Page 24 of Sunny Skies Ahead
Was this something that friends did for one another?
I’d almost managed to convince myself that these feelings were one sided. But this was on another level. A fresh copy of my favorite book, that I hadn’t even told him about—he just happened to notice it was the most well-loved copy in my home library?
The reality of my life up to this point came crashing over me.
I was the girl who had jumped at the opportunity to run off with a man she’d barely dated for a year, right after graduating from high school.
I knew nothing about love or romance. The only true friend I had was Abbie, and even then, I felt like I could never measure up to everything she’d done for me over the years.
I didn’t know what to do.
As I read over the note once more, Kameron’s rough scrawl etched into the paper, tracing the words again and again, I realized I might have completely misread those stares.
I groaned and flopped back against the pillowcase, unable to sort my thoughts out. This was the harsh, realistic aftermath of escaping an abusive relationship.
Your ability to trust your instincts was diminished, to the point where you spent most of your time overthinking, rather than living your life.
That, perhaps, was the most egregious theft of all.
Chapter eight
Kameron
After Imogen had left the farmhouse last night, I’d cleared the table, put the dishes in the dishwasher, and walked upstairs without saying a word to Lucas.
His sour attitude had spoiled what had been a really nice meal with Imogen.
And yes, perhaps he had been right about the romantic tilt to the evening.
But truthfully, I’d been happy to listen to her talk about her plans for Winding Road.
Winding Road was my pride and joy. The work we did with veterans and first responders was my life’s passion in every sense. Knowing that Imogen could see the vision I had for this place meant something to me.
It meanteverythingto me.
As I walked downstairs the next morning, I fired off a quick text to Imogen.
Me
I’ve got coffee and eggs ready, if you’re hungry.
Imogen Phillips
You’re a saint, I’m walking up now
I smiled and tucked my phone back in my pocket before grabbing another coffee cup and pulling out a plate. Imogen came in the door a few minutes later, wearing a green sundress that had me swallowing my tongue.
“Good morning,” Imogen said, smiling when I extended the full plate to her. She sat down at the kitchen table, and the sight of her, shoulders relaxed and well-rested, made any residual misgivings about our arrangement fade entirely. She took a bite of her eggs and considered for a moment.
“Good?” I said, sitting in the chair across from her.
“The eggs from my chickens taste better.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh.
“What are their names?”
“Pam, Jim, and Michael Scott,” Imogen said smugly.
