Chapter Twenty
Camille
It was strange how quickly months could slip by when someone new made the days brighter. Hunter and I had built something secure, almost without realizing it. Dates that turned into late-night drives. Coffee runs that turned into lazy afternoons by the water. Texts that turned into calls, calls that turned into FaceTimes, FaceTimes that turned into I miss yous.
And somehow, against every wall I’d put up, he kept showing up. He hadn’t run. Not when I had meltdowns about exams. Not when I canceled at the last minute because the twins spiked fevers. Not when Zeke barged into one of our calls and demanded to know who I was talking to.
Instead, he’d stayed. With patience, with humor, and with that steady look in his eyes that said he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d spent time building my trust since the day I decided to allow him a chance that day on the bike.
Which left me here. Sitting at the kitchen table, staring at my phone, heart pounding at the thought of the next step.The true make-it-or-break-it moment was meeting my kids.
It wasn’t casual anymore. Once he stepped into their world, it wouldn’t just be my heart on the line; it would be theirs, too. Zeke was five now. He was sharp, curious, and already asking questions I wasn’t sure how to answer. He remembered things no child should have to. And he’d been hurt before, even if he couldn’t put it into words. Avery and Chloe were toddlers now, identical chaos machines with curls and big brown eyes. They were clingy, in the best way, and full of love. At this age, they wouldn’t remember every detail, maybe, but they’d know his presence. They’d feel if he was temporary.
I chewed the inside of my cheek, stomach tight.
What if he decided this was too much? What if he saw the sticky fingers, the tantrums, the exhaustion, and realized he didn’t actually want this? But then I remembered the way he’d listened when I told him stories about them. The way he laughed when I recounted Zeke’s “ketchup phase.” The way his eyes softened when one of the twins made their way into our FaceTime calls and shouted, “Hi!” at him. He wasn’t flinching. He was leaning closer.
Still, the weight of it pressed in on me. Because letting him into this part of my life wasn’t just about me trusting him. It was about trusting that he could be a safe place for them, too. I imagined Zeke watching Hunter, cautiously, sizing him up as he often did with new experiences. Avery and Chloe would likely be giggling, entranced by the novelty of having another adult willing to share their world. Their reactions would be a test of sorts, not just for Hunter, but for me as well, to see if this puzzle piece could fit into our complex, chaotic picture.
I talked through this moment with Dani and my mom a fewdays ago. Their gentle reassurance that it was long overdue rang in my ears as I picked up my phone and typed out the message.
Me:So… how would you feel about
coming over for dinner this weekend?
Just us and the kids.
My thumb hovered over “send” so long my phone screen dimmed twice. Finally, I squeezed my eyes shut and tapped it. Message sent.
And then… instant regret and panic. My stomach twisted. What if this was the point where he bailed? What if months of constant texts and late-night calls and stolen kisses didn’t matter the second he saw the reality? My kids, my chaos, my life in its loudest, truest form? Maybe he was just enjoying our time and hoping to keep only the part of me that didn’t come fully loaded.
I dropped the phone on the table, heart thudding in my ears.
Then it buzzed.
Hunter:Dinner with you and the kids? That
sounds perfect.
I froze, staring at the screen. Perfect? He thought this sounded perfect?
Hunter:Do I need to bring backup
mac and cheese, or should I trust
the head chef?
Me:Absolutely not. Probably best you
stay out of the kitchen after your
last cooking disaster.
Hunter:It wasn’t that bad…
Me:Oh, it was. But I’ll allow you to
bring dessert. Troop morale is
