“You made dinner,” he stated with surprise, and I shrugged.
“Yeah, just sandwiches,” I admitted, “but at least I didn’t destroy anything.” He walked toward me, but he stopped just short of hugging me, looking down at his clothes.
“Let me clean up, and then I’ll be back down, okay?” he asked. I nodded as he took off up the stairs, and I sat on the couch with A Different Kind of Rain, reading a little bit more. I had only managed to get through a few pages when he reappeared in the doorway, dark hair glistening and still damp from the shower. He leaned there against the door frame, gazing over at me with a half-smile shining through that five o’clock shadow. My breath caught in my chest, and I wondered if I would ever stop being stunned by how handsome he was.
“What did I do to deserve you?” he said quietly. All I could manage in response was a quiet giggle as I gave him a puzzled look. When he started walking in my direction, I rose to my feet.
“Your gourmet dinner awaits,” I joked. “I’m sure you don’t deserve my cooking. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”
“You could be the worst cook in the world and still be an amazing woman,” he told me as he pulled me into his arms.
“I suppose that’s a good thing,” I teased, “because I’m pretty sure I am the worst cook in the world.”
“I won’t dispute that,” he chuckled, kissing me softly. “Every time I expect you to be having a legitimate emotional breakdown, though, you surprise me. You’re in a remarkably good mood, considering what happened today.”
“Well, you know me,” I stated. “I always save my meltdowns for completely inappropriate occasions. They’re more fun that way.”
Taking his arm, I moved him toward the table, causing him to sit in front of one of the plates. He looped his arm around my waist and pulled me onto his lap, making me laugh. Lifting my hand, I smoothed it across his cheek, staring into his eyes.
“I so love you, Mr. Parker,” I sighed, at which point he displayed a dazzling smile.
“I have to be honest with you,” he whispered. “I don’t think I have ever been in such a hurry to get home from work as I was today. I feel as though you’ve placed me under a spell.”
“Don’t tell me you’re going back to accusing me of that again!” I exclaimed, remembering back to how he accused me of tricking him after we met. He laughed and wrapped his arm around me, holding me against him and placing his chin on top of my head.
“I don’t believe you do it on purpose,” he murmured, “but you have definitely done something to me. You invade my thoughts constantly, and it’s not even the same thing every time. Sometimes it’s seeing your blonde curls in my mind, and other times it’s wanting to listen to you tell one of your dramatic stories. I even think about catching you when you fall, or hearing you laugh when I make up a stupid song.”
“That’s a little pathetic,” I teased him, “but perfectly wonderful. I’m not sure how I managed to make you fall in love with me, but I’m so glad you did.”
“I must admit – part of the reason I couldn’t stop thinking about you this afternoon was because I thought you might be upset, knowing Rita was still here.”
“I probably should have been,” I acknowledged, “but once I came back here I figured out what I want to write about, and I actually stopped thinking about Rita. I do wonder what she’s up to, though. What was with that fake accent? I’ve never heard anything so bizarre in my life.”
“She actually pulled it off pretty well,” Cole informed me, letting me slide off his lap and into my own chair. “Had I not known who she was, I might have thought she really did talk that way.”
“You’re not allowed to praise her,” I told him as I piled some salad onto my plate, “not even for something as silly as a fake accent.”
“Don’t worry – I wasn’t praising her,” he chuckled, “merely giving my opinion. Duly noted, though, for future purposes.” Taking a bite of my salad, I watched as he picked up his sandwich and winked over at me before he brought it to his mouth.
“Her being here, while perplexing, isn’t even the crazy part to me,” I said as I grabbed my own sandwich. “Why would she be pulling the charade of being a waitress at a little mom and pop café? She can’t possibly think that acting like a normal person would change how Charlie and I feel about her. Besides that, what does she want from me?”
“Maybe she’s just realized she wants a relationship with you,” Cole suggested.
“Ha!” I laughed around my sandwich. “All of a sudden, she wants a relationship with me? No, there is some ulterior motive, I’m sure of that.” Pondering those motives, I took a bite of my sandwich and sat quietly, lost in my own thoughts. For a split second I thought that the sandwich was kind of gross, but I figured it was just the fact that I was thinking about Rita that had turned my stomach. I was wondering how long she would keep up her pretenses of being a waitress and trying to figure out a way to convince her to leave when Cole suddenly started laughing, and I shot him a puzzled look, which only served to send him into hysterics. Setting my fork down, I simply sat and stared at him, expecting some sort of explanation. He seemed to calm down a bit and was ready to say something, but as soon as he looked at me, he started laughing again.
“Exactly what is so funny?” I asked with exasperation. “If there’s some sort of joke, I’m missing it.” It took him a moment to calm down enough to talk, but when he did manage to catch his breath, he wiped his eyes and set his fist on the table.
“I don’t know how you managed to do it, Camdyn,” he choked out, “but this has to be the worst sandwich I’ve ever had in my life.”
“No, it’s not,” I argued weakly, looking down at my own uneaten sandwich.
“Oh, yes, I’m afraid so,” he insisted. “What kind of concoction is this, anyway? Turkey with…what is it, whipped topping? Did you put syrup in the mayonnaise? What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything!” I stated, fighting a wave of defeat that threatened to slide over me. “It’s an ordinary turkey sandwich, with lettuce, tomatoes, mustard, and mayonnaise.”
“It’s not mayonnaise,” he argued, pulling up one end of his sandwich and eyeing it carefully.
“Of course it is,” I disputed, folding my arms across my chest in defiance, which only made him laugh again. “You had it in a weird container in the door of the refrigerator.” As soon as those words passed my lips, he was fully in the throes of laughter once again, and I refused to sit there looking at him, feeling like his ridicule was quite preposterous. Instead of watching him laugh, I scooped up his plate, stalked over to the kitchen, and tossed his sandwich in the trash. From where I stood near the stove, I glared over at him, and he looked at me guiltily.
“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he told me, at which point I leaned against the kitchen cabinets and folded my arms across my chest.
“If you don’t tell me why you’re laughing, mister, things are going to get all kinds of cute up in here,” I said in mock anger. He rose from his chair and came over to meet me in the kitchen, taking my hand in his.
“You used the stuff in the container in the refrigerator door?” he asked, and I nodded, feeling like we had already established that fact. “Camdyn, that was vanilla custard that my mom sent home with us Sunday.”
“Vanilla custard…” I muttered, and he smiled down at me.
“Yes, and I’m not sure it goes with turkey,” he chuckled. “Well, at least not on turkey.”
“I’m sorry, Cole,” I whispered, but he leaned down and kissed me, telling me that he had forgotten all about it.
“We’ll have salad for dinner,” he suggested when he released me, “that is, unless you found something questionable to put into that, too.”
“Not that I know of,” I chuckled, following him back to the table.
“So, before the custard incident, we were talking about Rita,” he told me. “I actually did a little sleuthing of my own today, after lunch. She’s been wo
rking at the café for four days, and living near town with a guy named Jerry Farner.”
“No, I don’t believe that,” I stated matter-of-factly as I sank back into my chair.
“I thought it sounded funny at first, too,” he stated emphatically, “but Bill, the guy who owns the café, said he dropped her off there himself after work a couple times. Apparently she doesn’t have a car.”
“Doesn’t have a car?” I scoffed. “Come on, Cole. You saw her when she interrupted our wedding rehearsal, in her designer dress and those expensive jewels. Do you honestly think that woman doesn’t have access to a car, or is living with some random man in the middle of nowhere?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but Bill assures me that it’s the truth,” he remarked, gazing over at me. “In any event, it doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere.”
“I don’t suppose you are up for moving?” I suggested jokingly, and this time he was the one who responded with a glare. “Okay, don’t get all upset, it was just a joke.”
“I can only imagine how frustrating this is for you, but we’ll get through it,” he assured me. “Anyway, you mentioned that you figured out what you were going to write about? How’s that for progress? And with only a few hours to yourself.”
“I know, right?” I asked, suddenly pleased with myself. “I’m a rock star.” He gave me a fake salute before he placed a fork full of salad in his mouth. Then, he gave me a quizzical look indicating that something was wrong. He only kept up the charade for a moment, though, before he laughed and went on chewing.
“So, what is it that you’re writing about?” he wanted to know. “Your fourth great-grandmother? Your third cousin twice removed?” Knowing that he was making a reference to my last book, which had been about my fifth great-grandmother, I simply rolled my eyes.
“No, actually, I’m writing about my dad this time,” I stated, “or more exactly, about my dad’s book. I was reading a little bit of it today, and I remembered how I felt a real connection to the girl it’s about when I read it before. So, that’s where I’m going. I’m looking for Etta – well, her story, anyway.”
“Can you find Etta?” he asked, digging into his salad with gusto, leading me to believe that it must have been acceptable, after all.
“Not likely,” I admitted, “but if I study the book, along with the time period and some appropriate history, I think I can come up with a great story.”
“No doubt,” he stated with confidence, smiling over at me. “And this finding Etta – this is something you can do from Tennessee, correct?”
“Naturally,” I retorted sweetly, returning his smile. “I can’t think of any reason I would need to leave.”
“Good,” he breathed, placing his fork down and resting his elbows on the table, “because I can think of a million reasons for you to stay.”
Chapter Three
As much as I wanted not to think about Rita, the fact that she had plunked herself down in Tennessee was driving me insane. So much so, in fact, that the next morning, when I told Cole that I was going to the library to do some research on Etta, I admit that I had an ulterior motive. I intended to do some incognito research on Jerry Farner, and possibly pick Lily’s brain a little while I was there.
Beyond that, I also anticipated questioning Lily about the remainder of her lunch at the café the day before, and for once, I wasn’t at all interested in how things were going with Jake.
When I pulled into the library parking lot, I noticed that a couple of ladies immediately started watching me out the window, and as I stepped out of the car, they started gesturing towards me. My mind automatically decided they were talking about Rita, because word traveled fast in a small town. That was one thing I thought I might never grow accustomed to in my new home.
Lily was waiting for me inside, obviously having overheard the other ladies talking about me. She swept me toward the back room and carefully avoided talking until we were safely alone.
“Are you terribly upset about your mom?” she asked, glancing behind her to make sure Ollie, the other librarian, wasn’t nearby. I sat carefully in a wooden chair and placed my laptop bag on the table, giving the impression that I was there to work, just in case Ollie did wander toward us.
“Not upset,” I assured her, “just bewildered. I need to figure out what she’s doing here. Are you up for the challenge?”
“A challenge?” she asked with a gleam in her eye. “Heck yeah, that sounds intriguing. Much better than re-shelving books all morning.”
“Okay, then, here’s question number one,” I threw out, pulling out my planner and opening it so I could take notes, if necessary. That only served to send Lily into a fit of giggles. “What’s so funny? Seriously, Lily, I’m going to need your attention. This matter is of the utmost importance.”
“You’re very formal for someone who recently had cow poop in her mouth,” she chuckled, lowering herself into the chair across from me as she thought about the night before my wedding and the horrible hazing ritual those girls had inflicted upon me.
“We shall never speak of that again,” I told her with a low voice, glancing around for effect. “You were an accomplice in that crime, let me remind you. One of these days you will get your payback.”
“Oh, Camdyn,” she laughed. “You should be an actress, since you’re always so dramatic. Very well – what is question number one?”
“Ahem,” I cleared my throat and repositioned my pen on the paper, “please describe the behavior of one Rita Costa after Cole and I left the café.”
“Well,” Lily started, pretending to be thinking, “she took our food orders, and then she made a joke about not needing the two extra drinks before she removed them from the table.”
“And?”
“And, I suppose she was a pretty good waitress,” Lily added. I sighed loudly and rolled my eyes at her.
“You know what I am asking you, ma’am, so just the facts, please. Did she spill any dirt after we left? Did she mention us, or tell any other café patrons why she was in town?”
“No,” Lily admitted. “I’m sorry, Camdyn.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I instructed, regrouping and trying again. “Second question – what do you know about Jerry Farner?”
“The guy who owns the pawn shop?” Lily questioned, wrinkling up her nose.
“Owns a pawn shop,” I stated aloud as I wrote the words in my planner. “Spill it, sister.”
“Okay, let’s see,” she pondered verbally, tapping her fingers on the table. “Well, he’s a little odd.”
“Odd, what does that mean?”
“Odd, as in he thinks he’s a 1970’s cowboy of some sort,” she offered. “He reminds me of Burt Reynolds in one of those old movies.”
“Obviously I am way too sophisticated to know what you’re speaking of,” I informed her. “Can you expound on that sentiment, please?”
“I really can’t,” she said with a smirk. “Just suffice it to say he’s a blast from the past, okay?”
“Blast from the past,” I wrote, again speaking the words. “So where does he live?”
“This line of questioning is making me slightly uncomfortable,” Lily stated.
“Very well,” I retorted. “I have the internet, so I will find out myself, thank you very much. Have you nothing else to offer in this matter?”
“Only that you’re a goofball,” she told me. “Is that all you wanted from me, to try to be a stalker of some random guy?”
“Some random guy,” I scoffed. “Rita is apparently living with that random guy.”
“Ewww,” Lily shuddered while scrunching up her face. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Well, that’s what I’m trying to find out, if I could find someone willing to help me.”
“Camdyn,” she sighed, “I really don’t know much about Jerry. If I could help you, I would.”
“Yeah, sure you would,” I stated sarcastically as I opened my laptop. “No worries – I will just
map it out myself when I find it. You can’t stop me, librarian.”
“You mean that as an insult?” she wondered, feigning astonishment. “I should tell Ollie.”
“Go ahead, I dare you,” I glared at her, and she giggled again.
“Okay, I better get back to work then,” she suggested. “If you need me, just holler.”
Bending over my laptop, I typed Jerry Farner’s name into the search engine and waited for the address to populate. Only once did I think with a shudder about how eerily easy it was to locate someone, but since it was serving my selfish purposes, I tried to put it out of my mind. Since three different websites came up with the same address, I believed it was probably correct. Jotting it into my planner, I then did a search for nearby pawn shops. When I came up with one just two miles from the library, I decided I would check it out.
Feeling slightly guilty about not doing any book research, I located a book about World War I and read a few pages, merely so I could say that I did. I knew I wasn’t technically doing anything wrong (or was I?), but I still would have felt weird telling Cole that I spent the morning looking for a blast from the past cowboy instead of actually working.
Content that enough time had passed, I gathered up my things and walked toward the door of the library. Before I could make it outside, Lily was hot on my heels.
“Tell me you’re not doing anything crazy,” Lily insisted, standing in front of me to block my progress.
“Okay,” I stated breezily. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at me.
“Promise me, or I’ll tell Cole,” she threatened.
“That’s low,” I breathed. “You win – I won’t do anything crazy. Are you happy?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll let it slide,” she whispered, moving aside and letting me pass. I gave her a big smile and blew her a kiss jokingly, and she shook her head at me.
Once out in the car, what Lily said about telling Cole started to get to me. I was quite certain he wouldn’t be happy about what I was doing. Had I thought he would approve, I would have asked him the questions about Jerry Farner, wouldn’t I?
A Reason to Forget (The Camdyn Series Book 3) Page 3