Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
It was Friday morning, and Camilla was itching for a fight. Her pulse pounded and her palms were damp, but her jaw was set. She was done getting pushed around.
Quik-N-Ez Loans was a dump. Camilla clung to her steering wheel after reversing into a spot in the parking lot and stared at the faded yellow sign above the door, stomach churning.
She hadn’t brought the thousand dollars Frankie had demanded. In a few moments, she’d walk in there and tell him where he could shove his late fee and his stupid contract. Grabbing the folder with her copy of the loan documents, she huffed out a breath and stepped out of the car. Wind tore at her clothes, reaching icy fingers under her layers.
She barely felt it. Her anger kept her warm.
Inside the lender’s shop, the air was stale. Camilla strode to the counter, staring at the burly man behind the bulletproof glass. “I’m here to see Frankie.”
“Put your deposit through the slot.”
“I’m here to see Frankie,” she repeated, voice hard.
The man was in his fifties, with greasy, shoulder-length hair tied in a scraggly bun at the nape of his neck. He was wiry, his wrinkled uniform hanging off his shoulders like a coat hanger. He watched Camilla with impassive eyes, looking almost bored. Then he shrugged and went through the door behind him.
Camilla’s breaths felt like broken glass in her throat, jagged and cutting. She glanced at the camera in the corner of the room, then looked away. The space was claustrophobic. Dirt had gathered along all the baseboards. Paint peeled off the walls and doorframes. The windows were streaky. She wanted to leave.
But she wouldn’t go until her business was done. The folder in her hands crinkled where she gripped it, and she finally mastered her breath.
The door opened.
Frankie wore a white button-down paired with navy slacks. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal hairy forearms and big, meaty hands. He arched a brow, amused.
“Hello, Ms. Fox. Give Jason your money, and you can be on your way.”
“I’m not giving you shit,” she spat, straightening her shoulders.
Frankie froze, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”
“This contract is garbage. There’s no way it would hold up in court. I’m not paying this extortionate late fee. I’m not giving you one more penny of my money, Frankie. You’re going to fill out the loan discharge paperwork right now, and our business will be done. I’m not walking out of here without it.”
Her bravado felt like fire coursing through her veins, but as Frankie watched her beneath dark brows, the flames burned so hot they singed. Her heart hammered, pulsing in her ears in a rapid staccato.
Frankie blinked. “Cute,” he said.
“Cute?” Camilla nearly vibrated with rage. “Get the discharge papers. Now.”
Frankie seemed to grow where he stood, like the Hulk about to burst through his clothes. He took one single step closer, and it took all of Camilla’s self-control not to back up toward the exit.
“Do not,” Frankie said, low and menacing, “do not tell me what to do. You owe me a thousand dollars right now. Jason will write you a receipt, and you’ll be back in three weeks to pay the rest. Understood?”
Years of stress and instability and loneliness pressed down on Camilla—and she fought back. Her spine straightened. “No,” she growled. “This ends now .”
“The only way this ends is when you give me the money you owe me, Ms. Fox.”
Gritting her teeth, Camilla fought to stay calm. “I won’t. I’ll take you to court. I will fight this, and you will leave me alone.”
Frankie blinked, then smiled. “Then what? You sue me, and your name gets splashed all over the town news channels. Your story gets shared all over social media, and all of Stirling knows that Dean Fox’s little girl got herself in trouble with big bad Frankie Smith. What do you think your daddy will say when he finds out? Hmm?”
Camilla trembled, blinking rapidly. Was she ready to fight Frankie in the open? Could she face her family afterward?
They didn’t know about the loan. They didn’t know she’d taken money from this slimy, unscrupulous dirtbag. How could she look her father in the eyes if he found out? How could she endure monthly dinners with her family if she was brought even lower by this new, shameful fight?
She’d taken the loan. She’d signed the contract and initialed every page. Her mistake would be aired out for the whole town to see. Could she handle that?
“I don’t care what my father says,” she told Frankie, but her voice wavered.
Frankie let her stew in her discomfort for a few long moments. Then he shook his head in mock concern. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t come here today, Ms. Fox. I’m going to forgive you for not giving me the payment that was due today. I’m a nice guy,” he told her, “so I’ll let these things go. But if you don’t give me every dollar you owe me, I will drag your family’s name through the mud. Your father won’t even let you through the front door of his beautiful mansion in the hills, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?”
Camilla said nothing, because no, she didn’t want that. She’d reached out to her family. She’d been trying to reconcile with them. Was she ready to throw that away? Was she ready to have her reputation ruined?
Frankie knew the answers to those questions. He scoffed at her and waved a hand toward the door at her back. “Get out of my sight.”
She wanted to fight. She wanted to rage. She wanted to pummel Frankie with her fists until he promised to leave her alone.
But she thought of all the townspeople who had come to her bakery after the broken window, and how they’d sympathized with her, supported her. What would they think if they knew she owed money to a scummy loan shark? Even if she won the court case, would her business survive? What if her parents disowned her? Spoke ill of her? Would her business survive that ?
She couldn’t lose the bakery. It was her life’s work, the only thing that made all her mistakes worthwhile. She’d left the family fold to create this business on her own. She’d learned hard lessons, fought to stand on her own two feet.
Camilla wasn’t strong enough to risk that for the sake of ten thousand dollars’ worth of extortion. Failure tasted like burnt coffee, bitter, horrible. She turned around and walked away, feeling Frankie’s gaze on her back the whole time.
She wasn’t strong enough to fight. Her choices were to either come up with the money or lose her business, whether or not Frankie took it from her. The Sweetest Thing wouldn’t survive a smear campaign—and Camilla wasn’t sure she would, either.
By the time Friday evening rolled around again, Marlon felt like he was balancing on a razor’s edge. All week, early mornings had been full of anticipation: He’d either walk into the kitchen and see Camilla sipping her coffee at the table or feel the tiny pang of disappointment if he found the room empty. When he was the first one awake, he’d wait to hear the first creak of the floorboards upstairs and make sure the coffee in the pot was fresh.
Days had been spent working and wondering if Camilla needed anything at the bakery, then lambasting himself for acting like a schoolboy with a crush on the pretty girl in his class.
Evenings, though, were precious. They cooked together, watched TV together, exchanged anecdotes about their days. Camilla would bring him baked treats from her shop, small offerings that made his heart feel full.
He admired her skill every time he bit into one of her creations. She’d explain the tweaks she’d made to the recipe and the flavor combinations she’d chosen. She’d smile whenever he made noises of appreciation, like he was the one who’d just given her a gift and not the other way around.
After their interlude in the kitchen, it was almost torture to go through the week like that. He craved her like a man dying of thirst who needed just a mouthful of water to survive. He listened for the telltale buzz coming from her room in the evenings and mornings and couldn’t resist the temptation to join her in ecstasy every time.
His house became a temple of hunger. Desire hung heavy in the air as they circled each other, exchanging brief, casual touches and lingering glances. One evening, she fell asleep with her feet in his lap and Marlon felt like he’d won the lottery.
That Friday evening, there was a strange light in her eyes, but she just shook her head when he asked her if anything was going on. He wondered if something had happened, or if she just needed some time off. He wished he had the right to ask. The right to fix it. But she said a soft goodnight and didn’t look him in the eyes when she left the room to go to bed.
On Saturday morning, he woke early and started the coffee machine. He prepped their supplies for the final coat of paint in the living room, poking his head out when he heard her footsteps on the stairs.
She was sleep-mussed and beautiful, wrapped in a plaid flannel bathrobe, and all of a sudden Marlon realized he was falling in love. The thought was a quiet certainty in his mind, and he didn’t have time to react to it.
Camilla had blown into his world like a cool breeze on a summer’s day, showing him all the ways she could make his life better. He never wanted to let her go.
“Morning,” she said with a smile. “I can’t believe I slept so late.”
He checked his watch. “It’s not even seven o’clock.”
She grinned, but it looked a little forced around the edges. “Feels late when you’re already hard at work in here. Let me get some coffee and we’ll go through the plan for the day.”
A few minutes later, she stood beside him, both hands curled around her polka-dot mug. She glanced around the room, took a deep breath, and some of the tension left her body. “What do you think of the color?”
Marlon glanced around the walls in the beige-adjacent color Camilla had agonized over. It was a little patchy and definitely needed another coat. “Looks good.”
She laughed, swatting his arm. “At least try to sound like you mean it.”
It was impossible not to grin at her. The weather outside was cold and blustery, with a few intrepid snowflakes swirling through the air, but she made him feel like he stood in a shaft of sunshine when she looked at him with that smile on her face.
“I brought one of the company vans home so we can go pick up the couch today,” Marlon said after clearing the gravel from his throat. “Store opens in a couple of hours, so I figured we’d get the final coat on the walls, then go shopping.”
“A man after mine own heart,” she sighed, bumping shoulders with him.
If only she knew.
Marlon turned to grab his own cup of coffee off the floor where he’d left it. He took a long drink, then got to work. Each swipe of the paint roller felt like scraping off a calcified layer from his heart. As they transformed the room, Marlon finally felt like he was facing the grief of his grandparents’ deaths.
Their final months had been so, so hard. He’d watched their health fail and been powerless to do anything about it. Was it any wonder he’d isolated himself after they’d passed?
“My grandmother used to sit here in the evenings,” he said as he loaded the roller up with more paint. “She’d read by the window and hated being disturbed.”
“An introvert,” Camilla said, then gave him a playful glance. “Like her grandson.”
Marlon snorted. “Suppose so.”
“I never knew my grandparents. On my dad’s side, they died before I was born. And on my mom’s side, there was some drama that happened when my parents got married, and the rift was never healed. I only met them twice.”
“Families are messy.”
Camilla huffed a laugh. “You can say that again.”
“My grandfather started showing signs of dementia around the time my grandmother got sick,” he heard himself say. “She had cervical cancer, but by the time they found it, it had spread.”
What was it about painting this room that made them want to share with each other? Marlon couldn’t explain it, but he felt comfortable speaking about his past for the first time in his life.
Camilla paused with her paintbrush suspended near the wall. In his peripheral vision, Marlon saw her glance his way. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “I was young. Grandpa had limited mobility and Grandma helped him with everything, but her health declined so fast it was hard to adjust. My grandfather got more and more confused and agitated when their routines got disrupted. We couldn’t afford a carer, so I started picking up the slack. Leo was just a kid, my little brother. I tried to make life as normal as I could for him, but…I don’t know if I succeeded.”
The only sound that filled the silence that followed was the roller on the wall and the soft swishing of Camilla’s paintbrush. Finally, she said, “That’s a lot for a teenager to take on.”
“Grandma was gone within a year. After that, Grandpa seemed to just give up. He died four months later.”
Camilla made a soft sound.
“When it was all over—when they were gone and Leo was away at college—I just… I won’t say I shut down, but I pulled away from people.” His throat was thick as he swallowed, gaze focusing on the task of rolling paint on the wall. “Feels good to be doing this now, is what I’m saying. Breathe some new life into the house.”
“A fresh start,” Camilla added.
“Exactly.”
“I’m in need of one of those of my own,” she admitted quietly with a weak smile.
They finished the final coat of paint and got changed out of their work clothes, then they left to go shopping. Before Marlon started driving, he reached over and grabbed Camilla’s hand. “Thank you,” he told her, voice rough.
Her answering smile was soft, and Marlon felt like no one had ever understood him better in the entirety of his lonely life.
For a few precious hours, Camilla was able to push all her worries out of her mind and focus on fabrics, couches, lamps, and decor items. They went to four different stores including two antique stores so packed full of stuff that Marlon couldn’t go two steps without accidentally bumping into something.
When they got home, he’d spent an eye-watering amount of money on items she’d chosen, and he’d done it without blinking an eye. Camilla tried not to think about how easy it would be for him to pay ten thousand dollars to avoid public disgrace.
But she wouldn’t let her thoughts drift in that direction. She wouldn’t trade one man’s debt for another in the first place, and she was determined to fix this mess on her own.
This weekend would be a Frankie Smith-free time. Her weekend was her own. She wouldn’t worry about the money she owed. She’d just enjoy the company of the gruff, complicated man who had opened his heart and his home to her.
They were in the middle of rolling out a new rug in the waning afternoon light when the doorbell rang. Half a second later, the front door opened.
“Hello, hello!”
Camilla sat on her haunches and glanced at Marlon, who had turned toward the door. Leo and Amelia appeared in the living room entrance, arms around each other, wide smiles gracing their sun-kissed faces.
“Amelia!” Camilla jumped up and went to embrace her friend. “How was the honeymoon?”
“So great. Turks and Caicos is gorgeous .”
“Lucy showed us a picture of your room, and you had your computer out with work on the screen,” Camilla accused with mock seriousness.
Leo laughed, leaning over to kiss Amelia’s temple. “She can’t help herself.”
“The business isn’t going to run itself,” Amelia protested, then swept a hand at the room. “How are things here? Are you renovating?”
“Camilla objected to my living room decor,” Marlon explained.
“Excuse me,” Camilla shot back. “Is it really that bad that I didn’t want to sit on a sex couch?”
“I don’t even know whose thong that was, Camilla.”
“You keep saying that like it makes it better!” Camilla laughed.
“For all I know, the thong came with the couch.”
She was giggling now, shaking her head at him. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I get that a lot.”
“Maybe I should stuff my thongs in your furniture to mark my territory.”
Marlon’s eyes darkened. “I wouldn’t stop you, sweetheart.”
“So, um,” Amelia interjected. “What’s… What’s going on here?”
Camilla snapped back to herself in time to see an expression of absolute glee on Amelia’s face. Leo was less amused, frowning at his brother with an unreadable look in his eyes.
Striving for nonchalance, Camilla brushed her hands over her thighs and shrugged. “I found a thong in Marlon’s couch, and now we’re renovating the living room.”
“Logical,” Amelia said, lips trembling with a barely suppressed smile.
“Come to the kitchen,” Camilla said, sweeping past them to hide the redness creeping up her cheeks. “I want to hear all about your honeymoon. We’ll have coffee and cake.”
When the four of them gathered in the kitchen, Marlon leaned against the kitchen counter next to where Camilla prepped the coffee and baked goods, his arms crossed. Leo sat at the table, his arm around Amelia’s chair. He threw Marlon another glance, then turned to Amelia. “Why don’t you show Camilla the pictures you took of the beach and the catamaran tour?”
“We went on a sunset tour,” Amelia explained as she pulled out her phone. “It was beautiful. The pictures really don’t do it justice.”
As the coffee machine gurgled, Camilla sat beside her friend and listened to her talk about her honeymoon. Leo kept his hand on the back of Amelia’s chair, his fingers toying with the end of Amelia’s blond ponytail. They’d only met recently and got married within six months of knowing each other, and they were obviously madly in love.
A dull ache pulsed through Camilla’s chest, and she was ashamed for it. She watched the way Leo made sure Amelia had what she needed for her coffee, how he gave her the best piece of cake before serving himself. She listened to them talk about the things they’d done together on their honeymoon and how they planned to move out of Amelia’s apartment and buy a house of their own once her lease was up.
They were building a life together, where every piece was interconnected and supported. They had true companionship. Their relationship had blossomed into something incredibly beautiful.
Camilla had never had that. She’d felt apart from her family’s ambitions and status-seeking all her life. She’d never had a relationship where her partner truly supported her. She was feeling the shadow of her debt darken her world more and more with every passing day.
She felt alone.
For many years, Camilla’s independence had been a source of pride. She’d managed to move out and make it without the financial support of her disapproving parents. She’d survived that first bad relationship and built herself back up again. She’d created her bakery with nothing but her own efforts, and now it was a bustling, popular destination for locals and tourists alike. There had been hurdle after hurdle after hurdle, and she’d cleared them all.
Now, her independence felt like a burden instead of a gift. When would she get the best piece of cake for herself, instead of always offering it to someone else?
Marlon pulled out the chair beside hers and took a seat, placing a cup of coffee in front of her. She smiled in thanks, touching the rim of her polka-dot cup.
Maybe she wasn’t so alone after all. At least for the moment.
“Apparently our new neighbors found a secret cubby hole in their wall. There was a twenty-four-carat gold chain stuck between two floorboards.” Amelia shook her head. “Crazy, huh?”
Amelia’s elderly neighbor had gone on the run five months earlier, when the thievery ring she was part of had been discovered and broken apart.
“Have they found her? Your neighbor?” Camilla asked, grabbing her mug. It warmed her hands, and she thought it wasn’t only due to the heat.
Marlon put his arm on the back of her chair, a movement which Amelia followed with a razor-sharp gleam in her eyes. She glanced at Camilla, then cleared her expression and said, “No. She and her grandson—although we don’t know if he really was her grandson—were never caught.”
“I can’t believe this was happening in Stirling, of all places. This is supposed to be the wedding capital of America, not grand larceny central.” Camilla settled back in her chair and took a sip, the warmth of Marlon’s arm comfortable against her shoulder blades.
“You’d be surprised what goes on,” Marlon said. “We see all kinds of things in my line of work. This week, I installed a security system for a guy that had shady written all over him.”
“And you still took the job?” Camilla glanced at him, frowning.
Marlon shrugged. “His business was registered. He paid us the full supply and installation fee. There was no reason to refuse. It was just the vibe I got. I’ve met a lot of people, doing what I do.”
Camilla shivered. She thought of Frankie Smith, of the men who acted as his enforcers. Stirling wasn’t the quiet, sleepy town it appeared to be on the surface. After leaving his shop on Friday, she’d had to park her car in a church parking lot and do some deep breathing for ten minutes afterward, and Marlon had still been able to tell that something was bothering her when she got home that evening.
So no, Stirling wasn’t as pristine as it looked on the surface. Camilla just hoped she’d be done with its underbelly when her debt was cleared.