“Thank you.” She turned to Jaime. “Shall we get going, sweetheart? I’m sure Emily has plans.”
“Only watching a stupid scary movie at my sister’s place.” She saw Jaime yawn from the corner of her eye. “He’s probably ready for bed, though.”
They left, but not before Jaime emptied out half of his candy haul onto her coffee table. Emily changed out of her costume and walked over to Cassie and Maia’s place.
The three of them flopped on the couch, Emily holding a cushion in case she needed to hide her eyes. She was forbidden from holding popcorn because the last time she had watched a scary movie with them, she had jumped so violently that popcorn was still littered around the room three weeks later.
Emily was on edge the whole time, and she smacked Cassie with the cushion for laughing at her reactions. When her phone buzzed in her pocket, she nearly jumped out of her skin, much to her sister’s amusement.
When Camila’s name appeared on the screen, she opened the message. There was Jaime, fast asleep in his astronaut costume.
He wouldn’t take it off. I thought it might take your mind off the movie, if only for a little while.
It was a small thing, but it was so, so sweet, more so to know that Camila had thought of her when she wasn’t around. She smiled so wide, her cheeks hurt.
“What are you smiling at?” Cassie asked, eyeing her suspiciously, but Emily simply typed a quick It did, thank you with a heart emoji before putting her phone away.
“None of your business.”
The movie didn’t seem so scary after that.
Much to Cassie’s disappointment.
* * *
When Camila went to get Jaime up the next morning, she was surprised to find him already awake—he was usually difficult to rouse—and she was quick to worry.
And with good reason, because as soon as Camila stepped into his room, he said, “Mama, I don’t feel good.”
“You don’t?” Camila smoothed his sleep-tousled hair away from his face and pressed a hand to his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
“My tummy hurts.”
“Maybe you ate too much candy last night.” It was a logical explanation, but he did feel a little warm. She hurried to get the thermometer out of the bathroom.
His temperature was higher than normal—not enough for a call to the doctor but enough to have her concerned.
“When did it start?”
“I don’t know.” He looked miserable. She hated when he got sick, felt useless that she couldn’t to do anything to help him. “When I woke up.”
“All right, sweetheart. I still want you to eat something for breakfast, okay? Even if it’s not a lot.”
She coaxed him out of bed and wrestled him out of his costume and into pajamas before she led him to the kitchen. He didn’t eat much cereal, but he drank the water she gave him. She was still fretting when Emily let herself into the apartment.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” she asked. Camila loved how well the girl knew her son, how she paid attention to him.
“Don’t feel good.” Camila led him to the couch, wrapped a blanket around him, and set up his favorite morning cartoons.
“I didn’t break him, did I?” Emily whispered, looming over Camila’s shoulder. “With the trick-or-treating? He’s not allergic to anything, is he?”
“No, nothing.” Camila chewed her bottom lip as she looked down at him. “I thought maybe it was the candy, but…it doesn’t seem like that.”
“I didn’t think I let him eat that much.” Emily frowned, furrowing her forehead. Camila reached out to rest her hand on Emily’s arm, trying to ignore the warmth of Emily’s skin. Being so close to her had her heart racing like a greyhound, in a way it hadn’t raced in years.
“It’s not your fault.” Camila squeezed her arm gently, and oh, those muscles were even better up close, and she had to move her hand away before she did something stupid. “I don’t think it’s the candy. I think it’s something else. A stomach bug, maybe.”
“It could be. Has he been sick?”
“Not yet.” Camila’s phone vibrated. She was about to be late for her first meeting that morning.
“What do you want me to do?” Emily, as always, said exactly the right thing. Camila hated to leave when Jaime was feeling bad, but she knew he was in capable hands.
“Just keep an eye on him. Keep checking his temperature and let me know if anything changes.”
“Okay. I’ll send you regular updates.”
“Thank you, Emily.” She kissed Jaime on the forehead, pausing in the doorway to look back. Emily was looking down at her son with care and concern, and it was enough to get her out the door. He would be safe with her.
Camila’s first meeting—a contract negotiation with the lead actor of her top-rated show who seemed reluctant to sign on for two more seasons—dragged, as did the budget meeting that followed. She resisted the urge to check her phone every five minutes, something that she usually shut down if she saw any of her employees doing it.
By the time she checked it, her heart nearly stopped when she saw that she had missed a text from Emily asking her to call.
She cleared everyone out of her office. Emily picked up after two rings.
“Is he all right?”
“He’s getting worse,” Emily replied, and Camila’s stomach twisted. “He’s thrown up a few times. I gave him fluids but he can’t keep them down. Do you want me to call someone?”
She gave Emily the number of Jaime’s pediatrician and listened impatiently to Emily’s half of the conversation.
Emily came back on the line. “He said it’s most likely a stomach bug, and all we can do is keep him hydrated and wait it out.”
It was good news that it wasn’t something more serious, but bad news that there was nothing they could really do for him.
“Call me back if he gets worse.”
“Of course.”
Camila struggled to focus on work after that, but Emily sent her regular texts. Jaime still wasn’t feeling better, but he wasn’t getting worse either.
As much as she wanted to get home to look after her baby, there was a fuck-up in production, and she was stuck in the office until nearly seven.
She called Emily as she logged off her computer and threw things into her bag, “I’m so sorry. I had to put out a few fires before I could leave.”
“It’s all right.” Emily sounded subdued, not her usual chipper self.
“Is everything okay?”
“Jaime’s fine. Well, not fine,” she said. “He’s still feeling pretty bad, but he’s keeping water down now, so I think he might be over the worst of it.”
“That’s good.” Camila was relieved to hear it. “But that’s not exactly what I asked. Is everything all right with you?”
“Um”—Emily paused—“not really. Jaime’s over the worst of it but I’m not.”
“You’re sick?”
“Kinda.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Camila said, marching toward the elevator.
“Because I knew you were busy and I didn’t want to bother you, and—oh God, I need to hang up now.”
“I’ll be home in ten minutes,” she promised, getting in her car.
She made it there in eight. She stabbed impatiently at the button for the penthouse as though she could make it move faster by sheer force of will.
“Emily?” She stepped into her apartment but saw no sign of either her or Jaime.
“In here.” Camila followed the sound of Emily’s voice.
Emily and Jaime were in the bathroom adjourning Jaime’s bedroom. Emily was slumped against the wall, looking paler than Camila had ever seen her, and Jaime was curled by her side, wrapped in blankets.
“Oh, Emily.”
Jaime looked up, though he didn’t move.
&nb
sp; “Don’t come in,” Emily waved her arms. “You’ll get sick.”
“If I was going to catch it, I probably would have this morning.” Camila reasoned that while she may not have been around Jaime for as long, she had certainly been close to him. “And if I get sick, I get sick.” Camila shrugged. “Meanwhile, someone needs to look after both of you. You make a sorry sight.”
“We made a nest,” Jaime said weakly.
Camila chuckled. “You certainly did. How are you feeling, Jaime?”
“Better,” he replied, nodding.
“Good. Have you eaten?”
Emily groaned at the mention of food, but Jaime shook his head.
“Okay. I’m going to make you some soup. And you”—she pointed at Emily—“have you been drinking fluids?”
She shook her head.
“Emily,” Camila said, “you have to look after yourself as well as my son.”
“He’s more important.”
“You’re both important,” Camila insisted. She left to heat up a can of soup and poured it into two bowls, though she suspected only one of her patients would actually eat.
When she went to retrieve them from the bathroom, Jaime wobbled to his feet, but Emily staggered when she tried to stand. Camila reached out to steady her.
“Thank you.” She was so pale, skin warm to the touch, and once Camila had wrestled them onto stools at the breakfast bar, she handed the thermometer to Emily.
“Seriously?”
Camila raised an eyebrow, and Emily sighed, then stuck it in her mouth. Camila frowned when she saw the result.
“You’re running a fever.”
“Really? ’Cause I feel great.”
Camila rolled her eyes.
“Do I have to eat this?” She glanced at the bowl in front of her. “Because I don’t know if I can.”
“Try.”
She sipped at a few spoonfuls, then pushed the bowl away. Jaime had long since finished.
“You were hungry,” she said, and he nodded. “You can have some more, if you like.”
“Can I go draw? I want to make Emily a picture to cheer her up.”
“Of course you can, sweetheart.” Camila watched him scurry over to his crafts table before turning back to Emily. “You should eat some more.”
“I really don’t think I can.”
“You must be ill,” Camila teased, and Emily managed a weak smile. “Do you want something to drink? Water? Tea?”
“Camila, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do.” Camila waved her off. “You looked after my son all day, even when you were ill yourself.”
“But I should get going—”
“You’re not going anywhere like this,” Camila told her sternly, folding her arms across her chest. “Stay the night. Let me keep an eye on you until you’re feeling better. Please.”
“I”—Emily grimaced—“really need to use your bathroom.” She stumbled off the stool.
A few minutes later, Camila knocked on the bathroom door. Emily merely groaned, so she left a bottle of water on the floor outside and went to sit with Jaime, who was drawing yet another picture of the three of them together.
“I wish you and Emily would get married.” Jaime tossed out the words carelessly, his head bent over the page, but Camila froze, stunned into silence.
“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, Jaime,” she said eventually, but the words stuck in her throat.
“Why not?” He looked up from his drawing, frowning. “Girls can marry other girls. It’s in one of the books that Emily read to me.”
“I know they can, sweetheart.” Camila smiled at the education Jaime was getting.
“Then why not? Don’t you want to marry her?” Jaime asked. “She makes me happy. She’s nice and funny, and she makes you happy too. More than Daddy did.”
The fact that Jaime had noticed her strained relationship with Chris shocked her, and she felt guilty.
“Do you like her?”
“Of course I do, Jaime.”
“Then you should get married.” He nodded, firm in his belief.
If only everything could be that simple.
“I don’t think Emily would want to marry me, sweetheart.”
“Have you asked her?”
“I… Well, no.”
“Then how do you know?”
“I just do.”
Jaime looked skeptical, but before Camila had a chance to explain further, she heard Emily clear her throat.
She hovered a few feet away, looking like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. Camila wondered how much of the conversation she might have heard—it wasn’t really incriminating, all things considered—but she didn’t dare ask.
“Feeling better?”
Emily grimaced.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
“Thanks for the water.” She waved the half-empty bottle, then sat in the armchair nearest the couch. “Are you sure about me staying here? Because I can call my sister and she can probably come get me.”
“Probably?”
“She’s on the night shift this week.”
“Then that settles it—you’re staying. You shouldn’t be at home on your own.”
“You’re staying?” Jaime turned around hopefully from where he was drawing.
“She’s not staying to play with you.” Camila told Jaime gently. “Emily is staying to rest.”
Jaime pouted, but he quickly perked up. “Want to see my drawing?”
Emily nodded, and he got up from his table to show her his work.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it, buddy. I’m gonna hang it up on my wall.”
“Really?” he asked, beaming.
“Really. Go put it somewhere safe for me, okay?”
He found the sketch pad that Emily had given him and placed the drawing carefully inside. Then he climbed on the couch, cuddling up against Camila.
They watched TV until Jaime started yawning. Camila put him to bed. When she returned to the living room, Emily had her eyes closed. She looked miserable.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“I hate being sick.” Emily said. “I’m not very good at it.”
“Me either,” Camila admitted, and she was glad that she had so far escaped the illness. “Would you like to play a game to take your mind off it?”
“You just want to beat me again, don’t you? Way to kick a girl when she’s down.”
“You might win.” Camila lightly touched her shoulder as she walked by on her way to the cabinet where she kept a few games. “Think how much that’ll cheer you up.”
“Okay, we both know that’s not going to happen.”
“Not with that attitude,” Camila replied. “What do you want to play? We can have a Scrabble or Catan rematch.”
“Both, if I can stay up long enough.”
Camila set both boxes down on the coffee table and pushed the armchair—with Emily in it—closer to the couch so she could play comfortably.
They played Scrabble first, and Emily pouted when she got soundly beaten both times. She was clearly a sore loser, and Camila found it adorable.
And the more time Camila spent with her, the more adorable she became.
She learned new things about her, like when she was concentrating, she chewed on her bottom lip and pinched her eyebrows. When she had a good word, her eyes lit up.
It was a miracle Camila won, considering she spent as much time studying Emily as she did the board. She couldn’t seem to look away.
She was getting in deep, perhaps too deep, and she didn’t know how to stop it, didn’t know if she even wanted to, because her heart flipped whenever Emily glanced up and caught her eye. It was the kind of exhilaration that she n
ever thought she’d feel again.
They moved onto Catan. Camila won the first game, but barely. Emily was getting to know her strategy, and she beat her the second game.
“Yes!” Her victory cry was a whisper, considerate as always about not waking the sleeping child down the hall (and God, she made it so easy to fall for her). She stretched and waved her arms above her head, and Camila chuckled. “You didn’t let me win, did you?” Emily asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at Camila.
“Of course not,” Camila scoffed. As if she ever would, no matter how deeply Emily might be embedded in her heart.
“Sure?”
“Yes, Emily, you beat me fair and square. How are you feeling?”
“Better, thank you.” She smiled warmly, her eyes bright, and Camila had to look away. “I can probably make it home—”
“You’re staying, Emily,” Camila said in her sternest no-nonsense tone. “Just accept it.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“It’s no trouble.” It wasn’t—it was nice having someone else there. “Are you tired?”
“A little,” Emily admitted. “Could I, um, use your shower before I go to bed? I feel gross.”
“Of course. Would you like to borrow some clothes again?”
“Please.”
Camila found the clothes she had given her last time, adding a large T-shirt to the pile for Emily to sleep in.
“Uh, do you think I could”—Emily shifted her weight, fiddling with her hands—“maybe borrow some underwear?” The words rushed out, like she had to say them fast or they wouldn’t come out at all. “I don’t think there’s any point in going back to my apartment in the morning when I’m already here, and I don’t—”
“It’s fine, Emily,” Camila cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Go look in the top drawer of my dresser while I get you a clean towel and a spare toothbrush.”
She returned to find Emily staring a little dumbstruck at Camila’s collection of lacy underwear, and Camila wondered if the poor girl’s brain had short circuited.
She bumped into the door to alert Emily that she was back. Emily hastily grabbed the closest pair and stepped away.
Camila handed her the towel and toothbrush, and Emily made a beeline for the bathroom. While she showered, Camila readied herself for bed and tried very hard not to think about Emily naked and wet less than ten feet away from her. When Emily emerged, Camila tried to keep her expression neutral, knowing that her thoughts were probably written all over her face, but it was hopeless.
Never Say Never Page 12
