SALT (Summer Nights)

16. Cameron

Chapter 16

Cameron

" C ameron, what's wrong? Talk to me. What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it. I shouldn't have answered the phone," I sigh heavily. We are a texting generation. I can't believe Mac called. The sound of my phone ringing caught me off guard, and I accidentally swiped it. "I just wanted to know how fast you could design and build me a house. I don't need anything big. I think smaller would be better. A ranch-style house, but I want those stacker sliding glass doors across the entire back so I feel like I'm on Salt Lake even when I'm inside my living room." My dad left this property to me, and I've decided I want a house here. I feel close to him when I'm here. "If you're too busy, I understand. I just thought I'd offer you the job first. It would be another project under your belt and one that can be done from home. You don't have to travel and––"

"Cam, you don't have to sell me on designing a home for you. I'll do it. I'm just wondering why you're sending me this text from the lake at almost midnight."

I need to turn off my phone's share location feature. If she knows I'm here, so does Everett. I stare up at the pitch-black night sky, but there are no stars. Not tonight. It's overcast, and the only light that can be seen filters through thin clouds every now and then. It's pitch dark out here, but the howling coyotes off in the distance don't scare me. Nothing could scare me right now. I feel numb. When Everett told me he didn't like me riding with Nash, it felt like more, especially after what went down last night. He's a man of few words, and I know whatever is happening between us isn't easy. Us. Right now, that term feels naive. I'm back to feeling like a girl with a crush because the woman who got in his car was confident she was getting in with a man who was struggling to come to terms with the fact that he has feelings for his best friend's daughter. I accepted the silence because I didn't want to push. I wanted to give him space while being in his space all at the same time. Then he parked the car, and everything felt like whiplash. There I was, nothing once more. Lauren was sitting on his damn porch with a bottle of wine and dinner. It was clearly a date, and fuck if that didn't hurt. I had to get out of there. Right now, a coyote ripping out my throat feels like the lesser of two evils.

"It's quiet, and I needed space to think. You still need to answer the other part of my question. How long will it take? Can we expedite the process?"

"I mean, I can start drawing something up tomorrow and get it to you in a few days. If you like it, I can send it to the architect we used to build the spare house on our property for my mom and brother. After that, there's probably at least a month of paperwork, followed by getting a contractor and materials. Plus, there's the terrain to consider. We could have trees taken down and get the land build ready while everything else starts, but it would be at least six to eight months before you had an actual house on the property.

"Ugh, why can't shit just be easy?"

"It's not hard. You're currently impatient and clearly avoiding something. Does this have anything to do with Everett not telling you who broke in yesterday instead of today?"

"Wait," I sit straight up on the hood of my car. "Everett knew who broke in yesterday? How do you know that?"

I hear Connor mumble something in the background. I'm probably keeping him awake. I'm sure he's trying to sleep but would rather have a lousy sleep than let her get out of bed to take a call in the other room.

"I know because he called Connor around lunchtime yesterday, so I guess that would have been mid-morning your time."

He fucking knew all day. He knew during the uniform fittings, and he knew when he sat in my room waiting for me to come home, and he still didn't say anything. The threat to my security was gone, but he didn't tell me. Instead, he fucked with my head and gave me a reason to stay.

"Hey, I got to go. I'm serious about the house though. If you could start tomorrow, I'd love you forever."

"Okay, but?—"

I cut the call before she can finish. I already know what she was going to say anyway. She was going to keep digging. She'll get the details eventually. Right now, I need to figure out my next move. Everett Callahan wasn't trying to see to it that I got him out of my system. He was ensuring I was infected.

" W ant to catch the game with me tomorrow?" I say as I hip-bump Stormy.

"Depends. Are you asking, or are you asking for someone else?"

Parker has to be the someone else she is referring to, but since she has yet to bring him up in casual conversation, I don't mention it. "I'm asking for me. I don't have a date, and while I could rock up solo, it would be a lot more fun if I had a plus one. Drinking with someone always beats drinking alone."

That earns me the slightest of lip curls before she says, "Well, since you mentioned drinking?—"

"Hey, girls. I brought lunch," Lauren interrupts, clicking into the team shop wearing red bottoms and a white sheath dress and looking way too fucking dolled up for a job at the stadium.

God, I hate being this girl. I'm judging her the same way I know people judge me for always looking overly dressed for most occasions, but with me, I know it's because it's my thing. I'm getting a degree in fashion. With her, I feel like it's an attention grab, and she's gunning for the one man I've been trying to claim for my own.

"You didn't need to bring us lunch. We usually grab a snack from the concession stand," I say, remembering my manners.

"Oh, nonsense. I owe you for the other night. I feel terrible. I didn't know you lived with Everett."

Stormy opens the bag she set on the counter. I swear that girl is like a black hole when it comes to food. She's constantly eating, and I have no idea where it goes. Good genetics. Lucky bitch.

"They forgot to include utensils. I'll go grab some," Stormy says, not waiting for a reply before walking out.

"So what's your story anyway?" Lauren asks as she pulls out containers from Bread Co. "Are you an exchange student?"

I guess I didn't come up during their date night since she has no clue who I am. I don't mind sharing, but I also don't care to spill all my information to my competition. "I thought you and Everett are old friends?"

It's obvious she doesn't see me as the same because my question doesn't bother her in the least. "We went to high school together, but that was decades ago. I haven't been back to these parts in many years." Her eyebrows pinch slightly as though the thought holds heaviness. "Everything feels so different now but yet still the same. I'm not even sure how that's possible. I guess time changes you, but it doesn't erase things." She shrugs before leaning onto the counter. "So how about you?"

"My parents died a few years ago, and Everett was my father's best friend and business partner. After the accident, the Callahans let me stay here in Waterloo with them instead of returning to the East Coast to live with family I didn't know." I mindlessly flip open one of the containers she brought. Talking about my family hits differently when the anniversary of their accident is coming up.

"Is your father Damon Salt?"

"Yes, did you know him?" Obviously, she knew of him since his name is coming out of her mouth, but the way she asked and subtly shifted makes me think maybe they were friends.

"I got forks!" Stormy says, strolling back in. "Hey, can I borrow the car tomorrow night?"

"That depends. What are you borrowing it for?" Lauren says speculatively.

I am still determining what Stormy's story is. I haven't asked, and she hasn't offered anything, but she's the same age as me. Most people have their own car by twenty-two. Not everyone drives a brand new Audi as I do, but a hand-me-down or, hell, even an old beater isn't far-fetched.

"Ugh…" she draws out. "How about I tell you later?"

"Okay, then I'll give you my answer later."

"Fine. Sorry to ruin your surprise." She looks at me before turning to Lauren and adding, "I wanted to pick Cam up for the game tomorrow so I could take her out after her birthday."

My eyebrows raise. "How did you know it was my birthday tomorrow?" I stopped celebrating my birthday after the accident. My twenty-first birthday was the only exception, and even that wasn’t by my planning. They never felt the same, being so close to the anniversary of my parent's death.

"I ran into Parker when I was grabbing forks, and he told me," She takes a big bite of her sandwich and, with a mouth full of turkey, asks, "How old are you going to be anyway? I assumed we were about the same age."

"I'll be twenty-two tomorrow."

Lauren puts her sandwich down before she takes a bite and asks, "Were you born here?"

I finish chewing the bite I just shoved in my mouth. "My mother's side of the family is from the East Coast, and we didn't move here until I was around eight years old."

Her eyes are on me, but her focus is not. The blankness I see there tells me she's a million miles away.

I clear my throat and turn my attention back to Stormy. I don't have a reason to dislike Lauren aside from the fact that we're after the same man, but I also don't care to get all chummy either. "You said you assumed we were the same age… give it up."

"Oh, I'm twenty-three."

Lauren barely touched her food. She has only taken one bite when she closes her box and straightens her dress. "I have a call I need to hop on. You guys will have to finish without me."

She's two steps away from the door when Stormy says, "You never said if I could borrow the car or not."

With her hand on the door frame, she turns back, her forehead pinched, her eyes still elsewhere. "Sure."

Lauren exits, and Stormy turns back to me. "She never lets me borrow the car. Maybe she's into Everett after all. Brownie points for schmoozing over his best friend's daughter."

Great. I needed to eat something, and now I've lost my appetite.

I got a lot of shit done today and I'm exhausted, but where going home usually makes me happy, right now, it feels like a boulder sitting on my chest. It doesn't help that I haven't crossed paths with Everett since I walked out. I still need to settle on exactly how I feel. I have things in motion. I have a plan, one that still includes him. I've loved blindly for too long, and maybe that was selfish. When I love, I chase after it with my whole heart because, to me, that's what love does; it pursues blindly, without end. But I'm also learning to guard my own heart.

I wish my travel trailer were here. I ordered it this morning and it won't arrive for two weeks. I plan to put it on my lake property so I have my own place to go, and it will be nice to be on-site and available during construction. "Two weeks," I repeat as I blow out a long breath and look up to click the unlock button on my Audi as I cross the parking lot, only for my eyes to connect with Everett's. God, how is it that even when I'm hurt and mad as hell, he still makes me weak in the knees?

When I reach the car, he doesn't move off the driver's side door. He stays still and resolute, as though it's his right to be there.

"Can we talk?"

"It would appear you're not really giving me a choice in the matter," I say as I gesture toward my door. The corner of his perfect mouth quirks up just a hint, and I think he's about to speak, but he doesn't. Instead, his eyes stay locked on mine with a stare that feels new. It makes my heart skip a beat and my palms grow sweaty. I'm not doing this again. He did this to me when he told me he didn't want me riding home with Nash. I thought we'd actually talk, but all I got was his silence. Sometimes silence can speak a hundred sentiments, but sometimes it's just silence, and I'm done with it. "Everett, I think it's a little late to talk. The time for talking has passed?—"

"I told you what happened between us wasn't going to change anything," he says as the softness on his face is replaced with pinched lips and frown lines.

"We both know that's bullshit. If you didn't want anything to change, you shouldn't have done it. You knew, Everett." I hold his eyes, daring him to tell me I'm wrong.

"I know," he admits, which has me shocked. He's not giving me any lip service or trying to say something without saying anything at all. It may only be two words, but they are two big words. They are an admission.

"Tell me what that means, Everett."

"It means I'm fearless, Cameron. I've always gone through the motions in every aspect of my life, doing what needed to be done without worrying about the consequences. They never mattered. Losing never scared me, but that's not the case anymore." He looks away and angrily runs his hand over his beard.

"You just said you were fearless."

Those onyx eyes return and pierce mine. "Except when it comes to you." There's a slight stutter as he pulls in his next breath, and then he says, "You scare me, Cameron. You scare me more than anything ever has, but in that fear, I've never felt more alive."

The damn organ in my chest feels like it might give out any second, it's beating so fucking fast. Is this real life? Did he just admit to having feelings for me? He did, but he didn't at the same time. I mean, he said I scared him. He didn't say I want you, and he led this entire conversation by saying "I told you what happened between us didn't change anything."

"Where does that leave us?"

He puts his hands in his pockets. "Have dinner with me at the house. I'll cook."

I want to say yes, but I can't, not when his ask reminds me of the dinner date I interrupted.

"Did you fuck her?"

"No," comes out fast.

"Touch her?"

He crosses his arms. "I just told you I didn't fuck her."

"That doesn't mean you didn't touch her," I quirk a brow.

"I'm telling you, I didn't fuck her or touch her."

My eyes narrow on his and I cross my arms. "Did you tell her how?"

Those dark obsidian orbs soften right before his hand comes up to my cheek, his eyes following the path of his thumb as he gently swipes it across. "No," he says before his eyes drift back to mine. "Have dinner with me."

"Okay."

" A chicken recipe that calls for bourbon. Are you sure that goes in there?"

He pours the bottle into the skillet. "I'm sure. It's not that much, only an ounce or two tablespoons."

"Then why don't you use the tablespoons? I thought you were supposed to be teaching me."

He purses his lips before his eyes flick up to where I'm sitting on the counter next to the stove. "I laid out all the ingredients, and rather than stand beside me, you chose to sit up there." He corks the top of the bourbon. "I thought that meant you'd rather watch than get a lesson."

"So if I hop down, you'll use a tablespoon?"

There's a mischievous glint in his eye before his pouty lips pull to the side. "Something like that."

Those heavy lashes fall slowly as his eyes drift down my body before returning to the stove. There is no way in hell I'm not getting down to find out what "something like that" means. I take a sip of my wine and count to ten in my head so I'm not too damn obvious before I casually slide off the countertop.

"Teach me."

He gives me a quick glance before extending his arm out. "Come here."

I point to the small space between him and the stove. "You want me to…" I gesture between him and the stove.

"Yes, Cameron. This part is important."

"Okay," I say as I nervously take a step. Why am I suddenly nervous around him? He's always affected me, but now it feels different.

It's different because he gave me a truth. I now know I affect him too.

When I'm within his reach, his hand grips my shoulder, and he positions me right where he wants me: in front of the stove. My entire body instantly heats with awareness.

"Do you see what I'm doing with the spatula? This is one of the key steps with this recipe. You want to scrape up any bits stuck to the pan." I watch as he moves the turner around the pan. I try to pay attention, but it's hard to focus with his hand grasping my arm and my back pushed against his front. "Here, you try. This part is only roughly a minute before we reduce the heat and add the other ingredients."

When I take the spoon, I start doing exactly as he instructed. "Why wouldn't we just turn down the heat now? Then the meat and the bourbon wouldn't stick to the pan."

"You're going to want those charred little bits. They're the best part," he says as he steps away, taking the warmth with him. "Keep scraping the bottom as I add in the other ingredients." I watch as he pulls out a measuring cup. "Three-fourths cup of heavy whipping cream," he slowly pours the thick milk into the pan.

"What are we making anyway?"

"Chicken," he says, grabbing another measuring cup.

"I can see that it's chicken. I mean what is the recipe called?"

"One cup of chicken stock," he says as he pours the stock into the pan with a little more haste. "And half a cup of sun-dried tomatoes." He adds a small bag of tomatoes to the mixture, and suddenly, his hands are back on me as one arm wraps around my waist, making every hair on my body stand at attention. He pulls me flush against his front as the other hand reaches in front of me. "Now we let it simmer," he says, his mouth close to my ear but not near close enough. "Some people add the parmesan now, but I like to add it near the end." His hand covers mine on the spoon. "You don't need to scrape anymore," he guides my hand in a slower motion. "Just ensure the ingredients are well mixed, and then we let it set." I watch as he stirs the sauce in the pan, but my thoughts are only on him. His thumb has subtly slipped under the hem of my crop top and is gently stroking the skin, melting me from the inside out. I'm scared to move and breathe for fear of losing this moment. I'm getting parts of him now that I've never seen him give, and I know while we might just be cooking a meal, it's so much more than that. I feel him breathe deeply, and then he releases me, setting the spatula down before covering the pan. "Now we wait."

I pull in a long, cleansing breath to collect myself before stepping aside and reclaiming my glass of wine. I take a big drink before turning around to find him doing the same. His eyes meet mine and I know we're drinking for the same reason. Our nerves are shot. We're barely scratching the surface of what we both want: more.

"What is this, Ev? What are we doing?"

He sets down his glass and grips the countertop before breaking eye contact and turning his gaze out the window. "I don't know how to answer that."

"Can you try?"

He closes his eyes and rolls his lips before saying, "It means there is nothing else I'd rather be doing at this moment. It means I'm right where I want to be with the person I want to be with. Does that answer your question?"

It more than answered my question, it made my heart soar. But I can tell it was a lot for him to admit, and I don't want to press for too much too fast. It's clear that while we shared an intense night together, he's not in a hurry to repeat it. I've waited this long; I can wait a little longer, especially if he keeps giving me truths. But right now, I want to go back to enjoying our evening. The heavy scares him, so I try to rewind and reset and say, "Sort of," with a shrug, as if he didn't just drop a giant truth bomb. "You still haven't told me what we're making."

His eyes drop to his glass, and he grabs the bottle of wine, topping it off as he says, "The name is not important."

"Well, what if I want to make it again, and I need the recipe?"

"Then I'll help you make it."

"What if I want to make it for you?"

He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and shakes his head. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"I don't understand what the big deal is," I say as I hop back onto the counter. "It's the first recipe you ever taught me how to make." I shrug. "I'm going to try and make it on my own eventually anyway."

His eyes meet mine. "Marry Me Chicken."

Those eyes already make me weak, but his words have me stumbling. "I'm sorry?—"

"The recipe," he nods toward the simmering dish. "It's called 'Marry Me Chicken.'"

He reaches for his glass, but those dark orbs never leave mine as they stare into my soul and my mouth goes dry. My brain was already spinning from all the truth he's given me today, but now I'm lost in a beautiful oblivion with a million thoughts running through my head. In the end, only one matters: the man I want to spend my forever with just made me "Marry Me Chicken."

" S tormy is giving me a ride home tonight," I say after Everett passes me my coffee.

When I opened the front door this morning to leave for work, he was sitting on the top step of the stone staircase, waiting. He told me he'd like it if I'd ride with him even though I didn't have to, and of course I said yes. He probably knew he wouldn't be getting a no, but he wasn't expecting me to say I'd be hanging out with Stormy on my birthday. After last night, spending tonight with him was a sure thing, or so he thought. It would have been, but I said yes to Stormy before he ever gave me any truths, and while I want him with every ounce of my being, I know I have to play hard to get a little. Everett knows I want him, but it's good to make a man sweat a bit so he doesn't forget how good what he has is.

His lips thin as he places his cup in the center console. "What time are you coming home?"

"I don't know. I'm not really sure what our plans are, and she just mentioned having a drink."

"I don't want you getting in a car with someone who is drinking." He rubs his hand through his beard, perturbed. "You'll have your phone on you this time?" His eyes leave the road to find mine.

"Yes, I'll have my phone."

"It's just the two of you?"

He's asking a lot of questions, questions that make my belly flutter because they sound a lot like worry and jealousy—two emotions that are sure to make him face the root of their origin.

"I think so. She's new in town, and Mackenzie is in Florida. Since I never went back to living on campus after last semester, I haven't been hanging out with my SIU friends."

"Just be careful around her."

"Is there something I should know?"

"You should never be completely trusting of someone you just met. I don't know Stormy, but I do know Lauren, and she has a history in this town."

Lauren is interested in Everett. They've both admitted they have a past, and while things are changing between us, I'm unsure where he stands with her.

We pull into the parking lot at the stadium, and as he collects his wallet and cup out of the console, I ask, "Why did you let me believe Lauren was at your house for a date?"

He pauses but doesn't give me his eyes. "Letting you believe I was touching her was better than putting my hands on you."

Without another word, he exits the car. "Ouch." His words taken at surface level sting, but if I look at them through the lens of last night, they hurt a little less. He wants to touch me, but he's torn between what he wants and what he thinks he should do. Too bad for him, I'm not, and it's my birthday.

" W hen you asked me to be your date today, I didn't know I had competition," Stormy says as she gestures to a bouquet of red roses as I return from the bathroom. Without even seeing the tag, I know exactly who they are from—Everett. Since I turned eight, the only gifts he's ever given me are on my birthday, and it's always been a bouquet of red roses, one for every year. "Also, when you asked me if I wanted to go to the game today, I didn't consider that we had to work during the game."

"Honestly, when I asked, I hadn't thought about it myself. Last year, when I worked at Hayes Fields, I wasn't the best employee. I came and went as I pleased, but I also wasn't the sole person running the concession stands, so it was a little easier… and I don't think anyone truly expected me to actually do work."

"Think I can get away with that?" she says as she turns on the POS station.

"Considering it's just the two of us for now, that would be a hard no."

"For now? Are we getting another person in here?" She queries as she rests her elbow on the station.

"Yes," I say as I count the drawer. "I'll be cross training someone from concessions who can fill in if one of us is out. That doesn't fix our dilemma today, but we'll be able to go watch the third inning. Since the stadium just opened, the shop will most likely be busy with new visitors wanting to check out everything and purchase merch, and then, if we're up in the seventh inning, people will probably trickle in as well."

"Why the seventh inning?"

"Most pro-stadiums stop serving alcohol during the seventh inning. That's not a thing here, but I'm betting on visitors not knowing that, which means they will be out of their seats getting their last call and we will probably get foot traffic, especially if we are up. We'll get the fair-weather fans who didn't want to make a purchase before seeing the team in action."

"Huh, you're pretty smart, aren't you?"

"I'm not sure if you're making fun of me or if that's a compliment."

She shrugs. "Me either."

I can't help but laugh. I may not fully understand her, but she makes me laugh and keeps things interesting. The sound of the security gates rising at the entrances have us both turning toward the door.

"Get ready. It's about to get crazy."

" M aybe I can ask Lauren if I can get an assistant position. I didn't realize how much work I'd actually be doing when I took this one," Stormy says as she refolds a table of shirts.

It's annoying when customers hold up T-shirts to see what size they want. Even more so when they dig through the pile, hold up all the different sizes, and then choose the first one they held up. I didn't realize how irritating that would be. Luckily, we've been busy enough that I haven't had any real time to hyper-focus on it, but every spare second my eyes get between sales or fielding questions, the messy tables grate on my nerves. We have the game on in the shop and they're tied in the bottom of the third. Even with a close game, the store has been busy, which surprises me a little. But I'm happy for Connor. I am happy to play a small role in bringing his dreams to life. Every item sold in the shop is a walking billboard for the Bulldogs on the street.

"What did you do before you started working here?"

"This and that. I kind of float around and do what I feel like doing."

"And Lauren is okay with that? Don't you want to move out or buy a car?"

She folds up the last shirt and sticks her hands in the back pockets of her ripped-up overalls before rocking back on her heels. "You're making a lot of assumptions over there. What if I'm a secret billionaire?"

"Wow, now I feel like an ass." That was a lot of rude conjecture. However, her style, age, and what she told me scream freeloader. "I'm sorry. That was rude, and honestly, I'm the last person with any room to pass judgments."

"It's fine. I'm sure you get it all the time too."

"I look like I'm a freeloader?" Her eyebrows raise, and she rolls her lips, and I realize I once again inserted my foot in my mouth. "Oh my god, I am so sorry."

She holds her hand up and shakes her head. "Don't be sorry. Your words insinuated as much before you spelled it out. But no, I was going to say gold digger."

"You think I'm a gold digger?"

"Well, yeah. You drive an Audi, come in dressed up, wearing high-end brands and a full face of makeup every day to work a summer job in a team shop at a baseball stadium…" She walks over to the hat rack and straightens a row before adding, "Plus, I know where you lay your head at night."

I pull out a box from under the counter and set it down a little harder than anticipated due to its weight. When she turns toward me in question, I play it off as intentional. "You'd be wrong. You may not be a secret billionaire, but I am… well, not a billionaire, more like a millionaire."

"No shit? So you're just banging the old man? I mean, he doesn't look his age. He looks good for what, forty-five, forty-six-ish?"

"We are not banging, thank you very much," I say as I pull out the box of jerseys that didn't fit and toss her the one with Parker's name on it.

She catches it. "What's this?"

"What do you mean? It's Parker's jersey. I'm not stupid. I know you're into him."

She throws it back. "I can't wear that."

"Why not?"

For a second, I think maybe I've again managed to offend her with my unfounded assumptions, but then she says, "Because… it's more fun to watch him squirm." She comes over to the counter. "Give me one for one of the guys he doesn't like."

"So does that mean you are into Parker?" I ask as I dig through the box and pull out McKenna's jersey. Parker gets along with everyone, but he looks at Jordan as competition since he's the other starting pitcher.

"Are you sleeping with the old man?"

"No, but I want to be."

She smiles as she pulls on McKenna's jersey. "Yeah, I like Parker, and for the record, I'm not a freeloader. I like a backpacker lifestyle, a type of nomad if you will. I just purchased a tiny home, but it won't be ready for another four months. So I guess, in a way, you could say I'm freeloading until my house is ready."

I pull on a ballcap. "I guess we're besties now."

"No," she's quick to correct me. "Friends, yes. Best friends, no. In my book you have to go through some shit to earn that title."

I shoot her a mischievous smile. "Fine, let's go raise a little hell."

"What about the shop?"

"No one has been in here for about ten minutes. I'm the boss, and there's technically a self-checkout kiosk if someone really wanted to buy."

"What about theft?"

"Are you trying to delay watching your man pitch or…"

"Right, secret millionaire. You'll pay him back for whatever is stolen."

"What? No, this is a small town. People don't steal shit. Come on," I say as I pull her out of the shop. "Let's go."