Chapter 6
Camilla
“Iwant to get rid of this tile and replace it with marble. And paint the walls either pink or cream, but textured. Not stucco, more like icing swirls,” I twirl my finger in the air as I detail my vision to the hot man in a hard hat, from the Eternal by Design construction company.
He sighs and then silently looks down his nose at me with his arms crossed over his chest.
“You do paint, don’t you?”
“No.” He answers with one gruff-sounding word.
“Can you recommend painters?”
“Sure. After we secure a contract, along with your deposit.” My eyes gravitate to his full lips as he speaks, and I can’t help but notice his strong, solid jaw line. Too bad my parents never tried introducing me to a man like this. Big and burly. Larger in height and width than most stunt men.
“Okaaay,” I drag the word out, unsure of why Mr. Tall-hunky-and-silent is so dry and cold.
“I want to change the light fixtures,” I continue, with excitement.
He may not be interested in what I have planned, but this is mine, and I.
Am. All. In. “Something fancy to really dress the place up. Maybe small crystal chandeliers to replace the current light fixtures, except for the main fixture, I’d like a large one there.
Something that gives off a lot of light.
” I look for his reaction, but all I see is a blank face.
I don’t know what I’m expecting, but I want him to feel the vibe of Cami’s Confections like I do.
Instead, I find him ticking the number of fixtures off on his fingers before he returns his attention to me.
I dart my eyes away, hoping he didn’t notice me staring. How freaking embarrassing would that be? Drooling over the first man I trip over in my new town. Especially after I professed over and over again that I don’t want a man right now. I don’t! I remind myself.
“I’d like the place to look classy, you know? Exquisite.” I explain. “With these brown outdoor floor tiles and dim lights, it looks dingy and unwelcoming.”
I crinkle my nose and hope he buys my excuse for wanting brighter lights. I can’t possibly tell him that not only is the current lighting not welcoming, but it, along with his hat, won’t let me get a good look at his features. That irks me more than it should.
Not because I have any interest in him. After all, we just met, and I have no intention of dating.
None. Not while I’m trying to get my business up and running.
I need to remain one hundred percent focused.
But if I can’t get a good look at something the size of a well-built man, how will my customers appreciate the precision and beauty of my mini cakes and fancy pastries?
I take another quick peek at him, hoping Mr. Muscle’s isn’t looking at me so that my eyes can linger on his thick, solid-looking thighs.
I may not be able to see his face clearly because of the shadows hiding it, but the rest of him appears to be top-shelf.
Best of all, he isn’t someone who just fits the bill of a biological male like the men my parents pushed on me; he appears to be all man, and he’s my secret find.
A hidden treasure, and I plan on keeping it that way.
I might not want to date, but I do have a sweet tooth, and there’s nothing wrong with a little eye candy.
“What about the back room? Do you want a chandelier there, too?” His deep voice heats something in my belly. At least answering him gives me an excuse to take a longer look at his gray eyes.
Wow, they’re like marbles. Clear, yet full of color. I see hues of blue, green, and brown swirling throughout his gray irises. Even purple. Looking so closely at him allows his eyes to suck me in and trap me. Hold me still as stone.
How can they be cold and unyielding, yet hold such depth? I could lose myself in those worlds of wonder for hours, captured by the specks of color. Finally, unable to handle the increasing heat and intensity of his stare, I force myself to look away.
“Have you given it any thought?”
“Huh?”
“The lighting in the back room?” He repeats.
“Riiight.” I catch myself and get back on track.
So what if he’s ruggedly handsome, with thighs as thick as tree trunks, and arms that are what movie heroes are made of?
I don’t need a man. What I need are renovations.
Updates to turn this storefront from mundane to spectacular.
Even more important, I don’t want a man.
“I want bright, fluorescent lights back there. And a semi-gloss paint on the walls. Something easy to clean.”
“You’ll have to talk to the painters about that. And honestly, it would cost a lot less if you had your boyfriend change the fixtures for you.”
“Of course. I’m supposed to have a boyfriend because how else would a woman survive? I need a man around to kill the spiders, open the jars, and change the lighting.” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest and mashing my lips together.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply anything. I understand. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Girlfriends are just as capable as boyfriends. Only, women aren’t generally electrically inclined.”
The nerve of this man! “That’s why you’re here.”
“So, to be clear, there’s no boyfriend. What’s the status of a girlfriend?”
“Are these questions you ask all your customers, or just the ones that look like me?”
“No, no, no.” His eyes open wide, and his face is devoid of color. “That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t implying anything, just trying to see where I could save you some money.”
“My relationship status has nothing to do with my spending account.”
“I know. I . . . I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry I said anything.”
I don’t respond. Guess back home isn’t the only place people judge with just a glance.
“Is that everything then?” He asks after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.
I take another look at him, debating if I should send him on his way, but think better of it.
I don’t need him spreading word around town that I’m difficult to work with.
It might deter customers. “Would it be possible to make decorative arches over the door jambs? And, on that wall,” I gesture to the main wall.
“I want an arch from one end to the other, with spotlights under it, and shelves beneath that.”
“You want an arch? On the wall?” He looks confused.
“Yes. I’m using that section to highlight my goods.”
His eyes trail off to the side for a moment as his face changes.
I’m not sure how to read that. His jaw tightens as he scribbles in a tiny notebook he pulled from the rear pocket of his torn jeans.
Note to self, check out his back pocket.
Only to be certain the book full of important notes doesn’t fall out.
Not at all because I’m curious if his butt fills out his tight-around-the-thighs jeans the way his legs do.
“On this side wall,” I pick up the conversation again. “Do you think it’s possible to, I don’t know, build the walls out a little to make it look like alcoves so customers feel like they have a little bit of privacy?”
His eyes narrow on me. “What sort of business is this?”
“A bakery.”
The grim look on his face, paired with the sudden rise and fall of his chest, makes me feel like the floor beneath my feet is about to disappear.
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“No, tell me. Did I say something wrong? Are people in this town allergic to dessert?” Or is it something about me? I don’t say the last part, but I silently scream it.
He taps his pen against his plump bottom lip, calling my eyes to ogle his mouth and wonder about it, before he scribbles furiously once again.
“It’s nothing, just sounds like a lot of work.”
“That’s why Mr. Nightingale gave me your number. He said you were the best.”
The man’s eyelids drop to shade his gray eyes for a moment as he tucks the pencil behind his ear. When he raises the curtains covering his magic worlds, my breath catches.
“Let’s get this straight.” His voice rumbles low and deep, and makes me worry that he’s going to say he isn’t interested in taking on the job. “Mr. Nightingale didn’t give you my number. He gave you the number to Eternal by Design. I happen to work there and was assigned to get your measurements.”
My eyes widen and lock on him. I wonder if that was a slip of the tongue.
He is a construction worker. It’s possible his buddies saw me walking by and know I’m new, so they sent a living sculpture of perfection that they thought I wouldn’t be able to resist in order to get the goods on me.
It’s not like I haven’t met men who thought I’d be desperate for them because I’m curvier than the supermodel wannabes they date.
“I mean the measurements of the store.” He clarifies, his cheeks shading pink.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with your measurements.
In fact—” he’s quick to add. His eyes rake down my neck, over my chest, all the way down to my toes, and back to my eyes again.
He doesn’t even try to pretend he isn’t assessing me.
I only hope he isn’t literally sizing me up.
I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at him, and not in a friendly way.
I hear him swallow as the lump in his throat bobs up and down.
“I mean, if we’re talking about you, you have great measurements.
Really great measurements.” Once again, his eyes drop to my chest, where they appear to be stuck.
He bites his lip and looks down at his empty hand, flexing it open and closed.
“Are you serious?!”
“What?” His wide eyes look frightened.
“Are you trying to figure out my breast size?” Anger flares from deep inside as I cross my arms over my chest, hoping to obstruct his view.
“That’s right, buddy, I’ll report you to HR for sexual harassment.
” If this guy weren’t already the grayest, palest-looking man I’ve ever seen, I’d think he saw a ghost.
“I’m sooo sorry.” He seems to shrink a little. “We don’t have a formal HR department. I was just–I didn’t mean to insult you. I mean—Ah, forget it.” He hangs his head. “Go ahead, report me to my boss.”
Breathing heavy, I don’t respond.
“I am sorry.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I wonder if he’s waiting for me to say it’s alright, because I’m not about to.
“If it helps, it’s only because they look really nice.
Too nice if you ask me. Might draw attention from the wrong sort of guy.
” He nibbles on his bottom lip. I still say nothing. “If that’s all, I’ll leave now.”
I nod. And watch, furious, as he turns and heads for the door with his head hanging. Before opening it, he stops and turns back to me.
“The thing is, Ms. Ramos, if we do all of these things the way you're describing, you’re going to invest a lot of money in renovations to open a bakery, with no guarantee on your return on investment.”
“So?”
“There’s a cafe a few blocks away. I don’t know what your budget is, but maybe you should go to The Mummy’s Tomb Cafe so you can evaluate what else is in the neighborhood. Maybe you don’t need to do as much as you’re planning. Why don’t we revisit the estimate after you’ve been there?”
I shake my head, “No need to visit a cafe. I’m opening a bakery.”
“Still, they sell cookies and brownies. It can’t hurt to check it out. Besides, they have other food too, and you have to eat sometime, why not now?”
“Hmm.” I consider his words. While on one hand, Mr. Flint possesses a hard, caveman-like quality, there’s a vulnerability shining through his gray eyes that hints at more to him. “Are you asking me to go to dinner with you?”
Vulnerability turns to fear. He looks like a deer in headlights, and I chide myself for jumping to conclusions.
What the hell is wrong with me? Even if he did, it’s not like I’d go on a date with him.
Not after he gawked over my breasts. And the way he spoke about them?
I shouldn’t go anywhere with him, no matter how genuine his admiration of “my measurements”.
He shrugs. “I guess,” he says after a long silence.
I should turn him down flat. I’d be crazy not to.
But, he’s right, I do need to eat sometime, and it wouldn’t hurt to see what another food establishment looks like.
Even though I will never admit it to him, there is a piece of my battered ego that’s flattered by the things he said and the way he looks at me.
If he’s telling the truth, and that’s a big if, then maybe I should give him a chance.
At the very least, it wouldn’t hurt to make a friend.