Jacob
The sun is just starting to peek above the horizon, but I’ve already been up for two hours, as usual. I’ve worked out, showered and gotten dressed, answered emails and skimmed headlines and reports. I’m on my second cup of coffee, pretending to be deeply invested in making notes on new strategic initiatives when really, my ears are listening for any sound of Camryn.
She shocked the hell out of me by showing up here yesterday, but I have to admit that it was good to see her. We hadn’t had any reason to stay in touch after her mother and I split up four years ago, but I’ve wondered about her over the years.
To say I’m stunned by the woman she’s grown into is the understatement of the century.
I sip my coffee as I stare unseeing at my laptop screen, the words and figures fuzzing into an incongruous blur. I think back to that night over four years ago when I found Cam crying alone in the darkened living room. When my heart cracked at the sight of her, so hurt, so defeated.
I would’ve told her anything to cheer her up, but I meant everything I said that night. All of it. That she was a lovely, extraordinary girl who’d have the world falling at her feet in no time. That she could always turn to me for help. And I continued to mean it even as my marriage to her mother fell apart.
Sylvie and I were always a bit of a mismatch, but I thought our differences would complement each other. She liked her freedom, and I liked to work. Ultimately, though, she liked her freedom too much, and I liked working too much, and we grew apart. For the last several months of our marriage, we were more like roommates than anything else. When Cam came home crying from prom, the writing was already on the wall.
When we split, I assumed I’d never see Camryn again.
But she remembered the promise I made, and fuck if that doesn’t mean something to me. If it doesn’t twist something agonizingly sweet deep in my chest. She took me at my word, and then showed up when she needed me. Even though we hadn’t spoken in years, she still came to me for help.
I don’t know how I feel about it. Happy. Relieved. Unsettled. On edge.
I’m still turning over my feelings when Camryn walks into the kitchen. She’s wearing a black sweater dress with a light blue collared shirt underneath, her legs bare from the knee down. Her blond hair is piled into a messy but chic bun at the crown of her head, several wavy tendrils falling loose around her face in a way that doesn’t look accidental.
My mouth goes a little dry at the sight of her. I smile at her, pushing through my discomfort at how attracted I am to her.
I can’t be attracted to her. She’s half my age and I used to be her stepfather. If ever there was a no fly zone, Camryn is it.
She shoots me a grin that hits me right in the chest and walks over to the espresso machine. I watch as she chews on her lip, studying the barista-grade contraption. She touches a few knobscarefully, moves a lever, and then turns to me, a gut-wrenchingly adorable expression on her face.
“Um…help?”
“Of course.” She steps aside and watches as I make her a coffee, my hands moving as if on autopilot because I’ve done this a thousand times. I grind the beans, tamp the grounds, lock the portafilter in place all without even thinking. And it’s a good thing I could do this in my sleep, because my focus is entirely elsewhere right now. I’m distracted by the sunlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making her hair look like spun gold. Like honey. Like something soft and warm I want to bury my fingers in.
Not something I should be noticing. Just like I shouldn’t be noticing how soft the skin on her neck looks, or the way her sweater dress hugs all of her curves.
But I do. Fucking hell, I do.
The machine lets out its final gurgle, and I pass the cup to her, our fingers brushing. I ignore the zing of heat that races up my arm.
“Sugar’s in the bowl there,” I say. “And there’s oat milk in the fridge.”
“You drink oat milk?” she asks, glancing over at me as she spoons two heaping mounds of sugar into her coffee.
“No. I had some delivered earlier this morning. For you.”
Her eyes meet mine, and she blows steam away from her coffee over the rim of her mug. “You remembered?”
“That you like oat milk? Yes. I remembered.” I stop talking before I tell her that I remember everything about her, from how she takes her coffee to the way she bites her lip when she’s nervous.
“Thank you.”
I nod, swallowing thickly. I turn away and suck in a deep breath, then sit back down at the table. The kitchen is silent aswe sip our coffees, and there’s a tension in the air. Like static electricity, humming around us, making the hair on my arms stand up.
Distraction. I need a distraction.
I turn my attention back to my laptop and start reading emails. They might as well be in another language, though. I’m not absorbing a damn thing. I’m just moving my eyes over the screen as I pretend I’m not hyperaware of the twenty-two year old bombshell sitting across the table from me.
I glance up at her, just once. She’s sipping her coffee and scrolling on her phone. The clouds outside shift, and the sunshine flooding the kitchen gets even brighter. Golden light shimmers around her, making her look like something out of a dream. Angelic and ethereal.
Untouchable.
