Mrs. Bixby must know so much about the Abernathy family. I long to ask her questions, but I already sense she'd never answer.
"I think I'll turn in too," I say, rising from my chair.
"No," Cameron says in a low tone. "Stay."
The silence that follows feels charged.
Mrs. Bellows returns to clear away the last of the remaining dishes. "I'll just tidy up in the kitchen, sir, and drive myself home.”
Cameron turns to her. "Do we have a wine collection? Liquor?"
"Yes, sir. The Abernathy family collected a lot of wine. They maintained a wine cellar and often enjoyed a drink after dinner."
"Good. Bring us whatever they had for themselves after dinner.”
My pulse quickens at his casual assumption that we'll be sharing wine. There's something deliberately intimate about the request. It's the thing couples do, not an employer and employee.
"Right away, sir." Mrs. Bellows leaves. In the stillness, I realize how near Cameron and I are to one another. Close enough for me to feel the heat of his elbow just barely crossing into my space.
Close enough to register the mesmerizing pull of attraction between us. And I could swear he feels it too, under that grumpy exterior.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Bellows returns with a bottle of green liquid and two glasses. Then she vanishes into her kitchen.
"What is this? That green color looks like someone put Posey's Mr. Frog into a blender."
Cameron laughs. "It's called Chartreuse. A rather old-fashioned drink. Clearly, the Abernathys had taste. Try it."
I take a tentative sip. "It's sweet! Herbal. And a little peppery..."
He nods, distracted.
"What do you want to talk about?" I ask, my voice softer than intended.
"I want to apologize," Cameron says after a hesitation. "I'm quick to anger—one of my major flaws. And slow to forgive, which can be worse."
I look at him incredulously. "You still don't believe I'm a tipster for the tabloids?"
"I should never have believed it. But Tara, put yourself in my position. The tabloids have hunted me for decades."
The vulnerability of his admission catches me off guard. This isn't the commanding rockstar from moments ago. This is a man who's been wounded by fame.
"I understand."
"Good." He pauses, his eyes finding mine. "I like how you are with my daughter."
"She's a wonderful child."
As Cameron sips his drink, I hope that with the air clear between us, we could finish what we started.
"What drew you to study childhood education?" He studies my face with genuine curiosity.
The question catches me off guard. "I think there are a lot of children struggling at preschool age," I say. "Whether it's from mild forms of autism, Asperger's syndrome, divorce in the family..."
I pause, my throat tightening. "Or other kinds of trauma. I want to make sure they're okay."
Something in his expression shifts. His eyes meet mine.
"Personal experience?"
