Page 96 of Revved up & Ready

He points out the window. “The sun hasn’t set yet. Why don’t you enjoy the soak, and I promise I’ll be back before dark?”

I roll my lips together. “Rum does sound good.”

“And pineapple juice?” he suggests.

“Fine, but hurry. If something paranormal happens when you’re gone, I will never forgive you.”

“Not sure if you heard, but I’m really fast,” he laughs. “Promise it’ll be less than fifteen minutes.” He shuts the bathroom door behind him, and I’m left soaking in the tub alone.In a haunted house. Which is fine. Why would you haunt a bed-and-breakfast if you didn’t want visitors? Plus, the sun is still up. Nothing is going to happen.

The hot water feels magnificent on my sore muscles, and before long, I’m not even thinking about ghosts.Not much,anyway.

Pulling out my phone, I look through all of today’s pictures. There are some unflattering ones from the race, but also a few where I look strong and happy.I save those.

I should be used to being on Cam’s social media by now, but it still surprises me when he tags me in something. I thought,since we agreed we’re not pretending anymore, he might scale it back. But I guess he actually enjoys sharing about me because he keeps posting. Today, it was a picture of me standing between Devon and Bea after the finish, all three of us wearing our medals. His caption reads:

Could not be prouder.

He told me he loved me during my meltdown after helit on fire. I dismissed it at the time, thinking he’d say anything to calm me down—even offering to quit racing.But the more I think about it, the more I believe he really would quit if I asked him to.He hasn’t said it again, but I think he’s waiting for me to say it back—not because he didn’t mean it.

He went out of his way today to make me feel special, supporting me all the way. I’m not passionate about running—not the way Cam is about racing. But I’m passionate aboutmy friends. And him.

When my phone buzzes, it startles me enough that I almost drop it in the steamy water.Okay, maybe I’m still a little concerned about ghosts.I look around the bathroom. The orange and pink colors of the sunset shine through the window, but I don’t see any ghosts.

The notification is from Cam—a picture of rum and pineapple juice seat-belted into the passenger seat of my car.

Cam: Secured.

Me: Hurry back.

It only takes a few minutes before I hear him at the door to our room. “It’s me—not a ghost!” he calls out.

“Cameron, what if they hear you?” I giggle.

A moment later, he comes into the bathroom with two glasses full of yellow drinks. He passes one to me and holds his up for a toast. “To crossing things off your list.”

“Do you really think we could see one?” I ask, sipping my drink. “Aghost?”

He eyes my body through the water. “Ifthey’relucky.”

“You’re terrible.” I shake my head, loving his attention.

“I’ll wait for you out there,” he says, pointing to the bedroom. “You deserve to rest.”

When he leaves, I sink under the water again. It feels too good for words, but I’m in a spooky bed-and-breakfast with mynot-fake boyfriend, and the sun has just set. Taking a bath by myself seems like a wasted opportunity.

As I resurface, the lights in the bathroom flicker.

“Cam!” I call out to him.

“I’m here,” he says from the next room. “You’re okay.”

It could be faulty wiring. It’s an old house. Or, it could be ghosts—which is why we’re here.My eyes search the bathroom again. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but all I find are vintage tiles and white towels. The lights flicker again.Yeah, bathtime is over.

“Is that you doing that?” I ask him, stepping out of the tub and pulling the drain.

“Not me,” he says.

After rushing to wrap myself in one of the white towels, I walk into the bedroom. I don’t see Cam.

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