“Oh, right. I forgot we gave Beckett a key after last time,” Spencer says, snatching the key out of Finn’s hand and unlocking the door.
“Last time?” Dom mouths… We are gonna have a lot to talk about.
“Hey, Mazie, what are you and Gallifrey doing? You’re looking awfully cozy.” Finn nods goodbye before following behind him.
The second their door shuts, it hits me.
I start laughing.
Not a cute laugh, but full-body, bent-over, can’t-breathe hysterics. Dom loses it too, his deep laugh rolling out and making it so much worse.
When I finally look up, he’s still laughing, shoulders shaking, shirt stretched tight across his chest, eyes lit up. It’s not a look he wears often. It sends a weird, warm flutter through my chest.
I wish I knew exactly what we’re doing, but I’m too tired to analyze it. I only want to enjoy it. Push away the heartbreak that was LA and feel the love that is Camden.
But sitting here on my deck, full of food we made together, listening to our friends trying not to be outsmarted by a toddler with a spy kit, I feel…
Free.
I feel freer than I did living there. No pressure. Well, except for this cookbook. If I never work in another high-powered kitchen again, I will be forever grateful. I’m starting to find my footing. It’s squishy, but it’s there.
I came back feeling so lost and confused. Ashamed. Realizing I have this starting point feels life-changing. I didn’t know it would be so simple… finding my starting point. Professionally, I found it with this cookbook idea. Personally… What if I want my starting point to be my ending point?
It’s a terrifying thought, I know.
I don’t say it out loud. Not yet.
Instead, I nudge his ankle under the table. “Hey, big guy. You up for testing another recipe with me next week?”
He meets my eyes, and his answer is soft but sure. “Actually, I have a better idea. Leave it to me.”
“So,how did your night go with Mr. Sexy Grumpy Grump? You were already dead to the world when I got back,” Lucas says, buckling in.
I try for an eye roll, but my stomach betrays me with that stupid swoop. “He’s really not that grumpy.”
Lucas swivels in the passenger seat, eyebrows climbing like he’s spotted a rare Gucci bag. He points at me. Rude. I merge onto the expressway toward the airport. He said he has business back home, probably staging his apartment to sell.
“Shut it,” I mutter, heat creeping up my neck. “It was nice. I had a good time. I have no idea what we’re doing, and it’s freaking me out. But other than that—how was dinner with Marcus and Jacob?”
He pulls a face at my deflection. “It’s going to be fine. Just… allow yourselves to get to know each other. Give the guy a chance. You can’t let one fucker with a small penis have this much control over your life.”
I choke on a laugh and then swallow hard. I know he’s right. I don’t want my ex’s shadow in the room when I’m with Dom. And yet…courage comes like a wave for me: bold, salty, high, then out of nowhere it breaks, and I’m left counting my breaths, bracing for an impact that never actually comes. With Dom, the impact is different. Softer. He listens. Even when he’s quiet, I can hear him paying attention. The way his jaw unclenches when I make him laugh. The way he doesn’t rush the silence. Mr. Grumpy, my ass. He’s careful, and careful terrifies me more than cocky ever did.
“Your turn,” I say, nudging him with my elbow. “Was your meeting everything you hoped and dreamed?” I lay it on thick.
He fans himself dramatically. “Do you know how hard it is to sit through dinner with a boner the entire night?”
I snort.Yeah… I do.
“I told them I needed time to think. Two weeks. Then another meeting to hash out questions.”
“Does that mean you’re coming back?”
“Yes,” he says as we glide into the departure lane. “But I promise I’ll make other living arrangements.”
“There’s no hurry, really.”
“Yeah,” Lucus says, unclicking his seatbelt. “But you talk in your sleep.”
