“Thought you’d never ask.”
Two hours later, Grandma’s kitchen buzzes with voices and the light clink of porcelain teacups.
“And this was Knox at the science fair,” Grandma says, tapping a photo in the worn leather album spread across thetable. “He insisted on usingrealworms. Nearly gave the judges a heart attack.”
Cami’s laughter rings through the room, bright and unrestrained. “I can totally see that.”
“That’s nothing,” Mom says, sliding another photo toward Cami. “This one’s from the summer he tried to build a go-kart out of lawn-mower parts.”
“Triedbeing the operative word,” Grandma adds with a wink.
Leaning against the doorway, unseen for a second, I take in the natural buzz of conversation and Cami sitting between them like it’s nothing new.
“Please tell me there aren’t more of those,” I say finally.
Three heads turn toward my voice.
Mom smiles. “Oh, there are plenty, dear.”
Cami grins up at me, eyes dancing. “You were an adorable little menace.”
“Keywordlittle,” I mutter, crossing to them. “How did I go from unloading groceries to a full-blown roast session?”
Grandma chuckles. “Because we haven’t seen your eyes light up likethatsince you were knee-high, and this sweet girl you brought home feels like one of us.”
Cami meets my eyes, cheeks rose-colored, and she doesn’t look away.
Mom pours another cup of tea and slides it toward her. “My mother’s right,” she says. “Feels like we’ve known you for ages, Cami.”
I can feel the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “C’mon, you two. We don’t want to scare her off with all this Vermont-family charm.”
“Oh, hush,” Mom says, already out of her seat to put the groceries away.
Grandma starts telling a story about the summer I broke my arm, and Cami leans in, fully invested.
Figuring it’s safer to keep my hands busy than admit how good it feels to see her like this, I help Mom unpack the groceries.
“Come on, dear,” Grandma says, rising from her chair. “You have to see the photo wall. Claire’s been adding to it for years. She has pictures from every season.”
Cami’s face beams, light and jovial, as she follows her into the den, their voices trailing off while Grandma points things out like a proud curator.
Mom slides a carton of eggs into the fridge. “Cami’s lovely,” she says. “Gorgeous. Smart. Genuine. We both like her. A lot.”
“Yeah,” I say, stacking cans in the pantry. “She’s something special. One of a kind.”
She shoots me a sidelong glance. “So, how’s it been—the two of you living under the same roof? Sharing kitten duty and day-to-day routines?”
I huff a laugh, caught off guard by how easily the answer comes. “Honestly? Feels like she’s always lived with me. We slipped into a rhythm fast. Mornings. Evenings. Chores. Even feeding those furballs at all hours.” I shake my head, a smile settling in as it all comes back to me. “In real life, I’ve got a housekeeper, but somehow, it feels good doing all that with Cami. Weirdly normal. Like we’re newlyweds with kids who meow.”
She smiles. “That sounds kind of wonderful.”
“Yeah,” I say, then pause, but the next part slips out anyway. “Some days, I catch myself picturing what a future with her might look like. Beyond summer.”
Mom tilts her head, studying me. “Does she know about your business? The company, the wealth you’ve generated? Your father’s?—”
“No.” I shake my head. “We’ve both been good about keeping real-life details off the table. That was part of the deal. But if this continues past summer…” I shrug. “I’m not worried. She seems like she comes from a good family. Went to Oxford. And if she’s not as well off as I am, that’s okay, too.”
An unmistakably pleased smile tugs at Mom’s mouth. “You really like her, don’t you?”
