Page 58 of Sunny Skies Ahead
I didn’t miss the way Gail’s tone changed around the word companion. I couldn’t help the small smile that spread across my face. Gail was the director of my mother’s facility, yes, but she had also been a dear friend to her for most of my childhood, especially after my father died.
Imogen came through the front door, having walked down to the tiny house to grab her things. She wore a solid greendress that went just past her knees, a cream cardigan, and her favorite pair of sandals.
“Is this okay?” she asked, throwing her hands out and doing a quick twirl.
“You’re beautiful,” I said, walking towards her. Her face lit up at the praise, and I didn’t hesitate in sliding my hands around her waist and pressing my lips to hers. She melted into me, her hands wrapping around my neck and pulling our bodies closer together. I would never stop wanting this—her curls tickling the sides of my face, the small, breathless noise she made when I deepened the kiss.
When we finally pulled away, her eyes were glassy, her chest rising and falling with the effort of calming her breath. The sight did something to me that felt a lot like a four letter word I didn’t dare name, even in my mind.
“You’re bad for my health, Kameron Miller,” Imogen murmured, and I chuckled, not missing the way her eyes widened and her lips parted at the rough sound.
“You find it irresistible,” I said. Imogen shook her head as she pushed past me. She grabbed my wallet off the kitchen counter, tossing it to me. I caught it and leaned back against the door as I watched her grab two to-go cups from the cabinet, the creamer from the fridge, and begin making our cups of coffee. I checked Bass’s food and water one last time and closed the dog door. The last thing we needed was Bass terrorizing the chickens while no one was here to supervise him.
I couldn’t stop the image that flashed through my mind, of the two of us being like this all the time. No more sneakingoff to the tiny house, no more raucous roommates, just the two of us in our little domestic bubble where the rest of the world couldn’t touch us. When she returned to my side with two steaming tumblers of coffee, I leaned down for another kiss, which she quickly dodged.
“No sir,” Imogen said teasingly. “If you don’t get your head out of the gutter, we aren’t making it to Laketon before lunchtime.”
The words sobered me, and I drew in a deep breath, settling for a forehead kiss instead. Imogen made a small noise of surprise and I tucked that piece of information away for later.
As I opened the door to lead us down the steps and towards my truck, I reminded myself that I could do this. With Imogen by my side, I felt like I could do anything.
As I slid into the driver’s seat and Imogen took up residence beside me, I realized it was the incessant pull between us, whatever force kept bringing us back together, that had us both risking far more than we’d originally bargained for.
Chapter eighteen
Imogen
Kameron’s truck was exactly how I’d imagined it. A new-ish Toyota Tundra, recently vacuumed, with unscratched leather seats. If I opened the glove box, I was sure I’d find it meticulously organized.
If there was one thing I’d learned about Kameron in the last few weeks, it was that he could be a very organized person, when it came to certain things. He liked to think he was a chaotic, messy person, but he wasn’t really. He was prone to being overwhelmed just like the rest of us.
“How far is Laketon from here?”
“About an hour and a half,” Kameron said as we began rumbling down the gravel road.
“That’s not bad,” I said, settling into the comfortable seat. I reached behind me to dig my Kindle out of my bag, just in case I needed it. I didn’t want to read right away, which I almost always did on longer car trips where I wasn’t driving. I wanted to talk to Kam.
“It’s mostly back roads until we get closer to Laketon, so it’s scenic, too.”
“How often have you made the drive?”
Kameron’s jaw twitched, and I knew I’d asked the wrong question.
“Not as much as I should have,” Kameron murmured. I turned towards him, resting my head against the headrest and giving him my full attention.
“Tell me about her,” I asked gently. “I know you’re anxious about this, and if it would help, I’d like to know more about her.”
“What do you want to know?” Kameron asked, and I recognized the question for what it was. This was another thing I understood about Kameron Miller: open-ended questions were the opposite of helpful when he was struggling with his anxiety.
“What did she do for work?”
“Before she met my dad, she worked in nursing,” Kameron said. “That’s how they met, actually. At the hospital. My dad was a paramedic at the time and she was working in the emergency room. It was always funny to ask them how they met, because depending on who you asked, you’d get a different story.”
I giggled, thinking that was one of the cutest things I’d ever heard. I also remembered Kameron talking about how his parents had a love story for the ages.
“How would your Dad tell it?”
Kameron’s expression softened as he dove into the waves of memory. “He would tell everyone he knew that the first timehe’d dropped off a patient at that hospital, he was a brand new paramedic. Had no idea what he was doing. When he rolled in the patient, my mom was working at the nurse’s station, and she immediately started asking him what the hell he was doing. He could barely stutter out a reason for being there. She rolled her eyes and took over the patient’s care, and he walked back out to the ambulance, completely besotted.”
