Another fitful night of sleep beckoned me. I tossed and turned for hours after we got back from the drive-in, my body going through the same thing it had the night after our date. It was close to two in the morning when I gave in, slipping my hand under the band of my bottoms. It kind of felt dirty to be doing this in someone else’s home, in their bed, with Cam just a door away. It didn’t take long for me to find release, and I wasn’t sure what that said about me.

I slept for a couple of hours before waking a little bit before six. There was no way I was going back to sleep, so I showered and changed before I worked up the nerve to leave my bedroom. I stood in front of Cam’s door, like a total creeper. I wondered what he’d do if I woke him? Climb into bed—

I stopped myself before I finished that train wreck of a thought. If I tried to actually do that, I’d probably end up hurting myself in the process of trying to be seductive or flirty.

Pushing away from his door, I headed downstairs, hoping I didn’t wake anyone. It seemed like every step creaked obnoxiously. As soon as I reached the foyer, I caught the scent of coffee and knew someone had to be up.

I hovered at the bottom of the stairs, hands twisting together as I debated between going back upstairs or making my presence known. I thought about all those times I’d woken in the middle of the night, usually from a nightmare, and would go downstairs, catching my mom sneaking drinks.

She had so not been a happy camper when that occurred.

I honestly shouldn’t be roaming around someone’s house. Seemed like that was breaking some guest rule. I started to turn to go back upstairs when Mrs. Hamilton stuck her head out of the kitchen.

Oh shit.

A warm smile appeared on her face. “I didn’t wake you, did I? I’m an early riser, even more so on Thanksgiving.” She waved a dishtowel. “Making stuffing.”

“You didn’t wake me.” I inched closer, sort of fascinated by the fact she was up this early making stuffing. “Do you need help?”

“I could always use a hand in the kitchen,” she replied, motioning me forward. “And I have fresh coffee.”

The allure of coffee was too much to resist. I followed her into the kitchen, my eyes widening at all the food spread across the kitchen island. A turkey sat on a platter, waiting to get stuff shoved up its cavity.

“Sugar and cream, right?” she asked.

I smiled a little. “You remembered.”

“I think the key to the start of any good relationship is to remember how the other person likes their coffee.”