Chapter 7
Camille’s stomach is growling by the time Buck drops her off at the gate door by the side of the guesthouse. It’s only been a couple of hours since breakfast, but since she didn’t finish her omelet, she heads straight to the guesthouse in hopes of finding something in the refrigerator. Inside are four things: bottled water, a six-pack of beer, ketchup in the door, and judging by the wrapper, a half-eaten, foot-long sandwich.
“Great,” she sighs, grabbing the bottle of water. She taps the top button on the remote and looks out over the pool.
“I was invited to breakfast,” she says to herself, not noticing any movement inside the house. “Why not invite myself to lunch?”
At the main house, Camille peeks her head inside. “Your favorite inventor is back.”
There’s no response, so without a second thought, she heads straight to the kitchen. The bananas on the counter make her hungry for her favorite childhood snack. She grabs the wholegrain bread from the breadbox on the counter. In a cabinet, she finds a jar of banana peanut butter by an unfamiliar brand. She’s only ever used the generic brand peanut butter, but it smells delicious when she opens the lid.
“You’ll do perfect,” she murmurs and sets the peanut butter on the island before going on a hunt for a plate and butter knife.
“What do we have here?” Wade’s voice causes her to pause while opening a cabinet door.
She peers over her shoulder at him, keeping her hand on the cabinet door. “Just making some lunch.”
His eyes go to the contents on the island behind her. Camille turns her attention back to the cabinet. Glasses, cups, and champagne flutes at the very top. Man, these people like champagne.
“Plates are a cabinet over,” Wade says, walking around to the other side of the island. “Grab me one too.”
He settles in on the island chair, facing the ingredients for her lunch while she grabs the plates.
“You’re not making a banana and peanut butter sandwich for lunch, are you?” Wade asks as she hands him a plate.
“I am,” Camille nods, opening the bread.
“I thought my family was the only one who ate those things,” he tells her. “I’d come inside after a long day on the beach, and my mom would tell the chef to make me a tray of them cut into triangles. I remember every chef giving her a crazy look, but they’d always do it.”
She sets two slices of bread on her plate and stops to glance up at him sympathetically. “That must have been so hard for you to see.”
“Okay,” he says dryly as he stands. “If you’re going to make a proper peanut butter and banana sandwich, you can’t use that.”
“Can’t use what?” Camille asks, re-examining the contents on the island.
He opens the cabinet on the other side of the stove that she hadn’t looked through. “You can only use this bread.” He holds out a loaf of run-of-the-mill white bread. He steps up to the side of her, using his hip to nudge her out of the way.
“You actually eat normal people bread?” she mocks, taking a step to the side.
She stares at him as he pushes the fancy whole wheat bread out of the way. He grabs the two slices from her plate and holds them up to her.
“I am a normal person, FYI, and this crap they call bread is horrible,” he waves the wheat bread between them. “This is the only thing you should do with this stuff.” He pulls the cabinet door on the island out to reveal a hidden trash bin, tossing the two slices of wheat bread inside.
“You just wasted two perfectly good pieces of bread,” she gapes.
“Two pieces, yes,” he says, opening the white bread and taking four slices out, “perfectly good—I’m about to show you perfectly good.”
He separates the bread, two slices on each plate. He meticulously layers the peanut butter on first, careful to not put too much. The bananas are next. He peels a banana, cutting the end of the banana. Balancing the end piece on the knife, he offers it to her. She shakes her head, and he shrugs, popping it into his mouth. He cuts the rest of the banana and spreads the slices evenly over the two sandwiches. He finishes her sandwich first, moving closer to her as he slides her plate in front of her.
Camille dips her head away from him, stepping past him toward the cabinets behind them. “What do you want to drink?” she asks, opening the cabinet full of glassware. “I usually drink milk with mine.”
He inhales sharply, biting his top lip as he stares at the ground. “Sounds good to me.”
She pours two glasses of milk, and Wade takes a seat on the opposite side of the island. She scans his face, hoping she hadn’t hurt his feelings by moving away from him so quickly. He’s eagerly staring down at his sandwich as he picks it up. She sets down his glass of milk and slides it over to him.
“Look at us,” he smiles warmly, surprising her before he takes a bite. “Marcy’ll be pissed,” he says over the food in his mouth.
“Who’s Marcy?” she asks but remembers. “Oh, the cook. That’s right.” She glances at the clock on the microwave. It’s less than a quarter ‘til twelve. “When does she usually start cooking?”
“Mom probably had Delilah tell her to start late since she was going to lay down.”
She takes a bite out of her sandwich. It’s good. The banana-flavored peanut butter adds to the sweetness of the fresh bananas.
“Have you checked on Leah?”
Wade’s already half-way through his sandwich. “Nah, if she isn’t up in an hour or so, I’ll go knock on her door and make her mad.”
“I hope she’s up soon,” Camille says, glancing at the microwave again. “Nancy said that she’d be over by twelve.”
“Ortego?” he asks.
Camille nods as she chews.
“When did you see her?”
She swallows. “Your mom had her meet me at the boutique. She schooled me on the latest fashions while I picked out a few things. I had no clue I was so stylistically ignorant.”
“Great,” he grumbles, looking unimpressed, “I bet it was nothing but trousers and blazers she talked you into.”
Camille raises her eyebrows at him disapprovingly. “She has quite the taste in clothing, I assure you. I felt spoiled by the end of it.”
He smirks. “Did she have you try on any dresses?”
Camille shakes her head.
Wade gives her a knowing nod. “That’s what I thought. I’ve never seen Nan in anything but pants.
“Oh, it’s not all that odd for women like her to dress differently.”
“Women like what?”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment. He knows, surely, he knows, but the longer he stares, the less certain she feels. “Wealthy, eccentric women.”
“Yeah, well, you might be right, but I wouldn’t talk too much about her in front of my mom. She’s always been particularly sensitive when it comes to Nancy. They’re like sisters.”
Camille nods, wondering just how close Nancy and Leah are if her son doesn’t even appear to know Nancy’s preferences. She wonders if maybe she misheard her. There’s no point in bringing it up with him. She’s already enough of an outsider, an outsider who somehow stumbled her way into the heart of the elite.
They’re finishing up lunch when Buck appears. “Ms. Bloom wanted me to let you know Easton has arrived.”