Page 34 of The Loneliest Number (The Thirst Trap #3)

Chapter twenty-nine

Abby

T he discomfort in the room is thick, like a cloud. I feel shit for blurting out about the letter and even with Cam’s reassurances that it wasn’t my fault and he should have told his parents anyway, there’s still a heavy weight in my gut.

“Who wants tea?” Gordon asks.

“Screw tea, Gordon. I vote for something stronger. Let’s open the whisky from Mum,” Becky says.

“We’ll get it,” Cam offers, helping me up by the hand. “Where is it?”

“In the cupboard under the kitchen island, where we keep the good stuff.” Gordon winks.

“Come on, Pixie,” Cam mutters under his breath as he draws me from the room. When we get out to the hallway, he doesn’t drop my hand, pulling me through to the kitchen. His air of anguish has me gripping back to provide an anchor for him.

“What’s the rush?” I ask, my tone steady in the hope it helps to calm him.

“I just need some space to breathe.”

“Are you okay?” I ask. He’s come to a stop by the kitchen island, and I move to stand in front of him.

“I just…” He draws his palm over his face. “I didn’t want anything to come out to taint Gran’s memory. I’d hoped to do all this research and then I would tell them, but carefully so there wasn’t any more heartbreak.” Devastation marks his face.

My brows knit. “Is it because William wasn’t your grandfather?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “The date of that letter is after my grandparents got married.”

“Oh,” is all I can say in response. What else is there to say?

“Yeah. So, let’s see what Ruth says tomorrow. I’m guessing it may end up being a family meeting now rather than just us two popping over for morning tea.”

“I can stay here. I don’t need to come.” I feel like an intruder. One that’s opened up a whole can of worms, and I don’t know that I want to watch them crawl around all over this nice house and lovely family.

“I won’t judge you if you don’t want to come, but I’ll appreciate the company if you do.” His lips pull into a sad smile. “I feel so daft for not speaking to you about the letter and the date. I meant to on the drive here...”

“But then I fell asleep.”

“Well, there is that.” He lets out a chuckle. “But I had all day to tell you. I just forgot.” He shrugs.

It seems like quite an important detail to forget to mention though.

My frown must give me away because he follows up with, “You’re a distraction, Abby.

I spent most of the day trying to work out how to convince you we should make a go of this.

” His hand gestures between the two of us, pairing us up.

He closes his eyes, drawing in a breath.

I curse myself for falling asleep. He’s taken care of me all day; on the plane, the drive here, and just now when I blurted out about the secret letter. As scary as it seems to think about how we move forward, I need to know how he sees it working.

His tone is gruff when he adds, “Now’s not the time. How about we drop the whisky off with my parents and leave? I get the feeling they need some time to process this. And we can head over to the guest house?”

“Okay.” My tone is uncertain which fucks me off no end because I pride myself in being sure of my decisions. I straighten my spine and give him a nod. “Let’s do that.”

Twenty minutes later, we run through a rainstorm to the guest house, which is a tiny little cottage set up like a bedsit. It’s a similar size to my place but adorably quaint with an old Victorian style metal framed bed. The bed is so tall, I’ll probably need Cam to give me a leg up.

Cam drops our bags on a chair and then locks the door we just entered, shutting out the downpour and shaking off the rain. There’s still a steady thrum of the raindrops hitting the roof and I’m glad to be inside.

“Drink?” he asks, strolling over to the kitchenette.

“Please.” I need it after the last hour, and I’m not convinced we are done with deep and meaningful conversations yet.

He pulls open a cupboard and draws out a whisky bottle not dissimilar to the one he handed to his parents a short while ago. He grabs two glasses and ice from the freezer box, pouring us a couple of fingers in each glass, over the ice.

“Come on, let’s sit.” He leads me over to a navy, velvet chaise lounge in the corner of the room, squeezing himself into a jade green armchair while I have the luxurious long chair to myself. I sip on the wood-scented whisky, grateful for the warm feeling that spreads through my chest as I swallow.

“We don’t have to do this now.” I offer him the out, wondering if I’m being cowardly and trying to grant myself the same escape.

“What don’t we need to do?” He’s looking down at his glass, swirling the liquid around with the ice. His voice is pitched low, making me want to lean close to hear him better.

“We don’t have to talk about us. You’ve got enough going on with The Juniper and this family stuff.”

His chin comes up then, and his gaze pierces mine. I’m hyper-aware of everything all at once: my chest moving with each breath, with the quietness in this place, the cool, smooth glass in my hand, and his gaze heating me from the inside. “I think I need to talk about it.”

I nod. “Okay.” There’s an intensity to him that seems to sit under the surface most of the time. But it’s leaking out into the open the more I get to know him. Or maybe I’m just more aware of it the more important he becomes to me.

“I want you, Abby. I want you in my life even though I know you don’t do monogamy, and you haven’t had any serious relationships.

The monogamy doesn’t matter to me; I want your heart.

I want your soul. I want to be your safe space.

” His eyes drill into mine, and I gulp down air, trying to remember how to breathe properly, but everything is all muddled up.

“Why me?” I ask, because I can’t understand what makes him want more.

“You make me happy. You turned up that night in Glasgow and took my breath away. I was so desperate to see you again after. I’d been sad about my Gran and confused about what I was doing with my life.

And then you appeared out of nowhere and blew me away.

When you left without me knowing anything about you, I assumed you were a mirage, but I think you were just what I needed to help draw me back to myself and move forward. ”

I raise my glass to my lips, needing to moisten my dry mouth.

“And then you strolled down the street towards me that day. I still can’t believe that.

I’d given up hearing from you at that point.

I was just head down trying to get stuck into the renovations.

It’s odd, right, that the building Gran left for me was just down the road from where you work and live.

How big is the world? Why do you think that happened? ”

I jolt when I realise he is expecting an answer; that it’s not a rhetorical question.

“It is a strange coincidence. Especially when The Juniper has been a weird obsession of mine.”

“Why do you think that is?” He shifts to the edge of his seat, like the tether between us is tightening so neither of us can stay too far from the other.

“I think I was sad that it was all boarded up; it looked almost lonely. It wasn’t living up to its full potential.

I could see how beautifully built it was.

It just needed some love.” I smile wistfully.

“And it has this strange air of mystery about it. No-one seemed to know what it had been, who was responsible for it. That drew me in.”

He takes a swig of his whisky and then sets it down on the side table beside the chairs, out of the way. “You like mysteries?”

“I like things that are different. I hadn’t seen many buildings like that before. I imagined myself looking out at the world from that top circular tower. It was fanciful.” I try to shrug it off.

“Where do you see yourself in the future?” The question comes out of nowhere, and I realise he has the same knack as his mother for pulling on threads and diving deeper into the heart of things.

“I want to be happy. I’d be happy working for Tom at the bar, spending time with friends, having fun. Maybe get a bigger place eventually. Travel some more.” And that probably is everything I would have said a few months ago. But as I reel off that list now, it doesn’t feel complete.

“And you don’t want to do that with anyone at your side, supporting and encouraging you?”

“I don’t need that,” I tell him, even though it doesn’t quite ring true.

“I know you’re independent and strong, and you don’t need anyone. But don’t you want it, even if you don’t need it? Don’t you get lonely sometimes?” He pauses, assessing me with his gaze.

Lonely? Is that what’s been weighing me down since my mum left, and while I’ve been busy avoiding him?

He continues, “Before Gran died, I think I would have said a similar answer to you. I’d be happy with my work, and my friends and having fun. But she turned all that on its head with the last words she said to me.” I tip further forward, unable to look away.

“What did she say?” I whisper the question.

“She said ‘a life without love is no life at all’. It’s a Leonardo da Vinci quote.

I looked it up after…” His eyes grow stormy, and he quietens for a moment.

“I thought she meant it was about Grandpa and her family, and she was telling me to settle down. Then I saw that damn letter and it didn’t make sense.

But I loved my work, so I decided to throw myself into that.

It keeps repeating itself over and over in my head every time I’m with you.

When we get to the end of our time together and I don’t want you to leave.

Every day I wake up and you aren’t beside me, there’s something missing.

” He heaves a sigh, leaning back in his chair and the loss of his proximity is sudden.

We’d been sharing the same air, and now there’s a gulf between us.

“I don’t think I know how to love someone properly,” I tell him, wanting to offer him something that keeps him in this conversation I hadn’t been certain I wanted to have.

“It’s not something that I’ve ever done.

I didn’t have any good role models for it, either.

Not until recently.” His eyes flare and I’m glad he realises I’m talking about him as well as my friends.

“I don’t think there is a proper way to love someone, Pixie.

” When I finally shared my real name with him, it was special to hear him say it.

But now, that nickname tugs at my chest. “We just have to find our own way. We have to give it our all, give the person we love our whole heart and all our hopes and dreams, and demand the same in return. I don’t care who you fuck.

I hope that you’ll be interested in playing with others together, but we can figure that out.

What I want is your heart, and I want to serve mine to you on a platter.

I want you to gorge yourself on the love I want to give you.

I want you to feel loved and valued and worthy. ”

He pauses. I’m finding it hard to breathe, and I can’t tear my eyes away.

“I don’t want to lose you. I want to find our own version of love. Would you do that with me?” It feels like such an ordinary question—like what I want to order for dinner—and yet, my whole body trembles with something.

“I don’t know.” It comes out fast, like a gasp of surprise.

“I need a moment. I can’t think.” I place a hand on my chest, my heart beating frantically.

I stare at the rug on the floor, not really seeing the patterns but needing to focus on something other than Cam.

He’s like the sun—I want to orbit myself around him.

I want to belong to him. Shock tries to engulf me, but there’s a sliver of hope in my heart, threatening to crack my carefully constructed shell of protection wide open and have love pouring out.

Do I want this?

I think so.

But I’m so scared I’m going to fuck it up.

I pause in my uncertainty for too long. He’s standing up. Fuck, he’s leaving. I wasn’t fast enough. My eyes close, and I curse my cowardice for not embracing him with both arms. With my whole body.

And then something nudges my knee. My eyes open, and I find him standing tall above me. He takes my hand, lifting my drink from my other hand and placing it on the side table. Then he eases me out of the chair, drawing me into his arms.

“Please don’t panic, my love. I don’t want to rush you if you’re not ready. You can have as long as you want.”

It could be panic, but I don’t think it is. I think it’s a dawning realisation. It would be easy to claim that time, that space, to lessen this pressure on me. But I won’t be cowardly. That’s not who I am, nor who I want to be.

I tip my chin, our gazes clashing.

“I want to try,” I tell him, relief rushing through me as I admit it out loud. My bottom lip wobbles as I try to work out what to say next. “I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing, but I want to try with you.”

Tears well in his eyes as he lifts me off my feet and spins me around with utter joy. “You’ve made me so happy. We can try. We can figure it out as we go.”

“But so help me, Cam, if you intend to serve me your heart on a platter, then you better never snatch it back because I will fight you for it.” He’s mine, and I’m ready to claim him. “Take me to bed,” I demand.

He lets out a growl as he flips me onto his shoulder and I relish in his inner caveman being set free.