Her attention turns to me.
I’m already shaking my head. “Let’s not.”
“I really want to.” She grins, and my nervy friend is back.
I turn and look at the bar. “Should I call Percy over and see if they want to join us?”
“Hush,” Erin says, laughing. “A little birdie told me about some tension over at Elm & Echo this afternoon.”
I roll my eyes.
“Ooo, I didn’t hear about this,” Goldie says, rubbernecking at me. “What happened?”
“Want to tell us about your little confrontation with Camden?” Erin tilts her head and crosses her arms over her chest.
Goldie leans forward, her shoulders dropping slightly. “Don’t tell me you guys fought again.”
“I wouldn’t call it a fight exactly. It was an…argumentwith someone who has no concept of boundaries or communication ormannersor––” I stop myself and take a sip of my drink. “Anyway. No big deal.”
Goldie reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Are you sure? It seems like it might’ve been a big deal.”
“Have you ever resolved the issues you had at the resort opening?” Erin asks.
“Nope,” I say too fast.
“It just makes me so sad to see you guys this way,” Goldie says. “You were so close for such a long time.”
“And now wehaven’tbeen for a long time.” I pick at my napkin.
“Don’t you miss him?” she asks.
I stare at her in shock. This is the first time she’s asked me this. I think we’ve both avoided ever going there since I’m herbest friend and he’s her brother…and my brother’s best friend. There are too many layers of complication with Camden and me.
“Yes,” I say softly. “But I miss who heusedto be. Maybe he’s still the same guy to you, but I think the guy I was close to is long gone.”
She looks at me sympathetically, her eyes full of concern, which is the last thing I want. I’d hate to put her in the middle of my problems with Camden.
“Didn’t you say that women are coming out of the woodwork to see Camden in his element?” Erin asks Goldie.
My eyes widen, and then I try to act cool when Goldie glances at me, almost cautiously.
“Yeah,” she says, wincing. “Women all over the Midwest are happy Camden Whitman is back in Minnesota. He’s hot shit, I guess.” She sighs.
“How’s your dad?” I ask, very obviously changing the subject.
Her face brightens. “He’s doing really well.”
The next morning, I know something’s up when I walk into the cafe and smell Lysol instead of sweetness.
And then I hear humming.
I go into the kitchen and find Papa on a stool in front of the large island, about to spray a harsh chemical on my woodblock baker’s table.
“Wait, Papa!”
He jumps and turns, laughing. “You gave me a fright!”
He waves the bottle of spray, and I shake my head.
