Page 31 of Worth the Wait (Worth It All #2)
I’m examining heirloom tomatoes when I become aware of someone watching me. The feeling starts as a prickle at the back of my neck, the sense that I’m being observed with focused attention.
I turn, scanning the crowd of shoppers, and my heart stops.
Cameron, standing near the entrance of the market, his gaze locked on me with the kind of focused determination that suggests he’s been searching. He’s wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt, casual clothes that make him look younger, more approachable than the polished businessman in tailored suits.
But it’s still him. The man who spent three weeks sharing my bed and planning our future, who let his mother position Isabella as his dinner companion while expecting me to coordinate their perfect evening.
He starts walking toward me, weaving through the crowds with the kind of purpose that suggests this meeting isn’t accidental. That he came here specifically to find me.
Every instinct screams at me to leave. Turn around, walk back to the parking lot, drive away before he reaches me and turns this reclaimed space into another battleground between what I want and what’s realistic.
But something in his posture stops me. He looks tired, rumpled, like someone who hasn’t been sleeping well. His hair is messier than usual, and there’s something almost desperate in the way he’d been scanning the crowds before he spotted me.
He’s carrying flowers—not expensive hothouse roses, but a simple bouquet of sunflowers and daisies, the kind of cheerful arrangement that would come from one of the market vendors.
Cameron stops a few feet away, close enough to talk but far enough to give me space to leave if I choose to. The flowers in his hand look almost ridiculously hopeful against the afternoon light.
“Hi,” he says quietly, his voice carrying none of the confident charm I’m used to hearing from him. Instead, he sounds uncertain, vulnerable in a way I’ve never associated with Cameron Judd.
“Hi.”
“I was hoping I’d find you here,” he continues, his eyes never leaving my face. “I know you probably don’t want to see me, but I need to tell you what really happened Saturday night. What I should have told you weeks ago.”
I clutch the bag of tomatoes tighter, using the mundane weight of groceries to anchor myself against the storm of emotions his presence creates.
Cameron holds out the flowers. “Mrs. Garvey at the flower stand remembered you liked sunflowers.”
I accept the bouquet automatically, my fingers brushing his for just a moment before I pull back. The flowers smell like sunshine and possibility, like mornings when everything felt achievable.
“You came here looking for me.”
“I came here hoping to find you. I’ve been to your office, your apartment.
I just came from there and saw the farmers’ market as I drove by.
Figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop and see…
” He pauses, running a hand through his already disheveled hair.
“Lianne, everything about Saturday night was wrong. Everything you saw, everything my mother said—none of it was what I wanted or planned.”
“Your mother just clarified the situation,” I say, surprised by how calm I sound when inside I’m screaming. “Isabella is perfect for you. She belongs in your world in ways I never will.”
“Regardless of what my parents hoped would blossom between me and Isabella, she’s just a friend, nothing more.
And business associates, more than anything.
” Cameron steps closer, his voice becoming more urgent.
“The whole evening was theater, Lianne. Business networking disguised as romance to satisfy our parents’ expectations.
Isabella wasn’t too thrilled about it, I’m sure, but the business connections she made that evening didn’t hurt. ”
The words hit me like cold water, undermining everything I’d believed about Saturday night. “But your mother said?—”
“My mother interfered. She positioned Isabella next to me, told you we were perfect together, made sure you understood that I was choosing someone more suitable.” Cameron’s jaw tightens with suppressed anger.
“She destroyed what we were building because she thought Isabella would be a better strategic choice.”
I stare at him, trying to process what he’s telling me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was an idiot who thought I could manage family politics without it affecting us. Because I was too focused on the weekend I’d planned for us to realize how the evening would look from your perspective.
” Cameron’s voice cracks slightly. “Because four years ago I let family pressure destroy us, and I swore I wouldn’t let it happen again.
But I did let it happen, just in a different way. ”
“I thought you chose her,” I whisper.
“I chose you the moment you walked back into my life,” Cameron says, stepping close enough that I can see the exhaustion around his eyes, the careful hope in his expression. “I’ve been choosing you every day since then. I just did a terrible job of showing it publicly.”
“What happens now?” I ask, the question carrying every uncertainty about whether love can survive the forces that nearly destroyed it.
Cameron’s smile is tentative but real. “Now we figure out how to build something together that includes both our worlds. But this time, I’m not letting anyone else’s expectations override what matters to us.”
When he reaches for my free hand, I don’t pull away. His fingers intertwine with mine, warm and familiar, and I feel something inside me that’s been tightly wound since Saturday night finally begin to loosen.
“I’ve missed you,” I whisper, the admission carrying weeks of pretending I was fine, four days of using work to avoid the ache of his absence.
“I’ve missed you too. Every day. Every hour.” Cameron steps closer, his free hand coming up to cup my face. “I’m sorry it took me so long to fight for us the way you deserved.”
When he leans down to kiss me, I don’t hesitate. I rise up to meet him, the sunflowers crushed between us as his arms pull me close. The kiss tastes like forgiveness and second chances, like every promise we made during those three weeks before outside forces convinced me I wasn’t enough.
For the first time in two weeks, I can breathe properly. The farmers market continues around us—vendors calling out specials, the ordinary magic of Tuesday afternoon—but all I can focus on is Cameron’s hands in my hair, the way he holds me like he’s afraid I might disappear again.
“I love you,” he whispers against my forehead. “I love you, and I’m not letting anyone convince me that isn’t enough.”
“I love you too,” I whisper back, the admission feeling like coming home.
Only this time feels different.
It feels like the beginning we were always meant to have.