Chapter 30 Cam
30 Cam
I set the pint in front of her.
“Thanks.” She looks like she wants to add something else, but she doesn’t. I’m about to turn away when she says, “Your name’s Cam, right? Short for Cameron?”
“Canmore, actually.”
Unlike most people, she doesn’t seem even a little surprised by this.
“Is that, um, where you were born?” she asks.
“No.” I chuckle. “My parents just looked at a map of Canada for inspiration.”
“It could have been worse. You could be named… uh… Lake Superior?”
“That was their second choice,” I quip. “What’s your name? I’m sorry I don’t remember.” But she probably told me, if she knows mine.
“Noelle.”
When she says it, I have an odd sense of déjà vu.
“Where did we meet before?” I ask. “Was it here?”
“No.” She names a place where I occasionally go for bubble tea—it’s not far from my parents’ house. She’s silent for another few seconds before saying, “You used to be a journalist, right?”
“No, you must have me mixed up with someone else.”
“Ah, that’s right. I remember. Secret billionaire.”
“And you’re the heiress?” I say before I can think better of it. I sound vaguely flirty, but that wasn’t my intention.
For the first time, she smiles, and it’s brilliant.
“Yes, that’s right,” she says. “My private jet is parked down the street.”
I can’t help my burst of surprised laughter.
“What about your bodyguards?” I make a show of looking around. “I don’t see any.”
“Oh, they’re here,” she says airily. “Doing… bodyguard things. They’re skilled at performing their jobs without being seen.”
“If someone is hiding in my brewery, I’d like to know.”
“Well, I can’t tell you. Top secret.” She winks at me, but then her expression sobers and she gulps her pilsner.
Four people enter the taproom and look around uncertainly.
“Take a seat wherever you like and order at the bar,” I tell them.
They’re followed by a couple of men who have been here before. I don’t know their names, but I recognize them. I’ve been working in the taproom more than usual lately, since one of our employees quit and we haven’t been able to replace him yet.
By the time I return to Noelle, she’s two-thirds of the way through her beer. It’s hard to explain, but there’s something particularly captivating about her face. I want to keep looking at it to make sure I can remember it correctly. She lifts the pint glass to her lips and I stare at her throat for a second before snapping myself out of it.
I meet a decent number of women at my job, even if, on an average day, there are more men than women here. However, I try not to mix my work and personal life. Running a brewery might be different from, say, working in a lab—which is what I used to do—but it is my job, even if my father doesn’t always respect it.
One time, about a year ago, a woman slipped me her number when she paid the bill. We hooked up, but that’s not something that happens often, and it’s never been the other way around.
“Another Annex?” I ask Noelle.
She hesitates.
“Or the Swansea Stout?” I suggest. “It’s our latest release.”
“I’ll try that. Yes.”
“I hope it’s up to your expensive heiress tastes.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
The taproom gets busier, and she doesn’t say much more to me, other than asking for the bill. She pays with her card and doesn’t write her number for me anywhere.
It shouldn’t disappoint me, but it does.
Oh well. Business is good, and at six, I head home to do the laundry I’ve been putting off.
On Sunday afternoon, Justin and I have our once-a-month karaoke session. Darrell, Darrell’s wife, and Justin’s boyfriend all come over and squeeze into our living room. Darrell rarely sings, but he enjoys watching everyone else make fools of themselves, and once in a while, Keysha convinces him to do a song. She’s the only one who can do that.
“All right, you’re up.” Justin slaps me on the back.
“What should I do?”
He raises his eyebrows. Usually, I pick my songs myself, rather than allowing him the pleasure.
“?‘Call Me Maybe,’?” he says.
I grab the microphone.
Honestly, I was expecting worse from him. I like Carly Rae Jepsen, and I rather enjoy doing this song—even if, right now, I might prefer “The Loneliest Time”—though before it begins, he gets a disturbing gleam in his eye.
“The woman you were flirting with yesterday—did you give her your number?”
I don’t bother denying that I may have been flirting.
“Nah,” I say good-naturedly, then start singing, acutely aware of the fact that I’m the only single one in this group. Just like I was when I looked up at the stars at Darrell and Keysha’s wedding reception.
And once again, I wonder if I missed her, the woman who’s right for me.
Except this time, for some reason, I’m picturing Noelle.