“Yep.” I nod. “I take it you’ve met her already. She takes great pride in introducing herself to all newcomers who intend to stick around.”
“Yes, she came into the coffee shop when I was there a few days ago. She said she made a special trip just to see me.”
“That sounds like Momma.” I steal a glance in her direction, and it pleases me to see her at ease. “Just wait. Before you know it, my momma will make sure everyone in town knows who you are. Especially when she finds out I’m renovating the chalet for you.”
“What makes you think she doesn’t already know?”
“If she knew, I’d have heard from her about it by now. And gotten an ear full for not telling her everything I’ve learned about you so far.”
Camille rotates in her seat so she’s facing me. “She’s not a town gossip, is she?”
“No, not at all.” I shake my head. Seeing Camille like this makes her look so young—like a teenager riding around with her boyfriend. “She just likes to know the people who live here. She also thinks of Watercress Falls ashertown.”
Camille laughs, and it’s the sweetest sound I’ve heard all day. But it doesn’t last. Her laugh fades and her expression turns serious.
“So, what’s your story?” she asks. “I get the impression we’ve both experienced a certain level of pain.”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and think about how to answer that question. I like Camille, and I want her to like me, too. The last thing I want is for her to feel sorry for me. I wince at that thought. How could I possibly think such a thing after what she shared with me?
“Divorced,” I say. I can’t seem to find the right words to start, so that’s all I say.
“I’m sorry.” She tilts her head and leans against the headrest of her seat. “How long?”
“Fifteen years. We’d been trying for kids, but she couldn’t get pregnant. Or so I thought. We tried for a few years before I finally suggested we see a fertility expert. That’s when she freaked out on me. Without discussion or warning, she asked for a divorce. Turns out she wasn’t as invested in our relationship as I was. A year after our divorce was finalized, she got remarried to a man I later found out she was having an affair while we were still together. She has three kids with him now. Turns out, she did want kids, just not with me.”
“Oh, Adam.” She reaches across the cab and rests her hand on my forearm. A tingling sensation spreads from the warmth of her hand and up my arm. It’s an unfamiliar feeling but one I want to feel again and again. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
“It was a long time ago. I’m over it, mostly. I hate that I missed out on that part of life, though. The kids and all. I always wanted kids, but I guess that wasn’t in the cards for me.”
“You never know. Men aren’t like women. You could always find yourself a young woman who could give them to you.”
“Ha,” I snort. “Very funny. I’m more attracted to women closer to my age.”
I cut my gaze in her direction, and when our eyes lock, her pale blue eyes turn the same stormy gray I’d seen the day I met her. The tension in my truck still weighs heavy, but for a different reason now.
I want her, and I’m almost certain she wants me, too.
By the timewe make it back to Watercress Falls, it’s well past dinner. We grab fast food on our way out of Kalispell and eat on the road. I offer to take her somewhere we can sit and enjoy a nice meal, but she insists fast food is fine.
Working with Camille is proving to be easy. I like that she knows what she wants and makes quick decisions. She isn’t one to waver or ponder options for hours on end. It took her ten minutes to decide on appliances, another fifteen to narrow down the cabinets, and about two seconds to point out the tile flooring she wants in the kitchen and foyer. I’ve never seen anything like it. We even managed to make it to the countertop specialist to pick out her granite and slate slabs. Once the cabinets arrive and are installed, all I have to do is message him with the dimensions.
It’s been a productive day to say the least.
I pull in next to her car outside my office and put the truck in park. With the sun setting, the temperatures have dropped, and frost is forming on surfaces. Her car is one of those frozen surfaces. “Give me your keys, and I’ll start your car for you.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “I can start my own car, Adam.”
“I know you can.” I hold out my hand, waiting for her keys. When she doesn’t move to give them to me, I add, “It’s cold out there and your windshield is frozen over. Let me start it for you so it can warm up.”
She stares at me with a faint smirk on her face. Either she’s messing with me, or she’s really not used to people doing things for her. For a second, I think she’s going to object again. Then a smile forms on her lips, and she hands them over.
I slip out of the truck, start her car, and get to work scraping her windows.
Camille is an independent woman, and I respect that. But I’m filled with an unfamiliar need to take care of her. Warming hercar for her doesn’t seem like that big of a deal, but maybe it is to her.
I squeeze my eyes shut. While I’m focused on being a nice guy, she’s probably fighting back memories of her husband. I’m such an asshole.
Once her windows are clean, I slip back in my truck and hold my now frozen hands in front of the vents.
