Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
C am stared at the prepackaged meals stacked in the deli refrigerator at Ribbon Ridge’s sole grocery store. It was a perfectly fine store, albeit small, but didn’t offer much in the way of variety for a single guy who didn’t cook. If it couldn’t be prepared in three steps or less, Cam didn’t make it.
So what was it going to be tonight—pulled pork or pasta with meatballs? He glanced at the items already in his handheld basket: paper towels, cereal, a half gallon of milk, and a bottle of microbrew. Beer went better with the pork. “Winner, winner, pork dinner!” he said as he grabbed it from the reefer.
“Are you talking to that?”
He swung his head around at the familiar sound of Brooke’s voice. Her hair was pulled up, and she wore cropped jeans and a fitted T-shirt. She looked casual and comfortable and heart-stoppingly sexy.
Cam took a minute to put his thoughts into coherent speech. “Uh, yeah. I always talk to my food. Don’t you?”
“I try not to, actually.” She held her hand up to the side of her head and twirled her finger. “People might think I’m crazy .” She whispered the last word, and he laughed.
He glanced at her basket, which was full of veggies. “Look at you being all healthy.”
“Sometimes a girl’s just gotta have a big salad.”
His stomach grumbled. Damn, that sounded good. “Boys too. But that’s a lot of work.”
She flicked a look toward her basket before tipping her head to the side. “What, chopping vegetables? That’s not a lot of work.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Now she laughed. “Then you either have the wrong knife or you’re lazy.”
“Both, probably.” He smiled, glad she’d approached him. It would’ve been easy for her to simply avoid him and any awkwardness. But this didn’t feel awkward. It felt…good.
“Well, I can’t help you with lazy, but the right knife is actually super important. You can cut much more efficiently if you have a good blade. I can’t believe a bachelor like you doesn’t have good knives. That’s pretty much the only thing you can count on a guy to have, right? And maybe a grill or a smoker.”
He shook his head. “I don’t have any of those. Didn’t I tell you that I don’t cook?”
“Maybe? But you’re serious, you don’t cook, like, at all?”
“Nope, much to my mother’s chagrin. My brothers are much better at it. Dylan is actually pretty good, or has gotten that way anyway. He designed himself a badass gourmet kitchen, and then he went and got married. All that domesticity breeds cookery, I guess.” He shuddered but smiled playfully.
“Ah yes, domesticity. The arch nemesis of a confirmed bachelor like yourself. I’m tempted to invite you over to demonstrate how a good knife can change your life.”
Tempted… He was tempted to do far more than that, but he reined himself in. They had a pact. Or an agreement. Or an assumption. Whatever. They weren’t supposed to repeat what they’d done the other night, and if he went to her loft for salad making, he was pretty sure it would lead to lovemaking.
At least on his part. Maybe she really was over it.
“You could save me from prepackaged pulled pork.”
She peered into his basket. “I’ve had that, and it’s actually pretty good. Besides, you’ve already talked to it—it’ll be sad if you reject it now.”
He laughed again, loving her sense of humor. “I think it’ll survive. Or not—I’ll eat it tomorrow.”
“In that case, you can come for salad.” She looked down at her basket briefly, and he saw her lips press together. When she tilted her head back up, her gaze was determined. “Just salad.”
“Just salad.”
She watched him warily. “I’m quite skilled with that knife.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He couldn’t resist a grin. “You may not want to show me all your tricks.”
She squinted at him for a second. “I can’t tell if you’re flirting. If so, knock it off or I’ll rescind my invitation.”
He held up his hand. “You win. No flirting.”
She turned toward the checkout registers, and he followed. She seemed quite over their…whatever it had been. His chest felt suddenly hollow. Because he wasn’t over it. He’d tossed and turned at night, his thoughts consumed with her touch and her scent. He longed to feel her against him again but was afraid that would never happen. Now he was even more sure of that.
This was stupid. He was in lust with her, nothing more. Okay, there was plenty more, but screw it. They could be friends. He wanted to be friends.
She started unloading her veggies onto the conveyer belt.
“Hey, I can pay for everything,” he offered.
She tossed him a gimlet eye. “This is not a date, mister. I’ll pay for my own salad makings, thank you.”
She said it in a good-humored enough voice that he didn’t take offense. He still couldn’t help wishing it was a date. God, he wanted to date her.
Yes.
Maybe he could convince her to give it a try…
She cleared her throat loudly.
He looked down at the belt and saw that she’d put out a divider so he could unload his groceries. “Thanks.” He transferred everything from his basket and set it under the check stand.
“Hi, Cam!” Marcia, the checkout clerk smiled at him. “What’s for dinner tonight?” She looked at Cam’s groceries on the belt as she scanned Brooke’s items. “Pork again? You just had that a few nights ago.”
He shook his head and gave her a wry, friendly smile. “Good to know you’re cataloguing my meals.”
She pursed her lips. “Someone has to. Your mother likes to know what you’re eating.” Marcia played in his mom’s Bunco group, and Cam had known her for probably twenty years. “She’d also like to know that you’re eating with someone.” She looked at Brooke inquisitively.
Great, just what Cam needed: Marcia reporting to his mother that he was on a date or something. Wanting to date someone and wanting your family to know about it were two very different things. Mom would probably fall prostrate with shock if she thought he was dating—right before she harangued him for every detail. That her stepson was married and a father and none of her own sons were remotely close to that drove her nuts. Cam rushed to quell any misunderstanding. “Uh, we’re neighbors, and we work together. We’re not eating together.” He inwardly flinched and thought about how to cushion that lie as soon as he and Brooke left.
Marcia frowned and then sighed. “Well, that’s too bad. You’d make a cute couple.” She winked at Brooke. “That’s twenty-eight thirty-three. Brooke, right?”
Brooke nodded. “Thanks.” She swiped her debit card and completed her transaction. Then she turned to Cam with a cool stare and said, “Nice seeing you. Bye.”
Disappointment coursed through him as he watched her leave. He shouldn’t be disappointed—or surprised, since he’d said they weren’t eating together. She couldn’t know he’d only said that for Marcia’s benefit.
Marcia made more small talk as she scanned his items slowly . He tried not to be visibly antsy but had already swiped his card and entered his PIN long before she’d finished. At long last, she was done. He bid her a hasty good-night and left the store at a fast pace. He looked down the street and saw that Brooke was already across the street at the corner a block down.
He dashed out into the street without looking and stopped short at the sound of a horn blaring. The car hadn’t come close to hitting him, but the driver held up his hands and clearly mouthed, What the hell?
Cam waved at him and mouthed, “Sorry!” before continuing across. He looked toward the corner and saw Brooke was waiting for him, her head cocked to the side. When he reached her, he saw that her expression was one of concern but also mild annoyance.
“Nice move,” she said. “You have a death wish?”
“Definitely not. I was trying to catch up with you.”
She arched a brow before pivoting and walking around the corner. “At your own peril.”
He caught up to her. “Evidently. Hey, I didn’t mean what I said back there. We are eating together—if you still want to.”
Brooke didn’t slow her pace. “Why’d you lie to Marcia?”
“She plays Bunco with my mom. She’s already going to tell her that she saw me with you at the store, and my mom will get a zillion ideas.” He rolled his eyes, wondering when their next Bunco night was so that he could avoid his mom’s inevitable phone call.
“What sort of ideas?”
“That we’re dating or whatever.”
Brooke cast him a narrow-eyed look. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know what ‘whatever’ is.”
What did she mean? “I just meant that she’ll draw her own conclusions.”
“Oh, I know what you mean. Given your history, I can only imagine what those conclusions might be.”
Shit, this was not going well. And they’d had such a great conversation at the store. He snagged her elbow and drew her to a stop as they reached the corner across from the entrance to her building. “Wait. Let me explain. My mom is desperate for grandchildren. My stepbrother just had a kid a few months ago, but their relationship is a bit strained, and she’d like a grandchild of her own blood—her words, not mine.”
Brooke looked past him and started to cross the street. “That’s too bad.” She sounded terse and cool.
He realized he hadn’t painted the best picture of his mother, and she wasn’t a bad person. “My mom’s a bit high-strung, I guess. She loves Emma—Dylan’s daughter—really.”
“I would hope so. She should feel blessed to have a grandchild at all.”
“Yes.” Cam followed her onto the curb outside the entrance to her building. “So, dinner?”
Brooke turned to look at him. “I think it’s best if we skip it. I’ll e-mail you a link to a knife you should buy. Really, it will make a huge difference.”
He longed to touch her, to soothe the creases in her forehead. He wondered if there was more to this than his idiot behavior. “I will. And hey, I’m sorry if I upset you. My family can be meddlesome, and I didn’t want them to get the wrong idea.”
“Absolutely. I don’t want them—or you—to get the wrong idea either. We’re coworkers. Friends. That’s it. We’ll have dinner another time.” She gave him a warm smile, but he had the sense it wasn’t completely genuine. “Enjoy your pork.” She turned and went into her building, leaving him to stare after her.
Why did he feel like he’d just royally screwed up?
By the time Brooke walked into her loft, her pulse was hammering a staccato rhythm. She’d kept herself together in front of Cam, but hearing about his mother had summoned those terrible feelings of inadequacy, of being…broken.
She set her purse and the bag of groceries on the kitchen island and walked into the living room. Any thoughts of dinner had fled during their conversation as she stared out the bank of windows toward his townhouse. She clenched her fists, angry with herself for her debilitating reaction. Why did this seem to be so prevalent lately?
Because she had a man in her life, something she’d strove to avoid since her divorce. Whether she wanted him there or not, Cameron Westcott was in her life. She liked him. She was attracted to him. She looked forward to being with him.
But there was no future for them. Not when he talked of a family who was champing at the bit for him to provide grandchildren.
Still…could there be a right now? Could she find a way to be with him in the present? A way that would allow them to enjoy what they had for a while and split ways amicably so they could continue their working relationship.
Sure, right after monkeys flew out of her butt.
She retraced her steps to the kitchen and fished her phone from her purse. She dialed Rhonda and waited anxiously for her sister to pick up.
“Yo, sissy!” Rhonda answered in a goofy voice she often used.
“I need help. Tell me how to make this work with Cameron.”
“Whoa, you sound stressed. Let’s just take a deep breath.” Rhonda breathed deeply on the other end of the phone, and Brooke inhaled with her. “How to make what work?”
Brooke had told her about hooking up with Cameron in the bathroom, but had insisted it was a one-time thing and that she was okay with that. “A…relationship. A casual one,” she quickly amended.
“Did you have sex again?”
“No.”
“Then what’s got you so wound up?”
“I ran into him at the grocery store, and we ended up talking about his family. Apparently, his mom is dying for grandkids.”
Rhonda sighed. “And that sent you over the edge. Sis, you might need to find a therapist up there.”
“I don’t need a therapist. This is only bothering me because of Cameron. He’s the first guy I’ve met since Darren that I…like.”
“That’s true.” Rhonda made a high-pitched sound like she was sucking on her lip. “Okay, let’s figure this out. You like him. He likes you. There’s absolutely no reason to think this is a forever thing, hence any discussion about procreation isn’t necessary. There. Done. Now go get him.”
Brooke rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. She realized this was why she’d called Rhonda. Yes, she was oversimplifying things, but maybe that was what Brooke needed. She was the one making it into a Thing. “Say we get together—like date and stuff. We still work together. Remember when you thought my hooking up with him was a bad idea? What happens when one of us is ready to move on?” She didn’t voice the fear she was desperately trying to tamp down—that he would dump her long before she wanted to dump him. He didn’t do long-term, right?
“You break up like grown-ups. People actually do this. Look at my friend Kara. She and Doug broke up after four years together, and it was perfectly civilized. They even share custody of the dog.”
Brooke knew Kara and Doug and Spreckles. They had made it work. Maybe she and Cam could do this. Assuming he even wanted to. “Cam might not be interested.”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions about him—about what he wants, about his dreams for the future, and whether he wants kids. Why don’t you spend some time finding out the truth? Do that, and then you can bail if you see red flags.”
Now Brooke felt a bit foolish. “It all seems so straightforward when you say it.”
Rhonda laughed. “Because it is. You’re caught up in it though, so of course it seems complicated to you. Just take a step back tonight and see where you are tomorrow. I bet you’ll feel much more clearheaded.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Brooke exhaled, and this time she felt the stress start to dissipate. “Thanks, sis. I appreciate you talking me off the ledge. Again.”
More laughter. “That’s what I do. Okay, I need to tuck Isla in to bed. Text me tomorrow and let me know what happens!”
“Will do. Kiss Isla and Will for me.”
“Of course.” She blew a kiss into the phone. “Night!”
“Night.” Brooke ended the call and set the phone on the counter, feeling much better. She still wasn’t completely certain what to do, but she wasn’t in a panic anymore. She could do this. She was ready for the next step.
She just hoped that step didn’t send her tumbling off a cliff.