Everly

Whenever I was truly worried about something, I baked. It was a habit ingrained in me from when I was younger, looking after Joanna when Mum stayed out too late drinking, partying, or sleeping her way through different men through each night. Then, I would make us dinner, although, since the only recipe book in the house was a Woman’s Weekly Treat Yourself special, the things I usually baked were bad-arse.

Today, I pulled the cake out of the oven, the aroma of banana and sugar thick in the air. Delicious. I placed it on the hot plate until the pan cooled a little, next to the rack that held the spinach and tomato bread twists I’d made earlier. Tossing the tea towel over the oven rail, I spun a slow circle, surveying the damage. Cake. Bread. Pizza. Scones. Choc-chip cookies. Thick-cut potato chips were already in the oven, thanks to some strange culinary advice I’d received from a lady on the blog last night.

Yep. There was no doubt about it.

I was stressed out of my mind, and the seniors at the old persons’ home down the road would no doubt be eternally grateful for it.

The garden is finished, and it’s for the best.

I knew it. I knew it, and yet I couldn’t help that little bit of longing that tightened my chest whenever I thought of Cameron Lewis. Something about him drew me in. He was smart, funny, and beautiful to watch with his little girl—but as well as that, he was soft. He wasn’t the stony-faced, grieving widower he portrayed to the world. It was his genuineness that truly captivated me. His natural kindness. And he was startlingly different to Bentley, who I could now see was manipulative and insincere. He was … flashy, whereas Cam was real. Cam was everything I didn’t expect.

I fanned my hand in front of my face as I slid the fries out of the oven, the heat wafting out from there too great. I needed some air.

As I sunk down on the seat on the porch, I closed my eyes and let the sound of the waves meeting the shore wash over me. It was after ten. He wasn’t coming. And that was okay. It was for the best.

But what if it isn’t?

The voice was small, but persistent.

What if Joanna’s wrong? What if he really needs a friend right now?

A crunch sounded. I blinked my eyes open, and there he was.

Cameron stood with Piper in my driveway, as if this was where he was supposed to be.

Happiness surged through me. He was here. “Hey.” I shot up and waved, then faltered. I was acting too eager. As if I had feelings for him.

And I didn’t.

“Hi.” He took one tentative step closer. “I was just stopping by, and—”

“Come in, come in.” I waved him toward the house. “I’ve been baking.”

Once he parked a sleeping Piper in the living room, he followed me through to the kitchen. He gazed at the benchtop uneasily, fidgeting with the edge of his T-shirt. Oh God. He thought I was crazy. And fair enough, too. Who baked this much food for one?

But how could I tell him I’d baked because it was the only way to keep my hands and mind busy? To stop the thoughts that had been starting to creep in?

“Today, we are going to conduct a taste test,” I said with as much bravado as I could muster. Perhaps I could play on his lack of interest in junk food to make this seem less insane. “I have here an assortment of junk food and some healthy snacks, too. You’re going to try one, then the other, and tell me which is better.”

“Everly …” he started to protest, and I grabbed at the tea towel, clutching it tight. He had to believe me. Please believe me. “What time did you get out of bed this morning?”

“A little personal, don’t you think?” I laughed. Deflect, deflect, deflect.

“I meant to have time to make all this.” He pointed to the cake, his eyes narrowing on the pizza.

“This?” I shrugged. “It’s not as exciting as it looks. I baked some last night, some this morning.”

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but—”

“But what?” I folded my arms across my chest.

Cam paused, and it seemed as if he was seeing me for the first time.

In the last week, we’d spent countless hours in the garden getting muddy and sweaty together. Well, I’d gotten muddy and sweaty. He’d somehow managed to look like a shirtless Adonis, all glistening in the sun.

We’d laughed watching Piper crawling around the deck, and I’d enjoyed talking about life with him. Offering him advice when it came to his daughter.

Now, though? It felt like he saw me as a woman. His eyes trailed up my legs, and as they lingered over my breasts, heat flushed my cheeks. Did he just check me out?

“Sit.” I pointed at the bench.

“Yes, ma’am.” He pulled out the seat and did as requested, but the way he said ma’am …

I needed to find a way to lighten the mood, and pronto. Glancing around the room, I spied the blue summer scarf I wore yesterday draped over the couch. That would do nicely. I folded it over, then wrapped it around his head. A blind taste test.

That way he couldn’t see the flush that had no doubt crept over my cheeks.

With Cameron wearing a blindfold, I really had time to study him. As I shoved a cookie in his mouth, I focused in on his teeth—so straight, so white. But not the sort of artificial glow that Bentley’s teeth had. Cam’s looked—natural. Naturally perfect.

As I fed him the banana bread, I feigned indignation when he called it cake, but I didn’t fake my interest in the tiny freckles dotting his nose. So small, and yet so sweet. An indicator of a life spent in the sunshine.

Without thinking, I grabbed one of the ice cream balls from the freezer, a recipe that women who followed the blog went nuts for. I moved it toward his lips, and—God, his lips. They looked so soft. So inviting. What would it be like to kiss them?

I jolted. My foot caught on the edge of the stool, and I stumbled, shoving the ball into his mouth.

His lips clamped down. The heat of his mouth surrounded me, and his tongue darted out to gently caress my fingertips.

Tension simmered in the air between us. Nerves zapped through my body like electricity. As I looked at his lips, still wrapped around my fingers, my breathing became laboured.

No. This isn’t right.

I sucked in a deep breath and slowly pulled my fingers from his mouth. Let go. I had to let go. It didn’t matter how attractive I found him.

I had to think of Bella.

It’s not like you were best friends … a voice inside me whispered.

And yet I knew it didn’t matter. Jo was right. Getting romantically involved with Cameron was the stuff my therapist would divorce me for.

Yet as my fingers left his mouth, his hand clamped down on my hip, jerking me closer to him. Heat coursed through me, and I knew the oven was no longer to blame. I stood between his legs, painfully aware of our closeness as my chest brushed his, my nipples tingling at the slightest touch.

“Cameron,” I breathed. I couldn’t. This was a mistake. I—

His lips crashed into mine with the force of a wave on the shore. I stilled, shocked, before opening my mouth to meet his, to dive into a kiss so decadent it was like the richest of chocolate. We kissed, and I didn’t think I would ever be full of this. There was so much sweetness, so much tenderness in that moment, and it covered me from head to toe, filling the emptiness that had lurked inside my chest for so long.

I wrapped my hand around the back of his head, pulling him closer, needing this, and he murmured his appreciation into my mouth in response. In that moment, there was no embarrassing baking incident, no child sleeping in the next room, and no past that had the potential to destroy—there was just us.

And we were better than anything I’d ever experienced.

“Cameron,” I murmured again as I ran my hands underneath his shirt, eager to touch his skin, that skin that held so much warmth, so much life. His body was hard, his chest pure muscle, and a shiver ran down my spine. Need pooled low in my belly. A deep current of desire pulsed through me. Life. This was living.

His hands stilled. His mouth slowed, and he rested his forehead against mine, his head tilted toward the ground. Long, laboured breaths sighed out from between pursed lips.

Oh, Cameron.

He grabbed the scarf and tossed it to the ground. His eyes were like the ocean on the day we met, a fierce and perfect storm.

“Cameron.” I shook my head. “What just happened?”

“Nothing.”

One small word.

One small word with so much regret.

I shook my head, not understanding. Had all that really been in my head? Hadn’t he felt it, too?

“I just … I can’t do this. Not now,” he continued, and a slight surge of hope pulsed through me. Not now.

I stepped back, giving him space. “Not now,” I repeated. “Another time. When—”

“Not with you.”

Not with me.

There was no misunderstanding that.

It hit me in the stomach, a bowling ball of trepidation. The mixed scent of cake and pizza and bread became too much, too heady, and I gripped at the bench for support. Sick. I felt sick.

Cameron stared out the window at the garden we built together … damn it. I wanted to scream. Why did I let this happen? And how did I miss those tell-tale signs that I was falling, falling fast and falling hard for a man who would never be able to be who I wanted? Who I needed?

“I … I’m sorry. I’m not completely over my ex.”

I knew he wasn’t talking about the mother of his baby. He was talking about Bella. She was the reason he didn’t want to be with me. The reason he couldn’t give himself to me.

And the irony? She was the reason I shouldn’t want to be with him.

What had felt so right was so very, very wrong.