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“Not all her clients are going to be easy to work with, so I’m giving her a tiny dose of that.”
“If that’s what helps you sleep at night.” She handed him his coffee, and he took it, his finger brushing hers and sending an unexpected shock through his system. His gaze fixed on hers and something passed between them, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it went beyond their normal banter and friendly conversation.
“Good morning!” Martha, a local store owner and family friend, floated into the Local Bean, her green shirt billowing behind her and her bracelets clacking together as she waved.
Enzo tore his eyes from Cami’s and turned a smile on Martha. “Good morning,” he said.
Martha’s eyebrows furrowed. “Am I interrupting something?” she asked. “I can come back.” Martha turned to the door.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cami said, and Martha headed for the counter. “I was just telling Enzo how he’s a pain in the ass, and I wouldn’t be surprised if his sister tossed him out to sea for the lobsters to eat.”
“If Ella’s that stressed, tell her to stop by my store and I’ll give her some lavender. It’ll calm her.”
Enzo stifled a laugh. If anyone needed lavender it was him. Heck, he needed a bathtub full of the stuff. Though, he doubted even that much would be enough to chill him out. Between the restaurant and his grandfather’s inability to see he was getting too old to do certain things, his sister ripping his place apart, and his baby brother’s unhealthy obsession with his art work, he was shouldering his fair share of stress. Add in his rediscovered feelings for Cami, he definitely was teetering on the edge.
He was almost tempted to ask Martha for some, but Cami would never let him live that down, so he didn’t say anything.
He pulled out his wallet, and Cami waved her hands. “Oh no. I told you this one is on the house.”
He knew what she had said, but he wasn’t actually going to take her up on it. He could afford to pay for a cup of coffee and didn’t need to be compensated for helping her out. He was happy to do it. “Have you gotten the tire fixed yet?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
Cami was on top of so many things, always on the go when she wasn’t behind the counter at the coffee shop, so he couldn’t understand what was taking her so long to get her damn tire fixed.
“You can’t ride on a donut for too long. Seventy miles max.” After that she would be causing unnecessary wear and tear on her car, not to mention the dangers she subjected herself to due to the small size and insignificant tread. It was a safety hazard.
“Good thing I only live two miles away then, huh?” She grabbed a cup and looked around him to Martha. “Your usual?”
“Yes, please,” Martha said as she picked up a ceramic mug Cami had lined up on a wall for sale.
“Why don’t you give Martha a hard time about her order?”
Cami met his eyes, amusement shining bright. “I like her,” she joked. “Not to mention, she tried almost everything on my menu before settling on a usual, unlike someone else I know.”
“Whatever,” he said. “About the tire. I can call my guy and get you an appointment. He’ll have you in and out in no time.”
“I appreciate it, but I don’t need you to call your guy. I’ll take care of it.”
Her independence was something he admired, but it also worried him too. Sometimes he felt she took on too much and worked too damn hard, but he wasn’t one to talk. “Don’t forget.”
“Okay, old man. I won’t.”
He really hated that stupid nickname, even more so when she added ‘buzzkill’ to it. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? It fits you perfectly.”
“Funny.”
“I know I’m hilarious. You can catch my act most days between five a.m. and six p.m.”
Enzo shook his head and turned away from her so she wouldn’t see his amusement. He focused his attention on Martha. “As always, it’s been a pleasure, Martha.” His eyes met Cami’s, and she planted her hands on the countertop, the V-neck of her shirt dipping too low and revealing pert breasts. He snapped his gaze away from the forbidden dip and back on her face. “Cami.”
“What? I don’t give you pleasure.” He knew her words weren’t meant to be sexual, but between the tight set of her ass and the round curve of her breasts, he couldn’t stop the visions from popping into his mind at rapid succession. He tried—without success—to ignore them and forced a smile.
“More like a headache.” He took his coffee and left before he completely lost his mind.
Cami was no longer the annoying girl of seven who talked too much, the twelve-year-old with braces or a teenager who dated all the wrong guys. She still dated all the wrong guys, but that wasn’t the point.
