Page 6 of Meeting Me, Loving You (Hearts of Maple Lake #1)

CAMERON

T en-year-old Juliet, in her fluffy pink bathrobe, sits huddled at the kitchen table. She’s counting on her fingers and tapping her foot against the chair leg. Mrs. Berns is at the kitchen sink washing dishes, and I’ve just stepped in to ask for a glass of water.

“Hurry up!” Tyler yells from the other room. “They’re beating us!”

We’ve been playing video games since we finished our homework. I’m spending the evening with Tyler’s family, as I often do when they invite me to stay for dinner.

Mrs. Berns hands me an empty cup and I stand at the refrigerator, filling it from the water dispenser.

I watch Juliet from the corner of my eye. She rubs her temple with the eraser end of her pencil and groans, frustrated.

“Mom, I just can’t figure it out, can you help?”

I notice that she’s working on math.

“I can help,” I say, stepping closer to the table. “Math is my favorite.”

Juliet’s brown eyes look up from her work. She’s young and hesitant. I notice her glancing behind me toward her mom, but I don’t turn to see what Mrs. Berns does in response.

“Okay,” says Juliet. “I have a test this week, but I’m really not understanding how they got this answer in the book.” She points to her textbook, and I study it for a second before sitting in the chair catty corner to hers. I pick up another pencil from the table.

“Can I have some paper?”

She rips a page from her notebook and hands it to me.

I go through the steps of solving the equation, showing her every detail carefully so she doesn’t miss anything. When she doesn’t seem to understand a step, I go back and explain it slowly until I know she’s grasped the concept.

Juliet’s eyes grow wide and a smile spreads across her face as understanding dawns on her. With newfound excitement, she hurries to work out the next problem. The answer she gets is correct, and I high-five her.

“Thanks,” she says with a bright smile and then continues to work.

“Anytime,” I say back.

I glance behind me to see Mrs. Berns smiling as she watches us. It’s a warm smile, loving and understanding. It’s evident in her eyes that she’s proud of her children. But in this moment, I feel her pride in me swell over my entire being and engulf me whole.

I’ve been in the gym for an hour already, but I feel like I’m just getting started.

The adrenaline pumping through my body when I push myself to my physical limit is a feeling I crave every day.

I don’t follow a strict regimen like some of the guys here do, but I try to hit each muscle group at least once each week, alternating to a new group every day.

Today is biceps. I started out with a jog on the treadmill to warm up. I prefer outdoor runs, but with the weather being so cold I decided to run inside. I’m now standing by the free weights racked in front of the mirror that covers the wall farthest from the entrance.

The heavy metal music playing in my headphones blocks out every distraction as I watch my form, curling dumbbells one at a time.

The gym isn’t too crowded and because it’s Saturday I assume most people want to sleep in or spend the morning with their families.

It’s nice to not wait around for the equipment I want.

During the week, it’s busier in the mornings since most people go before work.

I curl twelve reps on each side, then place the weights on the floor to take a short break. If I put them on the rack, they might get taken, so I keep them nearby, even though it doesn’t look like there’s anyone around who would need them.

As I put the dumbbells down and come back up to stand, my eyes catch on the treadmill I had been on earlier. Or rather, the person who’s now walking on it.

Jules.

Her glossy deep brown hair is pulled into a long braid behind her back, and she’s bopping her head along to what I assume is something fun in her earbuds.

She’s walking at a pace that isn’t leisurely, but also not yet a jog.

Power walking? But she’s not pumping her arms all weird or swinging her hips back and forth like the professionals.

I say professionals because it really is a sport—they call it race walking I think? Who made walking a sport anyway? It’s all kinds of wrong. Those people walk like they have to use the bathroom.

But Jules looks relaxed. In her element. Like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

Not wanting to get completely distracted from completing my workout, I bend to pick up the dumbbells again. I have two more sets to complete and then I’ll move over to the pull up bar .

I do enough curls to finish both sets, taking another break in between, and then place them in their designated spots on the rack. Turning around and heading to the pull up bars across the room, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder at Jules.

But she’s not there, and my eyes wander around as I walk, hoping to catch sight of her.

“Cameron?”

I turn toward the voice to find Jules a few feet behind me, trying to catch up. She smiles warmly at me, and I’m genuinely stunned once again by just how beautiful she is.

Her cheeks are slightly flushed from her walk, giving her face a healthy glow.

“Hey, Jules,” I say, lowering my headphones so they’re draped around the back of my neck. I try not to let relief flood my voice, but I’m glad she’s still here. “Long time no see.”

Long time no see? I mentally slap myself.

“Yeah,” she laughs. “It’s been, what, two hours?” She fidgets with the earbuds she holds in her hands.

“Something like that.” More like one . “Did you just walk in?”

She isn’t sweating, at least that I can see, so I play it off like I hadn’t already seen her, hoping to come across as casual.

“No, I got here a little while ago. But I only came for a light run and I just finished.” A loose strand of hair hangs from her braid, framing her face, and she tucks it behind her ear. “What about you?”

“Oh, um…” In my hyper-aware-of-Juliet-Berns state, I completely missed her question.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline in my veins, or the lactic acid building up now that I’m standing still.

Can lactic acid go to your brain? Regardless, something is making my mind completely blank around this woman.

After my mind catches up to the conversation, I realize what she asked .

“Actually, I’ve been here since I saw you this morning. I like to workout a little longer on the weekends since I don’t have as much time on school days. So I’ll stay for another hour or so.”

“School days? Are you taking classes at the community college in Sansville?”

“Actually,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck and bumping my bulky headphones in the process. “I’m a teacher. At the high school.” The high school because there’s only one in this tiny town. “I guess I should have said ‘work days.’ That would have made more sense.”

Her eyebrows rise as she assesses me with genuine interest.

“You’re a high school teacher?” She looks pleased about that fact and I smile.

“I am. I teach math.”

Her eyes widen and it brings me back to when we were kids. I flash back to the image of her struggling with math problems as I helped her at her kitchen table.

“Math was not my favorite subject in school,” she says with a self-conscious chuckle. “I mean, I’m good at it now for my job—I’m a nurse—but when I was in middle school I did not understand it.”

“I know,” I respond before I think better of it.

“You… know? How would you know that?” she says slowly. She furrows her brows.

I’m suddenly extremely aware that we’re in the middle of a room surrounded by people using fitness equipment, and I’m sweating like a dog.

With my luck, I probably smell like one too.

Her vanilla scent wafts around me, giving no indication of her time in the gym.

I take in how amazing she looks in the chocolate-colored gym top that matches her hair and eyes, but I refrain from looking down at her leggings because I know full well how tight those are on most girls .

There’s nothing I can do now other than confess to her that this morning was not the first time we’ve met.

“We actually… know each other. From when we were kids?” I say this like a question, hoping she’ll have a moment of recognition on her own.

It’s kind of fun being the mysterious stranger in her eyes, but it’s also nerve-racking because I don’t know if she’ll feel uncomfortable that I didn’t speak up before, and that would totally be on me.

She just stares at me blankly with those deep chocolate eyes that are daring me to stare back.

So I do.

We’re staring at each other and we’re not saying anything. I can see the focus on her face as she’s trying hard to piece something together in her memory. Her eyes squint, and her mouth hangs slightly open as if she’s about to say something, but she remains silent.

Without thinking, I reach my hand out and place my pointer finger under her chin, gently shutting her mouth. This seems to wake her from her stupor and my hand drops to my side.

“Cameron…” she says slowly, drawing out the individual sounds of my name. “Cameron… Dunne?”

So she hasn’t completely forgotten me.

My body releases all the tension it was holding onto, my heart feeling light. I smile wide and rub the back of my sweaty neck again.

“It’s been a while, huh, Juliet Berns?”

Her smile becomes almost sheepish, but I can also see the excitement in her eyes that tells me she’s happy to see me.

Which does things to my heart. I feel like I could knock down a building right now and come through it without a scratch.

Like I’m Superman and nothing can hurt me.

Because this beautiful, very adult version of Juliet Berns remembers me .

She’s looking at me like I’m a mystery she can’t wait to solve, her eyes alight and her smile full of memories.