“Just now.” Cami backed away from the painting, from the memories of Mama’s sweet voice, her gentle hand on Cami’s shoulder as she whispered encouragement in her ear and held up the caddy. “I was looking for Ben.”
“He’s out by the cottages.” Myrtle May smiled, then pointed toward the kitchen. “I suppose you heard all that?”
“Heard all of what?” Cami winked and headed for the door. Maybe she was seeing things, but Myrtle May looked a bit flushed.
Out on the porch, Cami looked in the direction of the cottages. Was he in Cottage Three? The one where she and Mom always stayed. The one where?—
Cami squared her shoulders, raised her chin, and breathed deep. Maybe it was good she wasn’t buying the inn. She’d not have to deal with those memories.
She found Ben outside of Cottage One working on the siding. He wore his Titans hat backward, jeans, and a sweat-soaked T-shirt. When he stood, she felt that rush again from the day she’d caught him sawing the tree.
“Ding-dong,” she said, holding up the lattes. “Cami-Dash. Your iced latte is here.”
“Hey, wow, thanks.” He set the hammer in his toolbox, wiped his brow with a towel, and reached for one of the cups. “What brings you out this way?”
“There are showings in my condo all day, and I was feeling a bit restless.” She sipped her iced latte. “Ah. Perfection in a cup.”
Ben set his cup down next to the toolbox. “If you have a mind to help out while I finish this siding, it will go faster, then we can grab a pizza.”
“You don’t want to grab lunch here?”
“Are you kidding? Walt is making tuna. On a weekend. Myrtle May is fit to be tied. Let’s get as far away as possible.”
“You’re on. Tell me what to do.”
7
This sort of thing required a celebration. Ben had finished the siding, and he’d spent time with Cami Jackson.
It still boggled his mind that she’d showed up. Maybe this was God’s way of telling him to sell, assuming God was interested in the inn. Or interested in Ben.
Ben opened the door to the pizzeria for Cami. Dimmed lights, soft music, flickering candles—it was the perfect mix for romance.
He chose a table near the front, but Cami moved to the back corner. A booth where he was sure couples liked to hide, sneak kisses.
“Is this okay? I like sitting in a booth.” Her smile was innocent and sweet. Of course, he agreed.
Cami reached for a menu. “This place smells amazing. Cheese, tomato sauce, pepperoni.” She set her menu back. “I’m having pizza.”
“Want to share a large New York pepperoni?” Ben said.
“You know it.”
The waitress set down a basket of garlic knots and took their drink orders: a root beer for him and a sweet tea for Cami. He ordered their pizza. With extra pepperoni.
Cami passed out the small plates, and they each chose a garlic knot.
“So, tell me, Ms. Jackson, you still interested in the inn?”
“More than anything. I’ve been thinking how it’s a resting place. A place for artists to come and imagine, paint, sculpt, whatever. It doesn’t matter, though, because you’re not selling. At least, not to me.”
To be honest, he didn’t know what he was doing, but best to let the conversation die. Right on time, the pizza arrived, and the goodness of Angelo’s pizza took over. He and Cami talked current events and business, touched on politics for a few seconds, then it was her turn to get personal.
“Is there a beautiful woman beside the successful hotelier, Ben?”
“No. I dated someone when I lived in Manhattan, but she was a New Yorker, and I was a Southerner.”
“And never the two shall meet?”
