Story of My Life (Story Lake #1)

17. All kinds of propositions

17

ALL KINDS OF PROPOSITIONS

HAZEL

Anyway, we’re real sorry about the bird murderer signs.”

“And the flyers.”

“Oh, and the announcements over the loudspeaker at the car wash. We didn’t really think you killed Goose.”

“Yeah. Things have just been pretty quiet around here, and it was fun to have a little drama to spice things up.”

I assumed the two sleeveless flannel–clad men were brothers. Though maybe it was just the beards and the mullets that made me think there was a strong family resemblance. They were part of the small crowd of Story Lakers who had made it a point to introduce themselves to me in front of the dais after the town meeting had been adjourned and the leftover alcohol packed up.

“I’m just glad to be exonerated,” I said.

They shared a look of confusion.

“What’s that? Like a fancy gas station?” the taller of the two asked.

“You wanna go out for beers and maybe some necking tomorrow?” the shorter one asked, not caring what exonerated meant.

“Oh. Wow. I…um…” I glanced around wildly for a friendly face to get me out of this.

“Or do you wanna drink beer and go spottin’ deer with me? How are you at handling an ATV?” the taller brother asked.

I hadn’t been asked out on a date in over a decade. And I’d never been asked out by brothers at the same time. Not even when I was at my least cellulite-y in college.

“Gosh. You know, I’m flattered,” I said, signaling wildly for Zoey, who was talking to Cam’s sister, Laura. “But I’m just not looking to date anyone right now. Oh, hey! It’s my agent who obviously needs to talk to me about something very urgent,” I said loudly as Zoey approached.

“Gentlemen, I need to borrow Hazel for a minute,” she said, linking her arm through mine. “What was that about?” she asked when we were out of earshot.

“They asked me to go out on dates.”

“Like you with both of them at the same time?”

“I don’t think so. But maybe? Both offered beer. I don’t know. It’s all a blur.” I scrubbed my hands over my face.

“Excuse me, Hazel?” the vibrant funeral director in her sunshiny suit tapped me on the shoulder.

“Yes?” My greeting was tentative in case the woman wanted to farm me out to another funeral.

“Listen, they just dropped off the rental out front. I need to go back and pack. Do you want a ride?” Zoey asked.

“I’ll walk. I wanna soak up all the positivity I can before my next scandal,” I joked.

“Okay, but try not to accidentally drop-kick any babies on your way out,” she warned, firing finger guns at me.

I clamped a hand over her mouth and looked over my shoulder. “Zoey, I’m begging you to shut up before you start a new rumor so I can enjoy my five minutes of not being hated.”

She wriggled out of my grip. “Fair point. I’m out. I’ll swing by tomorrow after you assure me there is no wildlife present so I can breathe down your neck while you write words.”

“Looking forward to it.”

“Liar.”

“Enjoy your trash panda–free room,” I called after her.

She left, and realizing I was milling about by myself, I returned to the stage to collect my purse and notebook. The meeting punch–fueled adrenaline spike was over, and I suddenly just wanted to crawl into pajamas and eat snacks in bed.

“Need a ride?”

I turned to find Cam standing there, hands in his pockets. Instead of looking at me, he was scanning the room as it slowly emptied.

“Who? Me?”

Those eyes flicked to me. “No. Emilie. Yes, you.”

I cocked my head and tapped out a beat with my pen against the notebook. “Why are you being nice to me? Is this some kind of red flag I don’t know about?”

“Just bein’ neighborly.”

“Yeah, because that’s definitely your thing,” I said with a nice seasoning of sarcasm.

He shrugged. “My mom’s here. I don’t want to listen to her complain for the next month about how disappointed she is in her heathen sons who can’t even be bothered to make sure a woman gets home safely at night.”

“Now that , I buy. But you can assure your mom that I’m perfectly capable of getting myself home.”

“And I’m capable of eating an entire large pepperoni pie myself, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.”

“Town meetings really bring out your sense of humor,” I said as we headed for the door together.

He grunted.

“Your witty repartee is unparalleled,” I noted.

“And you use fifty words when one is enough,” he fired back.

I grunted back at him. The corner of his mouth lifted.

I shook my head. “Okay, buddy. Now you’re almost sort of smiling at me. Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden? Is it because I hired you and now I have Ass-Kissing Cam to look forward to for the next several months?”

“First rule of Story Lake. Don’t have private conversations in public places,” he said as he ushered me outside. The humidity was a few percentage points less suffocating and the nighttime insects were deafening. It was kind of nice.

Cam jerked his head and started walking. Apparently that was alpha male for “follow me.” I did, reluctantly.

At least until I remembered how spectacular his rear view was. His impressive denim-clad backside stopped two more storefronts down. It looked like an abandoned insurance agency.

“Look, if you’ll excuse me, I’m walking home to eat snacks in bed.” I made a move to go around him, but he stopped me with his giant, hard body.

“Not so fast. We cleared your name. Now I need something in return.”

“A, my name would have been cleared the next time your pet bird dropped a fish on someone else’s head. And B, are you seriously trying to trade political favors for sex?”

He peered down at me with a frown fierce enough that a woman with a stronger sense of self-preservation would have backed up half a block or so. “You must be exhausted from all that jumping to all those conclusions,” he said finally.

I crossed my arms against the sticky humidity. “You have no idea how exhausted I am. What is it you want in return for telling people I didn’t murder a bald eagle?”

“I want your personal guarantee that you aren’t going to pull the plug on this job. I want you to make me believe that you won’t fuck us over. Because this money, this job, means the difference between the end of a third-generation family business and a new beginning.”

The man was surprisingly eloquent when the mood struck. I tried not to be impressed.

“You still think I’m just going to pack up and move back. Back to what, Cam?”

He shrugged. “How the hell should I know? Whatever life you have in whatever high-rise you live in with whatever fancy friends you have.”

I’d stood up for myself once tonight, and it looked like I was going to make it a habit.

I drilled a finger into his impressively hard chest. “My ex-husband evicted me from our apartment. My publisher is going to drop me if I don’t get my shit together and somehow write the funniest, sexiest rom-com of my life when I haven’t written a damn thing since the divorce. Zoey lost her job because of me, and now she’s depending on me for her entire livelihood. I moved here for inspiration, and so far all I’ve gotten is aggravation. And wow, that’s a lot of muscle,” I noted.

“Thanks. I work out.”

“Shut up. Stop dazzling me with your pectorals,” I snapped. “I dumped my life savings into a house I’d never seen. I have no life to go back to in the city. I have no home to return to. Everything I have is here, in this tiny ghost town that hates me, except for your dad and your weirdly sexy brothers.”

He held up his hands. “Okay. Let’s take a breath.”

I shoved my fingers into my hair and let out a frustrated screech.

“That was…a lot,” he observed.

Embarrassed, I focused my attention on a spot over his broad right shoulder. “Yeah, well, try living in my head for a day.”

“Yeah. Pass. Am I weirdly sexy too?” he asked.

I looked at him again. I couldn’t help it. “ That’s what you took away from my entire meltdown?”

“I’m compiling a list. It was one of the more interesting bullet points.”

“You’re all weirdly sexy,” I said in exasperation. “That’s the weird part. Usually the sexy genes aren’t so equally distributed.”

“Usually?”

“Look, Cam. I understand where you’re coming from. I really do. I’m actually pretty good at putting myself in other people’s shoes. I’m not backing out of this. I’m not suddenly going to pack up and head back to a life I no longer have in the city. I bought a house. I’m sinking a very large percentage of my bank account into it. I wrote actual words. I’m staying. I will see this project through. I won’t leave this house, this town, or your business worse off than I found it. I promise you that.”

He put his hands on his hips and studied his boots for a long, quiet beat. “Let me drive you home.”

“Ugh. Fine. But only because I’m so tired I might fall asleep in someone’s yard and get arrested by your brother for trespassing.”

“He doesn’t have any legal authority until the election.”

I followed Cam to his pickup and pretended not to notice when he opened the door for me. The same paperback was on the dashboard, but the bookmark had moved forward. Ignoring the heady scent of new vehicle and sawdust, I climbed in and picked up the papers on the passenger seat. Being a natural-born snooper, I paged through them as Cam rounded the hood.

They were rough but stylish sketches of what appeared to be a bathroom. I looked closer. It wasn’t just any bathroom. It was a spa-like, wheelchair-accessible bathroom.

He opened the driver’s door and climbed behind the wheel. It took all of half a second before he snatched the papers out of my hand.

“Those aren’t yours,” he said gruffly, as he stuffed them under a bag in the back seat.

“Are they for your sister?”

He shrugged irritably and started the engine. “Maybe. Stay out of my stuff.”

“Just as a warning, writers are nosy people. If you don’t want me looking at something, you better keep it out of my reach.”

“Just for that, I’m hanging all your kitchen cabinets a foot higher.”

I bit my lip, and for the first time, I felt what a heroine might feel after catching a glimpse of the grumpy hot guy’s softer side. Inspiration struck me like a fish to the head.

“I hired your family business. Your family rescued me. I gave you my word I wouldn’t back out of the deal,” I began.

“Are we just unnecessarily recapping things now?” Cam asked, swinging the truck in the direction of my house.

“No. I’m working my way up to ask for something.”

“What? A free upgrade on tile? Because the answer’s no.”

“I need you to flirt with me and take me on a date.” I kept my eyes on him while I made my demand.

The only sign he’d heard me was the tightening of his knuckles on the wheel and the clench in his deliciously stubbled jaw. He continued to drive but otherwise didn’t move a muscle.

I waved my hand in front of his face. “Are you still in there? Your jaw looks like it’s grinding your molars to a fine powder.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

I poked him in the chest. “You’re not even breathing, are you?”

He sucked in a breath. “You want us…to date,” he repeated.

I leaned away and held up my hands. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m…confused.”

“It’s research. Geez. Do you actually think I’m desperate enough to blackmail you for a date? Don’t answer that!”

He smirked.

“I’m writing a grumpy alpha contractor hero, and I haven’t been on a date in…a very long time. I need to make this guy and my quirky, adorable, hot mess heroine believable. So far you’ve been kind of inspiring.”

His eyebrows shot up, and he hit the brakes a little too hard at the stop sign. “Excuse me?”

My head thumped against the headrest. “I knew I should have gone to Gage,” I complained. “Just forget I said anything. And maybe don’t look me in the eye for the rest of my life.” I reached for the door handle, fully intending to take my embarrassment for a walk. But Cam leaned across me and held the door shut.

“Explain,” he growled.

“See? This exactly,” I said triumphantly. “You frown a lot and yell at me. My hero frowns a lot and yells at the heroine. I just want to see you in action and use whatever works in the book.”

“You want me to be your hero,” he said.

“No! Well, not exactly. I want you to be you, but instead of acting like you openly hate me, I need you to act like you’re secretly attracted to me.”

He looked baffled and horrified and maybe even a little bit scared. “Why?” he croaked.

“Because I did something for you and now I want something in return. That’s how this whole favor system works.”

“Jesus, Trouble. I get what a favor is. What I don’t get is why are you using me as inspiration? I’m not hero material.”

“Well, parts of you are.” I did my best not to let my gaze slide down to his crotchal region. “All I do know is I saw your picture and I had to come here.”

“My picture,” he repeated, looking like I’d just proposed marriage.

“Relax, weirdo. It wasn’t personal. It was professional.”

“I already regret asking, but what the hell are you talking about?”

“Inspiration. I saw the article about you and your brothers helping Dorothea Wilkes. You were so grumpy in the interview and then there was the picture with you scowling like you had better things to do than smile and pose for a photo. I felt like there were puzzle pieces of a story forming in my head.”

A horn honked behind us, and Cam hit the gas, throwing me back in my seat.

“You think I’m inspiring?” he asked.

“For the love of God. This is coming out all wrong. I used to get inspired all over the damn place. I could overhear something salacious at my favorite bagel place and then build an entire book around it. But it’s been ages since that happened. I’ve been…struggling. Until you and this place.”

“Professionally?” he repeated.

“Yes, professionally. I have no intention of conning you into a date just so I can rip your pants off. I just want to keep being inspired. I’ve written more words here than I have in the last two years. And I’m desperate enough to do whatever it takes to keep the words coming.”

He pulled up in front of Heart House and put the truck in park. “What kind of date?”

“How should I know? Whatever kind of date you’d take a woman on.”

Cam blew out a breath and then got out of the vehicle. I climbed out of the passenger side. He rummaged around in the back seat and then joined me on the sidewalk.

“You don’t have to walk me to the door. We’re not actually dating,” I reminded him. I definitely should have asked Gage. He was so much more easygoing.

Cam said nothing and pushed the gate open. I followed him into the dark yard like a shadow. We climbed the creaky porch steps. For a second, I thought he was going to whirl around and kiss me. Like one of those “I can’t survive without tasting you” kisses where I’d be bowed backward, wrapped in his arms, which would be good because otherwise my knees would buckle and sudden movements like that during a kiss could cause dental damage to one or both of us.

Cam stalked over to the light fixture next to the front door. Wordlessly, he handed me a light bulb.

“Aren’t guys usually supposed to bring flowers?” I joked.

“If you’re looking for some romantic asshole to model your hero after, I’m the wrong guy,” he said, unscrewing the top of the fixture and setting it down. He removed the old bulb and held out his hand. I was ninety-one percent sure he didn’t want me to hold it. I handed over the new bulb and watched him screw it in one-handed while looking at me.

The light came on, bathing us both in a warm glow. He looked…manly. Competent. The knife-edge of his jawline and the subtle hollows of his cheeks stood out in a play of light and shadow. He was gorgeous. He was annoyed. He was perfect.

Cam reattached the top of the fixture and turned like he was going to leave.

“Aren’t you going to ask if this inspiration thing is why I hired you?” I blurted out.

The look that he shot me said it all. “I don’t give a shit why you hired us. Long as the check clears and you’re not a total pain in the ass to deal with.”

“You don’t care if I had ulterior motives?” I pressed. Honesty was important.

“Fuck no. If you do, they’re your problem, not mine.”

I cocked my head. “In some ways, it must be so much easier being a man.”

“The whole peeing standing up thing is convenient.”

“Are you going to do the thing?” I needed him to be straight with me.

“What thing?” he teased.

“The flirting and date thing,” I said to my shoes.

The toes of his boots came into view, and a finger was suddenly nudging my chin up. I looked up at Campbell Bishop as he towered over me in the glow of the porch light he’d just fixed. There was a softness in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. He leaned in, and my heart skipped seven or eight beats. I opened my mouth in hopes of sucking in a breath, but my entire being was focused on the fact that his mouth was hovering over mine.

My neck craned back as I looked up at him like some wide-eyed woodland creature who had just stumbled into a hot, hungry wolf. That was a lousy metaphor. I’d do better tomorrow when I recreated this scene word for word on the page.

“I’ll think about it,” Cam said.

“Think about what?” I asked, sounding like someone who had a boa constrictor wrapped around their throat.

His grin was lightning quick, and it was then that I saw it. The flash of dimple. It was gone just as quickly as it had appeared, but the amusement remained as Cam took a step back.

“See you tomorrow, Trouble. Demo starts bright and early. Hope you’re not a late sleeper.”

He strolled off the porch and down the walk to his truck. I watched as he checked that the gate was secure before doing my best to leisurely and calmly walk through my front door. But the second I closed it, I slid all the way down to the floor into a puddle of swoon.

Readers were going to RIP die dead for Campbell Bishop.

I wasn’t so sure I would survive him either.