Page 56 of Craving

He set her down just beside the passenger door of his car, and she stared up at him with shining eyes. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“No?”

She bit her lip. “Okay. I can believe it a little bit.”

He kissed her. Couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. Then he pulled away and stroked her cheeks and felt three little words pressing against the inside of his lips.

They needed to get away from the shadow of this house, these people. He wanted nothing to do with them. He didn’t want them to be dimming Camilla’s achievements or pushing her to meet some dickhead who just wanted her for her connection to her father.

Sweeping her jacket over her shoulders, he helped her into the sleeves and zipped her up. Then he shoved a beanie on her head and unlocked the car door. The interior still held a few dregs of warmth, but he still rushed around to his side and turned the heat on full blast. Camilla’s cheeks were pink as he pulled out of the driveway and onto the road that would take them home.

She leaned her head back on the headrest and reached over to place her hand on his thigh. Rolling her head on the headrest to look at him, Camilla said, softly, “Thank you.”

“You don’t think I’m a caveman for carrying you out of there like that?”

“Of course I think you’re a caveman for carrying me out of there like that,” she answered, the smile evident in her voice even as Marlon kept his eyes on the road. “But I happen to like cavemen,” she said, then added quietly, “apparently.”

He laughed and took them back through Stirling toward their home. He knew now it was theirs, not his. She’d put her stamp on it, and from now on the house would forever remind him of Camilla. He wanted it to. He wanted her imprint to be in every room, on every inch. He wanted her to mark her territory like he had just marked his. He’d stuff her underwear between every couch cushion to make sure of it.

A new future unfurled before him in his mind’s eye. A wife, a baby—a family. Fresh paint and new furniture, home-cooked meals, coffee sipped in quiet companionship at the kitchen table. Wrinkles and gray hairs and grandchildren. Marlon’s heart thumped at the possibilities.

The town was quiet, with only a couple of restaurants bustling with people in the center of town. The cold had chased most people into their homes. Marlon drove steadily onward until he could finally turn into his own driveway and let out a breath.

“That bad, huh,” Camilla said in response to his sigh as he turned the engine off. “Now you know what I’ve been dealing with all these years.”

“I’m saying this as someone whose family was a complete mess: Your family sucks. No offense.”

She grinned. “None taken. You didn’t even meet my brother. He’s a carbon-copy of my father, with a sprinkling of mother’s favorite.”

“Why do you go there every month? Why put yourself through it?”

Camilla stared at him, frowning. Her chest moved slightly as she breathed in, out, in, out. Finally, she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to go over there. You don’t have to listen to them put you down every time they talk to you.”

She blinked rapidly, eyes on the middle distance. “I guess I thought… I felt…” She shook her head. “They were family, so I felt like I should keep going. Keep trying.”

“They’re horrible to you.”

A huff. “Yeah.” She looked at the phone that had lit up with a silent call and pressed the side button to ignore it. Her mother hadn’t stopped calling since they’d left.

Marlon grabbed her hand, squeezed gently. “I hated hearing them speak about you that way.”

“They were worse to you. I can’t believe how rude everyone was. No one even acknowledged your existence.”

Marlon squeezed her hand again, drawing her gaze. “I don’t care. I don’t know them. Plus, the only reason they were treating me that way was to hurt you.”

She shivered, so Marlon took them inside. The house creaked and groaned around them in welcome, and they both let out long breaths in relief. Once their jackets were stripped off, they went to the kitchen like it drew them on instinct.

“Coffee or tea?” Marlon asked.

“Coffee. Decaf,” Camilla answered, and Marlon made his way to the coffee maker to get it started. They moved in a familiar rhythm, using the routine to wash the day away. They’d both been up since before four in the morning, and exhaustion was beginning to creep in.

Marlon made breakfast for dinner: eggs and toast with lots of butter. They had decaf coffee with it, as if they could reset the day with a familiar meal. By the time they were cleaning up, Camilla’s eyes were drifting shut on their own.

He carried her to bed. When he made to leave after tucking her in, Camilla made a noise of protest.

“Stay,” she mumbled, half-asleep.

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