Page 86 of Penalty Kiss
"A DIY hot pack… very observant," Luke says, but his tone makes it impossible to tell if I’ve earned points or just a polite nod.
"It’s my job to notice," I say, keeping my voice even. "People come to diners for more than food—they come for connection. For someone to remember they exist, that they matter."
I pause, realizing I’ve just shown them exactly how my mind works. "I don’t just remember orders. I remember people. The details that stick with them."
"Isn’t that just a waitress-y thing to do?" Luke asks, now clearly still unimpressed. “I observe lots of stuff about my patients all the time.”
I meet his gaze, then glance at Cam before leaning in. "Luke, your arrival flight to Denver—UA1684. Gate E6. Seat 12C. You forwarded the confirmation to Cam last night.
His mouth goes still. He pulls out his phone, scrolling fast to check.
I pivot smoothly to his father. “Dr. Wilder, you called me eleven days ago at 7:31 a.m. Central time. Your number—eight-one-seven, two-five-eight, two-two-zero-two.”
Erik’s eyes widen, the first real crack in his composure.
Then I turn to Hana, who looks delighted, like I’m about to pull a rabbit from a hat. I smile. “The photo you showed me earlier?” I close my eyes, letting the image replay. “Beside the gorgeous vase of flowers sat a silver owl ornament, a silver tray with a bronze key laid across it, and a silver pen with a matching letter opener. And the staff member who took the photo? She wore a bright blue outfit—I caught her reflection in the vase.”
The silence that follows is absolute. I fold my hands in my lap. “That’s the difference. It’s not waitress memory. It’s everything memory.”
I let a wry smile tug at my mouth. “It’s also the party trick for why my family wants me home.”
"Plus," I add, because apparently I can't leave well enough alone, "you've all been monitoring Cam for cognitive strain markers—how he squints at bright light, response time delays, whether he's tracking conversations. You're not just having breakfast with us. You're conducting an informal neurological assessment."
Luke exhales, his skepticism cracking into something real. “That’s…” He shakes his head, almost grinning. “That’s extraordinary.”
I lift my chin, meeting Luke’s gaze head-on, but it’s Cam I look at when I speak. My eyes soften, filling with the kind of admiration his family can’t miss.
“It’s useful,” I say quietly. “Cam has more strength than anyone I know. My memory just clears the clutter so he can keep showing it.”
Cam squeezes my hand, smug pride written all over him. “She sees everything.”
Hana presses her palms together, eyes shining. “And she sees you, Cameron.”
Erik leans back, his voice quieter now, touched with something almost tender. “When you look at him… what is it you see?”
The question feels loaded with right answers and relationship landmines. But I look at Cam and honesty flows easier than breathing.
"Someone who learned early that being the entertainer meant people wouldn't look too closely at the hurting places. Someone who's terrified that without being useful, being strong, being on, he won't be worth loving."
Cam goes very still.
"Someone who forgets conversations but never forgets kindness. May not remember yesterday's lunch but remembers exactly how to make me feel safe when I'm scared. Who thinks his worth depends on what he does for others instead of who he is."
My voice gentles. "And someone who's healing. Maybe not fast enough for his liking, maybe not in ways that show up on medical tests, but healing. Getting stronger. Learning he doesn't have to earn his place in the world."
The table falls quiet. Hana's eyes shine suspiciously bright. Luke stares like I just performed neurosurgery with a butter knife.
Erik nods slowly. "And what do you see when you look at Tara, Cam?"
Cam answers, voice choked with emotion. “The woman I can’t afford to forget. Not ever.”
"Well," Hana declares, dabbing her eyes with her napkin, "I hereby officially approve this relationship."
"Mom," Luke protests, but he's smiling.
"What? She's perfect for Cam. Look how he straightens when she talks. Look how she watches him without making him feel observed. This is what love actually looks like."
Erik clears his throat. "Love is—"
