Page 39 of Worth the Wait
“No. But I’m going anyway.” She pulls out her phone. “I’ll text you the address in case we get separated.”
I pull out my phone, seeing her address flash on my screen. “Don’t worry. We won’t get separated.”
13
My hands shakeas I unlock the door, and I’m grateful Cameron is still finding parking because it gives me a moment to breathe before he sees how rattled I am.
This isn’t like that night at the hotel, where everything happened in neutral territory, in a space that belonged to neither of us. Bringing him here, to my home, feels like crossing a line I can’t uncross.
The townhouse smells like the jasmine candles I lit last night as I decompressed after a long day, before I knew I’d run into him tonight. The living room windows frame the Pacific, dark now except for the scattered lights of boats in the distance. I bought this view with my first major contract—proof that I’d made something of myself after being told I didn’t belong in their world.
Everything here tells the story I wanted to tell—the cream leather sofa I saved for months to afford, the Filipino art pieces that honor where I came from, the orchids I replace every week because I like having something alive and beautiful in my space.It’s the home of someone who built her own success, who doesn’t need anyone else’s validation.
But it’s also lonely.
Carefully arranged, perfectly controlled, designed for a woman who doesn’t let anyone close enough to mess up the pristine surfaces or leave their coffee mug on the marble countertop.
This place is beautiful, but it’s also safe. A fortress I built to prove I didn’t need anyone.
Until tonight.
Tonight, I’m about to let someone past all those carefully constructed walls.
The doorbell rings, and I take one last look around my perfect, controlled space before I open the door and let chaos back into my life.
Cameron is standing on my doorstep with his hands in his pockets, looking as nervous as I feel. He’s loosened his tie and undone the top button of his shirt, small concessions to casualness that somehow make him more attractive rather than less polished.
“Hi,” he says in a low voice that makes my pulse skip.
“Hi yourself.” I step back to let him enter, hyperaware of how his presence immediately changes the energy of my space. “Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Coffee?”
“Wine sounds good,” he says, taking in the details of my space, his gaze lingering on the carefully chosen art pieces, the orchids on the side table, the ocean view. “This is beautiful, Lianne. The view is spectacular.”
“I fell in love with it the moment I saw it,” I admit, pulling a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc from my wine refrigerator. “It was completely impractical—more expensive than anything I should have been considering. But I wanted to wake up every morning looking at the ocean.”
“Smart investment. There’s something about the water that puts everything else in perspective.”
I pour wine into glasses, grateful for the familiar ritual of being a hostess. It gives my hands something to do while my mind processes that Cameron Phillip Arthur Judd is standing in my living room, about to drink wine on my sofa, looking at me like I’m the most important thing in his world.
“To successful negotiations,” I say, offering him a glass and immediately regretting the reference to business when that’s not what we’re here for.
“To second chances,” Cameron counters, touching his glass to mine with a soft clink.
We settle on my sofa, close enough that I can smell his cologne but far enough apart that we’re not quite touching. The wine helps settle my nerves, but it doesn’t do anything about the electricity crackling between us or the way Cameron’s eyes keep finding mine across the rim of his glass.
“I have a confession,” he says after we’ve made small talk about the neighborhood and the restaurants within walking distance.
“What’s that?”
“I’ve been thinking about this moment since Tuesday night.” He pauses, his voice dropping lower. “What we’ve been missing.”
“Cam...”
“I can’t stop thinking about that night in Santa Barbara. The way it felt to hold you again, to make love to you.” His eyes search mine. “Tell me you’ve been thinking about it too.”
I set down my wine glass, my hands trembling slightly. “Every night,” I admit quietly. “I’ve been thinking about it every night.”
Cameron sets down his wine glass and turns to face me fully. “I don’t want to spend another four years wondering ‘what if.’ Not when I know how right it feels to be with you again.”
