Page 76 of SALT

"You're building a house." He gestures to the clearing outside.

"I am," I smile softly. I'm building a house right where I'm supposed to be.

"Are you ready to have that talk, or is Connor your ride? I know the games start early today."

He shakes his head and puts his hands on his hips. "I told him I needed to talk to you. He's going to coach the first game."

I let my lungs deflate the anxious energy I've unknowingly been holding since he wrapped his arms around my waist. This is real. He's ready to talk. I slide off the counter. "I'm building a house. It doesn't mean you're not my home. Maybe you'll consider living here with me if things work out."

His eyes soften before he wraps me in his arms. "There's no if about it. Never doubt that you were always meant to be mine."

"Hold onto those words. You might need them," I say as I push out of his hold and grab my coffee. "Grab a refill. I have a tree I want to show you, and you owe me a story about Lauren and Stormy."

As we walk down to the tree, Everett is quiet. I can't tell if it's a nervous or relieved quiet. He has reason to be both. I will say, even with these unresolved questions lingering between us, it finally feels like we're on the same page, like whatever we're about to talk about is inconsequential because it won't change how we feel about each other, but the discussion needs to happen all the same. If there's one thing Everett Callahan excels at, it's secrets. He'll keep them even when they're not his to keep, but that can't be how our story starts. Love isn't built on secrets and lies. It's built with trust.

"Stormy stayed with me the first night I was here, and she said a lot of things, most of which didn't make sense. I couldn't make heads or tails of it, and honestly, her confessions had me freaked out. For a second, I regretted that I turned off my family sharing."

"Speaking of, I'm going to need you to turn that back on. That's a hard limit for me, Cameron. Not because I don't trust you, but because I need to know where you are to keep me sane. I worry too much, and I can't focus when I don't know where you are." I can't help but smile, knowing how worked up he gets. I've always known I affect him, but hearing him say it is a whole other layer I haven't experienced. I like possessive Everett. "What did Stormy say that made you uncomfortable?"

"She said she lied to me to get close to me. The thunderstorm that rolled through that night didn't help my anxiety, but her next words pissed me off as much as they warded off the stage-ten stalker vibes I was getting. She insinuated that you knew."

He stops. "Knew what exactly?"

"That's what I'd like to know."

"Did I know Stormy was lying? Yes."

My eyes widen as I gesture with my hand for him to continue. "And… is there a reason you never warned me or told me about her lies when you knew we were friends?"

"I did tell you. I warned you to be careful around Stormy because of who her aunt is." He uses air quotes to emphasize the falsity of that title. "I didn't tell you the rest because there wasn't anything to tell you. I still don't know why she lied, but I find it very interesting that she admitted her falsehoods to you."

"Okay… well, just to clear it up and make sure we are on the same page moving forward, I'm going to need you to tell me these types of things when they come up. I'm not Moira. I want a partnership, not a coexistence. I'm the person you tell everything to. If you can trust me with your heart, you should be able to trust me with what's in your head."

He reaches me in two steps and tips my chin up. "I have never once wished you to be anyone other than who you are." His lips gently press into mine before his heavy brow furrows, and his black eyes turn as dark as coal. "Sometimes the things we hold inside have nothing to do with trust and everything to do with pain. If I don't tell you something, it's not because I want to hurt. It's the opposite. I want to protect you."

"Is that what you're doing now?" He looks at me in question. "You gave me something, answered my question and gave me a truth, but didn't give me all of it, did you?" He doesn't say anything, and I don't need him to. His silence is answer enough. Pushing him back, I start down the path to the tree. "That's not going to work for me, Everett."

I hear his footsteps crunching the earth behind me. "I'm not lying to you, Cameron, and I'm not keeping a secret, or at least, I don't see it that way. I should be allowed to process information inside my head alone without fear of persecution from my girlfriend."

"Girlfriend, is it?" I stop when I reach the tree.

"I haven't used that word since I was sixteen, but I'm pretty sure that's where this is supposed to start."

I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. "I'll hold off on accepting the title until after I see how well you answer my next question."

"Cameron," he practically growls my name. "This relationship isn't optional. It's happening."

I don't argue with him on that. I'm bluffing anyway, but he doesn't get to hold all the power in this relationship. "Fine, I'll agree to the title…" I trail off as if that word in reference to me wasn't one hundred percent the highlight of my year. "But last time I checked, I still have my own room, with my own bed, and seeing as how my needs were satiated last night, a couple nights in the doghouse?—"

He's on me before I can finish. "If I'm in the doghouse, you'll be there with me, floor, couch, spare bedroom. If I'm there, you'll be there too. You can withhold that sweet pussy all you want, but sleeping arrangements are a hard limit for me." His hand squeezes my cheek hard. "Plus, I guarantee you'd break before me."

"Want to make a bet?" I challenge, his lips inches away from mine.

"No, a gambling man knows to quit when he's ahead. I already stole your heart." He pecks my lips. "Now show me this damn tree so you can go back to liking me."

I nod toward the trunk of the yellowwood we're standing under. "It's cute. You hear about this in old-school love stories all the time. Lovestruck teenagers carving their names into trees, but to find one and know it's your dad who carved it makes it extra special." I watch as he pulls out of my arms and squats at the tree's base, slowly running his fingers over my father's carving. There's no mistaking it's him. His name is clearly notched into the trunk with another.

"Who is Camie?" I ask as he traces the carving.

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