Page 36 of Meeting Me, Loving You (Hearts of Maple Lake #1)

CAMERON

A faint glow illuminates behind my eyelids, and for a moment, I’m disoriented.

My eyes take in the view of a window, and I note that it’s not where my bedroom window should be.

The blankets covering me are soft, not unlike my own, but in the dim light, I see they are not the color of the ones I’m used to.

Then I hear breathing and feel the weight of something draped over my stomach.

My eyes roam down to see Juliet’s arm hanging loosely over my abdomen.

I remember. I’m in her bed.

Without moving too quickly, I turn my head to see her gentle eyes still closed, her soft lips parted slightly in sleep.

She’s turned toward me, and her long brown hair lays in waves around her head, some of it draping over her shoulder and onto her chest. Her baggy T-shirt makes her look younger than she is and her relaxed face is free of the daily stress lines she often wears.

My brain feels torn between two very conflicting thoughts.

I like this—I want more of this.

And, I shouldn’t be here, this close to her. I shouldn’t be in her bed .

Flashes of the day before play through my memory as if I’m sitting in a theater, the pictures projecting on a large screen across my vision.

Juliet laughing right before she was thrown over the handlebars, her head and shoulders hitting the pavement and then laying deathly still on her back.

I squeeze my eyes shut, as I’ve done so many times since the accident, attempting to block out the images.

Juliet’s breathing is calm and steady, and I listen to it as I focus on syncing my breath to hers. Even as the fear of losing her lingers, I feel at peace now beside her. Holding her in my arms like this was all I wanted to do after the accident, to physically feel that she was whole and safe.

And then she asked me to hold her, giving me exactly what I wanted, what I needed, and we fell asleep together. She fit so perfectly in my arms, her curves fitting against mine the way gentle waves of the ocean hug the sand on the beach, fluid and smooth.

I lift her wrist and gently guide her arm away from my body.

Dax raises his head from the foot of the bed, and I silently beg him to stay quiet.

Jules needs all the rest she can get after the day she had, and judging by the low light from outside, it’s still very early.

I slip from the bed as soundlessly as I can manage. Thankfully, she doesn’t stir.

Dax follows me from the room, and I walk him outside to relieve himself.

He doesn’t take long and when we’re back in the apartment, I settle on the couch.

I don’t know what to do with myself. I could go home and change, take a shower, and bring back food.

But I worry she’ll wake up and panic that I’m gone.

She experienced an awful thing when her sister left town, not bothering to say goodbye or give an explanation.

Natalie’s selfishness tore a hole in Jules’ heart, and I know she hasn’t fully come back from it yet .

I remember the way she looked last night when she thought she had ruined our day. She looked like she was prepared to hear me accuse her of causing the accident on purpose.

It devastated me to see her that way. I don’t ever want her to feel like a disappointment, not because of me, not ever.

The sun grows stronger as it rises over the horizon.

Sunlight slides gradually across the living room floor until it lands on Jules’ backpack and a few textbooks lying on the ground against the far wall.

I didn’t realize how long I’d been sitting here until I look at the time on my phone. It’s almost eight in the morning.

I turn at the sound of Jules opening the bedroom door. Her hair is a wild mess, but it looks like she tried to tame it by pulling it back into a ponytail. There are dark patches under her eyes, and she scowls as she limps toward the couch. I jump up.

“Here, I got it.” I support her weight like I did yesterday, guiding her to the couch while being careful to not bump her foot against the furniture.

“Thank you,” she says. She smiles, but she looks shy. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I did. I slept great actually.” I rub at my beard. “How did you sleep?

She smiles, her cheeks reddening slightly, and she turns her attention to Dax who is eagerly awaiting her affection. “I slept great too.”

I shove my hands through my hair, and then into the pockets of my sweats.

I feel gross from yesterday, having not showered after biking and carrying Juliet back to the truck.

The blood from her wounds has been washed off of me, thanks to the nurses at the hospital providing me with soapy towels and disinfectant wipes, but I can feel where salty sweat has dried onto my skin.

After spending the night curled up with Jules, I’m more than grateful that I keep clean clothes and deodorant in the truck.

“Can I get you anything?” I ask. “Do you need your pills? Or some food?”

She looks up at me at the mention of food. “I took my pills in my room already, thanks. But I could definitely use food, especially since I’ve taken medication.” Her smile is sweet, but she still looks tired.

“You have some eggs in your fridge I could cook. Then I was thinking I’d go back to my place and shower.

And if you want, I can come back and bring something from the diner for lunch.

” I dread leaving her alone for even a short time, but I know we could both use a few minutes of personal space.

Time to be apart and to think. I need to get my bearings after spending the night with her.

Tyler can never learn about this. He’d kill me.

“Yeah, that sounds great. Eggs are perfect. And I’m sorry I didn’t offer for you to shower here last night—I’m sure you feel so gross from yesterday. I just didn’t think about it, and the concussion was making my head foggy, and?—”

“Jules.” I cut in. She stills, meeting my eyes. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. I really don’t care that I haven’t showered.” I give her a reassuring smile and shrug. “I just hope I didn’t smell too bad in bed.”

In bed. It sounds weird. But also, it sounds right .

Jules and I are silent, most likely both thinking about how I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close to me. The memory of her hair brushing against my face and the smell of her coconut shampoo fills my head.

“How are your stitches feeling?” I ask, my attempt at a subject change.

She goes back to scratching Dax behind the ears .

“They’re a little sore, especially when I move my arm. Putting my hair back was super uncomfortable,” she huffs.

“We probably need to change the bandage, right?”

“Yeah, I got extras from the hospital. They’re in my purse over there.” She points toward the door where her purse was dropped last night. “Technically I should keep it covered for twenty-four hours, but I’m nervous and want to check on it.”

I fetch her purse, and she riffles through it until she finds what she needs.

“I’ll do it,” I say, lowering myself to the couch beside her.

She chews on her bottom lip, and then proceeds to remove her shirt.

I turn my head, giving her some semblance of privacy.

I hear sleepy laughter from the couch. “I have a sports bra on, it’s okay. You’ve seen me like this at the gym, Cam.”

That’s true. We’ve gone to the gym together a few times, and I’ve seen her in a sports bra then, but I didn’t know she had something on under her shirt.

Tyler would definitely kill me if he knew about this.

My head turns cautiously back toward Jules and, sure enough, she’s wearing a black sports bra with thick straps that doesn’t show much of anything. I breathe out a quiet breath of relief.

I gently pull at the edges of the bandage on her shoulder, being careful around her wound and trying my best to not pull too much at the skin. This isn’t just some Band-Aid I can rip off quickly.

Her face contorts, showing her discomfort.

“It’s almost off,” I say. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just wish you could rip it off fast, get it over with.”

“I wish I could, but I don’t want to tug on the stitches.” I try to distract her by keeping her talking. “How many did the doctor say you got?”

“Seven. Not very many, but I’ve never had stitches before.” She’s focusing on something across the room.

“So they don’t have you practice stitches on your fellow nursing students in school?” I smirk, not taking my eyes off the injury on her shoulder. It’s red and the skin around the area is scraped, but the stitches look clean.

“No,” she snickers. “We practice on fake skin. It’s made of silicone. And when we’re at home, we’re encouraged to practice on fruit, like oranges or even grapes.”

I frown and meet her eyes. The old bandage is off, and I’ve already used a Q-tip to spread a layer of ointment on the skin.

“You’ve stitched up a grape?” I ask.

She laughs. “Yes, actually. It’s common practice to suture fruit. And, as a bonus, we get to eat it after.”

“I hope you remove the stitching first.”

“Of course I do.” She rolls her eyes and tips her chin down to look at her stitches.

Juliet’s tattoo sits under her collarbone, unscathed. The scrape on her shoulder left a few inches of space between the two, and I’m relieved to see her beautiful choice of body art wasn’t ruined.

Before placing the new bandage on her body, I trace my finger over the delicate blooms draping gracefully over her skin.

“I’m glad this wasn’t damaged,” I say, meeting her eyes.

“Me too.” Her voice is almost a whisper, and her dark eyes pull me in.

Clearing my throat, I break our stare and place the new bandage over Jules’ stitches. She strains to look down at her shoulder, the angle proving slightly difficult for her to see it well .

“Thanks,” she says.

“Anytime, seriously.”

Her eyes roam from my eyes down to my arm, and she puts out her hand, palm facing up.

I cock a brow. “What?” I ask.

“Let me see your tattoo.”

I slide a little closer on the couch and lay my wrist face up in her hand so she can easily see the tattoo I have printed on my left forearm.

She traces the outline of the pine tree with the tip of her finger, and I fight the goosebumps that threaten to appear all over my skin, condemning evidence of what her touch does to me.

“It’s beautiful,” she says. “Just like you said, it’s as if the scene from our sunrise hike was painted inside the tree’s silhouette.

I like it.” She removes her finger, and I’m about to pull away from her loose grip when she suddenly holds my wrist tighter, tugging my arm closer.

She points a finger at the trunk of the pine.

“Why does it say ‘thank you’ in the trunk? It’s like it’s engraved on the tree.”

Her eyes are close to my arm, taking in every detail, and then she looks up at me.

Heat creeps up my back and I swallow. “Do you remember when we were kids and you were having trouble writing equivalent fractions, so I helped you?” I say.

She nods.

“You passed your math test that week, and you wrote me a note after.” My hands start to sweat, and I wish she weren’t still holding onto my wrist so she wouldn’t notice the quickening of my pulse.

“The note said, ‘Thank you for helping me pass my test. I couldn’t have done it without you.’ Only, your handwriting was terrible, and I could hardly read it. ” I chuckle.

Jules laughs slightly as her brows crease, her eyes swimming in pools of tears. Her voice is strained and quiet in disbelief. “So… you had my note tattooed on your arm?”

“As a constant and permanent reminder to always be confident in the path I’ve chosen.

” I shake my head. “My parents were never supportive of my choice to become an educator. It caused me to doubt myself and my choices—whether or not it was something I’d really be good at, and if my choice was worth the backlash I got from them.

” I turn my hand palm-down and place it in Juliet’s.

“It was your note that helped me realize how much I loved teaching and that I could make a difference to someone. That’s why I tutored through high school.

And when I was a senior, I was cleaning out a leftover moving box and found your note again.

I had saved it as a physical token to remember why I wanted to teach—to help kids who needed it.

Not just in academics, but by being the positive impact that they may not receive at home, like your parents always were for me. ”

“Aw, Cam…” She looks like she’ll say more, but she presses her lips together, using her free hand to wipe at her eyes.

“So in my first year of college, I got this tattoo. It’s even in your handwriting, which is why it looks so bad.” I smile as I try to hold back my shaky nerves.

She squints at my arm. “That’s not my handwriting.”

“It was when you were ten.” My lips pull into a full smile, and Jules matches it, squeezing my hand.

“This is the sweetest thing ever. I just can’t believe you have something I wrote tattooed on your body. You know tattoos are permanent, right?”

“Ha, yeah, I know. That’s the whole point.” I take my hand out of hers and scratch an imaginary itch under my chin. “Well, now you know the whole background of my tattoo. It all leads back to Maple Lake, my real home. And… it would seem, back to you. ”

Jules stills. Her wide eyes are unreadable.

The silence in the room becomes stifling, my skin prickling under my collar, as I wait for her to say something.

She stares at me, and after a moment, her mouth opens to speak, but I stand abruptly, knocking extra bandages onto the floor.

I just laid out a part of myself in front of her, metaphorically giving her the scalpel to cut me open if she were to find me unable to meet her perfect expectations.

I don’t give her the chance to turn me down.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” I say and head to the kitchen.