Chapter Twelve
Cam
Her eyes warmed like whiskey in candlelight. Her smile was a punch to the gut and soothing redemption all at once. I’d never wanted to kiss a woman as much as I wanted to kiss her.
The waiter came back with a flourish and laid two small plates of oysters in front of us. I admired the three oysters on the half shell which had been covered in a butter sauce with finely chopped spinach and breadcrumbs and then broiled.
“I told you the portions were reasonable,” I said.
“We’ll see.”
She picked up the oyster fork like a woman preparing for battle, but the way her expression changed after that first bite was bliss. “Mmm… Amazing,” she murmured, reaching for her wine. “And this is dangerously good, too.”
“Now try them together,” I said, already prepping my next bite. “The wine picks up the flavors in the butter sauce—you’ll see.”
She did as instructed. Her eyes closed and her whole face lit up. God, I wanted to put that satisfied look on her face—and not just by feeding her.
“Okay, that’s kind of magical,” she said. “Where’d you pick up that move?”
I leaned back in my chair, swirling the wine in my glass. “During an Alaskan cruise a couple of years ago. They had this wine-pairing workshop with a sommelier who made food and wine sound like foreplay.”
What I didn’t say was that I hadn’t felt this comfortable with anyone in years. This whole dinner felt like foreplay—slow, intentional, teasing. And it was wrecking my internal firewall.
I stole another glance at her mouth, at the way her fingers lingered on the stem of her wine glass. And suddenly I couldn’t remember the last time a woman made me feel so curious, so hopeful, so alive.
After we’d finished the oysters, the waiter brought another course, a red burgundy with the escargots, and then a merlot with the scallops and salad, the anise flavor of the Pernod working well with the hearty red.
Everything was delicious, and the wines were incredibly smooth.
I was pleased with my choice, and I could tell Susanne was impressed.
She watched me as I adjusted the position of the scallops on my plate—just a tiny shift, maybe a centimeter at most, so they weren’t crowding the greens.
Her lips twitched. “Should I ask how many millimeters off-center the lemon wedge was, or would that be rude?”
I laughed, suddenly self-conscious at being watched. “You wouldn’t be the first to ask.”
“Do you have OCD?” she asked lightly, sipping her wine, then caught herself. “I’m sorry, that sounded blunt. You don’t have to answer.”
I set my fork down and met her eyes. “It’s okay. It’s a fair question. It’s not OCD, no. I have something called OCPD—Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder. Subtle difference, big impact.”
She tilted her head, interested. “What’s the difference?”
“People with OCD usually know their compulsions don’t make sense.
They fight them. It’s like their brains are hijacked, and they’re trying to wrestle control back.
For me, it’s not like that. I don’t feel hijacked—I feel that I’m following rules that make sense to me. That make the world feel... safer.”
She was quiet, listening intently.
I went on, trying my best to explain. “OCPD is like… My brain believes there’s one right way to do everything. A perfect order. And if I don’t follow it, something’s off. It’s not about fear of something bad happening—it’s about control, and this internal standard that’s very hard to meet.”
“So it’s not about compulsions, it’s about rules?”
“Exactly. I can’t stop myself from tweaking a design layout until it’s pixel-perfect. Or rewriting a line of code twenty times even though it worked fine the first time.”
I looked at my hands for a moment. “My mom noticed it when I was a kid. She said my need for order got worse after my dad died because it was the one thing I could control when everything else fell apart.”
She let out a long breath. Her eyes were filled with genuine compassion.
“That makes sense. Losing someone messes with your world. OCPD… Is it exhausting?”
I smiled wryly. “Sometimes. Especially for people around me. But I’m learning to catch myself.” I decided to change the subject. “So, where are you planning to take your parents when they visit?”
“I was thinking maybe a carriage ride through Central Park, or the ferry out to Liberty Island. You know, the tourist trifecta.”
I tapped a finger against the table, thinking. “Not sure we’ll manage the full Statue of Liberty tour, but I’m up for trying.”
She blinked at me. “We?”
“Sure. I’m your boyfriend, remember?” My grin broadened at her shocked expression. “Fake or not, I can’t just show up once and ghost your family. What kind of deadbeat imaginary boyfriend would that make me?”
Her eyes were perfectly round now. “You’re really willing to spend an entire weekend playing along?”
“Absolutely. I’m a method actor. I fully commit to the role.”
She gave me a long look. “You say that now. Wait until my mom starts asking about your intentions and dropping subtle hints about grandchildren. You’ll be booking the next flight back to Denver.”
I knew this was supposed to scare me, but for some weird reason I didn’t care to analyze now, it didn’t. Maybe it was the wine, the company, the food, but I was feeling invincible, adventurous, and more than happy to rescue my damsel in distress.
I chuckled. “I think I can handle your mom. Besides, I’m curious about the woman who raised you. She must be a force of nature.”
“Oh, she is. Hurricane Elaine.” She drained the last sip of her merlot, looking like she desperately wished for more. “But if we keep them busy enough, maybe they won’t have time to interrogate us. I figured I’d take Mom and Michelle to the Easter Parade. Still haven’t found a hat, though.”
“You don’t have one yet?” I leaned in slightly. “I’m shocked. You strike me as the kind of woman who’d make a statement.”
She scoffed. “Oh, I’ve made statements. Just none that should ever be seen in public. So far, every hat I’ve tried on has looked worse than a fashion crime scene. There was one that made me look like I was being eaten by a swan.”
I nearly choked on my drink. I would have paid big money to see that. “Please tell me you have pictures.”
“God, no. Jesse tried to take some, but I destroyed the evidence. You have to take my word about the hat fiasco. Oh, and there was also a flamingo, a haunted bird nest, and what I think was supposed to be a crow perched in dead branches.”
I was full-on laughing by now. “Okay, I’m officially invested. We’re going hat shopping tomorrow. I need to see this for myself.”
She stared at me, lips parted, as though trying to gage if I was joking or not. “You’re really volunteering for this?”
“I actually insist. I have to—”
“Cameron, what a small world. I just heard you were in town.”
Sue’s laughter was still echoing in my ears when I heard the voice I’d struggled for years to forget. That sultry sound sliced through the air with the impact of a switchblade—smooth, cold, and designed to leave a scar.
I looked up, an unpleasant feeling tightening my chest as my gaze travelled over her long, tanned legs, voluptuous breasts—which seemed even more generous now—and her mane of red hair.
There she was. Brittany Howard. My ex.
The last woman I ever let get close enough to gut me. And still, somehow, the only one who could freeze my blood just by smiling.
She was draped in black satin and smugness, her body poured into a dress I’m sure cost more than most people’s monthly rent. Her cleavage sparkled with the kind of diamonds you wear when you want to steal the whole show.
And damn it if she didn’t look the exact same as the day we broke up—like a perfectly constructed trap. My throat tightened, the ghost of old hurt wrapping around my windpipe. I had loved this woman once.
“Britt.” I forced my tone into something neutral, cold enough to establish a clear distance between us.
Britt glanced at Sue with all the attention one gives to a bug on a windshield.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” she asked vaguely.
I contemplated the awkwardness of this introduction, but Sue’s dry reply surprised me.
“Yes. Warwick.”
Britt’s eyes squinted, trying to place her.
I could see the slow gears of judgment turning behind those ridiculously long fake lashes.
Her lips had been enhanced, crossing the edge from sensual to grotesque.
What the hell had I seen in this woman? To be fair, her eyelashes hadn’t been my main focus.
“Oh, I remember you now.” Britt’s voice dripped syrup and cyanide. “I wouldn’t have recognized you. You can actually fill out a bra now. Well, sort of. And you fixed your teeth. Good for you.”
I clenched my jaw. I’d been subjected to Britt’s smiling cruelty, and I wasn’t going to let Susanne put up with this.
But before I could say anything, Sue surprised me with a perfect, lethal smile.
“Hi, Enid. Looks like you had some surgery accidents. I hope you got a refund.”
I barked out a laugh that surprised even me.
Britt’s fake smile cracked. “It’s Brittany,” she snapped.
“Sure,” Sue beamed. “That’s only your middle name, right? Enid’s still on your license, though.”
I had to hide my face behind my napkin. If I looked at either of them too long, I was going to lose it again.
I’d never heard anyone call Britt by her first name and live.
I hadn’t realized Susanne’s claws were so sharp.
I must have been a pervert because watching her stand up to Britt turned me on like crazy.
Brittany’s eyes turned to slits. “Obviously you don’t remember my name any more than I remember yours.”
“It’s Susanne,” I said helpfully. Because I couldn’t resist. And because watching Britt squirm felt like the therapy I didn’t know I needed.
“Right. Susanne Morelli, the winemaker’s daughter.” She gave a condescending nod. “I assume it’s still Susanne Morelli.”
Sue’s smile collapsed and her cheeks turned bright red. Britt’s statement had been so assured it was humiliating. She was laying her cards down, playing the smug-wife card over the unclaimed-woman. I knew she’d hit a nerve with Susanne.
Before I made a conscious decision, I reached across the table and took Sue’s hand.
“For now it’s still Morelli, yes.” I gave Britt a calm, unreadable look that I knew drove her insane.
Sue’s head whipped toward me, and she looked just as shocked as Britt. I arched one eyebrow and gave her the smallest nudge under the table with my foot. Go with it. Let’s play.
Britt blinked, propping her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, for now? How do you two even know each other?”
I exhaled in an attempt to tame my annoyance. “Not that it’s your business, but Susanne and I are seeing each other. I think it’s obvious this is a date. If you don’t mind, we’d like to get back to enjoying it.”
She hesitated. A flicker of panic flashed across her face. But then her smile returned, and she regrouped, like she always did.
“I’m having dinner with some friends. Would you like to join us, Cam?”
The invitation was a blatant insult toward Sue by her exclusion.
I gave Britt the tiniest of smiles. “No, thanks. I hope you won’t stiff your friends with the bill.”
She actually managed to look affronted. “You always did hold a grudge.”
“I call it memory.”
I’d given her the perfect excuse to leave, but she made no move to that effect.
“What do you want, Britt?” I asked, sharper than I meant.
“Want or need?” she asked sweetly. “They aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Unbelievable. She was flirting with me right there, in front of Sue. After everything she’d put me through.
I looked across the table and met Sue’s eyes. There was a spark of mischief in their depths, a flicker of shared fury. She gave me a brilliant smile and her foot slid against mine beneath the table. Okay, let’s play, the touch said.