“He might.” He did. Camille knew that. “But maybe that’s because he hasn’t given himself the opportunity to really look around.”
Josh had been fixed on Edie since the day they’d met. They’d had an instant connection, one that was dramatic and surprising, consistent with Edie’s romantic patterns.
But Camille needed to stay out of all of it. She had more pressing issues to deal with, and her brother’s love life ranked at the bottom of that list.
“I’ll be by in the morning to pick up the order.” She passed Morgan the payment for the pastries. “Thank you again for always being so willing to help us out. You truly put thebreakfastin our little B&B.”
The phone was ringing again.
Not her cellphone, but that archaic landline.
The instant it trilled, Camille’s heart took off in a gallop. Since living at The Getaway, the only one to ever attempt to reach them on that line was the dang hospital.
And today, she wondered if it might be them again, attempting to contact Foster. Maybe they had the results. Maybe this would be the phone call to change their lives forever.
Each ring sped up her heart rate until it was fully thundering in her ears, so loudly she couldn’t hear the person on the other line when she lifted the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hi, may I please speak with Foster Spaulding?”
Camille feared she knew where this was going. “He’s not here at the moment, but I’d be happy to take a message.”
“Yes, that would be great. Please tell him that this is Katie Carlson with The Seascape Shores Tribune. I am trying to reach Foster for a comment about the lost fishing vessel.”
“No comment,” Camille said quickly.
“I was hoping to reachFoster Spauldingfor a comment.”
Wasn’t Camille allowed to give one in his stead? She was his wife, after all.
“Can you please have him call me back at his earliest convenience?”
Camille squared her shoulders and pulled in a breath. “Yes. I will give him the message.”
And she would. It just might be several weeks from now. Or months. Possibly years.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Camille placed the receiver back onto the wall, and then slumped against the doorframe leading to the dining room. She needed to do better than this.Bebetter than this. Shouldering into the strap on her purse, she marched out of the Inn, into her car, and headed to Foster’s current jobsite.
She’d give him the message right now. Along with one of her own.
It was a busy day at the construction site. Clear skies and warmer weather meant all hands on deck to work on the new office building, but it also meant a load of cleanup. There were mucky puddles everywhere, sodden pieces of sheetrock and boards strewn about. Camille was not dressed for any of it, andshe tiptoed through the site, stepping over one hazardous trap after another.
“You’re missing something.” She felt the heavy weight of a hard hat come down on her head. Foster grinned when she spun toward him. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
She was about to burst that hopeful bubble, but it couldn’t be helped. “Someone from the Tribune called for you. They want a statement about everything going on with Jim.”
“Do they?” His prominent brow line buckled over those blue eyes that always pierced her right down to her soul. “And you came all the way down here to deliver that news?”
“Foster.” Camille took his hand, so rough from years of construction. His fingers instantly clasped around hers. “I’m worried about you. You’ve hardly talked about any of this since you found out about Jim. I’m beginning to think you don’t trust me with your feelings anymore.”
“Why would you say, or even think, something like that?”
“Because you haven’t told me what’s going on in that head of yours.”
Foster pulled his eyes from Camille’s. His junior foreman, Todd, strode past with a group of younger workers, but Foster jutted out a hand to halt him. “Hey, Todd. I’m going to take an early lunch with my wife. You good here for an hour or so?”
