The last thing I wanted was to get that personal with Tom and John, and have that conversation lead into what happened to my dad. I knew what would happen—their eyes would fill with pity, and they’d never see me in the same way again.
No longer would I be Cammie, the awesome assistant producer. Instead I’d be Cammie-the-survivor, or Cammie whose-dad-died-when-she-was-sixteen, or Cammie isn’t-it-sad-she-has-no-dad. People tended to define others by the things that happened to them. And I didn’t want to be defined that way at my job when my loss had already defined so much of my high school and early college years.
I was finally ready to move into a different phase. It would never be okay that my dad was gone and I would always mourn his loss, but I no longer wanted to associate myself with that loss, to be identified with it. I wanted to be me, plain and simple, just Cammie.
I only had one more night to get through before Dalton would be back in town. He’d texted this morning to let me know that things were wrapping up and he’d be back tomorrow, although he wasn’t sure what time.
Placing the first batch of cookies into the oven, I almost dropped the pan when someone knocked twice before barging in.
“Jesus, Dalton, you scared the hell out of me!” I yelled as he rounded the corner of the kitchen and scooped me into his arms. Wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, I met his lips with as much fervor as he was giving mine.
He pulled back slightly, his hands firmly cupping my ass. “I caught an early flight.” Then he pressed his lips to mine again quickly before pulling back.
“I can see that.” I smiled as I played with the back of his neck and his hair. “You almost made me drop your cookies.”
His mouth fell open as he let me go and I nearly dropped to the floor. He caught me and placed my feet gently on the ground. “You almost dropped my cookies? That’s why people break up, Cammie.”
I laughed. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me too. And not to be a dick or anything, but I don’t want to waste any more time. Can we please talk?”
“Yes.” I moved out of the kitchen, unsure of where to sit. The kitchen table would feel more formal, but the couch might be too relaxed. “Where do you want to sit? The table or the couch?”
“Depends on if you’re dumping me or not,” he said in a weak attempt to tease, but I sensed a bit of uncertainty there. “If you’re going to try to tell me you can’t do this, I’ll take the table. But if you’re going to tell me the right thing, the only answer I’ll accept, then we should sit on the couch.”
Shaking my head, I reached for his hand and pulled him toward the kitchen table as a joke. When he realized my intention, Dalton stopped in his tracks, and my hand jerked in his as he refused to move forward. “I’m only kidding,” I said before practically running toward the couch.
He scrunched up his face like a little kid. “Stop toying with my heart, woman.”
“I’m sorry.” I sat down on the couch and patted the space next to me. “Now that we’re finally here, I don’t even know where to begin or what to say.”
Taking in a deep breath, he gazed at me with concern. “Take your time.” He reached for one of my hands and held it in his, his thumb tracing small circles.
Giving his hand a quick squeeze, I met his eyes. “When you didn’t show up at the restaurant that night, I fell apart. I’ve never been so scared in my life. I felt completely helpless and out of control, and it was one of the worst feelings in the world.”
Dalton closed his eyes for a second before reopening them. He opened his mouth to speak, but I pressed one finger to his lips to quiet him.
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” I told him. “I just want you to know why I reacted the way I did. The panic attack made me feel like I couldn’t control my mind in times of stress or uncertainty, and I immediately associated you with that. I convinced myself that being with you meant constant chaos, or constant unknowns. I know it wasn’t necessarily logical, but I couldn’t talk myself out of feeling that way.”
He squeezed my hand back. “Babe, I know exactly what I did to you. I understand it completely, and I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”
I tilted my head at him and mouthed thank you. Dalton had been nothing but understanding and patient since he burst back into my life.
“I was overwhelmed with everything I was feeling. When you showed up that night, very much alive, I felt like my brain short-circuited with a billion different emotions going all at once.”
The buzzer sounded in the kitchen, and I jumped to my feet. “Let me switch the cookies. Hold on.”
I hurried into the kitchen and pulled out the first batch, then scooped out the dough and placed it on another baking tray. After shoving it into the oven and setting the timer for ten minutes, I headed back to my seat next to Dalton.
When his lower lip jutted out in a pout, I knew what he wanted without even asking. “They’re too hot. You have to wait about five minutes.”
“Fine.” He crossed his arms, and I rolled my eyes.
“Okay, where was I?”
“Short-circuiting,” he said, and I sucked in an audible breath.
“Right. I pushed you away because I thought I had to. I was so scared. I mean, I’m still scared. I’m worried and I probably always will be, but I want to work through that with you. At least, I want to try,” I said, feeling like I was babbling and not making any sense at all.