CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Adalyn
“My dearest Green Oak volunteers,” Josie said, opening her arms with a flourish. “Welcome to Green Oak’s annual BBBBL, or as we all know it, Beer, Barbecue, and Boogie By the Lake.”
Diane cleared her throat from the first row.
Josie’s smile tightened. “Yes, Diane?”
“Why did we change the name again?” she asked, making Josie’s lips stretch. “This was supposed to be our end of summer party by the lake. It should have been weeks ago, the last week of August, like every year.” That head of bright yellow turned in the direction of the stands. “Where are the corn dogs or the mini glazed donuts? We’re also serving more than just beer. And while you’re at it, I still don’t understand what you mean by boogie.”
Josie let out a chuckle that didn’t sound as lighthearted as she’d hoped, if I had to guess. “Well, Diane, if you would have paid a little attention during our spring council meeting, you’d remember that we were trying to spice things up for the upcoming seasons. You know, to bring in more people from all over the county with fun and catchy events that have fun and catchy names. Hence the boogie, hence the barbecue, hence the craft beer and hence”—her voice went high—“the change of name.”
“But there’s a coffee booth,” Diane countered. “And our end of summer party was fine. It was the best one in the county, if I may say so myself. I don’t get why we need to be attractive to folks from other towns.”
Josie’s whole expression bunched up as she launched herself into another discourse about why change was good.
The man standing next to me exhaled long and deep, catching my attention. His hand had risen to his hair and he was dragging it down the side of his head. By now, I knew a few of Cameron’s tells. He wasn’t happy to be here, and after watching him during yesterday’s game, I could guess it was because of the people this could bring. He’d flinched every time the crowd had stirred.
“It’s the boogie part, isn’t it?” I asked him in a hushed voice.
My question seemed to surprise Cameron, because when he looked over at me, it was with a frown. “Yeah.”
I wondered why he would put himself through this when he hated it so much. He really thought I would expose him. Guilt swirled in my stomach. “If Josie does so much as suggest we dance, I’m out of here.”
“We?”
“The volunteers,” I explained, feeling a wave of warmth climbing up my neck. The image of Cameron’s arms around me took shape in my mind. “I’ll hide in the woods if I have to. Even after Josie said some very disturbing things about them being possibly haunted. That is how bad I don’t want to boogie tonight.”
Cameron snorted.
“Out of everyone here, I’d thought you would believe that.”
Amusement flashed across his expression. “And why is that, darling?”
“Because your kind believe in lucky rituals and things like juju,” I pointed out with a shrug. I wanted to ask him if wearing the ring on a chain had been partly about that. “I’ve seen players do the most ridiculous things before games.”
Cameron’s eyes roamed around my face for a moment, as if searching for something. That stupid flush returned. “Not all footballers are the same.” He turned away, facing forward. “If you’re nice to me tonight I’ll take you on a hike and show you there are no ghosts. But you can’t come in those bloody shoes.”
I huffed. “If I’m nice—”
“You two will be on beer duty,” Josie said, suddenly in front of us. “Loving the look, Adalyn. But did you bring anything a little thicker than that blazer? Temps really drop at night by the lake. That’s why we say on the brochure to come dressed in layers.”
I looked down at myself. “This is tweed. I’ll be fine.”
“Alrighty then,” she said, clapping her hands and turning around. “Follow me, please. I’ll show you to your station.” We trailed behind her. “People from town who signed up for the BBBBL will not be having fun just yet.” She stopped at a stand with a sign that read JOSIE’S JOSTLER. I frowned. “This baby over here is my craft beer venture. I’m still working on the name.”
Cameron muttered something I didn’t catch under his breath.
“So…” I hesitated. “You’ve brewed the beer that will be served tonight?”
“Yes, ma’am.” A bigger than usual grin parted her face. “It’s a hazy IPA. I’ve been perfecting the recipe for months, and I think this is the one. You can tell me when you try it.” She winked. “Okay, enough chitchat. People will be coming in soon and I want every volunteer set and ready to go.” She pointed at a barrel with a device locked at the top. “Have you ever used one of these?”
“Yes,” Cameron answered with a sigh before I could say a word. “And the spigot is not screwed in properly.”
He rolled up the sleeves on that flannel jacket he was wearing tonight. My eyes dipped to his forearms and immediately spotted the ink spilling out of the rolled sleeve, covering his skin. Something lodged somewhere between my rib cage and stomach at the sight, something that wasn’t just curiosity. I leaned forward so I could get a better look as Cameron’s hands landed on the top of the barrel.
Forearms flexed as little pieces and bits were screwed off and on with determined motions.
I patted my cheeks. They were warm. And I—
Oh God. What was happening? I’d never been into manual labor. Or tattoos. Or forearms. Or flannel for that matter.
I was startled out of my trance by an elbow to the side.
Josie’s pale blue gaze was pointed at me with a mischievous glance. You’re drooling, she mouthed. My eyes widened in horror and my hand dashed to my mouth. She chuckled loudly, and when Cameron shot us a questioning look, she sobered up and said, “Thanks for taking care of it, Cam.”
Cameron’s answer was a shrug.
“Okay, now that I really know the Josie’s Jostler is in good hands and that you, Cam, can show Ada how the tap system works, I’m going to cut straight to the chase.” Josie’s hand stuck in the air, in the direction of a black metallic box. “Everyone coming gets food and drink tokens at the entrance, so all you have to do is take a token and serve a beer. If you get any enthusiastic tippers, you tell them that there’s a piggy bank in the shape of a goat by the hot beverages stand. That’s where I will be. All tips will go to the budget of next year’s BBBBL. Questions?” She waited for an instant, but when my mouth opened, she said, “No questions, perfect! Now I need to run to the grill station. Gabriel said something very disturbing about homemade vegan patties earlier. Have fun, and”—that mischievous look returned—“remember that you’re here to pretend you’re bonding. Diane is extra watchy today, so I suggest you be extra bondy.”
And with a very suggestive wink in my direction that made my face turn beetroot red, Josie jogged away.
“You okay?” Cameron asked.
“Sure,” I answered, walking around him and setting up somewhere where those extremely distracting forearms were not visible. “I was just thinking that I forgot to ask Josie what the boogie thing was about.” I busied myself with the cashbox. “So how did you know about the spigot?”
Turned out Cameron had worked at a pub in his late teens. He’d also spent his summers juggling every possible job available before signing his first contract. It explained things. It also made a little spot on my chest expand.
But I wasn’t going to pay any attention to that. Me having a sweet spot for hardworking people wasn’t new.
It also turned out that the boogie part of the evening was a Green Oak band’s renditions of seventies and eighties songs. A band in which Josie played the bass.
It was truly fascinating the number of things that woman could do.
Except for brewing beer, as it also turned out. I’d had a sip of the Josie’s Jostler and let’s say it was so hazy I could have chewed on it. I wasn’t an expert on craft beer, and had always favored wine, but I didn’t think a hazy IPA was supposed to work like that.
Not that the crowd in attendance seemed to care. The Josie’s Jostler stand had been just as busy as the rest. I wouldn’t use the word packed—by my or any standards—but busy enough for Cameron to do most of the work and relegate me to token duty. That, unfortunately, had involved more sleeve-rolling, forearm unveiling, and muscle flexing when lifting glasses and exchanging barrels. At some point, I realized I’d been staring at one of his forearms—at that one specific inked spot left of his wrist—so hard and long that I had forgotten to collect tokens. So I’d thrown in a few dollars from my pocket and continued my ogling.
That was when he’d produced a beanie from a secret pocket in his flannel jacket.
I despised flannel, beanies, and secret pockets now.
That was why the moment the first five notes to “Boogie Wonderland” from the improvised stage hit and most people shifted in the direction of the band, I ran away.
Yes. I was officially hiding. From Cameron, not the boogie.
I was at the far end of the BBBBL premises, near the lake, with the not one but two goats María had brought with her as my only company. And if a ghost was to come out and lure me and the goats into the woods, I’d go gladly.
Brandy bleated from her spot at my feet. And just like every time she’d done that in the fifteen minutes I’d been here, Tilly stirred in response.
“You two need to stop that,” I whispered, obtaining another two baas. “No. Shush.”
I glanced over my shoulder, checking the crowd for a specific set of green eyes, dark beard, and beanie. Not a trace of him. Good. I returned my gaze forward, just in time for a gust of chilly air to hit me in the face and make me curl into myself.
The tweed suit was the warmest outfit I had, but Josie had been right, now that the sun was setting, it hadn’t been the smartest choice. Not that any in my wardrobe would have.
“But that’s okay,” I muttered under my breath, thinking back to Cameron’s beanie. And boots. And jeans. And flannel jacket. And how warm he must be. Maybe I should go by Outdoor Moe’s and get myself a beanie. Brandy nudged my leg with her head. “I know. I don’t think I could pull off a beanie either.” I could maybe do flannel. I sighed. “He could have at least left the jacket before leaving.”
“Who left?”
I almost fell off the rock I’d been sitting on. “Jesus,” I muttered, turning my head and finding that mountain of padded flannel a few feet to my left.
Cameron’s brows knotted under his stupid, silly beanie. “Jesus left?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but another gust of air picked up, stopping my words and sending a shiver to crawl down my spine. I curled my arms around my middle and gave him a shrug.
If Cameron cared about the lack of confirmation from my side, he didn’t say. Instead he crossed the distance separating us and planted himself right beside me. My eyes dipped low, to his forearms. His sleeves were down, thank God. His hands, however, were hanging between his legs. Relaxed. Rough. Large. That signet on his pinky. Ugh. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t hyperfixate on every body part this man flung in front of me.
Tilly, who based on her size looked younger than Brandy, trotted to Cameron’s side, providing a welcome distraction. He stiffened.
“You can go,” I muttered. Offered, really. Because he’d be doing us both a favor. I couldn’t hide from him if he was here.
“It’s just a goat,” he answered. Hadn’t those been his exact words at yoga? “Two goats. And one is tiny.”
Something else he said came to mind. We’re all afraid of something in this life.
“I promised María I’d keep them company,” I told him, just so I wouldn’t think of that.
“Looked to me like you were avoiding me,” Cameron said, making my heart drop. “And came to the place you knew I would stay away from.”
My throat worked, a new shiver that had nothing to do with the cold sneaking down my back. “Looks to me like someone believes he’s the center of the universe.” The warmth returned to my face. “I was getting away from the music. It’s not very good, in case you haven’t noticed.”
As if in cue, the music came to a stop and the crowd erupted in applause.
Brandy tensed at my feet, making me remember María’s words about the goat suffering from anxiety and being triggered by loud noises. A warm shoulder came into contact with mine when Tilly bleated from Cameron’s side.
He was inching away from the tiny goat.
I cleared my throat.
“I’m fine,” he grunted. But he really wasn’t. And as warm as his side was and as much as the chill in my body was somehow appeased, I still felt bad. Responsible, for a reason I didn’t understand. I opened my mouth, but Cameron spoke. “I lived on a farm for a while. When I was a boy.”
Oh. That information seemed to lodge itself somewhere inside my head, as if it was important. Worth remembering. “In England,” I clarified. Which was redundant because we both knew that.
But Cameron nodded anyway. “My nonna hated it, though. So we moved back to the city.”
I remembered his comment about being raised by his grandmother. I realized I remembered everything that left this man’s mouth. “Are you two close?”
“Were,” he answered, looking over at me. “She passed before I signed for the Islington West.”
His first club.
I stared into Cameron’s eyes, getting a little lost in how open, naked his expression was in this moment. There was yearning in his face. A little sadness, too.
“I never had the chance to meet any of my grandparents,” I heard myself say. “My mother is originally from Cuba, and she came to the US a few years before I was born. She left everyone and everything behind. My father’s parents… died when he was young.” Cameron’s brows furrowed. “I haven’t experienced that kind of bond, but I genuinely believe your grandmother would be proud of you.” I felt myself swallow. “Anyone would be.”
His head tilted, his eyes leaving mine and roaming all over my face for a moment that seemed to stretch too long. There was something new there, in his expression. Something that had nothing to do with sadness. Something that made me shift in place.
“My nonna arrived in England with the change in her pocket and a handful of jewelry that wasn’t worth much,” Cameron offered, raising his hand and showing me his pinky. “This is the piece she treasured the most. It belonged to her father, and my own dad gave it to me when I turned eighteen.” He exhaled through his nose, slowly. As if he needed the time. “This is all I have left from her, my roots. That, a head full of dark hair, and a ragù recipe she used to make for celebrations or bad days.”
A tsunami of questions swept through me as we sat there, on that rock, in silence, with the boogie beats echoing across the lake. And, God, I’d never wanted to ask every single one of them so bad in my life. I wanted to forget I’d been hiding from Cameron and I didn’t really like him. I wanted to pretend he didn’t think I was some annoying spoiled woman he had to put up with and ask all about him.
“You do have great hair.”
Cameron chuckled. And that chuckle didn’t help. The way he was looking at me didn’t, either.
I faced away, another shiver rocking me head to toe as much as the skin of my face was burning with… whatever I was feeling.
Something fell on my shoulders.
It was heavy and soft and warm. It was padded flannel.
“Cameron—”
“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s cold. And you’ve been shivering all night.”
My lips popped open. I wanted to complain. But he was right, and for once, I didn’t think I had the energy to fight. I inhaled deeply, tiredly, burrowing myself into his jacket. I filled my lungs with his scent.
“Thanks,” I breathed out, ignoring how unbelievably good it—he—smelled. “I… appreciate this expression of human decency on your side. And accept it.”
Cameron sighed, and I knew he remembered his own words. “I’ll accept that you think I have great hair. I also believe I do.”
I started smiling, and as my lips bent, Cameron’s gaze dipped to my mouth. In the distance, the music came to an abrupt stop that was followed by one loud and boisterously clattering sound. As if an instrument had fallen to the ground and shattered. We both started to turn.
But a distressed baa stopped us. It was loud, and just as boisterous.
And it was also Brandy.
Losing her ever-loving goat mind.
My arms reached out in her direction. “That’s okay, Brandy,” I said in what I hoped was a soothing tone. “You’re fine. That was just a little scare. But you’re okay, I promise.”
But Brandy wasn’t okay. And she wasn’t soothed, either. Her head swayed side to side and her paws hit the ground back and forth. It didn’t take a vet, a zoologist, or even a person who was mildly informed about goats to know that the poor animal was rattled to her core.
Helpless, I reached out again.
Brandy jumped to the side, almost hitting a log that had been resting against the rock we were sitting on. I lunged myself to stop the blind animal from hurting herself. But I missed. Again.
“Adalyn,” Cameron warned, his voice right behind me. “Let me—”
“No,” I interjected. Because he was scared of them. I couldn’t possibly expect him to calm the goat.
So I resumed my quest, reaching for a panicked Brandy, but I—
Looked down, and found a trail of anxiety-induced poo.
“Oh God,” I said as I veered for the opposite side. But Brandy was still distraught—and therefore, very much pooping all over the place. “Brandy,” I tried again, seeing Cameron dash for me out of the corner of my eye. “Cameron, no,” I warned him, thrusting one hand in his direction and the other one in the direction of Brandy. “The goat,” I explained, watching how Brandy twirled and headbutted into my side with enough force to push me a step back. “The poo,” I added, stepping on something soft and feeling my shoe slide forward. “The flannel!” I finished, miraculously managing to grasp the jacket with both hands and throw it up into the air.
I landed on my ass.
“Jesus Christ, Adalyn,” Cameron barked. “Are you okay?”
“Tell me your jacket is safe,” I answered from the ground, blinking at the now dark sky above me. Hmm, pretty. “And I’m fine. The goat poo softened the blow.”
My suit on the other hand? Not so much.
A head popped into my field of vision. His lips were in an angry pout. Hands came around my arms. Sides. Head. Neck? I didn’t know, because before I knew how, or where his hands had been, I was upright and the hands were gone.
“Hey,” I complained. “I was fine down there. That was an intentional trip.” His brows arched. “I was looking at the stars?” I tried. Cameron’s nostrils flared. “Fine. I fell. But you can’t be mad, because I saved the flannel. And I really was looking at the stars.”
“Fuck the jacket—” he started.
But something behind him distracted me. Brandy. Heading for the water.
“Oh no.” I sprinted around Cameron. “Brandy!”
Cameron murmured something, or maybe he shouted it, I didn’t know. And I didn’t—couldn’t—care. I was too busy jumping into knee-high freezing water to make sure a blind six-month-old goat named Brandy, whose poop I was covered in, didn’t drown.
Cameron Caldani and his stupid flannel jacket would need to wait.