The estates become bigger and more spread apart the further we go. At the end of the cul-de-sac, Cameron pulls up to an iron gate with a call box. Thankfully, the gate swings open upon our approach, so Cameron doesn’t have to roll down his window for them to buzz us in. The rain is coming down harder now, and it would be a shame to get water on his leather interior.
After a short, winding drive down a paved road, the Ravenwood Manor, my home for the weekend, comes into view. A massive wall of pure glass surrounds the oversized, oak front doors, displaying a winding staircase inside. Two wings flank the grand entry, painted a modern, stately white with dark trim, and oversized windows mark each room. The two-story estate glows golden like the flame from a candle against the dark woods that surround it.
“Drop me off at the front, please,” I say, and officially switch off Flirty Drew. She was fun while she lasted. “I’ll just run inside.”
Cameron nods and turns the wheel to enter the U-shaped driveway that leads to the front door. My heartbeat spikes as heputs the car in park, and I see one of the guests moving around within the house.
As soon as I step through that doorway to join them, I will need to become Epic Drew, the version of me who likes to have fun and is confident in her ability to leave this retreat at the end of the weekend to become a present sister and doting aunt. I grip the chocolate-covered strawberry latte in my hand like a talisman, because Cursed Drew would never have ordered something so decadent, and exit the car to officially take the first step.
Here goes nothing.
Cameron gets out of the car with much more grace than I do, even though he is almost a foot taller than me and the car sits close to the ground. I hurry to meet him at the “frunk,” but he already has my bag slung over his shoulder. He gestures for me to go first and follows close behind as our feet splash through the puddles that have accumulated on the concrete.
We huddle together under the porch to escape the downpour, closer than necessary considering how much space there is. I can feel his eyes on me as I slip back into Flirty Drew and take a moment to appreciate how the rain makes his shirt cling even tighter to his strong arms.
“Drew,” he says, after my moment of appreciation lingers a bit longer than I planned. With the way his tone has shifted, though, it feels more like the attraction is mutual than he’s growing impatient for me to finish gawking.
I shake my head at the thought. We are complete strangers, and he’s a hunk-for-hire, but the Dramamine hangover is making me think crazy thoughts like wondering how it would feel to run my hands along the ridges of his broad shoulders.
“I’d better get inside,” I say reluctantly, and hold up my latte. “Thank you so much for the coffee and the ride.”
Cameron takes a step closer and leans in as I am about to knock on the door. I freeze as my brain volleys back and forth between trying to decide if I should push up on my tiptoes to close the distance or put my hand on his chest to stop him. Just as I make my choice, Cameron turns the doorknob and pushes the front door open, revealing a grand foyer on the other side.
“Anytime,” he says as he raises his arm to gesture for me to go inside, and then shocks me further by saying, “After you.”
I reel at the fact that I was convinced that he was leaning in to kiss me but instead was just rudely opening the door to a stranger’s home without so much as a knock.
The blush returns to my cheeks when a woman who looks to be in her early twenties with wavy ice-blonde hair cut to her shoulders turns in surprise at our unceremonious entry. She says a few words into the phone that she has up to her ear, then hangs up and walks towards us, the wide legs of her olive-green trousers flowing with every step.
“Hey, you must be Drew. I’m Delaney, your host for the weekend.” She smiles kindly at me and pulls me in for a brief hug, then slides her gaze to the man standing behind me. “And I see that you’ve already met Cameron, the homeowner. He’s going to be around for the weekend, too, which is a special treat.” Her bubbly voice does not waver, but her smile does not quite reach her eyes.
I look back at Cameron in astonishment. Is he a hunk-for-hireandthe homeowner? Or just the homeowner, and I just acted like a complete fool the entire ride over under a false assumption?
“You won’t even know I’m here,” he says, then steps forward to deposit my bag on the marble floor. “I’m going to park the car in the garage, and then I’ll run this up to your room for you.”
“I’ve got it,” Delaney says, stepping forward and pulling my bag onto her shoulder. She teeters a bit on her stilettos whiletrying to adjust to the weight of it and shoots me another dazzling smile. “The other women are in the living room. I’ll take care of this, and then I’ll be right back down to introduce you to everyone.”
The sound of Delaney’s heels on the stairs gets fainter with each step, until Cameron and I are once again alone in the foyer. I consider asking him right then and there if my assumption that he was a hired driver is true, but something in my gut tells me not to, because it would just be even more embarrassing to admit that out loud if I was wrong.
“The kitchen is through here, and to the left, if you want to get a snack first,” he says, pointing through the foyer, and just before he steps back out into the rain, he turns back to me with another stunning smile and adds, “I hope that we’ll run into each other again sometime this weekend, Drew.”
Chapter fifteen
MORE FORCE THAN NECESSARY
Thefrontdoorclosesbehind Cameron, and I am left in the middle of the foyer, frozen in place. Every word I said, every thought I had, replays in my mind like a highlight reel.
“No, no, no,” I say, holding my head in my hands as the memory of me criticizing his flirting style, followed shortly after by telling him that I thought his voice was sexy, repeats on loop.
The only thing worse than the shockingly embarrassing things Isaidis the unthinkable thing that I almostdidon the porch. The thought makes me want to sink into the floor, but the mechanical whirr of a garage door opening somewhere in the distance gets me moving at top speed so that I don’t risk having to face Cameron, the homeowner, again.
At the other end of the foyer is an oversized abstract painting, hung between two arches. I head to the left of the painting, like Cameron suggested, on a mission to find some food. Hopefully, once I am properly fed and this caffeine kicks in, my sanity will return, so that I can get back on track and stay focused on mypurpose here. I take the corner at a near sprint and come within inches of a woman who is just inside, pouring herself a drink.
“Oh, sorry!” I say, doing a spin move to avoid mowing her down, and instead bump into the kitchen island.
I reach out to steady a stack of china that rattled and take in the elaborate charcuterie display that covers every square inch of the island. My stomach growls audibly at the different cheeses, both soft and hard, and the cured meats swirled together to look like rosebuds. Vegetables in every color of the rainbow and bread pre-torn for dipping are placed strategically around them. Every square inch has something new: crackers, chocolate, bowls of olives, and nuts. And thefruit. Every kind of berry imaginable, shiny and jewel-toned, is scattered throughout the display. The best part of all, though, is that there is not a single citrus in sight.
I pop a few purple grapes the size of mini gumballs into my mouth and make room between platters to set down my coffee when the woman I completely forgot about clears her throat behind me. I whip around and cover my mouth to finish chewing as quickly as possible.
