“C’mon, Mami. I’ve been busy. You know I have a lot to do.” I put the phone on speaker so I can free up my hands while I search in my pantry. “Besides, I sent you a text last night.”
“A text doesn’t let me hear the tone of your voice. You sound tired. How’s it going?”
“I’m tired because it’s early. Everything is coming along. Not as fast as I’d like, but things like this take time.” I sigh, taking stock of my ingredients. Shit, I’m low on just about everything.
“You don’t sound okay.”
“I’m in the middle of taking inventory, and I’m going to have to run to the grocery store.”
“Oh. Have you met anyone yet?”
I seriously hope she’s not directing this conversation where I think she is. “Yes. I met a couple who own a cafe a few blocks away. I’m selling them some cakes and churros until I open.”
“And you expect to earn a living this way? Selling a cake here and there?”
Here we go again. “I’m selling a lot more than a cake here and there. And yes, this is exactly how I plan on making a living.”
“Not by giving away your pastries to people that are already stealing your customers.”
I sigh. Why do my parents always think I’m so naive when it comes to my interactions with the world? “Mom, they’re giving me space in one of their display cases, and all of my products are labeled under Cami’s Confections. Cayden and Raven are really nice. I promise.”
“Mark my words, they want something from you. No one is nice to a perfect stranger for no reason.”
I respond with an audible sigh.
“Besides this couple, have you met anyone else?”
“Mom! I thought we were past this!”
“I’m talking about potential friends, Camilla. You’re my baby, and I worry that there’s no one there to help you if something happens.”
“Cayden and Ravenaremy friends. If it makes you feel better, I’ll introduce you to them when you come to visit.”
“That’s a great idea!” Really? Does this mean she’s going to dial back her special brand of crazy? I don’t think I heard my mother this excited since I told her Miguel and I were dating. “How about if I come and spend a few days helping you settle in so that you can concentrate on more important things?”
The last thing I need is my mother here, holding my hand and sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. I don’t need her interfering and convincing me to see things that aren’t there. Especially between me and Stone.
Why is he the first person to come to mind? I need to shut this down. Now.
“I appreciate it, Mom, but no. I’m good.”
I HEAD DOWNSTAIRS TOsee how much progress Stone made priming the walls last night. My mother’s words move throughmy brain like a worm. I hate to admit it, but in my experience, she’s right. People don’t generally go out of their way unless they think they’re going to get some benefit from it. So what is Stone’s motive?
I asked myself this question on repeat before drifting off to sleep last night. It was stupid, as well as inconsiderate, to leave him downstairs working while I slept, even if I barricaded the door leading to the kitchen, just in case. But he insisted, and I was struggling to keep upright.
“That’s the fifth time you’ve yawned in the last five minutes,” Stone says, smoothing the last piece of painter’s tape over the floor molding and then standing to his full height.
“I’m fine,” I wave his concern away.
His gray eyes lock on mine as he stalks toward me with long, confident strides. My belly tightens with nervous excitement as my eyes linger on his strong, statuesque body.
Stone smirks like he bested me somehow. The dumbass caught me staring and thinks he has an edge up on me.
I force my eyes away from him and look out the storefront window. The sun set hours ago, and the moon reflects off the windows across the way. The streets are empty, except for the occasional car driving by. This isn’t helping.
I twist my hands in front of me in nervous knots. Knowing that most people in town are tucked safely in their beds for the night while Stone is very much awake, occupying my space, leaves me feeling vulnerable.
There’s something about being alone with him in this large empty room, with no safeguards like parents or friends, that feels dangerously intimate. More intimate than the sexual encounters I shared with Miguel, and I don’t understand why. Maybe it lies in his heated stare.
