Speaking of skin . . . Cameron’s fingers are gently rubbing my exposed neck, and I nearly close my eyes and moan. Not really. That would be awkward and not at all appropriate while discussing church music.
I do glance up at him, though, and his neck flushes that adorable pink. To make sure he knows I’m more than okay with the public affection, I place my hand on his knee and lean closer.
“So what do you think of everyone?” he whispers, his breath on my ear shooting very non-platonic tingles down my spine.
I twist to look at him. “They seem really nice.” What else can I say? It’s hard to make an assessment after only a few verbal exchanges.
“They are, and I can tell they like you.”
“Yeah? How?”
“I’ve known these guys so long I can read their body language like sheet music. Especially Darcy. She’s usually the hardest on me.”
Total shocker . . . not. I’m more convinced than ever that there’s a story between these two.
The band comes out and I turn back around, snuggling into the crook of his right arm. His other hand joins mine on his knee and laces our fingers together. It’s enough to push all thoughts of Darcy out of my mind.
Tonight isn’t about the past.
It’s a fresh new beginning for both of us.
fourteen
I sneak away to the bathroom after we eat dinner and immediately unbutton my jeans with a huge exhale. Fashion or not, I’m throwing these suckers in the not-until-I’m-skinny-again pile as soon as I get home.
The door swings in, and I jump from my position against the sink and try to redress myself before I’m exposed. No such luck.
“Don’t do that on my account,” Darcy says, amusement lacing every syllable. “I’ll honor the sanctity of the ladies’ room and not say a word.”
I don’t trust her one bit, but the screaming red line across my abdomen is hurting enough that I lean back and let the front of my pants stay flapped open. “I tried that outfit-in-a-box thing. Great concept . . . not so much on the execution.” Especially when the measurements I uploaded were pre-gallon-ice-cream indulgences and pre-fourteen-hour sleep fests. In other words, my stupid ex not only stole my happiness but also a dress size.
“You’ll get no judgment from me. I groom dogs for a living, so being hair-free is about as good as it gets.” She slides next to me and mimics my relaxed posture. “I’m actually kind of relieved to see you like this. I was pretty intimidated when you first walked in.”
“By me?” The question comes out so fast I see spit fly across the floor. Yeah. Real intimidating. “Why?”
“Besides the fact that Cam’s been talking nonstop about you since Monday, you’re also very stylish and beautiful. And you have incredibly good posture.” She stands a little straighter until her shoulders are back like mine.
“The posture is courtesy of my mom. She used to smack me on the head whenever I slouched.” The beautiful thing, well, that’s from her, too, although I’ve never thought much about it. Mom is the one who turns heads when we walk into a room. She’s forty-eight but looks twenty-five, has the kind of figure most women—and men—dream about, and spends at least half her paycheck on making sure that never changes. “The rest is very sweet of you to say.” I turn my head, feeling the need to reciprocate her honesty. “Truth? You intimidated me, too. You’re very comfortable with yourself, and—” I bite my lip, then force myself to continue—“there’s the best-friends-with-Cameron thing. Boy-girl friendships always have some kind of buried feelings. Based on how friendly you’re being, I’m now guessing it’s on his part more so than yours.”
She’s quiet for a moment as if chewing on all I’ve just said. “You’re very perceptive.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Darcy again pauses, and the more she hesitates, the more nervous I get. Finally, she sighs. “Cam’s feelings wore off a long time ago.”
Though deep down I knew there had to be history, hearing it still feels like being punched in the stomach. “So you two dated?”
“No, nothing like that. He just hinted at possibly evolving our relationship when we were seniors in high school, and I turned him down as gently as I could.”
“How come?”
“Well, for one, we have the whole I’ve-known-him-my-entire-life thing to overcome. There are some images a girl can’t get out of her head, and believe it or not, Cam has not always been the handsome, suave man he is now. He used to be a band nerd with braces.” She scrunches her nose. “Plus, our dreams are completely incompatible. I want to be an international missionary, and he wants a career in music.”
I work to keep the shock out of my expression. I imagine missionary work is common in Christian circles, but to me it’s an insane concept.
“So, even if I was willing to settle for friendship and forgo passion, which I’m not, we’d fail before we ever started.” She turns and leans her hip against the counter. “But that’s all ages ago. And right now you’re the first thing that’s made that man smile in months. Which makes you top shelf in my opinion.”
I shouldn’t care this much about her admission, but I want to do a happy dance in the middle of the bathroom. “Same here. He’s the only bright spot in my life right now.”
She pushes away from the counter. “In that case, suck in the gut, baby, and get back out there. As for me, I really did come in here to pee.”
I laugh because I can’t help it when in the presence of someone who seems to say out loud every thought in her mind.
Darcy pokes her head out from the stall before completely closing the door. “Oh, and when he grills you on what we talked about in here, just tell him chicken coop. He’ll be too embarrassed to say another thing about it.” The door shuts a beat later, and while I’m dying to know the story, I’m totally not comfortable talking to her while she does her business.
I suck in a breath, pull the clasp of my jeans until it connects, and drape my shirt to hide the muffin top. No more Ramen noodles. Just salad and celery and . . . never mind. The minute I think about dieting, I immediately crave a cheeseburger. I’ll just up my daily walks and add some sit-ups at night.
Armed with a plan, I exit the bathroom and rejoin the group.
Cameron twists in his chair like he’s been watching for me, and that wonderful warm splash of happiness returns. I’m not even bothered by the knowledge that he pursued Darcy years ago. I’ve liked plenty of guys in the past, and none of them have ever looked at me the way Cameron does—like I’m special and worthy of respect.
“I was beginning to worry,” he says when I sit back down. “You two were in there a long time.”
I don’t want to embarrass him with whatever inside joke is behind the chicken coop, so I simply lace my fingers in his. “She was just telling me how great you are. I happen to agree.”
He rewards my comment with a heart-stopping grin that produces not one but two dimples. “You do, huh?”
“Very much.”
He motions toward the guys plugging in their guitars onstage. “And the band? Did you like them?” The timid way he asks makes me wonder if there’s a deeper purpose behind the question. I hope not, because I don’t have a whole lot of positive things to say about them.
“Yeah, they were good.”
“You don’t say that with any kind of excitement.”
That’s because Bryson’s band reminds me of every other cover band I’ve heard. They’ll probably do this kind of thing for a few years, maybe develop a small following, and then eventually fade into oblivion. But I’m not about to tell Cameron that. “Sorry. I’m not really a music critic, so I probably don’t know what to look for.”
“Okay.” He slides me back to our position where his arm is around my shoulder and I’m leaning against his torso.
Unfortunately, even my toned-down answer must bother him, because Cameron’s oddly silent through the whole second set, and even after, when Bryson comes and sits with us.
Not that the guy does anything to improve the evening. I’m not sure if it’s the lackluster performance or the obvious irritation between him and the rest of the band, but Bryson’s presence is equivalent to a boiling pot of water.
Plus, his eyes keep flashing to mine like I’m the one causing the tension at the table. At least I’m attempting to make small talk and not ignoring everyone, including his supposed girlfriend.
I lean close to Cameron, my ability to hide my sheer dislike for his friend nearly depleted. “I’m kind of tired. You about ready to leave?”
He squeezes my hand twice and then lets go. “We’re going to take off,” he announces to the group and begins to stand.
I’m out of my chair just as quickly.
“I thought we were going to talk,” Bryson says, his voice low and accusatory. He eyes me again, and it hits me why he bothers me so much. He doesn’t seem to belong in this group and certainly doesn’t fit the image I have of Cameron’s world. In fact, Bryson’s the first person I’ve met from Grace Community who reminds me of my old life.
“Tomorrow.” Cameron pushes in his chair and then mine. “I have to be up at the church by seven. Brent’s not happy with our new song.”
“Another reason right there, Cam.” Bryson’s tone gets even more serious and I can see Cameron tensing under his stare. “You can’t do this forever.”
I glance at Darcy right as she smacks Bryson in the arm. Good. I want to peg him one myself. A big fat knuckle sandwich to his face.
“What?” he says, rubbing the spot. “I’m just stating a fact.”
When Darcy doesn’t argue, Cameron shoves his hands into his pockets. “We’ll talk about it later. I’m going to get Jan home.”
Cue fake smile. “Good night, everyone. It was so nice to meet all of you.”
A cascade of verbal goodbyes come, but I’m so over being there that I don’t bother to wait for them before turning for the door. Cameron’s behind me but still manages to reach out and push the door open before I get to it.
“Thanks,” I say, then wrap my coat tighter because the temperature outside is easily twenty degrees colder.
“Did you have fun?”
“Yeah. I like your friends. Especially Darcy and Brian.” Mostly only Darcy and Brian, but Kalee was nice, too. Just really, really quiet.
“Yeah. They’re great.”
I hate how every word feels stilted now and how his expression matches the same one he had when he stood on the stage and talked about how frustrated he was with his career. I feel certain he’s wrestling with something but have no idea how to even approach the subject with him.
So instead I ask about one of the songs he played on the way up and we do the music thing all the way back to my cabin. It cheers him up a little, but he still seems like he’s walking wounded.
“Well, thank you again for dinner,” I say as he parks the car.
“I’ll walk you up.”
“Okay.” My arms and legs tingle as I step from the car, slipping a mint in my mouth just in case he ends the night with a kiss.
I come around the car, and we walk up my three front steps together. He pauses at the door but makes no move to touch me. I’m not really sure what to do at this point. Do I go inside? Step closer? Say good-night?
“Can I ask you a question?” His voice sounds so sad I immediately forget about the will-he-kiss-me-or-not scenario and rest my hand on his arm.
“Of course. Anything.”
He motions to the rocking chairs on my front porch and we sit, even though my hands are turning to ice. I know forty degrees is not very cold for some people, but this Southern girl likes the sun.
“Part of why I wanted to take you tonight is because you’re the only one I know who might be able to give me an unbiased opinion.”
I’m not sure how to take that comment, so I just stay quiet.
“Bryson wants to fire Mason, and he’s asked me to take his place as lead guitarist. In addition to getting full creative freedom, he’s promised to give me one song a night as lead vocals. But he wants my decision by next week.”
“What’s that mean for the church band?”
Cameron rubs his hands together and then leans down and sets his elbows on his knees. “I’d have to quit. Bryson says there’s way too much travel to commit to Sunday morning worship.”
“But Bryson’s band isn’t Christian. I mean, some of those songs they played were pretty dark and angry.” Two things Cameron is not.
“I know. That’s why I’m torn.” He cradles his head in his hands. “I want to play inspirational music, but the market is so small and every great church has someone just like me.”
“No, they don’t.” Okay, so maybe I’m guessing on that one, but I know talent, and Cameron is well above average. “I may be overstepping here, but what you sang for me the other day, it meant something. It inspired me. You inspire me. And tonight, well, it was just another average band.”
“A band with gigs lined up for the next four months. Some decent places, too. And Bryson says they’re this close”—he sits up and gestures with his thumb and pointer finger until they’re an inch apart—“to getting a spot at the Mohawk in Austin. That will catapult them, and if I add some strings to a few of their originals, it’ll take the sound to a whole new level.”
I want to say If Bryson lets you, but I don’t. I know they’ve been friends most of their life and I don’t want to insult him. All the same, though, the idea of Cameron playing backup in a substandard band feels completely wrong. “Just be careful. You’re special, Cameron, and not everyone can handle that. I would hate to see you reduce yourself just to make him look better.” Because the truth is that Cameron is far superior to Bryson in every way. And the minute Bryson realizes it, he’ll not only take the one song away that he promised, but I have no doubt he’ll also make Cameron’s life miserable until he quits.
“Bry would never do that. I know he’s a lot to take in at first, but deep down he’s a good guy.”
I silently agree to disagree with that one.
Cameron slaps his thighs and stands. “Well, thank you. It was nice to hear a different perspective.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, though I seriously doubt I was any help at all. I walk to my door, knowing a kiss is out of the question. The mood is too heavy, and neither of our minds is in the right place for it now. I slip my key into the dead bolt when I feel his hand encircle my arm.
“Come here,” he says, gently tugging me.
I acquiesce immediately and find myself enfolded in his arms.
The hug is so unexpected and odd that it takes me a second to lift my arms and wrap them around his torso. When I do, his hug gets tighter and he drops his head to the crook of my neck, inhaling as if he needs help breathing.
My eyes close and I let myself be still, to feel the warmth of his body next to mine, the security of his arms, and the vulnerability of holding someone so openly.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have envisioned a hug being more intimate than a kiss, but this one strips me bare, my eyes filling with tears as I allow the pain of the last couple of months to pass between us.
I press my forehead into his shirt and catch the mildest scent of Irish Spring soap. I want to bottle it, spray it on my pillow, and feel this way forever.
“Thank you,” he says, pulling away.
I swallow back my tears and look up at him. This perfect, beautiful man who has no idea how incredibly unique he is. “Whatever you decide, just don’t change, okay?”
His smile is real for the first time in hours. “I promise.” He steps away, and I know he’s waiting for me to go inside. I finish my task of unlocking the door and wave before closing it behind me. The air is thick with promise and I touch my mouth, feeling my lips as they stretch with pure happiness.
The euphoria lasts only a few minutes before I tear off my shoes and jeans, my smile growing even more now that I can move without pain. I walk to the kitchen in my underw
ear, grateful there isn’t a soul for miles, and strongly consider mimicking the scene from Risky Business.
Instead, I think through the evening and let the floaty cloud feeling come again. I rehash my night filled with careful touches, hidden smiles, and the friendly admission that Cameron has been thinking about me as much as I have been thinking about him.
My inner Tom Cruise wins and I do a slide to the fridge, my bare feet moving a mere six inches before they catch against the tile floor. Slide, stumble, whatever. I still want to giggle.
I grab a cold bottle of water from the fridge and am halfway through twisting off the cap when I see a mason jar stuffed full of golden Copper Canyon daisies sitting on my kitchen table. I recognize them from Doreen’s greenhouse.
Only two other people have access to both Doreen’s place and mine—the Kyles. And since Mr. Kyle has never stepped foot into my cabin, I can only assume the gesture had to come from Dillon. But why in the world would he leave me flowers?
Stepping closer, I peek out the kitchen window. Unable to see anything in the dark night, I opt to close the blinds. Me in my underwear is not really a sight I want exposed at this time, especially to a guy who prides himself on telling me the truth. Yeah, definitely switching to salads.
Confirmation comes as soon as I pick up the card balancing against the glass. The distinctive Kyle logo is etched in black against a white background, just like their trucks. I flip the business card over and see the words For your next sonnet.
I reread the line several times, hoping it will suddenly make sense. And then it does. The daisies . . . they look just like little golden stars. Despite my better judgment, I gingerly touch Dillon’s attempt at a peace offering. Maybe I was being too harsh when I ignored him earlier.
Leaning over, I sniff the blooms, catching a hint of citrus, and set the card back where it was originally.
I shake my head and walk toward my bedroom. What a strange night this turned out to be.
Love and a Little White Lie Page 9