Chapter 11 #2
Their voices turn into a background drone. Campbell breezes through the entrance, flicking her long, loose hair over her shoulder. She shoves her sunglasses to the top of her head. The way she’s dressed makes my mouth dry.
It’s warmer out today than it has been. A baby-blue tank top with spaghetti straps hits the top of her jeans, teasing me with a strip of bare flesh across her abdomen. Her hips roll as she walks and she waves when Elodie spots her.
Goddamn, it’s like a ray of sunshine barged right into the little bakery.
I miss what the guys are saying, but Cruz is staring at me. His eyes dance and the grin is a warning. Fuck.
He licks all his frosting off the top of the cupcake with one stroke, that infuriating grin still in place.
Campbell sees us and her smile widens. “A meeting of the Foster House minds.”
“We have a sweet tooth,” Cruz says, smacking his lips, “and a craving that can only be fulfilled by sugar or spirits. For most of us.” His mischievous attention is still on me.
She folds her arms, a smile dancing across her pretty lips. “That would make a really good tagline for— I don’t know for what.”
“Got any ideas?” Cruz asks me.
I shoot him a scowl. “Potato chips.”
He snorts and the rest of the guys chuckle, hopefully oblivious to Cruz giving me a hard time.
She stuffs a thumb over her shoulder. “I have to pick up an order for the ranch tomorrow, but I hear Elodie’s going to be featuring some Foster House items?”
Lane nods. “Soon there’ll be whiskey frosting, cupcakes filled with gin custard, and a vodka glaze for sweet breads. We’re collaborating for the street fair in Billings next month too.”
“If we need a kickoff event,” I say, “we’ll let you know.” I’ll make sure of it. I know she threw out the idea of a special product for the Rafting and Tasting event just for me.
Her gaze warms and a blush stains her cheeks. “I’d appreciate it.”
“Yeah, actually.” Lane folds his hands together. “That’s a good idea. A launch event. When you and Elodie are both free, give us a call.”
The delight playing across Campbell’s face makes my whole damn day. “You really mean that?” she asks.
“As long as Elodie’s on board.” Lane glances at all of us. Cruz and Haven nod.
“I’m game,” Iverson says. “We’re supposed to be the fun and creative outlet for Foster House, so let’s do it.”
“Absolutely,” I say.
Campbell’s smile widens. “I’ll talk to Elodie and get back to you.”
I force myself to keep my gaze on the countertop when she walks away and not on the sway of her hips. Out of the corner of my eye, Cruz smirks and shoves half the cupcake in his mouth.
I ignore him too. Fucker.
Campbell
I’m sitting at a four-top table in Foster House’s tasting room, unraveling a row of crochet stitches on my dishcloth.
It’s supposed to be a half double crochet stitch and not a double crochet, but I got too distracted by Edna’s conversation with her longtime friends and the dirty jokes they’re telling.
Edna cruises through each of her rows, barely glancing at her square to place a stitch. “Then the young, curvy nurse came out and said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. He doesn’t have swan tattooed on his penis. It says Saskatchewan!’ ”
The older ladies guffaw, and the one adult grandson present turns beet red, concentrating hard on his blanket. I frown for a moment and exchange a glance with an equally flummoxed Clem.
“Edna,” Haven says from behind the bar. “You’re going to traumatize me. Each one of you.”
Elodie covers her mouth and giggles. When she notices my and Clem’s confusion, her face turns scarlet and she intently focuses on the square she’s making.
Finally, the punch line dawns on me. Mostly because Edna’s talking about how her daughter heard that joke way too young, and then when she learned about puberty and erections, she shouted, “Oh, I get it! Saskatchewan!”
The ladies roar and I start to snicker.
“I can’t believe it took me that long,” Clem says. She’s not making a blanket or dishcloth like me. She brought a crochet kit and is working on an elephant’s leg. She peeks around. “Can I confess that my Friday nights are not as wild as this Monday evening?”
“Wild Friday nights are overrated.” Elodie says it in such a sage way that Clem and I wait for more.
When she doesn’t continue, I shrug. “I have to agree. My last rowdy Friday night, I got drunk and made a fool out of myself. I almost put myself in a dangerous situation too with some of Bryce’s seasonal workers.”
“That is not your fault,” Elodie says, her tone heated. “It’s those guys’ fault. I bet they thought they could take advantage of you. The fact is, drunk girls should be safe from all that and not blamed.”
Clem’s dark brows rise. Mine are probably just as high. “Totally agree,” I say, “but it scares me to think that I was too tipsy to read a lot of the signs. I think they thought they were helping protect me from Durban at first.”
Clem stalls, her mouth forming a troubled line. “Durban’s the kind of guy people cross the street toward.”
Ain’t that the truth. “Yeah, but that’s because they want to be the ones to jump him.”
There’s no response. I look up.
Elodie’s biting her lip.
Clem screws her face up. “I feel like it’s wrong of me to agree with that, him being my boss and all.”
“I’m off the market,” Elodie says. “So I plead the Fifth.”
“I didn’t realize you were seeing someone.” In school, she was always a quiet girl, but since she moved home, she’s been so private that it can be hard to converse with her.
“I’m not.” She leaves it at that.
Durban enters the room from the distillery. His dark gaze sweeps over the small crowd, touching on Edna’s impressive, colorful stack of skeins, to the table full of goodies that Elodie brought, and finally to us. His gaze warms when it lands on me and we share a secret smile.
From the amused look that Clem and Elodie exchange, maybe it’s not so secret.
I almost regret not wearing a dress, but there’s no wedding plans today. Just me patiently waiting for Durban to help me unwind. I threw on a loose pink blouse and some gray linen pants, but the heat in his eyes makes me feel like I’m wearing the lacy underwear he spared the other day.
Haven tosses him a rag and comes out from around the bar. “You ladies have a good evening.”
“Hot date?” Glory, one of Edna’s friends, asks.
“I just had it with all of you.” He executes a bow that looks elegant despite his jeans, cowboy boots, and plain black shirt.
A chorus of awws and laughter rings out.
“Take a few cookies,” Edna says.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Haven grabs a few and leaves.
We continue to crochet and chat. Durban keeps us filled on water and mocktails. We each had a drink when we first arrived and then switched to nonalcoholic stuff. One by one, the women take off.
Elodie, Clem, and I are gathering bags of yarn to haul out for Edna when Durban swoops in and lifts almost all of them in one hand.
“Oh, say.” Edna sighs wistfully. “There was a time I could do that.”
“Gotta let the rest of us shine once in a while.” He follows her out. Elodie’s the only one who snagged a bag, so she trails after him. If I walk out that door, my night is over and it’s only early evening.
“I can stay and help clean up.” Clem scoots chairs in.
“It’s your day off. Go home. I can do it.”
She hesitates. “I would feel guilty, but I think there’s something else you want to take care of.” Her gaze strays out the window, where Durban’s very fine ass is on display as he loads the back of Edna’s car.
“We’re colleagues.” If colleagues spread themselves out on the other’s desk.
“It’s best I stay out of my boss’s business.” She hitches her tote bag full of yarn and hooks it over her shoulder. “Even though I want to know it all.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” There’s so much to tell, but I have to keep it all to myself.
I’m glad I’ve reconnected with the Palmer sisters since I’ve returned home.
When I lost my job, my fiancé, and my best friend, I also got dropped by a ton of other friends.
There weren’t enough threads connecting us to survive the severing of the other parts of my life.
Clementine and Elodie are two more reasons why I want to make it work at home. But I don’t quite trust them with the agreement between me and Durban. My job and reputation are on the line. So are his.
Or I just want a reason to keep us a secret, to have fewer people giving him their opinions about me, like all of Stanford’s friends and family did for him.
Durban enters and our gazes connect. Aware of Clem’s observations, I look away.
“Thanks for cutting me loose,” Clem says like she doesn’t notice. “See you next month, Campbell?”
I nod. “I think Edna’s down to make this a thing.”
Durban grabs some empty glasses. “I believe her words were ‘You could’ve rolled me in honey and tossed me into a hornet’s nest and I’d have still had a good time.’ ”
Clem’s grin is fond. “Nothing scares that woman except for taxes and sitting still. Have a good night.”
When she leaves, Durban doesn’t move. “You don’t have to help clean up.”
“No, it’s . . .” Oh. Doesn’t he want me here? He did say that our arrangement is just that. He’s helping me de-stress and get silent, orgasmic revenge on Stanford and January. His interest in me doesn’t go beyond that. “Okay. Sure. Thanks again.”
“Do you want to stay?”
“I’ve got other things to do.”
“We all do. But you already put in the time and effort to set this up. You don’t have to keep working.” He tugs out a chair with the toe of his boot. “Sit.”
Since I don’t want to go home and hear my parents chat about wedding logistics and the ranch operations—if they’re even home—I do as he says.
“What do you want to drink? Another limeade?”
The tasting room serves vodka mojitos, but I almost prefer the mock version. I get in less trouble that way. “I’ve had a lot of sugar. I need something more solid.”
“Like a good steak?” he asks as he rounds the counter with an armload of glasses.
My stomach rumbles. Elodie’s baked goods are to die for, and the load of bread I bought from her is on my passenger seat, but a well-seasoned steak would hit the spot. “I could grill one when I get home, but Daddy hates it when someone else uses his grill.”
“I’ll cook you one.” He pauses while filling the drawer dishwasher like he can’t believe he offered.
I can’t either. “That’s not necessary.”
“You got other plans?”
“Avoiding anything related to the wedding.”
He smirks. “Let me finish this, and you can follow me to my place.”
“Your place?” I ask, feigning ignorance to hide my racing heart. “You live around here?”
Humor fills his eyes. “It comes in handy when I bring drunk girls home.”
“Mm. It’s a rampant problem.”
He shoves the door closed. “It’s only happened once, but she was polite enough not to vomit at my house.”
I wince and he starts chuckling. An evening that should’ve been my most humiliating, and we’re laughing about it. I’m not proud of myself, but looking back, I can’t think of a better way it could’ve turned out.