Chapter 26 #2
She’s been too focused on Cameron’s arm to take more than a bite or two of her eggs and waffle. Not that I blame her. It’s a damn good arm.
She scrunches her nose. “But his other arm isn’t pretty yet.”
“You can make my other arm beautiful once you’re done eating,” Cameron compromises, a smile tugging at his lips. “Deal?”
He briefly cuts his glance to Leo, double-checking that he hasn’t overstepped, but Leo’s already back to enjoying his coffee, probably thankful someone else is negotiating with his tenacious daughter.
She nods, her blond pigtails shaking. “Deal.”
She pets his arm like it’s a fluffy animal, then releases him. Cameron makes a big show of letting his arm drop, barely missing a plate loaded with pancakes and syrup and whipped cream. She bursts into another round of giggles.
He rests the now free arm on the back of my chair, focusing his attention back on Amelia. “This place is great. I haven’t had pancakes this good in… I can’t remember how long, to be honest.”
“It’s one of our favorites,” she reveals with a wink.
He nods, a small smile crossing his lips. Accommodating someone’s dietary restriction is no big deal, and I hate that he expects it to be.
So far, he’s handled every single one of her questions with a steady confidence. He doesn’t oversell himself or try too hard. He just answers honestly and meets her protective older sister energy with respectful patience.
It’s been surprisingly… nice.
And that’s a problem. It’s making it hard for me to remember that although he introduced himself as my boyfriend, he isn’t. This is fake. A few months of pretending, of playing house, of telling myself the butterflies in my stomach are good at acting.
The truly pathetic part? The more time we spend together, the more I catch myself forgetting it’s not real.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
I don’t have the bandwidth to stress out about a fake relationship that feels a little too real and telling my sister about Crumb & Co.
While I’ve been participating in the conversation around me throughout brunch, paying extra special attention to the details of the called-off wedding, my mind keeps circling back to the idea of telling Amelia about my new space.
I could go for it. See how it goes. This could be a trial run.
It’ll give me an idea of how the rest of my family will react.
She won’t yell at me for making a dumb financial decision in public, right?
And if she tries, Cameron will go postal.
That’s not ideal, but it would save me a lecture.
I take a deep breath, willing the nervous flutter in my stomach to abate. There’s no time like the present, I suppose. Besides, if I don’t say it now, I’ll spend the rest of brunch spiraling.
Cameron drags his thumb against my skin, slow and steady, his touch calming me, draining away some of the anxiety.
I can do this. It’s just Amelia. She’s always had my back, even when we’ve butted heads. There’s no reason to think she won’t now. And Cameron’s right here.
“I signed a three-year lease on a commercial pastry kitchen to expand Crumb & Co.,” I blurt, the words running together.
The admission hangs in the air for a beat.
Leo takes a sip of his coffee, looking at Amelia, but her focus is fixed on me. She’s analyzing my words like they’re data on an excel sheet. “You what?”
I swallow past the lump in my throat and force myself to keep going before I lose my nerve.
“I tried to get a business loan first—did all the paperwork, put together a whole presentation. You’d actually be really proud.
” A nervous laugh bubbles out of me. “But the bank rejected me because of my credit score.” The admission makes my cheeks burn, but I power through.
“So Cameron invested instead and—sorry, let me clarify that I’m not fucking him in return for the investment. They’re unrelated—”
Cameron chokes on a bite of pancake, his eyes bugging out as he coughs.
I hand him his water but don’t get a thank you. Fair enough.
“What Kennedy is saying in an extremely untactful way,” he says when he can speak again, “is that I see the value in what she’s building. I think—no, I know—she’s a good bet. My business decision is unrelated to our personal relationship.”
Amelia opens her mouth and closes it again like she’s trying to find the right words, but it’s Leo who speaks up. “That’s amazing, Kennedy. Congrats. When does the lease start?”
“It started a few months ago actually,” I admit, fidgeting with my earring as heat creeps up my neck.
“A few months?” Amelia squeaks out, eyes wider than a cartoon character’s.
“I should’ve told you sooner, I just—” I nibble on my lower lip, ducking. “I didn’t want you to think I was being impulsive or reckless or that I hadn’t thought it through. I didn’t want you to think I was making a mistake.”
The silence at the table is deafening. So much so that even Hope has stopped shoveling her eggs into her mouth and is looking from one adult to the next.
“Her business plan is good. Really fu—freaking good,” Cameron says, voice even.
He for sure gets brownie points for not swearing in front of Hope.
“Not being approved for a loan through a traditional lender doesn’t mean she’s not capable of running a successful business.
She pivoted and found alternative financing, which is what entrepreneurs do. She—”
“Cameron, while it’s very sweet that you’re defending, Kennedy,” Amelia says, her words staccato, “you don’t need to.”
His face stays a hard mask. “You’re pissed, and I won’t let your feelings ruin what Ken—”
“I’m very pissed, but not for the reasons you think.
” She holds up her hand, cutting him off but focusing on me.
“I’m pissed that you signed a lease on a pastry kitchen and felt like you had to keep it a secret because you thought I’d tell you it was a mistake.
I’m pissed that I’ve watched you work your butt off in that home kitchen of yours, turning out cake after cake, building an incredible business, and yet I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me this huge, exciting news.
I made you feel like I wouldn’t be proud of you. ”
A tear crests her lashes, but she bats it away.
“I’m pissed that I haven’t ever told you what I thought you already knew. That you’re so brave. That I’m proud of you for chasing your dreams. It was always the right choice.” Her voice cracks slightly. “So yes, I’m pissed, but at myself. You? I’m nothing but amazed by you, Kenn.”
My throat burns, and tears come fast and hot, blurring my vision, making Amelia’s face swim in front of me.
She’s amazed by me.
The me who couldn’t get a bank loan. The me with the law school debt and no corner office or impressive title. The me who measures her success in dozens of cupcakes and five-star reviews from strangers on the internet.
“I was scared that I didn’t measure up,” I admit, voice small. “You and Frankie are so accomplished, and I dropped out of law school for… a pastry kitchen.”
She leans across the table and smacks me in the tit. It’s a sisterly move that I’ve done more times than I can count, but Cameron looks positively scandalized. I choke out a wet laugh at the way he looks from Amelia to my chest, his ears turning red.
“Kennedy Ariel,” Amelia snaps. “Are you seriously telling me you think that by possessing a degree, I’m somehow better than you?”
“You’re a financial detective,” I choke out.
“And you make people happy.” Her voice is fierce. “You create beautiful and delicious things and turned a passion into a business from nothing. Do you know how often I pull up your Instagram so I can brag about you?”
My breath catches.
I don’t. I really don’t.
Maybe that’s the problem. I’ve been so busy comparing myself to everyone else that I never stopped to appreciate my dreams.
A tear slips down my cheek, and I swipe at it angrily. “This wasn’t supposed to make me cry. I hate crying.”
Cameron leans over and presses a quick kiss to my hair, his lips warm. It’s a simple gesture, barely more than a brush of contact, but it’s grounding in a way I didn’t know I needed. A silent message that says I’m here without words.
“For what it’s worth, you would’ve made a terrible lawyer,” Leo teases, cutting through any remaining tension. “You’re far too combative, and who knows what kind of justice you’d enact if things didn’t go your way in court.”
I let out a watery laugh as all the weight of the secret leaves my body, and the certainty that I’d disappoint everyone who matters pops like a balloon.
“Now tell us about this kitchen.” Amelia drums her fingers on the table, her face lit up. “I want to know everything. Square footage, equipment, all of it.”
So I do. I tell them about the space, the industrial ovens, the walk-in cooler, and the perfect prep stations. Every few sentences, I catch myself downplaying or adding a disclaimer, but Amelia and Cameron pull me back, asking questions and celebrating details I thought were too small to matter.
Leo asks about my business plan, my insurance, and whether I’ve consulted a lawyer about the investment agreement with Cameron. But neither he nor Amelia questions my choices. They just want to make sure I’m protected.
“I want to see it in person,” Amelia announces when I finally finish my spiel. “And try everything.”
“Her snickerdoodle cookies are my favorite,” Cameron says with a smile that’s unusually bashful.
“Snickerdoodles are my favorite dogs,” Hope says, completely serious.
I hadn’t realized she was listening. She seemed so engrossed in finishing her food so she can get back to her art project.
Cameron and I exchange a look before bursting into laughter, and just like that, the rest of my anxiety dissipates, like someone opened a window in a stuffy room and I can finally breathe again.
Amelia smiles at me. “What do you two have planned before you head back to Boston? Anything fun?”
“We have tickets to see Hamilton,” Cameron announces.
I whip around and blink at him. “No, we don’t.”
“Yes, we do.”
“We checked this morning,” I remind him.
Well, I checked this morning. I scrolled through ticket sites while Cameron was on the phone with his manager.
The Sunday matinee for Hamilton was completely sold out.
There were tickets available for Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Lion King, but I didn’t want to push my luck.
Cameron’s hard-on for history is the only reason he was even willing to sit through Hamilton.
“I’m the best goalie in the NHL, sweetheart, of course I got tickets.” He says it with absolutely no shame, like it’s a statement of fact. Which, sure, it is, but still. “Orchestra level, middle section, aisle seats.”
Aisle seats so he can sit with his leg stretched out.
Warmth blooms in my chest, and before I can think better of it, or remember we have an audience, I lean over and plant a kiss on his lips. It’s not subtle or brief. It’s the kind that makes Hope break into squeals and clap.
When I pull back, Cameron’s smirking like he’s just finished a shutout game.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“You’re welcome,” he counters.
I toss him a quick wink. “And just so you know, we’re not listening to Fallon’s bullshit forty-eight-hour rule.”