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This is why you ran, Ivy.

Why I’d risk my father’s disappointment for the first time in my entire life.

I wanted to capture every bit of this feeling. Bottle it up and clutch it to my chest.

It was enough to have me feeling a giddy sort of high.

I wanted to be the girl in the elevator who could enjoy a moment like this, instead of list off a thousand reasons it was a bad idea.

So I didn’t.

It was one day. Not even that.

A couple of hours of one day, and I would let myself have this.

There was nothing I could do but close my eyes again and let it settle into my bones, and I smiled while I did.

“I think I can keep up.”

Chapter 3

Cameron

This was my favorite elevator in the entire world.

And I hated it.

There was just enough light from the useless panel on the wall that I caught glimpses of her facial expressions if I squinted just a little.

Her eyes were closed now, but she was smiling, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the holy hell was happening that I found myself looking forward to the next couple of hours.

I’d lost my fucking mind, that’s what was happening. Any frustration I felt after hearing we’d have to wait was long gone.

“Your family,” she prompted gently in the moment of silence.

I cleared my throat. “Right. Well … you want the short version or the long version?”

Ivy let out a thoughtful humming sound, and I swear to high heaven, the little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. “Happy medium?”

I blew out a slow breath. “I have three brothers and three sisters. Four each, actually, if you include my sister-in-law and brother-in-law, which I do because they both give me shit like we’ve been related since birth.”

“Dear Lord, your poor mother,” she drawled. “Are you serious?”

With a grin, I laid my head back on the elevator panel. “Yes. Oh, and two nieces. Hopefully more of those on the way.”

I felt her watching me. Studying me.

“Your mother must be a saint,” she said.

“Stepmother, actually,” I corrected gently. “My mom died when I was young too.”

Ivy’s face turned sharply in my direction, and holy hell, I would’ve shoved a whole suitcase full of money at someone if it meant I could see those dark blue eyes. “She did? How old were you?”

“Just shy of eight. She, uh, she got a really aggressive form of cancer. I remember bits and pieces, her hospital bed where she’d read to us, that sort of thing.”

The silence between us was a living, breathing thing.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.