“Kennedy.” His tone is resigned, like he can’t believe I did that, but his lips twitch a little, like he finds the whole situation kind of funny.
I smile brightly. “Now do you see why I’m concerned? It has nothing to do with you meeting my sister.”
He gives my hand a quick squeeze in response and doesn’t let go.
“I do have a request before you meet Amelia, though,” I admit, going for casual and failing spectacularly.
He raises a brow, a signal to continue.
“Can you maybe… not mention anything about Crumb & Co. kitchen?”
I pray he’ll leave it at that, knowing damn well he won’t.
Right on cue he asks, “Why?”
Easy question, complicated answer. I falter as I consider how to explain years of inadequacy in a way that doesn’t make me sound pathetic. “It’s complicated.”
“More complicated than Nick stealing Jennifer’s vote and then Dan using his immunity idol, only for Carl to play his idol nullifier?”
“Ugh, don’t talk dirty to me when we can’t have sex for another twenty-four hours.” I wiggle, giddy over how much he’s gotten intoSurvivor. “But yes, a little more complicated than that.”
“Explain.”
It’s a response that’s so Cameron—brusque and abrupt—that I can’t help but smile. Doesn’t mean I’m going to do what he says, but still. It’s cute.
“I want to understand,” he tries again, softer this time, his eyes searching mine.
Head tipped back against the seat, I study the ceiling of the car. It’s pristine, probably detailed weekly. Without a spot to fix my attention on, I let my eyes go out of focus while I search for the right words.
“You already know my dad’s one of the most respected historians in his field,” I start, glancing over. “What you don’t know is that my mom’s a pediatric oncologist, Amelia’s a forensic accountant, and Frankie’s a biomedical engineer.”
“Okay,” he says with an easy shrug. There’s no surprise in his expression, as if he’s not impressed.
“And then there’s me.” I smile wanly and laugh, but the sound is hollow. “I dropped out of law school, have had more part-time jobs than I can count on both hands,andpaid for a year-long porn subscription just to make sure my dick cookies were anatomically accurate.”
He doesn’t respond, but he watches me intently, waiting, listening.
“They love me,” I continue, my throat tight. “I’ve never once doubted that. And they’re supportive in their own way, but the kitchen is mine?—”
“Kenn—”
“It’s the first thing I’ve done that feels real.” I need to get this out before I lose my nerve. “That feels like it could actually turn into something, and I need to prove to myself that I can do this before I have to prove it to them.”
Silence stretches between us. With each second that passes, more dread seeps in. I want to unlock the car door and roll into traffic. I want to take back every word I just spilled across the expensive leather interior of this car.
But then Cameron lifts our joined hands and presses a kiss to my knuckles with a gentleness that seems impossible for someone the size of a yeti.
Then he opens his mouth: “That’s stupid.”
That response has my feelings of inadequacy quickly rolling into anger, and fire ignites in my veins. “Excuse me?”
“That’s stupid,” he reiterates, as if he really thinks I need him to repeat himself.
“Why is it stupid?” I snatch my hand from his and cross my arms over my chest. “I plan to tell them after the Ashford-Chen wedding.”
“Sure, your career path is different from theirs and not what you originally thought it’d be, but that doesn’t make it any less legitimate.”
“I know, but?—”
