Coming Home to Seashell Harbor (Seashell Harbor #1) - Miranda Liasson Page 0,91

afraid to give. But then he thought that she deserved one. Especially if, as he suspected, that ass Cooper had also been an ass in bed.

He smoothed her hair back and cradled her beautiful face in his hands. “When I was eighteen, I thought I was the luckiest guy alive to be with you. What we had between us was always easy and fun and…natural.”

“We were just kids,” she said with a shrug. “What did we know?”

“We knew we cared for each other. And maybe that’s what made it so…good.”

“Thanks for saying that. But you didn’t really answer the question about…now.”

“Footballers have great instincts,” he said. “Sometimes you just know.”

“Know what?” she asked.

“Every baller has their sweet spot. Where in their hand the ball feels just right.” He gathered her in. “You’re my sweet spot.” He kissed her forehead before lying back on the bed beside her, a little anguished that he’d been so honest—and that she’d gone completely quiet. “Now what are you thinking about?”

“No one’s ever compared me to a football before but…I like it.” She reached up and smoothed his hair.

He shot her a grin. “Any time a baller uses a baller analogy, that’s pretty profound.”

She chuckled. He lay there with her in the quiet, happiness rolling over him. After a while, she spoke. “Actually, I am thinking of something. Christine and Drew.” Christine and Drew? Now? “He came back after college and started coaching, and she came back to work at the library. I was wondering…what that would’ve been like, if we hadn’t lost all those years.”

“I was thinking that could’ve been us,” he admitted as he absently played with a lock of her hair.

They could’ve had three kids, a house…and a lot of years together.

“I’m not sure if you would’ve been happy with me,” he said. “We probably would’ve ended up back here after college. My career might’ve dominated everything, including the choices of where we lived. We would’ve bought a house, probably oceanfront, and you would’ve been a football wife. I can’t really see you being a football wife.”

“Me neither.”

“There’s a positive side, you know,” he said. “We left. We learned things. And we found each other again. Besides,” he said, “with me, the best is definitely yet to come.”

“How do you know that?” She looked at him with a puzzled expression.

“Oh, I just do.” He raised himself up on one elbow, the sudden movement causing both dogs to scatter off the bed. Then he kissed her, thoroughly and slow, sending a deep shiver running through her.

He lifted his head. “Had?” he asked.

“What is it?” she managed.

“Think you’d mind finishing my haircut before I have to have my picture taken tomorrow?” He chuckled deeply.

She laughed, and he went back to business.

Chapter 23

The next morning, the summer sun was slanting through the blinds, spilling warm beams across the quilted seahorse comforter in Gran’s spare room. Caught in the pleasant fog of sleep, Hadley wondered why she was sleeping in so late. When had she slept in last? She couldn’t even remember. But then consciousness hit her like an avalanche, causing her to bolt upright in the bed. It all came back to her in flashes. Cam’s lean, strong body over her, his whispered words making her laugh or blush. The low growl of pleasure in his throat.

Tears came to her eyes. Ones that shouldn’t come for just a lighthearted summer fling. Cam was…Tony was…both of them together were…well, she had no words. All she knew was that the pain and sorrow of the past six months had faded, and her heart was bursting with happiness. With a rightness she hadn’t felt for a long time.

He hadn’t slickly manipulated her grandmother into selling him her building. He loved his sister, his niece, his family, and his community. He’d protected her from the photographers’ vile questions and sacrificed something big.

And he just…got her. He’d encouraged her passion for working with animals even though doing that very thing worked against what he wanted the most.

If only Cam understood how amazing he was. Hadley certainly did.

Her eye caught a flash of bright yellow next to her pillow. It was a sticky note with Cam’s handwriting and read:

Smiling and suddenly feeling flushed, she left the bed, sticky note in hand, and found another on the floor right in front of the bathroom doorway. This one said:

Aww. This was melting her. Another one over the closed toilet lid said that he’d made coffee, to which she thanked her lucky stars, and