I lean closer. “Belle, we ain’t sleeping.”
She giggles, and the happy sound draws attention. “More events?” She’s in business mode. Relaxed, but her brain is whirring. “What do you have planned already?”
“The bigger street fairs.”
She takes a drink and plays the liquid over her tongue. I know just how it’d taste if I kissed her—refreshing, just like summer. “What about a smaller, more targeted craft fair, like food crafts?” Excitement flares bright in her gray eyes. “Local one. A Huckleberry Springs street fair during the height of tourist season. All local vendors.”
“I like it. We can bring the people to us. I bet you could even pull it off this summer.”
Her pleased smile curls right through me. “On a smaller scale. I’ll reach out to Elodie, and— Oh! You know what you could do?” Her thrill grabs Stanford’s attention, and I don’t have to do anything to rub it in his face. She’s living her life right now, doing a job sheenjoys, and it’s getting under his collar. “She’s doing the Billings street fair. What if she uses some Foster House spirits in her goods, and you guys cross-promote each other? Each booth can send people to the other.”
Damn, that’s a good idea. She came up with it that quickly? “I’ll talk to the guys and we’ll link up with Elodie. Then you can work on the fair.”
Her grin turns triumphant, and warmth infuses my insides. I put that there, and it wasn’t because of sex. “And you can use both events, should they happen, as reasons to try something new.”
How did I ever think Campbell was selfish? She makes things happen for others. She’s always thinking of them. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”
She takes another sip of her cocktail and casts her eyes downward, as if the attention is too much. “It’s just part of the job.”
“No, it’s much more than that.”
Her blush is going to make everyone think we’re fucking, and we are, but in this moment, her flush is because someone appreciates her.
I don’t want to be just another person in her life who makes her feel alone. When this damn weekend is done, I’m dropping my heart at her feet. If she wants to kick it, I’ll deal with it. But if she wants to just let it stay there, in her vicinity, I’ll be happy. Because Campbell Hawthorne is a girl worth waiting for.
She sets the drink behind the bar, in the corner of the workstation, and grabs her tablet. “Can you keep this safe while I double-check everything?”
“Yes.” Before she leaves, I almost grab her wrist, but that might put the tension back into her shoulders. “Campbell?”
She spins around, and the skirt of her dress swirls. She’s got her tablet tucked into the crook of her elbow, and she hugs it closer. Intelligent. Competent. Sexy as hell. I thought I had a type, but it’s her. Just her.
I do the same surreptitious look she did earlier. “I’m not leaving you alone tonight. I’ll walk you to your car—and all the way to my place.” I lower my voice for the last part. “And you’re going to wear that Dee’s Sweets sweater of mine and nothing else to bed.”
A grin spreads across her face, like the damn sunrise just for me. “Promise?”
“Fact.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Campbell
I wore my most comfortable cowboy boots since I didn’t want to show any more leg than I had to today, but after hours, my feet hurt.
Durban hasn’t cracked a smile once all night, even when Daddy ordered a drink. Neither of them looks like they’re enjoying their night. Durban at least comes off as sternly professional. Daddy’s red face makes me question if he’s got heartburn or if he’s having a heart attack. As for the rest of the crowd, they seem to be enjoying themselves.
Stanford’s cousins from the East Coast and the friends of his I had a hard time tolerating when we were together dutifully ignore me. When my back’s turned, it’s a different story. Murmurs ignite and the spot between my shoulders burns with their stares, but I haven’t overheard anything, and that’s fine with me. I don’t know what narrative Stanford and January spun,and I don’t want to. I can brush off the furtive looks that turn innocent when I’m close, but if that’s the worst, I’ll chalk this up to a successful, if frustrating, evening.
There’s been plenty of shitting on Montana. The guys joked about how they were surprised the lodge doesn’t have outhouses, or why they didn’t get full-body long johns, the kind with the flap in the back for taking a shit, when they checked in. I’d be insulted, but my imagination created a humorous image of all these boastful men in onesie pajamas. Then I tried picturing Durban in a pair, and my mouth went dry. His muscles would only complement the style.
The sun has set, and most of the light in the sky is dying. The bug netting was lowered a couple of hours ago. It’s almost ten thirty, and many of the guys are filtering out. Stanford sees them all off, casting glances toward Durban and my dad. My uncle was one of the first to leave. Seeing how well the wedding is going off seems to give him the same heartburn/heart attack appearance as Daddy. A vine of satisfaction winds around my heart. If my aunt and uncle dislike Stanford and have to eat their emotions the entirety of the marriage, that’s a small but sweet revenge.
“Go ahead and call it a night, Stanford,” Daddy says gruffly. “I’ll make sure everything’s wrapped up.”
Irritation ripples through Stanford’s glassy eyes. “It’s early. There wasn’t enough planned for tonight.”
I bristle against the censure. There were free drinks, free food—five courses—cards for poker, and a blackjack table in the corner. It was all funny money, but with the firepit and even more free booze, what did he expect? “I could’ve busted out Twister.”
Durban snorts behind me, and I repress the urge toshare an amused look with him. My ex grinds his teeth together so hard I can’t believe I don’t hear his molars crack.
