Chapter 8 · Continued
The Accident
Jane squinted. “Let’s aim a little higher than attempt, okay?”
She turned toward the door, already thinking about the mess outside.
“I’d better salvage those plants before they dry out—”
A soft sound behind her made her stop.
Seymour padded into the room as though he owned it.
Slow.
Unconcerned.
He stopped beside Cam and looked up at him.
Jane remained silent.
After considering Cam for a moment, Seymour stepped closer and rubbed against his leg as though nothing had ever been wrong.
Jane’s eyebrows lifted. “Well… look at that. Seymour has decided you’re okay again.”
Cam looked down at the cat.
There was no hesitation or recalculation.
“Hello, Seymour.”
He reached down and gently stroked one hand along Seymour’s back.
Not precisely.
Not mechanically.
Just correctly.
Seymour leaned into his hand, his tail flicking once in contentment.
Jane watched closely.
That was familiar.
No filter.
No delay.
No careful compromise.
Only Cam.
She didn’t smile broadly or make a joke, but something inside her eased.
Just a little.
“Yeah,” she murmured. “Thought so.”
Jane returned to the porch with a broom and swept the spilled soil into a pile. She collected the loose plants and gathered the salvageable pieces into a box.
When she carried it inside, Cam was already waiting.
He took the box from her without being asked.
“Should we plant them now?”
Jane blinked once.
Initiative.
Then she nodded. “Yeah. We should get them into the ground and give them some water.”
She picked up her keys. “I’m going to unlock the side gate so we can bring the fertilizer through. I’ll meet you out back.”
“Yes, Jane.”
Cam carried the box through the house and out the back door. He approached the single step carefully this time, taking it with slow, deliberate precision.
Outside, he paused to examine the garden before setting down the plants.
Jane came through the side gate a minute later carrying the small bag of fertilizer and two hand trowels.
Cam immediately reached out and took one.
Jane didn’t comment.
But she noticed.
“I’ll show you how to plant these,” she said, kneeling beside the garden.
Cam watched closely.
Focused.
Jane dug the first hole, placed the plant inside, and packed soil around it.
“Not too tight,” she explained. “Just enough to hold it upright.”
Cam nodded.
He planted the next one himself.
His movements were a little slow and overly precise, but the result was correct.
They continued working side by side without rushing. There was no pressure—only dirt, sunlight, and the quiet rhythm of putting something back together.