Chapter 4
FINN
Rows of gleaming, freshly iced Christmas trees stretched out in front of me, filling my countertop from edge to edge, and I let out a sigh of satisfaction.
I’d spent the last hour decorating cookies in preparation for the bake sale this weekend, and I twisted from side to side and stretched my arms above my head in an effort to untie the knots in my spine that had formed as I was hunched over with my piping bag.
The aching muscles were familiar, a part of the job, but tonight I didn’t mind them.
They meant that I was slowly reclaiming something I’d loved but thought I’d lost. I’d been worried that committing to the bake sale might be putting pressure on myself, but instead it had inspired me.
I’d spent the last two evenings baking up a storm, and it was like I’d never stepped away from my KitchenAid.
My refrigerator and kitchen table were loaded up with neatly packaged baked goods with their ingredients listed on the label, because apparently it was true what they said—you could take the boy out of the bakery, but you couldn’t take the bakery out of the boy.
It hadn’t hurt that, as I worked, I’d been picturing Cameron’s face when he bit into one of my sugar cookies. He was sweet and hot all at once, and I was drawn to him like a bee to honey.
Which was a shame because he wasn’t interested in me at all. Like, at all. He’d made that clear the last time I saw him. And whenever I’d flirted with him, he’d looked at me like he wasn’t sure what to do.
Then again, maybe he wasn’t.
I was naturally outgoing. It was second nature to me to start a conversation with everyone and throw in a joke or two.
It was why I’d been the one who was able to talk down the stressed-out brides at the bakery.
Hell, when I was a little kid, my uncle once said I could talk the leg off a chair, and before my dad explained what that saying meant, I’d spent three days in fear of my mom’s dining suite falling apart whenever I opened my mouth.
So yeah, I was a people person, okay? And I liked that about myself.
But I was aware not everyone was like that.
Some people took a little longer to thaw when they met someone new, and I was guessing Cameron fell into that group.
Hell, he took so long to thaw he was practically a glacier.
He seemed pleasant enough when he was talking to people he already knew, though.
So maybe the trick was getting to know him better—and then flirting with him.
Because I really did want to get to know him.
I was fascinated by the way he was so shy and self-contained—except when it came to this dumb baking competition.
Like, when he’d found out I was a baker, he’d reacted with a passion that had surprised me.
Granted, he’d reacted like a passionate jerk, but it had shown me that he had a fiery side that he kept buried deep, and I wanted to see more of that.
I was still going to own his ass in the contest, though.
“Mind if I sit here?”
Cameron’s head jerked up from where he’d been reading his Kindle.
Then he looked around the diner, and I could see the moment he realized every other table and booth was packed.
His nostrils flared, but he gave me a slight nod and I slid into the booth across from him. “Thanks. Town’s crazy right now.”
He flipped his kindle face down as if resigning himself to a conversation. “It’s the craft market tonight down at the community center. People come from all over to get their hand-knitted scarves and beanies and decorations and whatnot.”
“Yeah? That sounds kind of neat. I love seeing people’s art, and some of those handcrafts are next level.”
Something in Cam’s expression softened. “It’s pretty popular. And you’re right, some of the work is amazing.” Cam’s nose wrinkled and he leaned in and said quietly, “And some of it’s trash. But there’s always some Flatlander who needs a cookie plate made from a hubcap.”
My brow creased. “Flatlander?”
“If you don’t know what it is, you are one,” Cameron said and smiled—a real smile, one that made his eyes crease at the corners and a dimple appear in one cheek. I liked it, but I especially liked that it was directed at me.
“I’m choosing not to ask any further questions,” I said, matching his grin with one of my own. “Have you ordered yet?” I indicated the laminated menu sitting on the table.
“Not yet,” Cameron said. “I’m still waiting on the server.”
Well, if this wasn’t a perfect opportunity to show him I was a decent guy. “Let me buy you dinner?”
His brow creased. “Why?”
“As an apology for running into you twice? A thank you for sharing your table? Because I’m a nice person?” I picked up the menu and gestured with it. “Pick one.”
Cameron blinked like someone being nice to him was a foreign concept, but in the end he nodded and his smile returned. “Thank you.”
I counted it as progress. When the server finally arrived we ended up ordering burgers and fries, and while we waited I said, “So have you always lived here?”
“Yep. My mom used to do Sherri’s job, so I spent a lot of time at the library as a kid,” he said. He sighed, and a shadow passed over his features. “I miss her. My dad too.”
“Oh,” I said cautiously. “They’re… not with you anymore?”
Cameron’s brows dipped in confusion, and then his face cleared and he let out a soft laugh. “Her and my dad moved to Florida. They got sick of the cold.”
Oh, thank fuck. I was great at wedding chatter but not so much the dead parent talk, so I was happy I’d dodged that particular bullet.
“And you didn’t go with them?” I asked. “Like, you weren’t tempted to leave town?”
He looked at me like I’d suggested he grow an extra leg, and his smile vanished. “Why would I leave here? What’s wrong with Sugar Hollow?” he demanded, his voice slightly too loud.
“Nothing!” I said, glancing around to make sure nobody else had heard.
No such luck—the couple in the next booth were glaring at me, and the lady at the table alongside us was regarding me with pursed lips.
I’d forgotten how weirdly territorial small-town people could be.
It was okay for the residents to make fun of where they lived, but an outsider mentioning that some of their customs were a little quirky? That was pistols at dawn.
Like, I didn’t really think those stories about small towns where strangers disappeared, coincidentally at the same time as a community barbecue, were true—but I wasn’t exactly eager to test that theory either.
“I love it here! Sugar Hollow’s great!” I insisted loudly, plastering on a manic smile to show just how great I thought the town was.
The glares subsided somewhat, and I found I could breathe again.
“Then why ask if I want to leave?” Cameron asked, thankfully more quietly this time.
I ran a hand through my hair, accidentally dislodging my beanie.
I was naturally charming, dammit! It shouldn’t be this hard to make friends with a librarian.
Unless he only read murder mysteries and true crime novels.
That might explain his suspicious nature.
“Honestly, I was just making conversation. I’m trying to get to know you.
That’s how conversations work, Cameron. If you’d prefer, we can talk about baking.
” I paused and asked what I thought was a harmless question.
“What are you making for the gingerbread competition?”
His brow creased again, his expression grew thunderous, and I barely had time to wonder what I’d said before he snapped, “Wait. Is that what this is about? You think I’ll tell you what I’m planning for the competition and then you’ll build the same thing, only bigger and better? That’s one way to win, I guess.”
What the fuck?
So much for making a good impression. Cameron always seemed determined to think the worst of me, but this was insulting on a whole new level. As if I needed any help to win.
It stung that he thought I’d pull a stunt like that, and more than that, my professional pride was wounded—which probably explained why I let my mouth run away with me.
I glared at him and said, “I ask you a simple question, and your take is that you think I need help to out-bake you and you think I’m the kind of guy who’s desperate enough to cheat? Jesus, Cameron. Are you sure you’re not describing yourself? Because you’re the one who sounds desperate right now.”
Okay, maybe I was overreacting. But I’d hoped that Cameron and I could at least be friends, and now that he’d turned out to be a fully fledged jerk, the disappointment ran deeper than I was expecting.
Cameron’s mouth dropped open and he flinched like I’d struck him. “What? No! I’m not—that’s not—”
He never got to finish his sentence because the server arrived with our meals and his mouth snapped shut.
We ate in charged silence as we glared at each other, the atmosphere heavy with tension, and I chewed my burger savagely as annoyance simmered and bubbled up under my skin.
A couple of times Cameron looked like he was about to say something but I deliberately ignored him, not interested in his excuses.
Instead I gave my full attention to the basket of fries in front of me.
Once we were done and the check came, I snatched it up when he reached for it. “I said I’d get it,” I said, “unless you also think I’m the kind of lowlife who doesn’t tip.”
Cameron winced, and yeah, I was probably taking it a step too far. But did I mention my professional pride and the massive bruise it was sporting? That shit hurt.
But he was determined to have his say, and when I set the folder back on the table, he reached out and grasped my wrist, his grip firmer than I would have expected.
“I don’t think you’re a cheat, Finn,” he said, voice low and urgent.
“I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry. It was a shitty thing to say.”