The Real(53)

“But we are negotiating,” she said with a playful lift.

“No, we’re not. Mom. Help me, okay? I don’t have time to look up recipes and I kind of want to impress him,” I whispered.

“Does this man have a name?”

“For you? Not yet.”

“Fine, but I want dinner with you. Next week.”

“Done,” I gritted out. “And I would have come anyway.”

“I’ll text you a recipe.”

“Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

“And, Abbie?”

“Yeah?” I whispered as I looked back at Cameron, who was sitting on the edge of the couch, his eyes fixed on the TV. I briefly daydreamed about a future where getaways became our ritual.

“If all else fails, add more butter.”

“Okay.”




More minutes than my promised half hour later, I had my mother’s creamy rosemary chicken on a bed of pasta and a tossed salad on the table. I was happy with the execution, and Cameron seemed to be as well as he closed his eyes with his first bite.

“This is incredible.”

“Thank you,” I boasted as he inhaled a mouthful of pasta.

“So, I think it’s time you had me over for dinner,” he said with a wink.

“Do you?” I said in a slight panic. I could have Mrs. Zingaro give me her recipe for ziti. That would buy me a week.

Cameron’s next words cut through my thoughts. “How is your mother?”

“She’s fi—” I deadpanned. “You’re an ass, you know that? And how could you have possibly heard that conversation?”

“You get good picking it up being a high school coach. And, Abbie,” he said around a mouthful of garlic toast, “it’s good to know you really, really like me.”

My face flamed as he devoured the chicken on his plate and forked another piece out of the cast iron skillet. I stood from the table to get the bottle of wine. He circled my waist with his arm and pulled me onto his waiting lap.

“Where are you going?”

“To get some wine. Want some?” I asked as he moved my hair away from my shoulder and rested his chin on my neck.

“Nope.” He twisted his fork, gaining a bite of pasta and brought it to my mouth. I opened and took it, chewing as he repeated the motion. “I have a plate of my own, Coach.”

“Yeah,” he said, moving his free hand underneath my borrowed flannel before trailing lazy fingers along my stomach. “But I’m not finished wooing.”




“Back to reality,” I said, mourning the end of our long weekend as Cameron closed the door to the cabin. We’d spent every second in bed that morning until we had no choice but to clean up and head out. My heart was sinking at the loss of it.

He gripped me in his strong embrace. “Okay, so this isn’t our every day,” he said, commanding my eyes, “but there will be plenty of this in our future for as long as you want it.”

I kissed him soundly on the mouth. “Consider that my RSVP. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ll miss the woods.”

“We’ll be back. This isn’t the last time, okay?”

“Okay.” You are ridiculous, Abbie.

He placed a gentle kiss on my forehead and led me down the steps, his duffle bag in hand as I took one last look at the cabin. We’d played house for a weekend and it was more than nice. It was heaven.

“What are you thinking?” he asked as he opened the passenger side door and I climbed into the Audi.

“Just that I’m glad we waited. And now I’m glad we’ve stopped waiting.”

I clicked my seatbelt.

His hands rested on either side of the doorframe. “It was hell not being able to touch you, but I wouldn’t change a thing.”

When I was comfortable, he closed the door and walked in front of the hood as I dreaded the empty house waiting for me.

We sat in the idling SUV for a moment longer before Cameron placed his hand on my headrest and twisted his body for a clear view to exit the driveway. While the scent of his cologne and his proximity knocked me senseless, I pressed my lips to his Adam’s apple and kept them there. He stopped the truck at the edge of the driveway, put it in park, and stared at me long and hard before he spoke.

“I know something happened. Something that you don’t want to tell me about yet. It’s painfully obvious, but I want you to know this is not over between us, not by a longshot.”

“I know.”

He leaned over. “Are you sure? Because I get the feeling you aren’t.”

“I’m sorry I make you feel that way.” I sank into my seat, hating the fact that I needed so much reassurance. But he’d been consistent every step of the way. I had no reason to doubt him. I averted my eyes, my heart pounding.

“Look at me,” he whispered. “I’m with you.”

I couldn’t help but remember Bree declaring her and Anthony were on another level in Scotland. It rang true for Cameron and me as I looked into his earnest eyes.

He took my hand and pressed it to his chest before he leaned in and took my lips. His kiss was slow, thorough, and I “hmmed” happily and smiled as he pulled away.

“You’re an excellent coach.”