CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Adalyn
We were at the Vasquez farm again.
Only this time, there weren’t any yoga mats or fluffy farm animals jumping and bleating around. It was a Friday evening, the sun had already set, and I was holding my right limited-edition Manolo Blahnik in my hands.
Cameron killed the engine of his truck and got out of the vehicle. He wordlessly pointed at the shoe and shot me a questioning glance.
“The heel snapped,” I explained in an unamused tone. Because how would I be amused? In one hand I lifted the beautiful, lavish stiletto I’d been stupid enough to wear, the heel in the other hand. “While I was waiting for you.”
The truth was I’d been pacing. On pebbled and clearly dangerous terrain. But he was late and I… Well, I hadn’t wanted to venture alone into the barn where tonight’s activity was taking place. Cameron Caldani wasn’t good company, but he was the lesser evil.
Cameron frowned. He frowned. Like he didn’t understand. The last thing I needed was attitude. “Don’t look at me like that,” I deadpanned.
“Like what?” He finally crossed the distance between us and stopped in front of me. His gaze dipped and stopped at my naked foot. He sighed. “Maybe if you weren’t parading around in those bloody things. But that’s nothing I haven’t told you before.”
“ ‘In those bloody things’?” I was outraged on behalf of my shoes. “These are Manolo Blahniks.” His lips bent downward, as if the name didn’t ring any bell. I pushed the loose heel into my pocket and returned the remainder of the shoe to my foot. “Don’t pretend you don’t know how much these are worth. You lived in L.A. for years,” I told him, turning around. “And you even dated Jasmine Hill.” I started marching forward. “No one dates a fashion brand ambassador and comes out of that relationship unchanged. Not even someone who dresses in moss-green or boulder-gray technical pants most of the time.”
If Cameron thought anything about me knowing enough about his dating history to reference his only known relationship by name, he didn’t say. Good. I’d purposefully outed myself in order to make a point and obtain what I wanted: silence.
“Let me help you to the barn,” he said, suddenly there, right behind me. “You can’t even walk in that broken Banana Tonic.”
So much for that silence. “I don’t need help. I’ll continue to parade, as you put it, and risk the consequences.”
A snicker left him.
I ignored it—and the way he hovered so close behind me—and limped the rest of the way to the barn. When we reached the entrance, his arm stuck out, that large palm pushing the wooden door open for me.
“Temper before age,” he murmured against my temple.
I tried to ignore that, too, but the wave of tingles his breath created on my skin made my will waver.
Someone squealed and before I could set a foot inside, I was being wrapped in a hug, squeezed, released, and then pulled into the barn.
“You’re finally here!” Josie exclaimed. “We were waiting for you two.”
“We were held up,” Cameron muttered. “By a ruined pair of Manolos.”
I shot him a glance. So he knew. He more than knew. Only people who did called them Manolos.
“Now, that’s just terrible,” Josie crooned, making me return my attention to her. I gawked for a moment, distracted by the yellow dungarees she wore. “Oh, honey, no. You can’t wear that for our pottery class. Tonight’s Muddy and Mighty, and it’s called that for a reason.”
“But my clothes are fine,” I countered, looking down at myself. “And I promise, the missing heel doesn’t even bother me that much.” It was the workout my calves didn’t need, but I’d suck it up and be on my tiptoes all night if I had to.
Josie linked one of her arms with mine, moving us forward. “I’m sure you can do about anything at any given time, you’re like our own Super-boss-lady.” That seemed like a stretch. “But I won’t let you ruin that beautiful blouse. Or pants. Not on top of the already fallen shoe. RIP.” Her head turned to look over her shoulder. “Cam, sweetheart, go join the group. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Sweetheart? My heel-less limb wobbled. How familiar were Cameron and Josie? And how—I didn’t care. They’d been friends before I got here. It wasn’t important.
Or any of my business.
Josie dragged me all the way to the far end of the barn and pushed me into some kind of changing room that consisted of two foldable screens before disappearing for an instant. When she was back, she shoved something in my hands with a smile. “Come out when you’re ready.”
I looked down.
It was overalls. Pink. And sneakers. Also pink.
I thought back to my growing pile of laundry. My fallen shoe.
Overalls it is.
“You look so cute,” Josie said when I rejoined the group. She gave me a once-over, her face brightening. “They look so much better on you than they do on me. You know what? You should keep them.”
I doubted that was true. A glance at the borrowed clothes told me they looked as tight around my hips and chest as they felt. “That’s… very kind of you. Thanks.”
“Of course,” she said with a wink. “Your workstation will be there. Right at the front.” She pointed at the left. “I had to physically drag that man to the front of the class, by the way.” I followed her finger with my eyes, stumbling upon a wide torso covered in a yellow apron with tiny daisies on it. “Can you do something to make him stop scowling?”
My eyes rose to Cameron’s face. He didn’t look happy. He was sulky and frowny and reminded me of a wet cat. It made me want to smile. “I don’t think I can, actually. I think that’s his face.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Cam?” Josie said in an overly sweet tone. “Will you be a doll and show Adalyn how to work the wheel? You said it wasn’t your first time throwing a bowl. And today’s really busy.”
I looked around, taking in the ample space inside the barn and finding small groups of people gathered around waist-high tabletops. My eyes spotted Diane, who was pretending not to look this way.
I turned toward Josie. “I think this looks a little advanced for me. I’m a beginner.”
Josie chuckled. “A pottery virgin.” She smiled. I cringed. “Don’t worry, you’ll be in good hands.” She gave my shoulders a push in the direction of my workstation. And the scowly man. “Come on, courage conquers all things. Even pottery!”
I reluctantly stumbled to Cameron’s side.
His eyes dipped, his jaw clamping down. “Cute overalls.”
“Cute apron,” I answered while Josie started shouting instructions in the background. “The daisies really bring out your eyes.”
He huffed out a chuckle.
I made a face at him, and his gaze dipped down again. Quickly. Wickedly fast. But I caught it. I resisted the urge to tug at the overalls.
“So, you know how this works?” I pointed at the wheel assembled on top of the high bench.
Cameron’s hand entered my field of vision. He flipped a switch on its side, making the plate rotate slowly.
“Is there anything you don’t know how to do?”
He made a show of thinking about his answer and had the audacity to look smug when he said, “No.”
“Perfect!” Josie exclaimed, startling me with the sudden closeness of her voice. She clapped her hands. “You’ve turned on the wheel! Yay!” Then she scurried away again, praising how therapeutic pottery was in what I’d learned was her monitor voice.
“Jesus,” I whispered, patting my chest. “How does she do that?”
Cameron didn’t answer, instead he drawled, “Seems like we’re throwing a bloody bowl, then.”
“Yay,” I murmured, watching him reach out for the block of mud. My gaze snapped at Cameron’s hands, his long rough-looking fingers. He’d taken off his ring. I lowered my voice, “I could figure this out on my own. I’ve read about it and watched more than a few how-to videos. I’ve done my homework.” His hands split the thing in two and started shaping one half into a ball. “I’m serious. You could just watch. Or leave.”
Cameron stretched his arm in my direction, holding the clay ball in his hand. “Fix the ball to the wheel.”
I hesitated.
That pair of forest-green eyes stared right into mine. “Stop overthinking and fix the ball to the wheel for me, yeah?”
He had that sulky look again, so I took the clay from him and let it drop on the plate with a heavy thump. I frowned at it. “Hold on, why aren’t we sitting down?” I looked around. “Everything I watched and read was done sitting down. I’ll get Josie—”
“Throwing while standing is better for your back,” he said matter-of-factly, as if that explained anything. “Put your palms around it and try to seal the edges to the surface.”
Lips pressed in a tight line, I tried to do as instructed, only managing to make the plate of the wheel turn when I pressed on the ball every time. I spared a glance at Cameron, expecting to find him reveling in my frustration. He was unbothered by my failed attempts. His expression was calm. Patient. It reminded me of how he treated the girls. He tilted his head to the side, still waiting. It hit me then, that he was either letting me figure it out on my own or waiting for me to ask him for help.
An unexpected thought materialized. He’d make such a great dad. Beneath that irate, hard façade, there was patience. Gentle command. Warmth spread down my— Oh God. Why did this thought have such an effect on me? Why was I… picturing things? I didn’t even know if I wanted kids.
“You good?” Cameron asked.
“I…” I swallowed when I heard my voice wobble. What was wrong with me? “I can’t do this. On my own. Could you, perhaps, maybe, hmm, help?”
Cameron’s palms fell immediately on top of mine.
Once more, it was my whole body that felt the touch of his skin against the back of my hands. I lifted my head, meeting his eyes across the tabletop.
“Like this,” he said in a low voice, the heels of his palms pressing on top of my knuckles. “You feel the pressure of my hands? Do like I’m doing. Feel the way the clay gives.”
I looked down, shocked and strangely pleased at the sight of our hands as they fused together over the clay. I swallowed, less reluctant to allow him to take the lead, and more enthralled by the controlled motions before me.
With a silent nod, I started taking mental notes as best as I could, while he continued the motions.
“Let the wheel turn with the movement,” he said, and I felt myself release all remnants of control. I’d let him guide me. My hands. Completely. “You need to press on the sides so it sticks to it.” The plate turned with the motions of our hands, his voice turning into a focused murmur. “Just like that. Yeah. That’s about right.”
Once the ball was fixed, he grasped my wrists and lifted my hands in the air. He hummed deep in his throat, observing our work.
I opened my mouth to ask if there was something wrong, but all too soon, Cameron was releasing me and his hand was flying toward the clay.
He swatted at the ball.
Once, twice. Three times. And I—
Oh God. Was Cameron spanking the clay? My heart dropped to my stomach. Why couldn’t I stop staring at his hand? Why was my face feeling like flames were licking at my cheeks?
I brought one of my hands to my forehead, checking how my skin felt to the touch. I must be coming down with something. This couldn’t possibly make me so hot.
This wasn’t erotic. This was just clay.
“Seems good to go,” Cameron said next, grabbing a sponge I hadn’t even seen there. He wetted it in a bowl. “We can get started with the centering.”
“The centering,” I repeated in a wobbly voice.
He nodded, and when the man squeezed the sponge gently, letting a few water drops fall onto the clay, I was certain. I had to be sick. Something was going on with me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be finding the way his wet fingers slid around the slick material so suggestive. My throat dried.
“Adalyn?” His voice made it through the insanity in my head.
I looked up at him. His eyebrow was arched. “Press the pedal, darling.”
“The… what?”
“Make the wheel turn,” he instructed, his tone gentle, so gentle it felt foreign. As if he was talking to somebody else. “With the pedal.”
My lips bobbed, my understanding of basic things stifled by those unexpectedly suggestive visuals of the clay. “What do you mean?”
Cameron sighed softly, and suddenly he was on the move, walking around the table.
He placed himself behind me. “You’re making this really hard, darling,” he said, and before I could process his comment, his palm landed on my thigh. Strong fingers wrapped around my leg, slid down to my knee. He lifted my now numb limb, letting my foot fall on something. That warm, large hand pressed gently, his body coming slightly over mine with the motion. “Quit looking at me all soft and sweet and focus on pressing the pedal with your foot, yeah?”
I was shaken—so overwhelmed by the sudden closeness of Cameron’s body and his words—that instead of pressing, I jerked my leg forward, hitting the pedal with uncontrolled force.
The wheel whirled, wickedly fast, splattering mud all over the place. Us.
“Christ,” Cameron growled, his arms coming around my body, as if to protect me from the splashing mud, and his leg swiftly replacing mine. The thing slowed down. “You have to start at a gentle speed,” he instructed, his mouth much, much closer than it had been a few seconds ago. Right beside my temple. His leg moved again, making me notice how it pressed right against mine. “See?” he asked, but I didn’t see a single thing. Not with Cameron wrapped around me. “We have the control of the wheel. Us.”
Us.
We.
I didn’t think I was breathing but I nodded. So enthusiastically that the back of my head collided against his collarbone. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I… was distracted.”
By you. Your touch. The way you’re sandwiching me against the edge of the tabletop.
Cameron reached for the sponge again, and his jaw brushed my cheek.
My breath hitched.
His fell on my temple. “You shouldn’t be disrupting my train of thought this easily, either.”
Either. The fire in my face spread down my neck, sneaking into the neckline of the overalls. “Am I doing that?”
Cameron produced a sound that made his chest rumble. He grabbed my hands and placed them on the spinning clay. “If it’s not well centered,” he said, increasing the speed of the plate and keeping his palms over mine as the material slid beneath my skin. The inside of his thigh pressed on the outside of mine. He felt like a furnace. “The whole thing will be off balance.”
I gave him a nod. But I was no longer listening.
“Press gently,” he instructed, driving our hands upward and around the wet material. “This is the way we cone the clay up.”
That we again. I… liked it.
I also liked the hypnotizing motion of the wheel and the blanketing sensation of Cameron’s body around mine. I seemed to like one too many things about this. Things I shouldn’t like.
“Just like that.” His voice was now impossibly low, carrying the same quality I felt inside my chest. He moved even closer, his arms swallowing me up. “Good job, darling. Well done.”
Something in me stirred at the simple praise. I was vaguely aware of this happening before, but my heart still pounded. It banged against my rib cage, just like Cameron’s, and it felt good. So good that I leaned back, letting my head fall against his chest while we worked.
Cameron’s exhale tickled the skin right beneath my ear. “Let’s take it back down now,” he said, interlacing our wet fingers and sending a rush of electricity up my arms at the sensation. He moved our hands and the clay changed shape. “That looks incredible.”
That soft spot in my chest batted its wings. I hooked my thumbs with his.
A grumble climbed out of Cameron’s mouth.
The flutter intensified, making me short of breath. I wanted to turn around and search his face. See if he was feeling like I did. But I didn’t, I didn’t want this to go away. Not yet. I was trapped by the moment. Captured by the solid presence of Cameron and the feel of his hands.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve held hands with anyone,” I heard myself admit out loud. “I can’t remember something so simple ever feeling this way.”
Cameron’s hands froze momentarily over mine. It was just a second, maybe less, but I’d seen it. Felt it. He hesitated.
I was spat out of the vacuum.
Just like that, I was no longer calm. Or peacefully trapped in whatever this was. The reins I was so busy keeping a tight hold of snapped right back into my grasp. Here I was, telling this man who was reluctantly doing this with me that he was the first to hold my hands in a long time. That he made me somehow feel like I’d never felt before. What was next? To tell him that besides that one-liner Matthew had thrown at me almost a decade ago, I’d never been flirted with? That my only serious relationship had turned out to be a lie? That the man I’d thought had been ready to propose once upon a time had never seen me as more than a bridge to get to my father?
She’s so frigid man. So… boring. I really dodged a bullet there. Too bad, because when the old man kicks the bucket she’ll probably inherit most of his money. But nah. I can only endure so much.
Nah.
As if I’d been nothing more than an insipid and boring side dish you passed on.
I’ll pass on the complimentary roasted veggies, thank you very much. But nah.
I hadn’t been hurt. I didn’t care that David had ended a relationship that brought little to my life. But as time had passed, I’d held on to the idea that I’d had at least that. That one relationship that proved that I wasn’t… cold. Dry. That I could be loved. Desired.
So how was I supposed to not crack? How was I supposed to hear David laugh and say that he’d dated me just to sneak into my father’s empire, that I was a bullet that was dodged, and not have something in me break? How was I supposed to not change when I heard everything he said right after that?
The image of Sparkles’s head at my feet crystallized in—
“Adalyn.” Cameron’s voice cut through the loud disarray of thoughts in my head. Again. Just like it always managed to do. “Snap out of it, darling.” It was angry. Rough sounding. “Come back to me.”
I forced myself to make sense of my surroundings.
The blob of clay rested at a weird angle.
Strong hands held mine.
Beautiful, crooked hands that had been injured one too many times. Where was the signet ring he wore around his pinky?
The sound of my own breathing crystallized in my ears. The vacuum I’d been sucked in a moment ago, spitting me right out. This wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t the first time I found myself close to hyperventilating in this man’s arms. I hated it.
“Where the hell did you go to?” Cameron asked. And when I didn’t answer, his thumbs started tracing idle circles on the top of my hands. “How long have you been experiencing panic attacks?”
My spine stiffened. “I don’t—I—” Panic attacks? “That wasn’t a panic attack.” It couldn’t be.
Could it?
Cameron hummed deep in his throat, and I didn’t know whether it was in agreement or complaint. He released one of my hands and snagged the flattened pile of material from the wheel.
“Is it ruined?” I asked him, hating how my voice sounded.
He discarded it on the side. “It is, yeah.”
Of course it was.
After a long moment he said, his voice still gentle, his tone kind, his arms around me, “Darling?”
“Maybe you were right,” I admitted, not even bothering to care I was not moving out of his embrace. “Maybe that was a panic attack.”
“Okay,” he said quickly. “But I was going to say something else.”
“That this was as therapeutic as a kick on the shin?”
A low chuckle left him, and the sound felt different from every other time he’d chuckled before. “I was going to say that everyone in here is staring at us. And as much as I don’t really mind, we either move, or we’ll be everything everybody will be talking about tomorrow.”
My head snapped up. I looked around.
Cameron was right.
A flat tire.
A freaking flat tire.
I braced my hands on my hips, noticing the splatters of clay on my borrowed dungarees. Great. Yet another thing I’d have to throw at the giant pile of laundry I already had.
Here I thought that having to wash my underwear by hand and hang it out to dry on the antlers had been the lowest point this week. Of course not. There was the stupid panic attack I just had. Me storming off out of the barn before the pottery class finished. And now this. I glanced back at the tire and I shook my head. Pressure clamped down in the mouth of my stomach. I wondered if I was going to cry.
I patted my eyes. Dry. The notion of me still not able to figure out when the last time I’d shed a tear came back. A bitter laugh escaped my mouth.
Another one followed, because God, I was a mess. Before I knew what was happening, I was cackling at the dark sky above my head. I let out my frustration. Although it quickly turned into anger. Disbelief. Desperation. “Shit,” I heard myself breathe out with a humorless laugh. “Fuck.” The cackling died out. My eyes fell on the tire. I kicked it. “Screw you, you stupid goddamn flat fucking tire!”
“That escalated quickly.”
My whole body stilled. My back stiffened.
“Motherfucker,” I murmured. Because I never swore but I was allowing myself to have this one moment.
“Oh wow,” Cameron said, and I heard his steps coming closer. “Please don’t stop on my behalf. I’m rather enjoying this.”
I looked over my shoulder, finding him with the amused expression I expected from his tone. “Always happy to hear about how my misfortune amuses you.”
He sobered up. “It doesn’t,” he countered, his gaze going up and down my body. Swiftly but thoroughly enough to make me pause. His throat worked. “It’s you who amuses me, Adalyn. And I can’t even figure out exactly why. Which bothers me. And fascinates me.”
I shook my head. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“Hell if I know, darling,” he said, kneeling down. He checked the tire and straightened back up. “I’ll drive you back to Lazy Elk, come on.”
He pulled out his truck keys and unlocked the doors with an elegant click.
I opened my mouth, but he cut me off with a “Don’t bother.”
“How do you know I was going to speak? You were not even looking this way.”
“Because I’m not the only one who operates in two single modes,” he delivered in a sharp tone. “You do, too. You either overthink, or object. Both tirelessly, and usually directed at me.” He threw the copilot door open and shot me a look over the hood of the car. “You didn’t seem that bothered by me when I had my arms around you, so save the complaint and jump in the car.”
My arms around you.
My face flamed. “That’s different. Pottery and getting into an enclosed space with someone who could very well be planning to murder me and throw my body into some creek in the woods, hoping that putrefaction and scavenger creatures dismember it in a week so the bones sink straight to the bottom and all traces of the remains vanish are two very different things.”
“Oddly specific.” He tilted his head. “But creative.” The corner of his lips twitched. “I think you’ll survive this one drive, come on. I’ll call Robbie on our way back and let him know your car will stay the night on the farm.”
“That’s… completely unrelated to what I was saying, but okay.”
Cameron shifted on his feet, casually resting an elbow on the hood of the vehicle, looking like someone who had all the time in the world to pick my words apart. “Okay, you’ll get in the car? Or okay, I’ll continue bitching around out here, in the middle of the night, without a jacket on, just to spite me?”
I frowned. Spite him? I… All the fight left me. “I don’t do things to spite you, Cameron.”
“Jump in then,” he said, and I swore his voice softened like never before. “I promise I won’t feed you to the fish.”
“Thanks,” I clipped, closing the distance to his truck. “Just for the record, I want to state that I could know how to change a tire.” I didn’t. “You made an assumption.”
A strangled sound left him when I reached him and slipped under his arm to get inside. I ignored it. I also ignored how horrible I felt for being purposefully difficult and how good his car smelled. Just like he did. And when Cameron pushed my door closed, walked around the car, folded his large body into the driver’s seat, and did that thing where he placed his flexed arm behind my headrest and reversed the car, I ignored how squishy that made me feel inside, too.
Generally speaking, I did a whole lot of disregarding how he made me feel on the drive back to Lazy Elk. And Cameron must have been doing the same, because neither of us spoke a single word until he killed the engine in the driveway.
“I’ll ring Robbie when I get inside,” he said, his voice sounding so… deep and low and intimate inside the confinement of his truck. “We’ll get the tire sorted tomorrow.”
We. That we again, as if we were… an item. A team. My chest did some of that squishing at the thought.
“Thanks for doing that,” I told him. I was so tired of antagonizing this man. “I’d insist on calling Robbie myself, but I don’t think he likes me very much.”
Cameron seemed to think about something. “His kids adore you.”
I wasn’t sure if he’d said that to make me feel better or because it was true. “I wouldn’t go that far. María likes me, but a part of me believes she’s trying to prove to the rest of the team that I’m not a witch.” I shrugged. “And Tony is a teenage boy who calls me ma’am and barely talks to me.”
Cameron’s eyes roamed around my face. “Tony doesn’t know how to act around a beautiful woman.”
Beautiful.
I ripped my gaze off his face and let it settle on the dashboard. “What do you mean?”
“The kid fancies you, Adalyn.” Right. “That’s why he gets tongue-tied. That’s probably why he calls you ma’am, too.”
So Tony believed I was beautiful. Not Cameron. That was fine. I’d never been insecure about my looks or needed anybody’s reassurance to feel good about my appearance. I definitely had other insecurities. But it didn’t really matter, and it was foolish of me to think Cameron would ever look at me like that after how… our relationship had gone.
“I didn’t say thanks,” Cameron shocked me by adding. I looked over at him. His eyes were on me. “Tony recognized me back at the facilities, and you covered for me. I appreciate it.”
I shook my head. I didn’t deserve his gratitude. I… I fumbled with my seatbelt, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to exit this car. It released with a click, and I threw open the passenger door. “Thanks for the ride. I will, hmm, see you tomorrow. Game day. Big day ahead. Good night!”
And jumped out without wasting a minute. I shot in the direction of my cabin but quickly came to a halt.
“Oh no,” I muttered, patting the pockets of my borrowed dungarees. Nothing. Empty. I groaned. “Oh God.”
I turned around. But I—
Collapsed against a hard wall. One that smelled like a pine forest and felt boiling hot to the touch. I stumbled back. “Cameron.”
“Why did you run?” wall-man asked, his chin tipping down to look at his chest. My gaze followed along, discovering my hands were planted on his pecs. I snagged them back. “What’s wrong?” he pressed, flat-out ignoring I hadn’t answered his first question.
“I forgot my things.” I sighed. Yes, I’d focus on that. “Back at the barn. My clothes, my shoes, my phone, the keys, too. I think I left the door unlocked so I could get inside, but I need my phone.”
“What?” he barked.
I frowned. “I was going to ask you to drive me back. There’s strange noises in the cabin at night and I can’t sleep without listening to—”
Cameron moved.
He bolted and walked around me. When the shock wore off, I whirled and went after him.
“I swear to God, Adalyn,” I heard him grumble when I reached him. “There’s no goddamn winning with you.” His hand was clasped around the doorknob of the door. It opened without resistance. “Christ.”
“I told you it would probably be unlocked,” I scoffed. I stared at Cameron’s back. He was… not moving. I’d expected him to be relieved, if anything. This gave him the perfect excuse not to drive me back. But I could… feel the anger leaving his body in waves. “You know what? That’s fine. I’ll make it without my phone. We’ll just drive back tomorrow morning.”
Cameron remained planted right where he was.
“It all worked out for the best so… good night,” I insisted, popping my head over his shoulder. Cameron stepped inside. He flipped the lights on. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing—”
“What in the bloody hell is this?” he asked. His words ricocheted in the confined and cramped space. Then he repeated himself, as if wanting to make sure I heard him right. “What is this, Adalyn?”
“My cottage?” I deadpanned, even though I was panicking inside. The place was a… mess. And I didn’t want Cameron to see how much. My voice wobbled. “Can you please leave? I didn’t invite you in.”
He did the opposite and in two strides, Cameron was standing right in the center of the cabin, his shoulders so high and his back so stiff that I was shocked the seams of his jacket weren’t ripping.
I swallowed hard and trailed behind him. I spotted the trail of panties currently hanging off the antlers I’d used as an improvised clothesline after washing them by hand. The inflatable mattress on the floor. The half-disassembled four-poster bed I’d given up on. The life I’d packed in a matter of hours scattered in one corner of one ugly cabin.
“Explain,” Cameron demanded. “Please make it make sense.”
“It’s my home renovation project,” I said, a bonfire cackling beneath my cheeks.
“Adalyn,” he breathed out. Pleaded really. “You’re still sleeping on the floor. Why?”
Green eyes blinked at me with… exhaustion. A hint of despair, too. I deflated. Gave up. “My plan was to disassemble the bed and get it out of here, but the thing seems to be welded together.” I let out a shaky breath. “The cabin doesn’t have a washer so…” I nodded toward my underwear. “The camping mattress is comfortable, though. So it’s fine. I won’t be here forever.”
Cameron’s jaw clenched. His whole face went tight. “Why didn’t you ask for help?”
I closed my eyes. Help. How could I explain to him that Miami was flat-out ignoring me? That I’d been accused of being pampered and spoiled so many times that I wanted to prove that wrong. That besides Josie, I didn’t have any friends here and didn’t want to be a nuisance to the one I had. That all of this was my fault in the first place so I didn’t think I had the right to complain. “I don’t need help. I’m fine.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. Once, twice, three times. All the air in his lungs was released. All at once.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck me, Adalyn.” He shook his head. “Jesus Christ, darling.” He closed his eyes and let his head drop back. “Bloody hell.”
I blinked at him. Confused. Shocked, too.
“I’ve gone a long life without this,” he said, as if he was talking to himself. I opened my mouth but he turned around. “First the dungarees, now this. I’m unprepared.”
“Cam—”
He stalked out of the cabin.
I stood there, looking down at my borrowed clothes, and wondering what had just happened. Wondering if I should close the door and call it a night, too.
Cameron reappeared.
He stormed right back into the cabin, still cursing like his life depended on it, but now, he was holding a metal box under an arm. I searched for his eyes, but he wouldn’t look at me. He walked right past me, came to a stop in front of the mess of hardwood and dropped the box to the floor. Then, he kneeled down and threw it open with a jerk of his hand.
“Cameron?” I ventured, gaping at the scene in complete disbelief. “What are you doing?”
But Cameron Caldani was on autopilot.
He ignored my query, pulling a very large and serious-looking hammer out of the box, and straightened back up.
And then, without a word, he went full-on Hulk on the bed.