Page 75 of My Sweetest Obsession
So, I went to New York, and somehow, little by little, the longer we were there, the easier it became to pretend I wasn’t coming back to this cold, empty house and for me to actually start buying things for the baby—even if it was only a handful of outfits from some fancy boutique.
But I can’t ignore what’s waiting for me inside anymore.
Not when it’s right in front of me and I have nowhere else to go.
Marlo smiles at me. “We need to do more girls’ weekends.” Her eyebrows waggle suggestively. “That guy I met on Friday night was hot as fuck.”
I snort as I reach down to grab my purse, shifting awkwardly around my stomach to get it off the floorboard. “I’m glad you had a good time.”
And I assume she did, since she didn’t come back to our room until after two am.
My eyes drift to the dark windows again, and I pull my lip between my teeth. “Do you…want to come in for a while? We could order dinner.”
She glances at the house and shakes her head. “No, I need to get home. Go to bed early. I have this real hard-ass boss who wants me at work at 6 am tomorrow.”
Rolling my eyes and fighting a grin, I grasp the door handle. “Ha fucking ha.”
I push open my door, and she climbs out, pulls my small roller bag from the trunk, and walks me to the porch.
The porch light shines above me.
Did I leave that on all weekend?
My mind has felt like Swiss cheese lately, thanks to the same hormones that are making me text Cam to come over at least once a week, so I don’t remember if I did or not.
I must have…
Maybe believing it would ensure anyone driving by would think someone was home.
I turn the key in the lock and nudge the door open, and Marlo passes me the handle on my bag.
“I’ll see you in the morning.” She gives the house one last look, and something I can’t quite place dances across her eyes—excitement maybe, though what could be so interesting that she has to rush home for it is beyond me. “Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She hustles to the car and backs out of the driveway, honking a few times before she drives off down the street. Despite the bite of winter air, I watch until she disappears around the corner before I step into the house with my bag and throw the lock behind me.
What the…?
Something’s off.
I’m used to coming home to Cam’s scent, left when he delivers dinners, healthy snacks, and whatever fruit the baby is the size of each week before heading to his meetings.
But this is different.
It doesn’t just smell like Cam—that leather and citrus scent that used to soothe me but now causes a whirlwind of emotions to turn inside me. This smells like his studio.
Setting my purse on the kitchen counter, I scan for any signs that he’s been here and find a note sitting beside a spaghetti squash.
The baby is the size of a spaghetti squash at 26 weeks.
Another note sits below it, as if he came back later and decided to add to the message.
If you don’t like it, I can change it.
Don’t like what?
The living room and kitchen appear untouched since I left on Thursday with Marlo, but I know he’s been here as surely as I know that whatever he did will likely throw a new emotional curveball at me I’m wholly unprepared for.
Because that’s what Cam does.
