Page 100 of As You Ice It

My family is something I need to deal with on my own.

Actually … maybe that’s not true. But I’ll have to wait until I’m back home and the person whose support I need most is by my side.

CHAPTER23

Naomi

Liam is reciting Appies’player stats on the ride home from his first ever actual hockey practice, and I zoned out five minutes ago.

My sole focus is on trying to do math in my head. Specifically, I’m trying to estimate when Camden might actually get to my house based on flight times, waiting in baggage claim, the ride back to the Summit, and then driving to my house. That’s assuming his flight isn’t late and that he comes straight here.

So far, my math is either wrong, or he’s going to get here after I’m asleep.

“Ugh,” I groan, turning onto our street.

“What’s wrong?” Liam asks.

“Nothing.” It’s just that spring is starting to show by way of bright green leaves and flowers. The azaleas are nearly in full bloom, blazing even in the fading light of dusk.

It’s beautiful, but I’m not in the mood for nature’s cheer.Read the room, nature. Blooming right now is justrude.

It’s been a full week, which feels longer because, after the state he was in when he left, no amount of phone calls, texts, or video chats could make up for not being with him. I know we’re okay—the constantI love yous, now that we’ve both said it, reassure me of that—but still. It’s felt a little bit like we’ve been in a prolonged fight.

I won’t feel better until I am in his arms.

I won’t be ready for any happy stuff—even celebrating the arrival of spring—until I see Camden’s face again.

And then I do.

Because he’s on my front porch, sitting in one of the new chairs I bought when the weather got above sixty-five degrees earlier this week.

Camden. He’s home. He’shere. And he’s standing as he catches sight of my car, now speeding toward the driveway.

“Mom—the mailbox!”

Liam’s warning doesn’t come in time to save our mailbox.

I only clip it, but that’s enough to uproot the whole thing. It topples over, spilling the mail I’ve forgotten to collect for a few days across the front lawn.

Who cares?Camden is back.

“I’ll buy a new mailbox. Camden trumps mailboxes,” I say as I throw the car in park, unbuckle, and sprint toward the porch.

Camden runs down the steps and I jump into his arms, grateful for a man whose job prepares him for full-contact hugs. My feet dangle above the sidewalk, but he’s got me.

I unabashedly nuzzle into his neck, smelling him and feeling the soft drag of stubble against my cheek. His hands tighten around my lower back, and his exhale sounds like one of pure relief.

“You’re home,” I whisper, blinking away tears that have surprised me. “By my calculations, it should have been much later.”

“You were doing calculations to figure out when I’d be back?”

“Badly, apparently. But yes.”

“Your calculations might have been correct.” He pauses. “I asked if I could come back on an earlier flight. I needed to see you.”

“Same.” I squeeze him tighter, then press my lips to his ear. “I love you.”

It feels so good to say it while I’m in his arms.

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