Page 17

“Okay. So you come from a Christmas town. That explains a lot, actually.”

Cami lets out a hybrid snort-laugh that should be obnoxious but is actually just cute. “Maybe I can balance out your Scrooge-ness.”

“That’s not a word.”

“They’ll make it one, for you.”

“Okay, so you’re passionate about Christmas. And proposals. So, what did ours look like?”

Cami considers for a moment, then says, “We got engaged on a hike. You planned the whole thing. We got to the top together, and we were sweaty and imperfect, and you still got down on one knee and popped the question. There was no photographer to sneakily catch the moment, just a smiling selfie after, with the fantastic view in the background. I cried, of course, but since I wasn’t wearing mascara, it just made my face bright instead of making me look like a drowned rat.”

“So you have very strong feelings about proposals,” I amend, surprised at the specificity of the scene she’s describing. My eyes dart to her hand on instinct, but the only thing there is the band I just gave her. Cami wouldn’t agree to this if she was already engaged, would she? Or if she was seeing someone seriously?

No. Not possible. I may not know her that well, but I can tell she’s not the kind of woman to cheat like that, even in a fake scenario like this.

Her gaze flicks to mine. She clears her throat, then admits, “I have been on the receiving end of one. And it was of the ring-in-the-dessert variety.”

Something interesting and uncomfortable moves in my chest as I picture the scene. Low lights, Cami in a nice dress. The surprise on her face. The reaction of the other patrons.

I ignore the feeling and power ahead. “And you didn’t like that?”

Her nose wrinkles. “It’s just kind of…uninspired, you know? Like, it doesn’t have anything to do with us. Me and him. We’d never joked or talked about that sort of thing, and we never even went to fancy places like that. It felt like I was playing a role in a movie, rather than living through my own proposal.”

I press my lips together, surprised to hear that. Maybe I’d assumed most women wanted the romantic, over-the-top proposal at the nice place, too.

“And hiking has to do with us?”

She nods. “I haven’t gotten to do it so much recently, but I love a good hike. Especially when there’s a view at the top.”

“Noted.” Silence hangs for a moment, and I clear my throat, shifting back, realizing I’ve been getting closer to her again. “It’s probably a good thing that we know stuff like this about one another. So, other than hiking, what else do you like to do?”

“Oh, tons of stuff. I kind of cycle through crafts, but I’ve always got something going on with yarn. Crocheting or knitting, and I even started getting into cross-stitching, but that hurts my eyes sometimes. I like cooking and baking, but mostly baking. For shows, I like Food Network but not reality TV. It gives me second-hand embarrassment so bad. What about you?”

I blink at her. “I don’t really watch TV.”

Cami laughs, and the sound loosens something up inside me. I shift further away from her, wary of the way her presence is affecting me. “No, Patrick. What are your hobbies? Since we need to know these things about each other.”

I open my mouth, close it. Pause, look to the left, then say, “I like to work out.”

“Work out,” Cami clarifies, brows lifting. “Like, playing basketball or anything?”

“No, I have a routine. A trainer put it together for me, but I mostly do it on my own in the mornings.”

“Oh.” Cami blinks, regains her composure, and asks, “Well, do you have any gym buddies or anything? Friendly competition?”

“No. I work out in my private gym, here.”

Cami looks around like she might suddenly be able to see through the walls, spot the private home gym in the basement. I don’t correct her searching gaze. All I want is to move on from this conversation. I’m a CEO. Of course I don’t have time for much outside of work.

And the sound of all her hobbies just gives me heartburn. How can someone be expected to keep up with all that?

“All right,” I say, reaching for my phone to jot down notes. “I think we’d better move on to favorites.”

Cami claps her hands, laughing. “Okay. I can’t wait to hear about all your favorites. Let me guess—plain chicken is your favorite food. Gray is your favorite color.”

“There’s no need to be cheeky,” I try to deadpan, but the corner of my mouth is turned up.

When was the last time someone talked to me like this, straightforward instead of just trying to please?