Page 77 of Please Open Me
“Turn sideways, Sweetpea,” Cam coached, stepping up behind me.
His hands settled reverently on my shoulders, then slid down to hold my shirt close. His chest pressed warm against my back.
And I saw it. Not a bump, not yet. Just the faintest firm curve. Enough to make my shirt cling and dip at my belly button. My lip quivered.
Cam beamed. “See? Told ya. Since it’s your second, you’re gonna show earlier. I’ve been reading up on it.”
I forced a nod, throat burning.
“I think it’s cute as heck. Can’t wait to tell—”
“I need a shirt,” I blurted. “I don’t want anyone asking yet.”
His smile vanished. He stepped back, clearing his throat. The loss of his touch ached.
“Cam—”
“No, it’s fine.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “You don’t owe anyone anything you’re not ready for.”
God, he thought I was shutting him out.
“I just—Mae, I know you’re twisted up about this. It wasn’t planned. But I’m excited. I won’t pretend I’m not. Please don’t be upset about that.”
His words hit like a punch. Because he was right. He was always right.
My hands fisted in his flannel.
“Cam,” I whispered, trembling.
I didn’t realize I was crying until he brushed my tears away and pressed his forehead to mine. He was shaking too.
“I’m not mad you’re excited. I won’t ask you to hide it. I’m just… scared. Embarrassed.”
“I know, Sweetpea.” His breath ghosted my lips, his hand firm on my stomach. “You’re allowed to feel that way. Just know—I’m in your corner. Always. I’m excited for you and Seb and the baby, but you come first.Always.”
“I love you,” I whimpered.
He pulled me close, wrapping me tight. “I love you, too, Mason. More than you’ll ever know.”
I buried my face in his chest, letting his heartbeat ground me as I cried into his flannel. With Cameron, crying never felt ugly. Just human. And he made me feel likeIwas human, after years of being forced to believe less.
When I finally calmed down, he handed me a white shirt from his drawer. It hung loose on me, hiding everything.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded. His smile returned.
“Now, what do you want for breakfast? You can’t go too long without eating. I don’t want’cha gettin’ sick.”
Last night, I’d told Mattie I couldn’t stop thinking about breakfast carbs—grits, biscuits, potatoes, all of it.
“I don’t know,” I mumbled, voice rough. “Everything.”
Cameron suppressed a laugh. “Everything?”
I nodded. “It feels like I haven’t eaten in weeks.”
“You ate a whole medium veggie lover's pizza last night.”
