Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sue
By the time I finished showering and getting dressed, the smell of fresh coffee and something delicious drifted through my apartment. I paused in the hallway, inhaling deeply. Eggs, bacon, and coffee. My stomach rumbled in approval.
Cam stood at the stove, completely at ease, flipping bacon with the kind of effortless confidence that made me weak in the knees.
He wore last night’s jeans and the tank top I’d peeled off him.
Saliva pooled into my mouth, but not from the tantalizing food aromas.
In daylight he looked even better. My gaze lingered on his rounded shoulders, lean biceps, and strong forearms—the figure of someone who loved pizza and gelato as much as he loved a hard workout.
One look at him, and I turned to jelly. Just knowing he was nearby sent shivers of excitement down my body.
Everything between us was so new, so precious I wanted to keep it just between us for a little while, not share it with the world.
But we did have a show to put on. Although I wasn’t sure how much of it was still a show.
The engagement part, yes, but the rest? The fact that we were lovers was true enough now.
He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “I was starting to think you drowned in there.”
I smoothed my hair self-consciously. “I considered it, but then I smelled the bacon.”
His smile faltered slightly. “Considered it? Why?”
“Well, I remembered that tomorrow’s the big day, and I know absolutely nothing about your mother and sister.”
Amusement returned to his eyes, and he signaled me to have a seat. “It’s no big deal. I can fill you in while we eat.”
“This looks incredible, thank you.”
I licked my lips as I looked down at the loaded plate he set in front of me. Golden fluffy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, and a few thin slices of tomatoes sprinkled with fresh ground pepper.
“You’re welcome. I’m good with breakfast. Not so much with dinner.”
He sat down with his own plate.
“How did you make the eggs so golden?” I forked a bite, curious. They were amazing—creamy and buttery, with a whiff of spiciness.
“A pinch of turmeric. It’s excellent for color and has a mild taste in small doses.”
“I have turmeric?”
He laughed, cutting into a slice of bacon. “You do, although it took me a while to find it. I hope you don’t mind I’ve arranged your condiments slightly. I think you’ll find things easier now.”
I arched an eyebrow. “How slightly? In alphabetical order?”
He grinned. “Yep.”
“You alphabetized my spices?”
“Not just spices. Oils, vinegars, teas.” He reached for his coffee. “Your cupboards were chaos, Sue. It was a crime against efficiency.”
“I hope you realize I’ll never find anything ever again.”
“Sure you will.” He winked. “You just have to think like me.”
“God help me.”
I shook my head and took another bite of eggs, deciding to let it slide. His food was like a drug—it mellowed me out and made me happy.
“So.” I pointed my fork at him. “What do I need to know about your mom and sister? I’d rather not walk into this dinner blind.”
Cam’s lips twitched. “Hmm. Let’s see. Becky’s a nurse, loves hiking, and has absolutely no concept of privacy or personal space.”
I frowned. “What does that mean?”
“She’s a menace. Ask her one innocent question, and she’ll tell you everything, with more details than you ever want to know. And she’ll ask for the same level of information. She’s the girl who doesn’t close the bathroom door and can’t keep a secret if her life depends on it.”
“Great. Let’s hope she doesn’t figure out ours,” I muttered. “And your mom?”
“She’s a psychologist.”
I inhaled sharply and immediately regretted it, as a piece of egg lodged itself in my throat. I coughed, gasping for air while Cam thumped me on the back with all the helpfulness of a malfunctioning CPR dummy.
“A what?” I wheezed between coughs.
“A psychologist.” He said it so casually, as though he wasn’t dropping the single most horrifying piece of information I’d heard in my entire life.
“And you thought now was the right time to tell me this?”
He returned to his chair, lips twitching. “Would there have been a better time?”
“Yes! Like before we stumbled into this fake engagement. Before I knew I had to sit across from a trained human bullshit detector and pretend you and I are in a committed relationship.”
Cam leaned back in his chair. His voice was maddeningly calm. “We are in a committed relationship.”
My heart softened, the panic subsiding slightly. The words hit differently in daylight—no longer a joke, but a promise I hadn’t realized I was waiting for. Damn, the man could disarm me. He’d told me what I wanted to hear without making me ask.
“Not for several months,” I mumbled.
“She’s not going to ask for technical details. Relax, okay? Just don’t make eye contact for too long. She can sense fear.”
I dropped my head into my hands. “Oh my God, this is going to be an even bigger disaster than I thought. I can’t lie to a psychologist. She’ll see right through me. She’ll take one look at me and know I’m a fraud.”
“Not necessarily. She might just think you have commitment issues. Or an intense fear of intimacy. Or maybe unresolved childhood trauma.”
I perked up a little. “You know, she might believe that after meeting my family. Anyone would have traumas growing up with that lot. What kind of psychologist is your mom? Like, marriage and family? Criminal minds?”
He chuckled, pushing his empty plate aside. “Mostly family and couples’ therapy. She does some individual counseling too.”
“Wonderful. So not only can she sense my fear, she’ll also diagnose our entire fake relationship within five minutes.”
“She’ll try,” Cam said, grinning. “But she’s been dying for me to settle down. As long as you don’t confess to being a Russian spy or a serial arsonist, I think we’re good.”
I exhaled slowly. “Great. She’ll be psychoanalyzing my every move.”
He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Sue, it’s going to be fine. Just be yourself.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That’s exactly what I’ve been avoiding and how we got into this situation in the first place.”
He laughed, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in soothing circles. “Then just edit your answers a little. We’ve practiced this for your parents, remember? My mom isn’t much different.”
“Yeah, right.” I dropped my chin onto my palm, stabbing a piece of tomato. “We’re doomed.”
“No, we’re not. Now finish eating while I run next door to take a quick shower. I’ll be back in ten minutes to drive you to work before I go to the office.”
* * *
I was deliriously happy after last night, and after Cam’s statement this morning about us being in a committed relationship.
Things seemed to finally go well for me, better than they’d ever had.
But there were cracks in the wall. The lie of our engagement was even scarier.
What was going to happen now that we were actually sleeping together?
Cam had confessed to having commitment issues after Brittany.
Would he freak out at the thought of being trapped?
Would we still be able to part as friends whenever we decided to end our agreement?
The thought of ending anything with Cam sent cold chills creeping down my spine.
I had just found this amazing man, kind, loving, smart, and a sex god to boot.
The thought of not being with him made me physically ill.
And there was the shadow of tomorrow. A dark cloud looming above my head, a cloud that kept asking me How does this make you feel?
There was no way I could fool Cam’s mother.
Damn it, why hadn’t he told me before? Not that I had any clue as to what I could have done differently.
There was only one way out of this: I had to convince Helen Jones that I was madly in love with her son.
Which was absolutely true. And that realization scared me the most. If he didn’t grow to feel the same about me, he would leave me heartbroken in a way no one ever had—not even Neil.
Jesse messaged me to ask if Cam and I had tried the sex swing yet. I told her not yet.
Mom had called to ask if we were still on for dinner tomorrow evening, and after checking with Cam I reported back yes.
No tsunami had swamped New York. We had to go through with this.
Cam had made a dinner reservation for tomorrow evening at The River Café, an iconic spot nestled under the Brooklyn Bridge with breathtaking views of the Manhattan skyline.
It was the kind of place people booked months in advance, but most people didn’t have Cameron Jones’s resources.
I didn’t know whether he’d called in a favor, offered an obscenely generous tip, or just flashed his name around; he’d somehow managed to secure a table for eight in less than a week.
It was the kind of restaurant designed for milestone celebrations and whispered confessions of love.
Instead, it was going to host my family, which meant my father would loudly critique the food, Paul would turn dinner into a drinking competition, and Michelle—bless her pregnant soul—would wear a path to the bathroom before dessert even arrived.
And that was before factoring in the psychologist mother-in-law situation.
By the end of the day, I was so stressed I was practically hyperventilating.
To make things worse, today was reading club day, which meant staying an extra two hours at work while a group of hyperactive seventh graders half-discussed the assigned book and half-used the time to argue over plot twists and dramatically act out their favorite scenes like we were staging an off-Broadway production.
Normally, I loved seeing them get excited about stories, but today, keeping them focused felt like trying to herd caffeinated squirrels.