Pulling away, I nod at her, feeling emotional at leaving this woman, even if we just met. Maybe it’s because her fiery personality reminded me of my mom. Maybe it’s the knowledge that she’s the one positive memory Camden has of his childhood, or maybe it’s something I can’t put a finger on. Whatever it is, I feel like Gran is someone I want as a constant figure in my life. “Maybe you’ll come visit Sutten?” I offer, grabbing her hands in mine because I don’t want to lose contact with her. “I want to know your strawberry shortcake recipe,” I add, a large smile on my face.
Knowing the meaning behind the nickname Camden gave me has done something to me. It might be silly, but after knowing what Gran told me, I can’t help but rethink everything that’s happened between Camden and me. Was he thinking about me sooner than I thought? Did he feel the pull between us from the moment we met again at his gallery?
I have so many questions, ones I want to ask him the moment we’re alone. For now, he’s off on an important call. He’d tried ignoring his ringing phone a few times as we exchanged our goodbyes, but after the third phone call from Daly, he had to excuse himself for a moment.
“Maybe I’ll come up for Camden’s birthday,” she offers. “Camden told me your birthdays are close. I’d love to come celebrate the both of you if you don’t mind.”
“He told you that?”
She smiles, giving me a nod. “Oh, he’s told me a lot about you, darling. I never thought I’d see the day, but I believe my sweet boy is in love with you.”
My eyes go wide. I shake my head, looking over my shoulder to make sure he isn’t eavesdropping. “No,” I insist, my throat feeling clogged. The moment I saw his entire demeanor change when he said hello to his grandma, I realized I was falling in love with him. It was the way he crouched down to hug her tiny frame, fussing about it being too cold in her house before he threw a blanket over her lap as she argued with him. It was sweet—tender even—and as I watched from the side, awkwardly not knowing if I should introduce myself or let them argue for a moment, I realized I was giving my heart to him. It was a kind of feeling I’d never felt before. It felt heavy in my chest, telling me that it’d be a feeling that’d settle deep in my bones.
I’d tried pushing the realization away. Camden and I are still so new—so different. I shouldn’t fall for him. We haven’t even discussed what to officially call us, but none of that matters.
At some point between the heated arguments, the passionate nights, and the tender moments, I started falling for a man I swore I couldn’t stand.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Gran’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“I just don’t know what—”
She swats at the air. “You don’t have to say anything. I’d prefer you didn’t so I can get out what I want to say before Camden comes back.”
I nod, eager to hear whatever has made her turn serious.
“To the world, Camden had a beautiful childhood filled with love and adventure, but that’s the furthest thing from the truth. He was born to two incredibly selfish people. Ones who kept him locked away from the world until they deemed him useful. I tried doing what I could for him, but even I know I failed him. I should’ve never let him return to that cold and empty home. You’d walk inside and know it was void of love.”
“He loves you dearly,” I interrupt, needing her to know that he idolizes her. “He’s told me plenty of times that your love was the one thing that got him through that.”
Her eyes gloss over—something I feel mine do at picturing a sad and lonely Camden as a child. “I could’ve done more. I should’ve done more. But I didn’t. And I’ve always been scared of what kind of person Camden would turn into. At times, he felt just like his father, something I never told him. He seemed cold and unattached to the world. I was worried no one would be able to see past the mask he put up in fear of being rejected the way he was by his parents. And then you came along.”
I swallow because I don’t know how to respond. She doesn’t give me the chance to say anything anyway. “He called me one day to tell me about how this infuriating woman—” She laughs at the word. “—his exact word, by the way—how this infuriating woman had made him an herbal tea that morning. The man spent two minutes telling me about it when it made no difference to me what kind of tea he was drinking. But I could tell it was important to him. And let me tell you something. Not much is important to Camden.”