Chapter 4
CAMILLE
Itake one last look at myself in the mirror, smooth my hair down, and pinch my cheeks. I look tired—like I haven’t slept in days.
Maybe that’s because I haven't.
Being alone in this small town has been harder than I expected.
I spent most of my time back home alone.
Elizabeth would visit weekly, but otherwise I didn’t see anyone unless I went grocery shopping.
I’d taken to avoiding all my family and friends.
I thought the distance would be a relief—that it would give me a peaceful kind of solitude and a break from the looks I’d get every time I ran into an old friend at the store.
It has to a degree. But I’m lonelier than I expected, and that has given me more time to think than I need. Thinking is dangerous for me. Especially now that a handsome man has invaded those thoughts alongside all my other issues. Adam—and my reaction to him—has thrown me for a loop.
I grab my scarf and rush downstairs. At least today I won’t be alone.
Adam has the designs ready for me to look at.
I can’t wait to see what he’s come up with even though I’m nervous to see him.
I wasn’t exaggerating when I told him I loved his work.
He’s very talented. I know I’m going to love what he’s done.
With my purse in hand, I check to make sure I have everything I need. I don’t need much, but I like to be prepared. Before I make it two steps, my phone rings. I pull it out of the side pocket of my purse and frown.
My instinct is to ignore it, but if I do, she’ll keep calling. “Hello, Mother.”
“Oh, Camille. I’m so glad I caught you. I was prepared to leave another message.”
I roll my eyes at the way she emphasizes another. No subtlety where my mother is concerned. “I’m kinda in a hurry. I’m meeting the architect about the renovation designs this morning.”
“Are you still doing that?” She huffs. “Come home, Cami. You need to be with family.”
“I told you, I needed to get away. Start fresh.”
“No, you need to be here. Where we can take care of you.”
You mean control my life and all my decisions? Mother’s never taken care of me a day in her life. She had nannies for that. “Mother, we talked about this.”
“And all you spouted was nonsense. You just have to decide to let yourself heal, and then you’ll heal. Stop being so difficult. Nothing is holding you back except yourself.”
I fight the urge to scream. She’s always telling me what to do, and I hate it.
And I hate that she often finds ways to say things to get me to agree.
We’ve had this conversation so many times since Mark and Alex died, and I can’t take it anymore.
There isn’t some magic switch I can flip to make myself heal. It’s not that easy.
In her own sick way, she means well, and she actually thinks she’s being helpful. At least I think she does. She’s anything but. Her words make me feel small. She wants me to get out and be normal again, whatever that means, but her words make me want to retreat.
I don’t want to fight with her today, so I take a deep breath before I continue. “I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I need to give this a try. If it doesn’t work, I’ll consider coming home.”
I had no intention of ever going home again, but I can’t say that to her. This phone call would never end if I did.
“Fine, dear. We’ll give you a little more time. But your father and I expect you home before the holidays.”
“We’ll see.” I shake my head. “Listen, I really do need to go. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I quickly end the call and head out to my car.
Home for the holidays. That’s a joke.
Holidays with my family are more of an obligation than a time to celebrate with the ones you love.
There’s no way I can endure another holiday at my parents’ house without Mark.
He made dealing with them so much easier.
He was with me because he loved me, not because I shared the same genes.
He made life with my parents easier. Without him, they’re unbearable.
I know my parents love me in their own way, but it's not a way I need to be loved. And it’s definitely not a way that will help me move past this loss and find a new place in this world.
So, thanks, but no thanks, Mother. I will not be coming home.
My jaw drops at the sight of Adam’s office.
I’m not sure what I expected—or if I even had any expectations to begin with—but it certainly isn’t this modern, sleek building that looks like something Frank Lloyd Wright might have designed.
The clean lines and sharp edges are striking, but it’s the way the edges blend into the mountainside that’s most remarkable.
It just fits. That’s the best way to describe it.
I thought it odd when my GPS had me turn in the opposite direction of Watercress Falls when I left the chalet.
Instead of heading toward the closest cluster of businesses in a forty-mile radius, I headed into the mountainous terrain behind my home.
It’s only a ten-minute drive, but unexpected nonetheless.
Now I understand. Nothing this beautiful can be achieved on Main Street. It’s a perfect showcase of Adam’s architectural skills.
I put my car in park and grab my bag. For the first time since moving to this small country town, I feel dressed for the occasion.
My clothes are fancier than this town is used to, and I get more than my fair share of stares when I visit Sweet Cakes.
I don’t own a single pair of jeans or anything flannel.
Not that there’s anything wrong with jeans and flannels, it just isn’t how I was raised.
It feels good to find a place I’m comfortable in the clothes I love.
One day, I’ll have to give in and buy a pair of jeans and cowboy boots. I’m not sure about the flannel, but there are probably other shirts I’ll love that are more fitting for this environment. I chose to move to this world, and as such, I’ll have to make an effort to fit in.
I step inside the door and gasp. The inside is more beautiful than the outside.
The first thing I see is a solid rock wall with a trickle of water running over its surface.
The way the building is built against the mountain, leaving the natural rock exposed, is gorgeous.
The rest of the room consists of light walls and darkly stained, rough plank wood floors.
It’s the perfect complement to the natural rock wall.
It’s awe-inspiring and if an ounce of this look and feeling makes it into my house, I’ll be ecstatic.
I spin on my heels to take in the rest of the room, but my eyes lock on Adam, and everything else fades into the background.
He’s leaning against a hallway entrance with a faint grin on his face.
His casual lean projects confidence with a slight touch of arrogance.
I pinch my lips and swallow the whimper that threatens to escape.
I’ve gotten used to seeing him in a nice button-down shirt and jeans, but today he’s wearing a perfectly tailored charcoal gray suit with a pale green dress shirt and dark green tie that brings out the green in his eyes.
His gaze challenges me with a dare to comment on his current ensemble, but I’m speechless. He’s hot.
We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. The silence drags out and borders on uncomfortable. If he didn’t know the effect he had on me before, he certainly knows now. So much for maintaining a calm, neutral demeanor around him.
He pushes off of the wall and saunters toward me, his gaze raking down my body. He stops just a few feet away and smiles. In a low, gravelly voice that makes my knees wobble, he says, “What do you think?”
“Um … you … you look … nice,” I mutter.
“Thanks.” He laughs. I squeeze my eyes closed. Shit, he meant the building.
When I open my eyes, he’s still smiling.
The intensity in his gaze lets loose a swarm of butterflies in my belly.
I shouldn’t be getting butterflies, should I?
It feels like a betrayal to Mark, but then again, he wouldn’t want me to give up on life because he’s gone.
We talked about this years ago and agreed that if one of us passes too soon, the other is free to live a happy life.
No lifelong mourning allowed. Yet, I’m still not ready to let him go.
I don’t know how to feel about this attraction to Adam. My mind says it’s wrong, but my body isn’t listening. I can’t decide if I like this feeling or not … but I think I do.
He runs his fingers through his hair and strolls around the room. My eyes track him like a predator studies its prey. He makes a full loop before he turns his heated gaze on me.
My face warms and must be turning fifty shades of red, but I hold my eyes on his, mesmerized by his appearance.
My eyes sweep down his form, and I immediately regret it.
I’m not prepared to process how his appearance makes me feel.
This is all too new, too raw. I clear my throat and force myself to meet his stare.
I started down this path, I might as well own it.
So, I say, “Well, you do look good. This look suits you.”
“Just good?” His teasing smile grows.
I laugh. “You’re always dressed so casually. I wasn’t expecting to see you in a suit. Plus, I haven’t seen a man in a suit in, well … It’s been a couple years.”
“I don’t wear one often. I had another client meeting scheduled after yours, and let's just say his expectations are high.”
“Had?” I give him a quizzical look.
He shakes his head with disappointment. “The bastard canceled. Got me all dressed up for nothing.”
“And here I thought you got all dressed up for me.” I cross my arms over my chest and fake a frown.
“You don’t seem to mind my jeans and boots.
” He shortens the distance between us, and my breath catches.
He towers over me, and I suddenly wish I wore my three-inch heels.
I’ve never felt so small before in my life.
Or so turned on. Why in the hell am I turned on?
“But now that I know you like the suit, I’ll reconsider my attire for future meetings. ”
My mouth runs dry, and I have to remind myself to breathe. He’s standing close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. It takes every ounce of my control to not wrap my arms around his waist and press his hard chest against me.
When I realize I am enjoying the feelings he’s invoked, everything goes sour. My late husband’s face flashes before my eyes, and a chill runs down my spine. What the hell am I doing?
My heart aches with guilt, yet I have no reason to feel guilty. My husband died over two years ago, but guilt consumes me, nonetheless. I shouldn’t be thinking like this.
But this thing between Adam and me is much more than thoughts. He’s standing within arm’s reach with the same desire in his eyes that I feel burning through my body. I want to make him mine.
Desperate to increase the space between us and refocus on the reason I’m here, I step back. “This building—this room—is gorgeous. I assume this is your work?”
A hint of excitement sparks in his eyes before he clears his throat. “Yes. After I moved back home, I figured the best way to showcase my skills was to design and build my own office space.”
“It’s beautiful. I particularly love this rock wall. The way you let the natural lines of the mountainside guide and enhance the rest of the design is genius. And choosing a spot with a waterfall is a nice touch.”
He walks over to the wall. With a thoughtful gaze, he gently brushes his hand over the surface disrupting the flow of water. “You’d be amazed at how many people assume I created and carved this wall.”
“Really?” I can’t imagine how anyone could think such a thing. It’s so obvious it’s the mountainside in its natural state. “How disappointing.”
“I agree.” He turns to me and smiles. “Mother Nature is the perfect architect.”
And just like that, Adam is one of my new favorite people.
Not only is he hot, he sees the beauty in what’s around him.
It’s a romantic notion that I hope filters into other parts of his personality and interests.
Seeing the beauty of this room and the light in his eyes makes me more excited than I already am to see the design concepts he’s worked up for my house.
If even an ounce of this talent makes it into my house, I’ll be overjoyed.
The look in his eyes turns heated again. He’s watching me stare at him, and whatever look he sees on my face affects him. I turn my attention back to the rock wall and do my best to ignore the butterflies still fluttering around in my stomach.
“Shall we look at your designs?” he asks.
I nod, still looking anywhere but at him. “Lead the way.”
He heads back through the hallway from which he emerged when I arrived. I follow.
I’ve no doubt Adam is the right architect to remodel my chalet, but it might be at a cost to my sanity. It’ll be hard to keep my mind focused on the remodel instead of on his body. It doesn’t help that he’s such a nice man, too.
I just might be screwed.