The Brooklyn Way

Chapter 3

3

B rooklyn

Cameron Field did not recognize or remember me.

Oh, he tried to play it off, giving me a warm smile and telling me how good it was to see me again. But that was just good breeding and manners. That man didn’t recognize me any more than he would recognize the man in the moon. The fact was that I had never made an impression on Cameron.

Until today. Something was different about today. Today, he watched me. Stared at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. Took me in. I tried not to act out behind his attention. Instead, I focused all my energy on my table settings, my tablescapes, and on the food. I was excited about the opportunity to entertain. When I lived in the Midwest, I dreamt about and longed for a backyard that I could entertain in. Although the backyard technically belonged to Cameron Field, Carrington had assured me that I could entertain in it.

I forced myself to ignore the heat radiating from Cameron’s gaze as it fell on me several times during the meal and concentrated on being the best hostess I could be.

Brunch was a success. Mrs. Field gushed over almost every aspect of the event, which left my cheeks hurting from smiling so much. She was an expert on etiquette, class, and hosting. Her praise had lifted my spirits toward the clouds, so much so that I was even looking forward to cleaning up, because it would give me time to organize in my mind how I could make my next event even better.

“Ay, you’re a really good cook, Brooklyn.”

My head flew up. I thought I was alone in the backyard, having seen each member of the Field family and Bryce to the driveway. I mean, I knew that Cameron wouldn’t drive away, but I did think he would go inside his own house. I’d been engrossed in gathering the disposable chafing dishes I’d purchased from Amazon when he spoke, so I jumped. “Thank you.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

After casting a glance at him, I went back to cleaning. Though I made a lot of different dishes, I didn’t make a great deal of food. That meant that there weren’t a lot of leftovers, so the chafing dishes went right into the Hefty garbage bag I was holding.

“Let me help.” He easily removed the bag from my hand.

“Okay.” I agreed, moving on to the happy, colorful melamine dishes I’d collected from different stores to put together a festive, seasonal table.

Cameron spoke again. “Where’d you learn to cook like that? Are you a chef?”

I chuckled lightly. “Nah, I’m a dressmaker. A seamstress.” I changed my voice so that it had a snooty tone to it. “A couturier. I’m actually working at your community center with your mom. She hired me to make six dresses for the cotillion her junior beauties had a few weeks ago. From that, I’ve been hired by some of the more hoity-toity families on this island to make dresses for their debs.” I took a breath, marveling at how much easier it was to talk to Cameron Field when I subdued my inner crush.

For years, I’d hoped that he would see the greatness in me and fall in love. Now, it was whatever. I could appreciate that he was handsome as hell, but I was cool with looking at the merchandise without trying to purchase the merchandise . “I didn’t even know that debs, debutante balls, and cotillions were still a thing. Your mother is introducing me to a whole new world,” I continued.

It was his turn to chuckle. “Welcome to the south. We’re big on our traditions down here. How’d you get into making dresses? I thought that was a lost art or something. Like how they keep saying that there aren’t enough young people going into trades and one day we’re gonna have a shortage of plumbers and stuff.”

“The usual way… my grandmother taught me.” I walked away from him, carrying the colorful dishes into the kitchen of the guest house. Cameron’s entire presence was a force. I was trying not to be attracted to him, but I doubted that I would succeed. He wasn’t just gorgeous and built, he was genuinely nice. He’d been raised by an etiquette coach; of course he was polite. He was a practiced conversationalist. He knew how to make you feel at ease. I definitely still liked him.

After taking the time to load the used dishes in the dishwasher, I went back to the backyard to find Cameron still there. He had finished disposing of the tin foil chafing dishes and was shaking out my pricey off-white linen tablecloth.

“Oh, you don’t need much coaching in breaking down a party setup,” I teased lightly.

“Nah, not much. My mother is an etiquette coach. She’s always hosting lunches and dinners to teach clients which forks and spoons to use. I’ve helped break down thousands of garden parties.”

“I’ve always wanted to throw garden parties,” I admitted to him. “I always wanted a circle of friends that I could entertain like this.” I gestured around us at the remnants of the morning. I knew the smile on my face was bright as hell, but I didn’t care. It had been a minute since I’d been genuinely happy.

“All I can say is stick with my mother. She’ll make sure you get to participate in more garden parties than you’ve ever dreamed.” The disdain was evident on his face.

I laughed lightly. “Life is wild. It’s crazy to me how somebody’s dream can be somebody else’s nightmare. Here I am going on and on about garden parties, when you were obviously forced to endure them.”

“Say word.” He grinned, and I liked how his eyes crinkled at the corner.

Let’s not do that , I told myself. I took a look around the backyard. There wasn’t much left to do, and I needed to get away from the gravitational pull of his fineness. “It’s been a busy morning. I’m going to take a quick break, then come back out and finish up in about an hour or so. See you around, Cameron.” I gave him a happy wave. “Oh, and thank you so much for allowing me to stay in your guest house. It’s beautiful. I never imagined staying anywhere so gorgeous.”

I don’t think that was awkward , I thought to myself as I hurried away from him.

Because I needed space to sew both the cotillion and debutante dresses, Mrs. Field had commandeered a room large enough to comfortably hold all my sewing machines, several dress dummies, and all my other supplies at the Dorothy Jackson Community Center. I loved working out of the community center. It was always teeming with life being lived. Sewing could be isolating, but doing it at the community center was anything but. Each summer day, the grand building was filled with the energy, boisterousness, and excitement of children and the adults who wrangled them in various summertime activities.

I could hear the noisy chatter of kids and hear their thunderous footsteps in the hallways outside of my space, so I figured that basketball camp had ended. That would have made sense, because Carrington’s ‘bridal boot camp’ thingy was about to start. Cameron would need to be free to teach it. I quickly put away my things, grabbed my bag, and hustled to the ladies’ room to both use the bathroom and change into my workout gear.

Somehow, even though I worked at the community center and should have been the first person to arrive at the designated workout room, I ended up being the last to arrive.

Carrington approached me the second that my foot crossed the threshold of the room. “How the hell are you walking in the door with one minute to spare? Don’t you work in this building? I had to drive across the island, and I beat you here. I don’t get it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t get it either. All I did was dip into the washroom to pee and change.”

She took in my outfit. “Brook,” she moaned like I had disappointed her. “What do you have on?”

I looked down at the black leggings peeking out beneath my Chicago Bears T-shirt. “What?”

“Is that a man’s T-shirt? Is that one of Vince’s T-shirts? Why is it eight sizes too big?”

“What?” I repeated with my eyes squinted in confusion. “No, this is not Vince’s shirt. Do you really think I would leave with anything that belonged to his funky ass?”

“You didn’t have anything more… form-fitting to wear? You’ve been looking so cute lately. The pretty little dress you wore to brunch on Sunday.”

“I couldn’t wear a dress to workout, Carri.”

Her head shook back and forth. “You couldn’t make something? You know, out of the colorful material we all love on you so much?”

“Make some workout gear? I don’t know. I’ve never sewn with… Lycra. I guess I could make something out of lightweight, breathable cotton,” I mumbled. “Like what would I even make?”

“Short shorts and a T-shirt, Brooklyn. Something that doesn’t look like you were all out of clothes and about to do laundry.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Why does it matter?” She squinted her eyes.

Before she could elaborate, other women walked up to us and started talking to her. I wasn’t surprised, she was the bride and everybody at the bridal boot camp was connected to her in some way. She was the hostess, for lack of a better term. She couldn’t spend her night whispering to me in the corner of the room.

Cameron’s back was to us as he messed around with what looked like the music setup. When he was ready, he turned around and faced the group. “All right, ladies. We’re getting ready to start.”

I walked away from the group, finding a place along the wall to put down my belongings. There were ten to twelve of us in the room, so that made it easy for me to select a spot at the back of the medium-sized room.

A blur of movement happened by the door. The next thing I knew, the chick from that first brunch, Tiara whatever her last name was, had breezed into the room.

“Whew.” She pretended to wipe sweat from her brow in an overly dramatic fashion. “I’m here.” She waved at everybody else in attendance.

I noticed that her reception was lukewarm. The other women waved and spoke half-heartedly.

“I knew she was a mean girl,” I mumbled under my breath.

“And a bitch too,” came a voice from the left of me.

I glanced over to find Nyrah standing there. “Hey.” I gave her a bright smile, which she returned.

“Hey.”

Tiara positioned herself in the front of the class. “Are we gonna need floor mats today, twin?”

“Yeah.”

It bugged me that he hit her with a grin as he replied. It bugged me more that she returned his grin.

“It’s leg day. Get ready for those legs to burn,” he announced to the class, as the women began unrolling and positioning their mats on the floor.

“So, make my legs burn then, daddy.” Tiara’s back was toward me when she spoke, but even though I couldn’t see her face, I knew she was grinning… and smiling in his face.

Stop tripping , I told myself. We’re trying to get over our unrequited crush on him . I reprimanded myself.

“Yo, set your mat up, Tiara,” he told her. Then he donned his headset and started the music.

“Bonita Applebaum” by Tribe Called Quest floated through the speakers and filled the room, followed by Camerons voice. “A’ight, let’s warm up on this lovely… leg day.” His deep, husky baritone traveled to every corner of the room, and he smirked at the disappointed groans that came behind his proclamation. “I don’t care about your groaning. I care about you getting warm. Step jacks in… one.” He counted us into the first move of the evening, which was a variation of a jumping jack. Instead of jumping, while lifting our arms in the air, we stepped out on alternating legs, while lifting our arms in the air. “Let’s go!”

Fifty minutes later, the music blended into “Feel It” by Jacquees, and we moved into the cool down. We were on our mats, on our backs. Cameron canvassed the room as we completed the workout, lifting and lowering our pelvises in rhythmic unison.

I couldn’t speak for the other ladies, but I was done for. While some of the women were still going strong, their energy still on the same level as it was at the beginning of class, I was losing steam fast. Swimming apparently used different muscles than the ones Cameron was working. That was my sign that I needed to vary my workout routine.

When the music blended into Nas’s “One Mic,” Cameron’s voice once again rang through the speakers. “Let’s finish up with a good stretch. On your feet.”

I fought my way to my feet, moving through the stretches he demonstrated, as “One Mic” blended into Boys II Men “This is My Heart” and finally into Etta James’s “Sunday Kind of Love . ”

When Cameron released us from the last stretch, the rest of the class broke out into a loud clap, while I stumbled over to my belongings, grabbed my water bottle, and guzzled down almost all of the contents.

“Don’t even think about leaving here yet.” Carrington caught me off guard, causing me to choke on the water a little bit.

I fought to clear my airway. “What?”

“You, Nyrah, and I are going to get food in a minute. Just let me see the rest of my people off.” She turned to walk away but then turned back to me quickly. She pointed her finger at me. “Do not leave, Brooklyn Waverly.”

I sighed, because she knew me too well. Of course, my plan had been to dip out of the room the moment she was preoccupied with her other friends. “It’s been a long day, Carri.”

“It’ll be even longer if I have to whup your ass,” she promised me, “which is exactly what’s gonna happen if you leave here. You, Nyrah, and I are going to get something to eat.”

We ended up at a really cute little restaurant called The Coastal Cafe on what had to be the equivalent of Rodeo Drive, on Jackson Island. Lockhart Boulevard ran for about a mile and featured the most darling clothing boutiques, specialty shops, and restaurants.

Once we were seated, Carrington put her attention on me. “Brook, how are you feeling?”

“Good,” I assured her as I studied the menu I’d pulled up on my phone from the QR code.

“Are you sure?”

I brought my eyes up from the screen and put them on my friend and former roommate. “Yeah. Why, Carri?”

“Because I want you to like it here on Jackson Island. I mean, I’m the one who encouraged you to pack up your life and move here. I want to make sure you don’t feel like you made a mistake.”

I smiled at my friend. “I don’t feel like I’ve made a mistake, boo. I really like it here. I feel like I’m coming back to myself. I didn’t realize how much I truly missed sewing until your mom kinda forced me to pick it back up. I’m thankful for her, though. I’m back in my bag. Ideas are flowing. Creativity is flowing. Joy is flowing.”

“You seem happy, but I didn’t want to assume. I wanted to sit down and talk to you about it.”

“I heard you’re making dresses for the debs,” Nyrah commented.

“Yeah. Some of those moms saw the dresses I made for the cotillion and pounced.”

The three of us laughed together.

“Hey,” Nyrah said, “how did your meeting with Journey go that time?”

I thought back to my meeting with the owner of the luxury store. “It went well. She gave me a tour, and we talked a little bit.”

She studied me silently for a few moments, her dark eyes thoughtful.

“What are you thinking over there, Ny?” Carrington questioned.

“Brooklyn, I think you should make me a dress in that fabric with the patterns that make it look like a Lilly Pulitzer. I’ll wear it to work and let Journey see the quality and the way you choose and use your fabrics. I think you would be a good fit for her brand. I can definitely see a Freedom Journey x Spread Love collaboration. I think it would be good for both of you guys.”

My eyes widened to the size of a saucer. “Are you even serious right now? Please be freaking for real.”

“I’m totally serious. How soon can I come by and get measured?”

“Tomorrow.” My jaws ached from smiling so hard. “Come by the community center. I’m set up there. I can get your measurements, and we can go over fabrics.”

The waitress came over to take our orders. When she walked away, Carrington spoke.

“So, you’re getting your swag back?”

It was the softness in her eyes that got to me. “I’m trying. It’s day to day,” I admitted. “I want to be past it, and I’m getting past it, but some days…”I let my thoughts trail off, as I tried to decide whether or not to be transparent. I huffed out a sigh. “Sometimes, I think that if somebody that was with me for over ten years could get over me so quickly, could leave me for a stranger…” I sniffled, tears wanting to flow at the thought of how Vince had treated me once he decided that he wanted Kelly. How he had discarded me so easily and unceremoniously. “Who would want me, Carrington? I was with Vince for ten years. I gave him the best of me. I was the best… homey, lover, friend that I knew how to be. If that wasn’t enough for somebody who knew me in and out, how will it ever be enough for somebody else?

“But then I look in the mirror and see how the weight has fallen off. I see how my eyes are starting to get life back in them. I notice how good I feel when I put on something that I made for myself—all of the seams hit me in the most flattering way and the fabric falls exactly the way it should. I want to do more of that. I want to feel more of that.”

“You will, boo. A breakup after a long-term relationship is the worst.”

“Especially when your ex worked overtime to tear down your self-esteem.” Nyrah took a sip from the glass of water in front of her. “I’ve been there. I’ve had an asshole try to wreck me and climbing out of the pit he left me in was hard as hell. You’re doing really good, Brooklyn.”

Carrington sighed. “You know that before Bryce, I was with Maxwell for five years. You know that man took me through it in every way he could. He broke me and laughed about it. Drove bitches around town in my truck, while letting my calls go to voicemail. Spent my money on his hoes. Fucked them in our bed. Traipsed all over D.C. with them. Messed me up so badly that all I could do was crawl back to this island and move into my brother’s guest house. You know that I know what it’s like to feel unloved and unlovable. I think you’re on a good path. Exercising, sewing… All we need to do is get you to incorporate some male companionship and you’ll be on your way.”

“Cameron’s single.” There was a glint in Nyrah’s eyes when she said it.

“That, he is. And he’s right there, on the same property as you, mere steps away.”

I blushed like crazy at their comments, happy when the server showed up with our starters.

I continued to wear my colorful Lilly Pulitzer inspired dresses, because I loved how I felt when I was all dolled up in a custom fit dress made of pink linen or green cotton or a denim-colored chambray. Wearing pretty dresses was a small thing that brought me joy and after not having joy for so long, having a little bit of joy was like bathing in sunshine. Sewing was also a joy. Instead of strolling through the local Target to find a sense of happiness, I found happiness in the small things in life.

A small smile played on my lips as the final debutante carried the flowing white dress into the changing area for what I hoped was the last time.

“Brooklyn,” her anxious mother gushed, “you’ve been a godsend. When Gabby had the heart transplant last year, we had no idea that she would gain so much weight.” Her voice was a whisper. “Her father and I were so focused on having our baby alive that we didn’t focus on weight gain.” She shook her head solemnly. “The new heart gave her a life, but the new body is killing her. She tells me that she hates the way she looks. She hates the way clothes lay on her. She wasn’t going to participate in the ball… even though she’s looked forward to it since middle school.” She turned toward me, tears brimming in her eyes. “Then came you, with your black girl magic.”

We both giggled a little.

“Girl, what you can do with a pair of scissors, some thread, and a sewing machine, my husband and I couldn’t do at the most expensive boutiques in this country. We flew everywhere… New York City, Miami, L.A., Atlanta, Chicago. We even went to Vegas, thinking we could find a dress or seamstress. But nothing until you.”

Since Mrs. Holiday was one of the few debutante mothers that I had formed a rapport with, I knew I could joke a little with her. “Girl, it wasn’t all black girl magic. I mean, don’t get me wrong; there is definitely black girl magic in every piece I create, but a debutante dress is basically a simplified wedding gown. Wedding gowns are my jam.”

“They most definitely are.”

As she finished her sentence, Gabby came out of the little area I had cordoned off for try-ons and changing. As she made her way over to her mother and me, I took her in with the eye of an experienced seamstress. The white A-line dress that featured a lightly beaded bodice, empire waist, and cap sleeves (because Gabby didn’t want too much of her arms to show) fit the deb like a glove.

I turned her around, tightening the ribbon used to lace up the back of her gown. I tucked the strings, then fastened the hidden closure, before slowly circling her. “If I do say so myself, I did the ding-dang thing on this dress! I ate that and didn’t leave not one crumb.”

Mrs. Holiday didn’t bother fighting back tears as she cried. “You did. You definitely ate. My baby looks like an angel.”

Gabby’s expression was emotionless as I led her over to the full-length mirror so she could see for herself. When she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, Gabby, too, broke down into full-out sobs, which caused me to cry as well.

“It’s so beautiful and I don’t look like a fat cow in it.”

Gabby’s words broke my heart. “You could never look like a fat cow. You’re a beautiful, sweet, kind, and smart young lady who fought death and won. You’re a testimony and a living story of strength, perseverance, and triumph. I’m so glad you got a heart, because I’m so glad I got to meet you and make this dress for you.” I kissed her smooth honey-colored cheek.

“Thank you.” Her arms were around me before I knew it. “Thank you.”

Over her shoulder, I could see her mother’s face buried in a handful of tissues. I wasn’t a mother, but I had experienced tremendous loss in life. Still, I couldn’t imagine what it felt like to almost lose your daughter, watch her regain her health, then watch her fight a battle with self-esteem.

“Snatched!” I said firmly, as Gabby released me from the hug.

“No lies told.” Mrs. Holiday blotted her eyes with the used tissues. “You look good.”

Gabby placed her hands on her hips. “Periodt, pooh.”

She and her mother giggled then hugged as I thought about both my own journey and Gabby’s. After fighting and defeating something we thought would kill us, we deserved to live good. I was going to live good.

After I received payment for Gabby’s gown, I prepared it, wrapped it and handed it over to the happy mother and daughter duo. With the thought that I deserved to live good in mind, I gathered my things and left the community center. My first stop was the nail salon, where I had my nails glazed in the prettiest baby pink polish that they offered. Next, with my no-chip mani giving ‘black Barbie’ vibes, I headed to the grocery store, where I picked up a few things to make a relatively healthy dinner. I even grabbed a bouquet of yellow flowers to match my upbeat mood.

When I made it to the house, I fought the urge to throw on any old thing. Instead, I changed into a cute, matchy-matchy lounge set that I’d picked up on my visit to Freedom Journey . The set, made of brushed cotton, included a pair of camel-colored shorts, a T-shirt, and a hoodie. I left the hoodie hanging right in the closet, because what I had found living on Jackson Island was that it was never cool enough for a hoodie during mid-June.

Once I was changed, I made my way to the kitchen to handle the flowers I’d purchased. After adding cool water and the flower food packet to a pretty, clear vase, I arranged the flowers. Once they were taken care of, I prepped my food. There was nothing that I needed to cook; everything was pre-prepared. I simply laid it out on a charcuterie board in an appealing way, because the food channel taught me that humans eat first with their eyes. Since the evening was nice, the sky was clear, and the pollen count was low, I decided that I would eat outside.

I decorated the table—not the entire table. The table by the pool could seat six to eight people. I made it appropriate for one person by folding the tablecloth in half. I selected the prettiest set of matching dishes—a white charger, plate, saucer, and cup all rimmed in a gorgeous mint green and featuring a sprinkling of miniature daisies. I added them to the tabletop. Back inside the house, I grabbed a cocktail glass, a set of gold-plated silverware, and a pitcher of iced water. Next was the vase filled with the cheery yellow blooms. Finally, I brought out a pitcher of sweet tea that had been doused with lemon vodka in one hand and my charcuterie board in the other. Before taking my seat, I lit a few of the citronella candles that were on the table, because the mosquitos on Jackson Island were highly disrespectful.

“Pretty.” I complimented myself on the table. It looked good and so did my charcuterie board.

Everything was peaceful, from the waves of the ocean that I knew was only a few steps from the house, to the evening sun, to the blowing of the light warm breeze that sent my hair swaying and dancing. I closed my eyes and thanked God that I got to experience this. I thanked God that he delivered me from the hell that was my life with Vince. That he brought me out of a pit.

“I’m going to stay present for moments like this.” I whispered the words to myself like an affirmation. “I’m going to take time to experience my life… fully. I’m going to find joy in the simple pleasures, not at Target.”

That was when I heard a sound that reminded me of that cartoon dog, Scooby Doo asking, “What?”

My eyes flew open and collided with a bare, hard, strong chest. The image went perfectly with everything else around me that was beautiful. Still, it wasn’t polite to stare, so I moved my eyes upward.

“Hey,” I said to Cameron Field.

He gave me a crooked grin. “What’s up, Brooklyn? Is that your prayer before you eat? That you can find joy in things other than spending all of your money at Target?”

I wanted to be mad that he’d been eavesdropping or at least embarrassed that he heard my confession about Target, but he was so freaking fine. His grin was disarming.

I gestured toward my setup. “I hope you don’t mind me setting all this up poolside. I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking over.”

He waved me off. “Nah, you’re good. This pool was Carrington’s thing because the guest house doesn’t have views of the ocean. This way, she could still look out of her windows and see water.”

“Uhm, I’m surprised that you didn’t just build the guest house so that it would have a view of the ocean.”

His head was shaking back and forth before I even completed my thought. “As much as I spoil my twin, there was no way I would let her compromise the views from the main house.” He took in the table. Really took it in. “Ahh, you’ve got a knack for entertaining, Brooklyn. This setup is nicer than the one you did for brunch the other day. You did all this just for yourself?”

That comment caused a blush of embarrassment to creep into my cheeks. I was alone. Eating alone. I had set a table for one. “Yeah. I’m trying a new thing.”

“What kind of new thing?” He gestured toward the chair closest to mine. “Do you mind if I sit?”

His home training was impeccable.

My very keen awareness of my own lack of manners had me flustered. I jumped up from my chair. “Oh no. I’m tacky. Yes, please feel free to sit. Are you hungry? I made plenty.” Before I let him respond, I rushed into the house and gathered up a place setting, all the elements matching mine. Then I raced back outside.

Cameron was seated, waiting patiently for my return.

I prepared the place setting in front of him. “Uhm, please, help yourself.” I pointed to each item on the board as I named it. “There’s some rotisserie chicken that I chopped up, cherry tomatoes, green grapes, that’s sourdough from a loaf that I sliced, black olives, provolone cheese, multi-grain crackers, and some Rainier cherries that I couldn’t resist.” I finally took a breath. “There’s iced water and uhm, sweet tea with vodka.”

“Dayum.” He dragged the word out. “This is a nice spread. Is this a typical Friday night for you?”

“Uhm, no. Not really.”

“Is this part of the new thing you mentioned earlier?” He waited for me to serve myself, before pulling some items from the charcuterie board with the tongs.

“Yeah. Well, it’s half and half, actually. One thing I’m working on is trying to be more intentional about how I treat myself,” I admitted. “I presume you know this already, but I’m staying here because I was in a bad situation. My last relationship was unhealthy. My ex cheated on me with a client.” I let out a breathy sigh. “It’s a long story, but—”

“It’s still early. The sun hasn’t even gone down yet. We’ve got time. You can talk.”

“Your manners are unparalleled, Cameron. But I wouldn’t dare take advantage of that by bending your ear with my problems all night. You probably have things to do.”

“I came home precisely so I wouldn’t have things to do. For the last five hundred summers, I’ve stayed in Chicago and adhered to the strictest fucking summer schedule ever. All I’m doing this summer is working with these kids that signed up for my camp and doing Carri’s bridal boot camp. Those are my only obligations. Anything else I do will be up to my discretion. So, nah, I don’t have no place to be. You can tell me the story. You can start from the beginning while I demolish some of everything on this charcuterie board.”

And so, I did. I started at the beginning and told him mostly everything.

“Dude is fucked up. And I’m sure you’ve heard this already, but it’s his loss. You didn’t deserve the shit he pulled and he didn’t deserve you.”

“Thank you. Anyway, I decided that I would treat myself the way I deserve to be treated, rather than waiting around for someone else to see the value in me, hence the manicure.” I held up my pretty pink fingernails so he could see.

He took my hand in his and a jolt of… something went through my entire body at the moment of contact. The force of the jolt was so jarring that I almost snatched my hand from his. Just as quickly as it had come, the sensation passed.

Cameron studied my nails for a moment, like he didn’t feel the energy shift that had taken place. “Okay. I see you, girl.”

I tried to act natural. “And hence the healthy dinner out on the pool deck.”

“Healthy and delicious.”

“Thank you.” I took a large swallow of sweet tea to try to gather myself and fully regain my bearings.

He watched me. “Okay, don’t fall in the pool when you stand up. You’ve been throwing back that tea like it’s not spiked with vodka.”

“Oh, it only has a splash. Just enough to give me a buzz, but not enough to get me drunk or make me tumble over into the pool.”

He studied the sky. “The sun is about to set. You wanna go over to the house and watch it from over there?”

“An invitation to the big house?” I joked, pretending to clutch my imaginary pearls.

“Whatever, lil mama. Let me help you clean up.”

After he’d helped me bring everything inside the house and load the dishwasher, the two of us cut across the well-manicured lawn and followed the driveway to the front of his house. He typed in the code, and I silently prepared myself for the stunt that I knew his home would be.

The floorplan of Cameron’s home was open. I knew that people were moving away from open floorplans, claiming to want more designated spaces. However, to put up walls in this man’s space would have been criminal. From the foyer, I could see through the kitchen, dining, sitting, and great rooms, right to the floor-to-ceiling windows. And just past those lay the crystal clear, marine blue vastness of the Atlantic Ocean.

“Oh my goodness.” The words spilled from my mouth with reverence. “Your house is my dream home. I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as this.”

His chuckle was light. “Thank you. You want something to drink before we head to the deck?”

I shook my head.

He led me to the kitchen, where he grabbed two bottles of fancy water, then I followed him out to his deck.

“It’s so gorgeous.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the view. Just the prettiest blue water as far as the eye could see.

He motioned to the comfy-looking outdoor furniture that was arranged with a decorator’s touch. “Have a seat.”

I selected one of the swivel chairs and sat. “If this was my home, I would never leave.”

“Yeah.” He dropped down into the seat right next to me. “Growing up here on the island in a beach house always made me want to own one. This place was a present to myself after we won our third championship and I renegotiated my contract.”

“You play for The Bison and I’m originally from Chicago.”

He looked over at me. “Get the fuck outta here. You’ve been friends with Carrington all of this time and she never mentioned that.”

I cut my eyes at him and sucked my teeth. “She probably did. But since you never noticed me, there was no reason for you to commit facts about me to memory.”

“Wow.” His smile was wide. “Wow. Talk your shit, mama.”

“Don’t worry. I will,” I joked.