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Then the best part—the grand finale—and my personal favorite: him running back to my room, confessing his true feelings, and kissing me again.
It was a scene straight from the most romantic movie, complete with a Taylor Swift soundtrack playing in my head on loop. I can’t stop smiling as I text Gracelyn.
Sloane: You’re never going to believe what happened last pm!
Bestie: You got to watch ESPN 3 instead of 1 or 2? Lol
Sloane: MUCH better than that. Although ESPN 3 sometimes has ice skating and I do love watching the pairs
Bestie: Ratface called and apologized?
Sloane: I said you wouldn’t believe it, but that’s a little too far-fetched
Bestie: Does this have to do with the very hot pro football player living at your house?
Sloane: Maybe…
Bestie: OMG, y’all finally had sex!
Sloane: Ok, tone it down. We did not have sex with my dad in the house
Bestie: Damn
Sloane: But we DID kiss
Bestie: Yeah! You made it to second base!
Bestie: Just kidding. That’s amazing!
Bestie: How was it? Best kiss ever? He looks like he’d be a good kisser. He’s got nice, full lips
Sloane: Best. Kiss. Ever.
Bestie: I need DETAILS! Can you meet me at the salon? My appt just walked in
Sloane: Sure. But we need to talk in private. I don’t want all of Thunder Creek knowing about me and Cam by lunchtime
Bestie: Come at 9:30. I’ll throw Mrs. Slater under the dryer and we can pop outside to chat
Sloane: Ok. See you then!
Setting the cell down, I stretch my arms over my head, my body soft and relaxed. It’s the best I’ve felt in a very long time. Way before the engagement ended, if I’m being honest.
This could all come crashing down.
I shove the thought away, taking a deep, cleansing breath. No need to manifest anything negative. Sure, we didn’t talk about the future or anything. But right now I choose to live in the moment, take things one day at a time.
Besides, getting ahead of myself is how I managed to get into the whole wedding debacle with Ratface. Instead of trusting my gut—and the whispers around the office—I turned a blind eye to his actual personality (or lack thereof) to live up to some societal expectation about marriage.
Well, not this time.
This time, I’m trusting my gut—and my heart.
And my heart’s been beating for Cam since I was fourteen years old.
After one more luxurious stretch, I climb out of bed and head down the hall to the bathroom. Cam’s door is open and the house is silent.
Peeking in, I note his bed is neatly made and the roomtidy. He’s probably already at the gym. A twinge of disappointment hits me in the gut, but I squash it.
