Page 94 of SALT

The two of them have become inseparable. It wasn't immediate, and I was somewhat to blame for that. It took me a little while to warm up to Lauren, but it couldn't be helped. We already had a tumultuous past before I found out she was the woman Damon had been warning me about with his dying breath, but after reading his journal, I was able to piece together what happened, and I think the truth was worse than the lie. Damon did love Lauren, and it was that love that ultimately destroyed everything.

Damon couldn't stop thinking about Lauren after the night they shared at the Busch wedding. He stalked her from a distance, all the while trying to figure out how to outsmart Amelia, who had ensured she had evidence of the infidelity so that she could take half of everything if he divorced her. Damon was determined to make sure she didn't get away with it, especially since it was she who trapped him from the beginning, knowing all along that Kelce wasn't his. During that time of digging up evidence against her, he learned Lauren was pregnant. He knew without a doubt it was his. Her due date aligned with the time they hooked up. He waited for months for her to call. In the journal, he shared his innermost thoughts about how he battled, believing she was scared to tell him because he was married and choosing to stay with Amelia versus intentionally hiding it until she could use Cameron's DNA to extort him. Neither was necessarily good.

That was the crux of his pain. He thought Lauren saw his heart, but when the pregnancy carried on month after month in secret, he lost his faith in what they shared, ultimately believing her to be an opportunist just like Amelia. It's why he stole Cameron. His journal never mentioned how he pulled off his feat in getting her out of the hospital, nor did it discuss what happened once he brought her home. Cameron and I think maybe there's another journal waiting to be found in the collection she has in storage, but at the end of the day, to her, it didn't matter. She couldn't change the past. She could only move forward, but his why brought her some comfort. His truths weren't easy to consume. I know they broke me as much as they healed me.

"What are you making me?" she says as I finish putting away the unused ingredients.

"Your favorite."

She gives me a coy smile as she approaches the island to peer into the pan. "Marry Me Chicken?"

"Yes." My hands instantly wrap around her waist as I pull her flush against my front and kiss her neck. "I'm so proud of you, sunshine."

"You said that a time or two today." Her hand reaches up to run her fingers through my hair. I squeeze her tighter, loving the way she feels in my arms. She was meant for me to hold, meant to be mine. We fit together perfectly. "Ev, if you keep kissing my neck like that, we'll likely burn the dinner."

"Wouldn't be the first time," I say as my hand squeezes her breast and I slowly lose myself in her.

She lets me nip and suck until she feels me start to stiffen against her back. "Ev, there's time for that later. I'm actually hungry, plus, I'm excited to share my dessert. It's edible. I swear."

I groan and reluctantly release her, swatting her ass. "Go back to your side of the island so I can finish this dinner." The direction my head was going would have derailed my plans for the evening anyway.

"Seriously, we did that on the way to my graduation. You're insatiable."

"It couldn't be helped, that cap and gown was equivalent to a schoolgirl outfit…" I pause to take a drink of my cognac before adding, "And you're one to talk. I may have initiated backseat sex, but I didn't hear you saying no."

She rolls her eyes as she absentmindedly runs her fingers over the condensation on the margarita I made her, which doesn't help the situation in my pants. It only makes me want to tread across the island and correct her, knowing how much she likes it when I'm rough, but I don't because I know I want something else more: her.

"If you want to eat your dinner, you better keep your insolence in check before I bend you over this counter—" The doorbell rings, and I set down the wooden spoon.

"I'll get it, you're cooking." She's exiting the kitchen before I can refute. I turn around and stir the dinner, knowing exactly who's at the front door. My palms get sweaty, and I take a drink of my cognac, but it does nothing to settle my nerves or help me figure out my next move. I am not this guy. Of all the things I am good at, things I'm known for, sureness is one of them. Confidence has always been second nature for me; you plant your feet and stand firm. But that's only true if you're standing on the ground, and I am not. Cameron Salt is a tidal wave, wild and untamable. Her love carried me out to sea; it's depth enough to make even the ocean envious. "It's not my birthday."

"I'm sorry," I say as I turn from the stove and find her placing the two dozen roses I bought onto the island.

"You only get me roses on my birthday." She inhales their sweet scent before pushing them into the center for display.

"I didn't know you only liked getting them on your birthday. I assumed you loved them year-round since you walk around smelling like one."

Her lips curl up into a half smile. "Roses aren't my favorite flower. I'm not sure I have a favorite… If I did, I think it would be a sunflower; even on rainy days, they're still sunflowers." She runs her index finger along the granite. "I smell like roses because of you."

"Because of me?"

"Yes, the first year we moved here from Boston, Dad threw a big party to try and lessen the blow of moving across the country, changing schools, and making new friends. I wouldn't call the birthday a success by any means. He basically invited all his friends, including you, and you brought me roses. Everyone else brought gifts befitting an eight-year-old, but you brought me roses." She shrugs. "It stuck with me, kind of like the man. You bought me roses for every birthday since, and if roses made you think of me, I was going to ensure I smelled like one too. If you looked at a rose or smelled its decadent scent, I wanted you to think of me."

And here I thought all these years she was partial to roses because they matched her red hair. I reclaim my cognac. "You've been thinking about me since you were eight years old?"

"Yes, but not like that. My not-so-innocent thoughts didn't start until high school. I already noticed you, but it was then that my stomach would twist into knots every time I knew I might see you, and I'd get nervous about picking my outfits because I wanted you to see me differently. I don't think I need to explain further the lengths I went to ensure you looked my way," she says with a sly smile.

The summer she moved into my house, I remember coming in the house fuming after I went outside to grab a drink from the pool bar and found her lounging on her stomach beside the pool, wearing one of her infamous thong bikinis. I was slamming cabinets in the kitchen when I laid into Moira about how inappropriate it was. My then-wife had to talk me off the ledge, explaining that it's not as unusual as I was making it to be; while her bathing suits weren't typical Midwest swimwear, they were completely acceptable choices elsewhere. I hated them then, but I love to hate them now. Only because she looks sexy as hell wearing one, and what's on display is now all mine and only mine. Mine… it's that last thought that has me stumbling into an important segue.

"Cameron, I have something?—"

An alarm on her phone goes off. "Hold that thought. I'll be right back," she says before taking off toward the stairs.

The ring in my pocket feels like it might burn a hole through the material every second I don't ask the question that's been on the tip of my tongue for weeks. I've known since the first time I made her this damn dinner that this is what I wanted. Hell, I knew before that. I just didn't allow myself to dream things I believed could never be. Now that it's here, everything feels surreal, like I've been living in some alternate reality and reaching for the stars has the potential to tear everything away. If I ask this of her, there's a good chance I'll wake up, and all of this will have been a dream.

I've gone over the words I'd give her when I asked her for forever a thousand times, but now that I'm in this moment, I can't remember any of them, and getting down on one knee feels insincere. That's what everyone does. Running my hands through my hair, I look around the kitchen and think quick, pulling open cabinets to try and find something. What, I'm not sure, maybe a prop that says I put thought into this when my words threaten to fail me. That's when the chaffing dishes Lauren brought over for the party tomorrow catch my eye.

"Perfect." I grab two plates, hurriedly place the ring on one, and cover it before she comes back upstairs. Then I hastily return to the stove and make her a plate of chicken on the other. I'll serve her the ring and then the chicken. I'm just placing the covered chicken next to the dish concealing her ring when she returns. "Just in time. Dinner is ready."

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