Page 17

CHAPTER 17

Naomi

I almost back out of going to Felix’s. The long day, the excitement of the game, and the emotional moment in the parking lot after Cam gave Liam the puck—it was a lot . I feel like a wrung-out cloth, twisted up in the feels. And Liam is probably more ready to crash than I am.

But I didn’t want to leave Camden. To the point that when he offers to drive us, I don’t argue or try to figure out the logistics for later. I just say yes.

I turn on the seat warmers, snuggling down into the soft leather seat of Camden’s SUV while Liam starts rattling off facts about pucks.

“Did you know they freeze pucks before a game?”

I answer because I’m sure Camden is already aware. “I did not know that. Is there some kind of puck cooler?”

“There’s usually a puck freezer in or near the penalty box. Keeping them cold helps reduce the bounce. A puck that comes bouncing erratically at the goalie is called a knuckle puck. Usually, if the linesmen notice a puck behaving erratically, they’ll grab a new one.”

I yawn. “I guess they use a few pucks per game, huh?”

“On average, it’s between thirty and forty,” Liam says.

“Really?” I don’t know why this fact surprises me or why I look to Camden for confirmation when I know Liam has extensively researched all this.

Camden nods.

“Sounds expensive.”

“Usually between six to eight hundred per game,” Liam says. “That’s nothing compared to the cost of broken sticks.”

He continues, talking as much to himself as to us, it seems, and I lean a little closer to Camden. “Did I tell you yet that you had a great game?”

His lips twitch into an almost smile. A tease of a smile that feels like a challenge to earn more. “You might have said so in your texts, but you haven’t said it to my face.”

I started sending texts to Camden midway through the first period, after the assist. Then, I couldn’t stop texting, even though I knew he probably wouldn’t see them until after the game.

Naomi: You got a point!

Naomi: That sounds weird to me since you didn’t score the goal, but Liam says you get points for assisting.

Naomi: OH MY GOSH YOU JUST SENT A GUY INTO THE BENCH

Naomi: Does it make me bloodthirsty if I really liked it?

Naomi: They should have called that stupid hit on you. How was that legal? Is your face okay?

Naomi: (Is it ironic that I’m asking you this after I punched you in the face a few weeks ago?)

Naomi: Sorry for punching you, by the way. I probably already said it, but it bears repeating.

Naomi: Question—are all of your teeth real? Asking for a friend.

Naomi: Liam says to tell you “nice deke”—whatever that means

Naomi: YOU WON! Loved every minute of it. Especially the minutes you were on the ice.

“So, you did get my texts,” I tease. “You never responded.”

“I never look at my phone until after the game.”

“It’s after the game,” I point out.

We’re pulling up to a red light, and Camden turns to me, his face all hard lines and soft lips in the glow of the streetlight. “My only focus was getting to you as fast as possible.”

He stares just a little too long, and someone taps the horn behind us to let us know the light turned green. With a last glance at my lips, Camden turns back to the road.

A moment later, he reaches across and takes my hand.

My eyes fly open, immediately looking toward Liam. He’s not looking up here, still obsessing over the signed puck he’s turning over and over in his hands. I think the console between our seats is blocking our hands from view, but Camden reads my hesitation and starts to pull away.

I grab his hand before he can, linking our fingers for the rest of the ride.

So far, we haven’t said anything to Liam. What would I even say? Hey, bud—Camden and I are dating, though we haven’t officially given it a title yet. We’re kissing every chance we get, and I think it’s serious, but there’s still a chance that things won’t work out for a second time, so don’t get your hopes up. I don’t want you to get crushed again.

It seems better to keep things just friendly in front of Liam—for now.

Which makes the hand holding just out of Liam’s sight feel like a fun little secret until we reach Felix’s and I let go.

I’m grateful that the gathering is more that—a gathering—than a party. Felix’s apartment, first of all, is gorgeous. It’s a repurposed loft with high ceilings showing ductwork and beams with an open concept floor plan. The industrial touches are offset by comfortable seating areas and bright artwork. Quiet music plays from speakers I don’t see, and I realize it’s classical versions of pop songs. There are only about two dozen people here, standing or sitting in various small groups around the loft. Parker waves, and I get a head nod from Summer, who’s sitting in Nathan’s lap.

Gracie greets us near the door and gives me a hug even though I saw her hours ago. “I’m so glad you came! Good to see you again, Liam. I’ve got some snacks in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

I can’t imagine that he is after what he’s already eaten today, but Liam immediately scurries off, the outline of the puck visible in his back pocket. As I watch him inspect the food and start piling a plate high, I realize I’m going to need to rework my grocery budget if he keeps this up.

“I brought wine,” Camden says, handing Gracie a bottle he must have picked up earlier in the day.

“I brought nothing,” I say, and Gracie laughs as she takes the bottle from Cam.

“Wow—this is a good one. Thanks! I think this counts for you both.”

“This place is beautiful. Who did the decorating—you or Felix?”

“Mostly Felix, but now a little bit of both,” she says. “The library is the one space that I didn’t touch. It was already perfect.”

She points to an area off the loft with tall bookshelves and a leather sofa clearly defining the space.

“Liam will undoubtedly end up there later. Once he clears out your food. I’m sorry in advance.”

“Don’t be. We have plenty.” A timer goes off, and Gracie glances toward the kitchen. “Make yourselves at home. If you need somewhere to put your coats, there’s a guest bedroom back there.”

She gestures toward the back area of the loft as she walks away, leaving Camden and me standing just inside the door. I suddenly feel shy.

“Shall we drop off our coats?” I ask. “Because I really want to snoop.”

He chuckles and tucks both of our coats under one arm. “Then let’s go, little spy.”

“I’m not a spy! Snoop isn’t really the right word. I just like their place and want to look around.”

“Is this the kind of place you want to live?”

I think about the question before answering. My gut wants to say yes because this place is honestly amazing. But it’s not quite me. I think of the little green craftsman where Liam and I are staying. And even though I love the style of the house and the updates, I’m not sure it would be a forever kind of home either.

When I really consider what feels like home and where I’d want to be long term, my mind goes straight to Oakley Island.

Living in a city like Harvest Hollow, with its historic and adorable downtown, all encircled by a ring of gentle mountains, has been great. I even enjoyed the brief snowfall we had and love the idea of experiencing four full seasons.

I like it here. I like my house. I like this loft.

But home for me is the sea breeze and the cry of gulls. It’s seagrass waving in the dunes and sand under my bare feet. A house with a view of the ocean. Air that tastes of salt and makes my hair wild.

I hesitate, but there’s no reason not to be honest. If Camden and I don’t have matching priorities or ideas of what the future holds, it’s better to know it now.

“I can’t imagine a life where I don’t end up back on Oakley Island,” I confess, nerves making my chest feel tight.

Camden doesn’t look surprised. “It suits you,” he says. “You look like you were born for the beach.”

“Where did you grow up?” I ask.

He stiffens. “Wisconsin.”

I wait, hoping for him to say something about where he grew up or if he ever thinks about going back. Anything at all about his past or maybe where he sees himself settling down.

Could I just ask him? Absolutely.

But something about his expression and the way he reacted to my question has me hesitating. Logan and Parker interrupt anyway, so I make a little mental note: talking about his past equals sensitive topic; pry later and pry gently .

“Did you have fun at the game?” Parker asks me, her eyes bright. Her arm is hooked around Logan’s waist like she’s not going to let him out of her direct proximity.

And he looks like he has no plans to go anywhere as he asks Camden something about the game.

“Loved it,” I tell her. “Seriously. So much fun.”

“Yay! Hockey is the best. Anytime you want tickets, let me know. I’ve got you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Camden gets two free tickets per game anyway,” she says, then lowers her voice, “but he probably doesn’t even know how to access them since he hasn’t ever had anyone come to a game.”

Camden and Logan are laughing about something that happened on the ice earlier, so they’re definitely not listening.

It makes me wonder about his family, especially after the way he reacted to my simple question about where he grew up. Though I’m honestly relieved he’s never brought another girlfriend to see him play.

Someone calls for Parker, and she and Logan wander off.

Camden raises an eyebrow. “Shall we get rid of our coats then get some food? I’m starving.”

We make our way back toward the back of the loft, pausing for brief hellos, and I scan the room to locate Liam. As I predicted, he’s in the library area. His plate of snacks has been discarded on a coffee table while he peruses the shelves.

“I never liked to read,” Camden confesses, his gaze cutting to the floor. “School was always a struggle. If I’m being honest, Liam intimidates me a little. He’s so smart.”

I lean into Camden. “He intimidates me too. He’s definitely smarter than me and more academically inclined than I ever was. His ability to retain facts amazes me.”

It’s funny—we managed to sidestep these kinds of conversations last summer. Talking about Liam and reading isn’t exactly deep, intimate conversation or anything, but I feel like the things we talked about while we were on Oakley were barely surface level.

We were trying so hard to stay casual, even though it didn’t work, that we skipped out on the most basic of basics. Still—I got to know Camden the man. Not a list of his likes and dislikes or a plotted-out history but who he is at his core. How he treats others. What makes him smile on a sunny day.

The way he cherishes the people who matter to him.

We’ve got some catching up to do on the basics we skipped. Clearly. Though some normal topics, like Camden’s childhood for example, might be complicated.

We reach the back of the loft, where there’s a little alcove. The bathroom door is open in front of us, and Evie is just coming out of a room to the right. She holds a finger to her lips as she pulls the door closed.

“Hey!” she says, giving me a quick hug.

“Don’t tell me my new favorite baby is asleep in there,” I groan.

“Finally,” Evie says, patting a baby monitor I didn’t notice, which is clipped on the waistband of her jeans. “But if she doesn’t stay asleep, I’ll happily let you hold her for a while.”

Someone drops a glass out in the main area, and a chorus of boos erupts.

“Party foul!” someone shouts. Sounds like Van.

“That’s not going to wake Juno up?” Camden asks in a low voice.

“Thankfully, she’s gotten used to sleeping through noise. Once she’s out, she’s out. If you’re looking for the bedroom for your coats, it’s the one behind you.”

She heads back to the main part of the loft, and I follow Camden toward the open door. But the moment we’re out of sight, tucked into the small area outside the bedrooms, his mouth is on mine.

I’m not sure I could describe in words the absolute relief it is to finally kiss him after not being able to touch him the way I’d like to since we first got to the Summit. But we’re still barely out of view, so I tug him by the shirt toward the open bedroom door.

Camden tosses our coats toward the bed behind us, and then both of his hands are on my waist. His kisses shift from desperate and hungry to languid, like my mouth is a dessert he wants to savor.

Unfortunately, it feels too weird to make out with Camden in someone else’s bedroom, even if it’s a guest room. After a quick moment of dizzying kisses, I pull back. He seems to feel the same way and doesn’t protest, though the heated look in his eyes tells me he’d love nothing more than a private space.

He bends, his forehead on mine, our breath mingling. “Hi,” I say.

Camden kisses the tip of my nose, something that should feel cute and funny, but instead makes my blood feel like it’s about to ignite. “Hey, there.”

“You played a great game tonight.”

He grins, and it’s so cocky that I find myself laughing. “So you said.”

“Well, it bears repeating. Though I probably wouldn’t know the difference between great and mediocre playing.” I tilt my head, pretending to give it serious thought. “Maybe you were actually terrible and I just thought you were good because it was my first hockey game.”

Camden makes a low rumbling sound, almost a growl. “You were right the first time. I played a great game.”

“Humble much?” I ask with a laugh.

“Usually, yes.” In an instant, his gaze goes from teasing and playful to intense. “But I’ve played terribly for months now.”

I remember Parker saying something about that before. “I’m sorry. That really sucks. I’m glad you had a good night, though.”

But Camden’s expression doesn’t change. If anything, it intensifies. He slides his hands from my waist to my hips, gripping me almost like he needs me to stand.

“You don’t understand,” he says. “I’ve played badly since this summer. Since I left you .”

“Oh,” I say, my voice a little breathy.

“It meant a lot to me that you and Liam came tonight.” He starts to say something else but then glances away.

I can see him working to swallow, his throat bobbing. Lifting my hands from where I’ve been clutching the lapels of his suit, I place my palms on his stubbled cheeks. His brown eyes meet mine again.

“You don’t always have to come,” he says quickly. “I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything. But I want you to know that it meant something to have you there. Both of you.”

Again, I sense something he wants to say but is holding back. I want to ask, to drag whatever it is out of him to sate my curiosity. But if he’s struggling with whatever he wants to tell me, maybe he’s not ready.

And if we continue on his slow and serious track, we’ve got lots of time.

Unless he gets traded in the middle of a game , I think, the conversation I had with the women earlier coming back to haunt me in the worst kind of way. Or unless I get restless, not about a place or a job but about a person—about Camden.

I shake off those worries and lift up on my toes to press a quick kiss to his lips. “I would like to come to as many games as I can,” I tell him. “And I know Liam would be thrilled. I mean, if we can get tickets.”

“Parker was right—tickets aren’t a problem. You really want to come?”

“Yeah. Maybe we could bring Mike sometime? With Jordan,” I add quickly. “Just in case. I don’t really know what to do if Mike has an issue.”

“You’d want to do that?” he asks, and I’m not sure why he’s acting like going to a hockey game is some massive inconvenience.

“It’s no big deal,” I tell him.

He kisses me once, deeply but quickly and then steps back. “It is a big deal,” he says, and his smile looks a little sad. “You have no idea how big of a deal it is.”