forth when we dress up for a night out. I text Cam the requested details—along with a screenshot of ring size conversions, just in case—and then shove my key in the ignition to start my car. The sun is setting by the time I park on the street outside my house, and I snap a quick picture of the coral sky before heading inside.

An hour later, freshly showered and in my pyjamas with a hot cup of tea and a slice of buttery toast, I tug a blanket over my legs and nestle into the corner of the sofa with my laptop beside me. I miss Jay. He’s visiting one of his employers’ other sites, and he’s been away for two nights already. He’ll be home tomorrow, but these few days are the longest we’ve been apart since we started dating, officially. We’ve spent almost every night together since.

It’s been a while since I’ve had someone to call a boyfriend, though the term doesn’t really fit Jay well. It’s too inadequate, too unsubstantial to convey what he is to me. I push thoughts of him aside and open my laptop, but I only manage a few hundred words of an essay before I give up for the night. I can’t focus on anything but thoughts of Jay; of missing him, of wanting him. I leave my mug and plate in the sink for future Katy to deal with and head to bed.

Buoyed by my text conversation with Cam earlier, I open the pinboard app and scroll through my own perfect wedding board.

The dress I chose two years ago still looks stylish today—it’s a timeless fit-and-flare gown with a tulip neckline, tapered shoulder straps, and a long line of buttons down the back, leading to a stunning short train. I scroll past the pearl drop earrings, the freesia bouquets, and the pink bridesmaid two-piece outfits with flowing skirts and delicate tops until I find it. The vintage-style diamond on a filigree band. My heart beats a little faster in my chest as I imagine myself linking my arm through my father’s, and taking slow, deliberate steps down a flower-lined aisle, the silk gown clinging to my narrow waist and flaring out from my knees. There’s only one face I see at the imaginary altar, waiting for me.

The only one whose altar I would worship at.

Jay.

It’s only been a week since we gave in to the attraction between us, but that week is all I need. It’s all I need to know that if he wanted to—if he asked me—I’d say yes. I fall asleep quickly to dreams of a future with Jay.

I wake to the blare of my alarm at eight in the morning. It may be a Friday, but it’s my first of three days with no work-related responsibilities. And as much as I’d love to take advantage of that and sleep in before spending some time with a fictional cowboy or athlete, I do have an essay to finish and a test to study for, because there’s no rest for the wicked. So, after a quick shower, I pull on a buttery soft cropped tank top—pink, of course—and a pair of matching leggings. The lounge set was on sale after Christmas when Ruth, Paloma, and I went shopping for Amie’s birthday, and the girls peer-pressured me into treating myself.

With a steaming plate of scrambled eggs on toast beside me, I settle down at the kitchen table with my laptop, send a quick text to Ruth to wish her good luck for a meeting I know she’s not thrilled about attending, and then I begin to type, losing myself quickly in my work.

A rhythmic tapping at my front door startles me and breaks my concentration. I glance at the clock in the corner of my screen to see I’ve been working for nearly three hours. My plate is empty, save for the crumbs, and the last of my coffee is stone cold.

“It’s me, Princess.” The voice is muffled through the wood, but it’s unmistakable, and my body hums in anticipation as I move fluidly through the entire length of my house to the front door, yanking it open and almost launching myself directly into the arms of the man waiting on my doorstep.

The only thing that stops me is the hand he holds out to stop me from crashing into him. His other hand is occupied with a cardboard tray carrying two steaming paper cups held steady by his thumb, index, and middle finger, and a paper bag with a rolled top clutched against his palm.

“God, I’ve missed you.” He steps forward, following me as he urges me back into the house and pushes the door closed behind him. He presses his body and his mouth to mine, his free hand slipping between my hair and my skin and resting on the side of my neck as he kisses me for the first time in days. His thumb traces a feather-light line along my jaw, beneath my chin, and it feels like the first time all over again. The lights that flash behind my eyes, the fireworks that explode in my veins. The world could burn around me right now, but for as long as Jay is kissing me like this, cradling my entire face in one large hand, I wouldn’t even notice.

“Happy Friday, Princess,” he breathes as he breaks the kiss. His forehead rests against mine, lips curled up in a smile.

“Happy Friday, love.”

He presses his lips to mine one more time before ushering me back towards the kitchen, where the lights are on and an instrumental soundtrack is still playing softly through the small wireless speaker hanging from a cupboard door. He places the tray and bag on the table behind my laptop and unloads the cups, handing one to me. I peel off the lid.

“Americano with warm milk, right?”

I blink dumbly, my gaze dropping to the cup of hot coffee in my hand before snapping back to Jay’s face. He’s watching me with concern as I open my mouth and then close it again without speaking.He knows my coffee order?I wrack my brain, trying to remember a time I’ve ordered coffee when we’ve been out together, and I come up empty. How does he know? And how does he keep surprising me in all these little ways that have my heart fluttering all the way down between my legs?

“How did you—”

“You got coffee at the train station on the way home from the beer festival.”

“But that was ages ago,” I protest. “You remember what I ordered?”

“I remember the important things, Princess. How you take your coffee is important, because you’re important.”

My stomach somersaults at his words. I sit the cup on the table next to my notebook and round the furniture to meet him, lifting onto my toes and crushing my lips to his.

If he’s not careful, I’m going to fall in love with him. My only fear is that falling for him is a one-way road with no way out, and I’m already halfway there.

Chapter thirty-two

Katy

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