From the second I walk in, it’s like he’s made it his mission to bein my space. Leaning too close when he asks if I want water. Sliding a plate in front of me like he’s my personal waiter. Catching my eye from across the room like he knows I hate it.
I focus on Goldie. I laugh at her jokes, braid her hair, and make a big show of not even looking at Camden.
It works…until later in the night.
The mulled wine is strong. Warm. Delicious. And way too easy to keep refilling when everyone’s laughing and talking and passing around more cookies than any human should eat in one sitting.
At some point, I excuse myself to the bathroom, splash a little cold water on my face, and tell myself I’mperfectly fine.
When I come back out, I hear clattering from the kitchen, so I figure I’ll help clean up. It’s the least I can do after inhaling approximately six pounds of food.
I push through the swinging door, already rolling up my sleeves. “All right, what can I?—”
I stop.
The room is quiet. Everyone’s gone. No laughing, no music, just the low hum of the fridge and the faint smell of roasted vegetables. And, standing at the sink, sleeves shoved up, rinsing plates, is Camden.
Of course.
He glances over his shoulder when he hears me, and that slow grin spreads across his face like he’s been waiting for me to wander in. “Juliana. I was beginning to think you were hiding.”
My brain says,Turn around, abort mission. My feet…do not listen.
“I didn’t realize everyone had cleared out,” I say, grabbing a dish towel just so I have something to hold on to.
“Mm-hmm.” He stacks another plate, like I’m not fooling him for a second. “Guess it’s just you and me.”
And suddenly the kitchen feels too small. My head is still pleasantly fuzzy from the wine, but my pulse is sharp and fast. He’s just standing there, sleeves damp, hair falling into his eyes, looking like he owns the place. Actually, hedoesown the place.
I should walk out. I shoulddefinitelywalk out.
I don’t.
Camden smirks, rinsing another plate. “And now you’re stuck with me. Tragic.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive.”
He sets the plate down, turns the water off, and wipes his hands on a towel. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
I scoff, instantly on the defensive. “I havenot.”
His eyebrows lift. “Juju, you practically dove behind the dessert table when I walked in earlier.”
“That was…strategic snacking.”
“Hmm.” He steps a little closer, just enough that I have to tip my chin up to look at him. “You smell like mulled wine and oranges.”
I make a face. “Wow, thanks. That’s…charming.”
“I didn’t say it was bad.”
His voice drops just slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s enjoying this way too much.
I roll my eyes, but the warmth pooling low in my stomach has nothing to do with the wine. “But I can tell you always mean something negative, even if you don’t say it.”
The smirk drops. “Is that what you really think?”
“It’s been your pattern for a long time, yes.”
