Page 33 of Fault Lines
“I love this look on you, Livi. You’re practically glowing. New lottery numbers?” Nate teased, brushing stray coffee grounds off the stainless steel counter. My spill, obviously.
“No, just…happy, I guess. The weather’s nice,” I said, sliding the mess into the trash with a smile I couldn’t hide.
“Wish the weather did that for me,” Mr. Porter called from the doorway. “Though I’ll admit, a little sunshine is better for the spirit than any tonic I’ve tried.”
I nearly laughed out loud. Sometimes, it felt like the whole shop belonged to a sitcom.
Mr. Porter nodded to the espresso machine in front of me, where I was carefully assembling a regular’s overly complicated order. “You’re getting the hang of that,” he said, grinning over his glasses before he disappeared into the back.
“It’s still a work in progress,” Nate admitted, but he was already moving up behind me. “You know, it’s a science,” he whispered, and then his arms wrapped around me, his big hands folding over mine as he worked the machine. “Right pressure, right heat. Otherwise, you just get sour.”
He was close, so close I felt the warmth of him radiate off his chest and the exhale of his breath tickle the side of my face. Oddly, I didn’t mind.
A sharp cough from the doorway made us both flinch apart. Mr. Porter’s face looked a shade darker, his posture stiffer than usual. “Nathaniel, you’re needed out front.”
As soon as he left, the spell broke. I told myself it was nothing. I only had eyes for Cam, now more than ever.
∞∞∞
After work, I found myself perched at the kitchen bar, phone in hand, scrolling through Cam’s texts from the day. Each one made my heart flutter all over again.
I can’t stop thinking about last night, babe.
I can’t wait to be back inside you.
I love you so much. I’ve missed this.
It was almost like we’d rewound to some perfect memory, before everything got cloudy. But it was Thursday, and that shadow hung at the edge of my thoughts: would Cam still go out? Or was I enough for him now?
He walked in the door at half-past five, and I almost hopped off my stool. If my smile didn’t give me away, the way I nearly ran to him did.
“Hey, baby,” he said, his own grin as wide as mine. “Did you miss me?”
“Of course!” My arms went around him before I even thought about it. He kissed me, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that makes your knees a little weak. “I wasn’t expecting you home,” I admitted, voice hopeful.
“I am,” he said, without elaborating.
For a tiny second, my heart sank. I wanted him to say it—to say he was done with all the rest, that I was more than enough. But maybe he just needed time. I could give him that.
We ordered takeout and stretched out on the couch, watching true crime documentaries and poking fun at the ridiculous choices people made. We laughed until we were breathless, and then one kiss led to another until we were more tangled than the throw blankets. Every touch felt like coming home.
The days that followed slid into a rhythm I’d missed: we spent time together, we made love at night, sometimes again before work. Sometimes he stayed in bed with me, skipping his jogs for those extra, feverish moments. It felt so easy, so right. For a while, I let myself bask in it.
The following Thursday, I saw Cam off to work, pressing myself against him for a lingering goodbye at the car. When he left, I called Rachel, letting the phone ring out before hanging up.
She called right back.
“Hey Rach.”
“Livi, it’s barely sunrise. Why am I awake right now?”
I snorted. “Because you need to get up! I wanted to talk to you.”
She groaned. “You must really love waking me from my beauty sleep.”
“I do, and you’re welcome,” I replied, rinsing out our morning mugs. “But seriously, I have news.”
She perked up, curiosity evident even over the phone. “You sound suspiciously cheerful. Spill.”
