Page 128 of Head Over Heels

“True.” I ate another bite of muffin. “Keep going.”

Again, she laughed.

By the time Poppy left, I was ready for a nap—something I never did. But as soon as I crawled under the covers, my eyes refused to shut.

They were gritty from lack of sleep, my muscles sore from two—three?—rounds in Cameron’s bed the night before.

Definitely three, I thought as I covered my overheated face. The last round, we’d both been half asleep, and he stayed behind me while we lay on our sides.

For the first time in my entire life, I walked into a situation without any clear indication of how things would end, without knowing my purpose.

I didn’t want to hurt Cameron when I left, but that was still the plan. I didn’t know how to do that, though. The thought of leaving this place—these people—left my chest feeling hollowed out, achy, and bruised.

It wasn’t like I suddenly wanted to stay home and pop out seventeen babies. That might never be me.

I wanted to work.

I wanted to build something with pride and know I had something to do with its success.

My dad had a legacy created from the ground up. And I could continue it with ease. It was a well-oiled machine, and the cogs would continue turning whether he was at the helm, or I was. Even though that was the future I’d always known was mine, the thought of it didn’t sit quite as naturally anymore. I wasn’t sure I wanted someone else’s path, the one I’d been raised to follow, where the outcome was easily predictable and absent of big risk.

I wanted a family, too.

Maybe not a big one, but one of my own.

In the quiet moments, when I allowed myself to think of a future that I created for myself—one that hadn’t been created for me—I saw a business I could dig my hands into and build from pieces that meant something. I saw one, maybe two kids. I laid my hand over my stomach and breathed deeply.

Why, when I slammed my eyes shut, did one of those kids have golden brown hair and a big, dimple smile?

“For fuck’s sake,” I whispered.

I rolled over, snatching my phone from the nightstand when I knew the nap was pointless.

A text on my phone pulled an unwitting smile onto my face.

Cameron: If you never hear from me again, it’s because I’ve been buried alive in paperwork at the shop. Come save me?

He attached a picture of a monstrously disorganized desk, half his face cut off in the frame.

Me: Your selfie skills are terrible. I’m adding that to your list.

Cameron: Does that mean you’re not coming to help me?

Me: Do you think we’d get much work done if I was there?

Cameron: No. The desk would get cleared off pretty quickly though.

Me: I’m sure it would.

Cameron: Can I see you later?

Me: I might drop by the house. You said the floors are done?

Cameron: Almost. Siding started today too. I like the color you picked.

Me: Thank you.

Cameron: It’s moody. A little dramatic. Reminds me of someone…

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