Page 65 of Chasing Clouds

My lips press into a thin line as my eyebrows rise.

Her eyes widen as she follows my train of thought, giggles, and then shakes her head and slaps me on the thigh.

“You’re incorrigible!”

“Maybe, but that’s only because of you. It’s your fault, princess,” I accuse, smirking and enjoying the playful banter.

“Fine. If random comments have your mind immediately slipping into the gutter, I’m not complaining. You can join me—I frequent it often.”

“What?” My jaw drops open.

“You heard me.” Her cheeks blush pink, and damn she’s adorable.

A few hours later, I pull up to the curb in front of her house. My heart sinks in my chest knowing I’m going to be leaving her here and heading back home alone. As I kill the engine, we eye each other briefly, silently, before I let out a deep sigh and get out of the car.

Together, we haul all her things into the foyer, and she leaves them at the base of the stairs. I watch as she digs through her recently purchased beach bag and pulls out the large vase of shells she collected, along with the paper airplane. Walking into her living room, she places them both on the table next to the window where the first plane I gave her sits. She arranges them then turns to me and smiles.

“There, perfect!”

This girl is something else. She has so much, yet it’s the things that cost nothing that she keeps beaming over.

“This really is a great house,” I tell her as we walk through the rooms and back to the stairs. I pick up most of her bags and we move to take them upstairs.

“Thank you, I think so.” She looks around, down over the railing. She pauses briefly and then looks at me, a tiny frown marring her perfect lips.

After spending the last couple of weeks together and knowing I’m not staying, this house suddenly feels too large, too empty. Just her, here all alone . . . I’m not sure I like this—not at all.

“I’ve actually done a lot of work on it over the last couple of years. I didn’t stay in New York for the summers. I came home because this is where they wanted me to be, and it gave me something to do other than fundraisers and lunch at the clubhouse.”

“Having my fingernails pried off sounds like more fun than that.”

She giggles. I love the sounds she makes.

Leaving her stuff in her room, I wander around the different floors and the different rooms with fresh eyes while she settles in and flips through her mail in the kitchen. When I was here before, I was more or less in shock, but now as each minute passes, I begin to feel more and more uncomfortable. At the beach, and even a little bit toward the end of our time at my condo, I felt like an equal to Camille, like she and I as a pair was natural and we belonged together. Here, I’m starting to not feel like that at all, even after everything we’ve shared. This house is so far removed from anything I’ve ever seen or even been in, and I’ve been to a lot of well-to-do football players’ homes, but here I feel out of place. I don’t want to; this is Camille and her fingerprints are all over the details, but the evident wealth is a reminder that we were never supposed to be, and suddenly I begin doubting the idea of us being a couple. I’m hesitant, and I’m never hesitant.

My chest aches as I think someone like Patrick is probably much better suited for her than me.

“Are you hungry? I can make us some dinner,” she asks, walking into the library, where I’m standing. I’m unconsciously sliding the wooden ladder used to retrieve books from the top shelf back and forth. My hands drop and I turn to face her. She’s smiling, and even after five weeks, the impact it has on me is still like a punch in the stomach.

“I’m getting there. I’d love dinner.” We left first thing this morning and stopped for lunch on the way, but now it’s four o’clock.

“More like you love my cooking,” she says, spinning around and walking out of the room.

“That I do, princess, but I’m thinking we need to order in. You’ll need to replace the food in your refrigerator.” I follow her into the kitchen and grin.

“Ordering in sounds good to me.” She stops next to the center island, and her face dips with a strange emotion. It seems I’m not the only one who’s lost in thought. Then she’s moving toward me, into my arms. Immediately, I hug her back and drop my head to the top of hers.

She calms the storm in me, and I wonder, This can’t be wrong, can it?

The uneasiness I felt a few minutes ago is overtaken by longing, and not just the physical kind, but the emotional kind, too. I’m not ready to leave her yet. In fact, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. Maybe she feels the same way, and maybe that’s why we’re clinging to each other like it’s a permanent goodbye.

“Can I stay tonight?” I ask, my head bent down, my lips in her hair.

“Of course.” She squeezes me tighter as some of the tension dissolves out of her shoulders.

“When do you think you’ll talk to your family?” I run one hand up and down her back as she leans back and looks up at me with eyes so blue, and now so familiar.

“I don’t know.” She frowns. “Sooner than I want to. I’m sure they already know I’m back. Here in Savannah, nothing is a secret, yet everything is, if you know what I mean.”