Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67675 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
My hand tightened on the box of ziti until the cardboard crunched in my fist. I turned slowly to see Cami watching me, her dark eyes shadowed. Was she regretting it now, after all these years? It hadn’t exactly been the fun, no complications, no commitment deal we’d agreed on. Now she had my daughter, and I had her trapped in what she’d always referred to as my fortress of solitude.
And not in a joking way.
“It’s only three weeks,” I said, repeating her words from earlier. Though right now, spending the next twenty-one days and nights in proximity to Cami and all our memories was a daunting prospect.
She nodded. “Three weeks.”
I prepped the pasta sauce, then made the grilled cheese while the noodles were cooking. Cami floated in and out of the kitchen, checking on Emma, disappearing into her room, coming back to see if I needed anything. I didn’t. Both of us were good cooks, and both of us preferred to work alone. I’d once thought that was the perfect metaphor for our relationship. Neither of us wanted a sous chef.
“You’re upping the grilled cheese game on me,” she said, inspecting the Shullsburg Creamery Colby Jack I’d picked up. “I usually do those Kraft singles.”
I couldn’t stop my lip from curling down. Luckily, she only laughed, not realizing the depth of my revulsion. “It’s not that bad.”
“It’s not real cheese.” I laid out thick slices of Colby Jack on the bread that was crisping in the pan.
Cami shrugged. “It’s not bad though. Have you ever tried it?”
She had no way of knowing that I’d “tried it” at least a thousand times. That was probably a wild underestimation, but I didn’t want to dwell on it long enough to do the math.
“No,” I said shortly. It was the simplest way to put this discussion to rest. I’d never told Cami about my past, and I wasn’t going to start now. Not with some sob story about fake fucking cheese.
“Always a food snob,” Cami said. She sounded equal parts exasperated and affectionate. It was the affection that made me look over my shoulder. She was smiling down at the counter as she tidied the mess I’d made like she’d done a dozen times before.
Sensing my eyes on her, she looked up. The smile faded. “What? You have your own special process for cleaning up now, too?”
“No.” I turned back, pushing aside the uncomfortable sensation of her presence. It wasn’t uncomfortable because I didn’t want her there, but it wasn’t the opposite either. That was what was uncomfortable – that I couldn’t pinpoint exactly how she made me feel. I’d spent a lifetime honing my emotions, refining them. Deadening them, some of my friends would say, but that wasn’t true. It was just that emotions were dangerous in my line of work. I preferred to focus on their cousin – instincts. Those I could sharpen. Those had served me well.
Cami scrambled those. Put a fucking electric mixer into the calm surface of my life and cranked the speed up to ten.
She cleaned up what she could in silence while I finished the meals, and then she called Emma in from the terrace. It looked like my daughter would take after her mother – a child of the wild. I’d never be able to keep either of them here for long.
Not that I wanted to, in Cami’s case, I reminded myself.
Though Cami had warned me Emma might not appreciate the upgrade to her favorite meal, the little dark-haired girl scarfed it down and asked for more.
“There’s no–” Cami started, but I was already standing up.
“Come on, kid. I’ll show you how it’s done.”
“Emma, let him finish his dinner first,” Cami said.
We were already heading to the kitchen. Cami picked up her plate and moved to the bar to watch. I put an oversized apron on Emma, double looping the tie around her waist. Then I let her put mayonnaise on the outside of the bread while I heated the pan back up. She slopped it all over the bread and the plate and the surrounding counter.
“Be careful,” Cami reproved. “Keep it on the bread.”
“Great job, kid.” I helped her drop the first slice face down into the pan once it was heated up. Then she laid the thick slice of Colby Jack on top and watched, fascinated, as it melted.
I glanced over at Cami to make sure she was comfortable with how close I had Emma to the stove. She didn’t look worried, exactly, but there was an expression on her face I’d never seen before. Something soft, but a little sad.
“You’re great with her,” she said quietly when she noticed me looking at her.
“You didn’t think I would be?”
Cami lifted a shoulder and let it drop, unapologetic. “I didn’t know.”
Her eyes moved from Emma to me, locked. A powerful emotion surged through me. Another one I couldn’t quite identify. It was something darker than attraction, deeper than lust, sweeter than anger, but more bitter than happiness. I shoved it down.