Chapter 8 #2
Lifting my hand, I give my knuckles a firm rap against the door.
Instantly, I realize he’s not going to hear me, not with the grinder going.
Taking a deep breath, I reach for the knob and give it a turn.
It moves, letting me know it’s not locked.
Hesitantly, I peek inside the garage, my eyes scanning to see where Camden is working.
Before I have an opportunity to politely make our appearance known, Theo pushes open the door and hollers, “Cam! I here!”
Cam is sitting on a stool, grinding on a fender of an old truck.
I’m not sure when he got this thing in here, because this truck wasn’t here last night, and I didn’t see or hear it being brought in after work.
He spins around and turns off the grinder, his eyes colliding with mine in a wave of fresh emotion that is both haunting and freeing.
As if he needs to look away fast, he turns his attention to Theo. “Hey, buddy.” He spins on his stool and sets the grinder on the concrete.
Theo starts to run toward him but stops himself only a few steps away from the door. He points at the container in my hand, silently asking permission to take the cookies.
Handing it over, I remind him, “Be careful so you don’t break them.”
He nods and makes a beeline straight to where Camden is sitting. “Cookies for you,” he states, holding out the container.
“For me? You made me cookies?”
Theo nods insistently, a big grin on his little face.
I shut the door behind me, keeping the cold out of the garage, and lean against the door. I don’t want to push myself into his space, despite just showing up unannounced. My goal is just to drop by quickly and leave him to his Friday night.
Camden opens the lid and seems to just stare at the contents. He clears his throat and asks, “You made me M&M cookies?” He keeps his attention on Theo, but I know the question is for me.
Theo nods. “Yep! Mommy helpdid.”
He gives my son a very soft smile, one you almost don’t even see, but I catch it. “Thank you, Theo. These are my favorite.” His words are thick, and it causes the same thickness to clog my own throat.
“Mine too,” he says.
“Have you had one yet?” Camden asks, reaching into the container and pulling out a cookie. He breaks it in half, and the moment Theo shakes his head, he hands him half. Then suddenly, as if he realizes what he’s doing, he looks up at me in both question and apology.
I nod approval.
“All right, Theo, let’s try these cookies out, shall we?” He sets the container down on the concrete, the two halves of the treat sitting on top. “We need to take these gloves off.”
“Umm, maybe his coat too,” I add, taking a step forward to help, but between the two of them, they manage just fine.
“You’re a messy Cookie Monster, huh?” Camden asks, the corner of his mouth turned up.
“Nummmmmm!” Theo bellows in a growl like a monster, making us laugh.
“Me too, little dude. I love eating the cookie.”
There’s something so…dark, so naughty about his statement. Instantly, my body reacts, as if recalling things—very dirty things—Camden would do to my body back when we were young, dumb, and thought we had forever.
“Here,” he says, offering half the cookie.
Theo takes a bite and smiles. “Theo, what do you say?”
“Tank you!” His expression is one of pure joy, and it makes my heart happy. Anytime he smiles, it feels like all that’s wrong in this world is suddenly right, even if only for the briefest of moments.
My eyes move from my son to the man sitting in front of him and clash with the most hypnotic blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re more intense than my own, like the ocean waters off a luxurious resort. Picture perfect in every way.
After he finishes his half of the cookie, he clears his throat and stands, gently lifting my son up and placing him on the stool. “Have a seat and enjoy your cookie.”
My throat is like sandpaper as he heads my way. I want to look away, but I can’t. I’m trapped by his gaze, locked in the memories swimming in the depths.
He leans his lower back against the counter beside where I’m standing. His eyes remain forward on my son. “Thank you.”
“Umm, that’s my line,” I mutter, unable to stop my grin.
“I appreciate the cookies.” After a pause he adds, “They’re my favorite.”
“I remember,” I whisper, noticing the chocolate smeared on my son’s face but not caring in the least. “Well, I had hoped they were still your favorite,” I confess.
He finally meets my eyes, and after a beat, he confirms, “They are.”
Needing to find a buffer between us, and since our usual buffer is finishing off his cookie, I ask, “What’s this?” I wave my hand toward the old truck.
He grins. “This, Shortcake, is a 1967 Chevy C10 with a 327 V8 engine and a 2-speed Powerglide transmission.”
I look over the old truck that looks more like a barn find than anything else. “I like the patina look.” He seems surprised by my comment, which makes me chuckle. “What? You think I didn’t pay attention all those times you talked cars?”
He grins one of his easy, carefree smiles. “Anyway, it’s got no air, no radio, and no power steering, which makes her a bitch to turn, but I love it.”
I nod, taking in the truck once more. “I love the color.”
“Me too, actually, and I think I want to have it painted with the patina. There’s a guy outside of Chicago who’s one of the best painters in the industry, and he’s interested. The problem is he’s booked out a year.”
“But that gives you time to get everything else just the way you want it.”
He flashes a quick grin. “Exactly.”
“Done!”
I turn my attention to my son, who is wearing part of his cookie on his face. “You need a bath.”
“More cookie.”
“We’ll have a little more when we get home. We need to let Camden get back to work.”
He turns to Camden. “No work.”
Camden laughs and walks toward him, helping him off the stool. “Sorry, little dude, but I gotta keep going. When you love what you do, it’s not really work. It’s fun.”
“I wike fun. You go swedding too?”
He looks at me, his eyebrow raised. “We’re going to play in the snow tomorrow,” I answer. “We’re going sledding, right, Theo?”
“Yep! Swedding!”
“Sledding’s the best,” Camden confirms.
“You come too,” my son states, reaching for Camden’s hand.
Stepping forward, I give Camden the out he needs. “I’m sure Camden is working tomorrow, Theo. Come on, it’s time for your bath.”
“More cookie.”
“You can have half a cookie, since you already had half with Camden,” I tell him, extending my hand for him to take.
I can tell he doesn’t want to. He wants to stay with Camden, and I really hope he doesn’t make a scene.
I don’t want to carry him out of here, kicking and screaming, but I will if need to.
“Thanks for the cookies, Theo.”
“Welcome,” he replies, running back over to him and giving him a hug around his leg. “Bye-bye, Cam.”
“Later, little dude.”
I replace his coat and gloves quickly and lead him toward the side door. Just as I reach for the knob, I hear, “Thank you, Shortcake.”
I don’t turn around because I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep the sadness out of my expression.
I’m overcome with it suddenly, again hearing the nickname he used to call me and the gentleness in the way he said it is too much.
I almost want to go back to when he barely spoke to me, and when he did, those words were hard and filled with hate, because at least then I knew where I stood.
This kindness he’s suddenly offering worms its way through the cracks and crevasses of my heart and invokes ideas I have no business thinking about.
He’s just being appreciative and nice because of my thank-you gift.
The sooner my heart catches up with my head the better off I’ll be.
Until then, I need to stay away from Camden. Now that the cookies are delivered, there’s no reason for me to come over here, no reason for us to communicate other than the occasional neighborly wave in greeting.
Stay away.
That’s the goal.
Should be pretty easy, honestly.
I’ve managed to do just that for the last seven years.