20. Nico
NICO
My phone started ringing just as Cameron and I finished hanging a tarp over the mural, hiding it for the big reveal on Creamsicle Day, even though many of the people in town had already gotten a peek at it over the past week.
“It’s Jorge. I should take this.”
Cameron’s shoulders tightened, and his jaw clenched, but he nodded and headed back to the kitchen. I scurried out to the front sidewalk and leaned against the brick wall, my stomach in my throat.
“Good news,” Jorge said when I answered. “We got your car back in working order. You should be fine to drive back to Boston whenever you’re ready.”
I was relieved that I would eventually get the income from Gus’s gallery, and I could put the repairs on my credit card without stressing too much about paying the bill later. But I didn’t feel the relief I’d expected. Instead, I wanted to cry.
“Nico?”
“That’s great news,” I said, trying to hide the tremble in my voice. “I appreciate it.”
“It’s my job.” Jorge seemed unaware of my distress. “When will you be by to pick it up?”
Nothing was stopping me from walking right over and picking it up now.
I could have my bag packed and be on the road in an hour.
But the thought of returning to that white-walled room I was renting from a friend-of-an-art-friend who would turn on me the minute he had a chance to overshadow my career felt lonelier and emptier than ever.
I knew my life was no longer in Boston. I had thought it might be in another big city: Philadelphia, New York, or even Los Angeles. But the more time I spent in Sleighbell Springs with Cameron, the more I wanted my future to be here. I didn’t know how to make that happen.
But I wasn’t ready to leave.
“Sorry,” I said to Jorge. “I’m not actually going to be finished with the mural until pretty late tonight. Do you mind if I pick it up in the morning?”
The lie came smoothly, but I hoped he wouldn’t pass by later today and catch me in it.
“Whenever,” Jorge said easily.
I leaned my head back against the brick, taking a few deep breaths before slipping back into Frosty’s. Gwen grinned at me from behind the counter.
“Welcome in,” she said in an exaggeratedly sweet tone. “What can I get you today?”
I stuck my tongue out at her, and she returned the gesture. I was going to miss the little shit.
“Car’s not ready yet. I’m going to clean up my paints and hang out for a bit, if that’s cool.”
She pursed her lips, giving me a regretful smile. “Dining room is for customers only.”
“Well, then.” I paused, pretending to look over the menu board. “What’s good here?”
“You asshole.” Cam appeared from the kitchen door with a grin. “Everything here is excellent.”
Gwen gestured to the menu. “Personally, I like the orange creamsicles this time of year.”
She was playing her part to perfection, and Cameron groaned as he covered his face with his hands.
I just laughed. “Sure, an orange creamsicle sounds great.”
As she rang me up, I filled Cameron in on my call with Jorge—or at least the story I’d decided to go with.
“So, one more night?” Cameron walked me back into the kitchen, where he was working.
As much as I liked Gwen, Cam was the one I was greedy for time with.
“One more night.” I nodded. I gave the creamsicle the most lascivious, dramatically slow lick I could manage without breaking eye contact.
Cameron watched me with his lips pressed together in barely contained laughter and heat sparkling in his eyes. I pushed myself up onto the counter near the sink, but across the kitchen from where he was working.
“How many more do you have to make?” I gestured to his molds with my creamsicle before slurping it back into my mouth.
“Are you going to be this distracting all day?”
I smirked. “I hope so.”
He chuckled, a sound that sat low in my stomach and spread warmth through my body even with the chill of the kitchen around us. “I’ll evict you from the premises.”
“You don’t own me,” I teased.
A dark look passed over his face before he blinked it away, and he traced his lower lip with his tongue. “I bet I could get you to do what I want anyway.”
I hummed around the popsicle, pushing the tip into my cheek. It was ridiculous, but I did it anyway. I soaked up every one of Cam’s reactions, whether they were heated, playful, or exasperated.
“I’m going to get you back for this,” he said when I finally sucked the last bit of creamy filling off the popsicle stick.
There was a drip of melted ice cream on my chin, and I swiped it up with my thumb before pushing it into my mouth.
“Can’t wait.”
I brushed against him as I walked to the kitchen door. “I’m going to clean up my paints.”
Cameron let out a slow breath that I could barely hear as the door closed behind me.
There was a rubber band pulled between us, and I had to actively resist the tension tugging me back to him.
It remained to be seen whether it would survive the distance between here and wherever I ended up, or whether it would snap.
“You make him happy,” Gwen said. “He’s been different this week.”
I bent down to pack up my paints and brushes, avoiding eye contact. “Has he?”
“He likes you,” she said in a singsong voice.
“He can hear you.”
A bark of laughter filtered in from the kitchen. I wanted him to like me, though the impulse was purely selfish. I liked him so much I had to bite my lip from screaming it out loud.
Gwen rounded the counter and pulled up a chair to where I was working, straddling it backward.
“Are you going to get in trouble for abandoning your post?” I nodded toward the register.
She shrugged. “Nah, Cameron likes to play bad cop, but he’s a chill boss. I’ll just run back up there if someone comes in.”
I ran my fingers through the wet brushes, cleaning them as best I could with water in a large plastic bucket. It would have been easier in a sink, but I didn’t want to mess up Cam’s kitchen. I’d rinse them out properly in the mud room at the farmhouse.
“So...”
I glanced up at her, waggling my eyebrows. “You gonna finish that sentence?”
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you two, or what?”
Laughing, I shook my head. The audacity of a teenager.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
The truth sat at the tip of my tongue. The way I wished Cameron was mine.
The way I wished we were going home together tonight, like it meant something, to a home and a life that was ours.
But I held it back, because I had no idea if he felt the same, and I wasn’t about to confess to a child while the man in question was within earshot.
“You are a lying liar who lies.” She pointed a finger at me accusingly.
Thankfully, I was saved by the bell as a large group came in, and Gwen had to man the register.
I recognized three of the children from earlier in the week when I’d drawn their portraits, and this time they’d brought friends.
I drew two more portraits, and Steve handed me another twenty.
It wasn’t a lot, but threads of a plan started forming in my mind.
Maybe I could make this work after all.