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“Not in the mood for stir-fry? I can make something else.”
“No. You’re perfect. I mean, stir-fry is perfect.” I turn away before he can see the flush on my cheeks.
How has Cam not been snatched up by one of the single women in town? He’s sweet, he’s kind, he’s fun to be around, he cooks, he loves books and, it turns out, he reads historical romance novels, including my favorite author!
I could use a distraction, so I grab a cutting board from the cupboard. “Let me chop some of these for you.”
I reach for the knife but Cam covers my hand with his. “Maybe you should sit this one out?”
“Why?” I ask a little too loudly.
“I just don’t want you to overdo it,” Cam says softly, his hand still on mine.
My belly does a flip and I yank my hand away. “Is this because I fainted?” I flash back to the moment I regained consciousness in Cam’s arms. “Look, I’m fine. I told you it was just that stupid corset. The thing wouldn’t let me breathe. What kind of sadist invented those things, anyway?”
“They originated in Italy,” Cam says.
“Really? How do you even know that?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I think I read it somewhere?”
“Well, I bet it was invented by a man. No woman in her right mind would wear that torture device by choice.” I definitely shouldn’t have. “And why couldn’t Abigail Cameron have given Gabriella a more comfortable wardrobe?”
Cam grimaces, and his face falls. “I’m sorry, Tabs.”
I roll my eyes. “It's not your fault.”
“Yes, it is.”
Which is just like Cam. “Don’t blame yourself for my silliness.”
“But I?—”
“Cam,” I interrupt. “I know what you’re thinking.”
His eyes widen. “You do?”
“Of course I do. You're blaming yourself because you didn't want to read the Duke’s part at Book Club, so I ended up doing it. But it’s not your fault. It was your first book club meeting, and nobody should have pressured you to read in the first place.”
“Actually, I?—”
“Cam, I’m fine. It's my own damn fault for wearing a dress that was way too small.”
“And the wrong color.”
I shake my head. “Whatever. Anyway, let’s get these veggies chopped or we’re never going to eat.”
He nods and we get to work. Cooking with Cam is as natural as breathing. We’ve been having Friday night dinners since he got his own place at nineteen. Even when I went off to complete my Masters in Library Science, I was back most weekends, and we hung out all the time.
I do some quick math in my head and realize Cam and I have been having our Besties, Booze, and Books nights for seven years. Huh. So much for the so-called seven-year-itch… unless for people who aren’t married, it means the opposite, because I would love Cam to scratch my itch.
I look at his hands and, oh, dear—the things I picture in my mind’s eye while he washes the oversized carrot… There isn’t enough air in the room tonight. What is going on?
I stare at him and he gives me a warm smile, followed by a questioning look. Shit, I hope I don’t look like Chrissy did in high school when she used to moon over him.
I flash on a memory of her expression after she bared her soul to Cam and he ran from the gym, leaving me to explain that he was too busy with school to have a girlfriend.
Say something, Tabitha!
