Maybe Logan’s right. Maybe I do need to see a doctor.
Because a simple text shouldn’t have me smiling more than even a good save on the ice does.
I’ve showered and picked up enough that my place looks lived in but not messy, but also like I didn’t try too hard. I think. I considered turning the fireplace on no less than twenty times. It’s early December and cold outside. If it were my sister or my buddies coming to hang out, I wouldn’t think twice.But fireplaces convey images of couples huddling up together, drinking hot chocolate, and trying to warm up. And I don’t want Kennedy to read into it.
Or me. I can’t read it into it either.
A knock on the door makes my stomach flip, and the unbidden reaction has me clenching my fists. What is wrong with me? I’m the one who asked if she was free tonight, and we’re only meeting to go over herbusiness planand work on the details of our arrangement.
Why am I acting like a fucking middle schooler about to see his first pair of tits?
Shaking my head, I stride to the door. I swing it open with more muscle than intended, wincing as it rebounds off the wall behind it.
Kennedy’s blond hair falls loose around her shoulders, a few strands clinging to the most ridiculous pair of earmuffs I’ve ever seen. They’re bright pink and look like they belong on a cartoon character. Her cheeks are flushed a similar color from the cold, and she’s practically drowning in a puffy white coat that nearly touches the ground.
“Hi,” she says with a smile that’s partially hidden by her scarf.
I massage my nape, trying to ease the tension building there. “Uh, hey.”
She raises a brow expectantly. Is she waiting for me to shake her hand? High five her? Hug her? I stare at her awkwardly, not really knowing what do.
“Can I come in?” she asks with a pointed glance behind me. “I’m freezing my ass off, which is a feat, considering there’s a lot of it.”
“You have fuzzy donuts on your ears,” I blurt out.
Oh, Jesus Christ.
My face goes hot instantly, and I have to resist the urge to slam the door closed and run away.
She stares at me for a beat before throwing her head back and laughing. It’s a nice sound, whimsical and loud. An open invitation to join in. It quells some of my anxiety.
“That’s a new one. Maya says they look like cotton candy pom-poms, but I like them.”
Without waiting for an official invite, she slips through the doorframe like this is her place instead of mine. I shut the door with an imperceptible sigh and turn, nearly colliding with her back.
She scrutinizes the foyer like we’re on an interior design show. “Huh. On the floorplan I found online, the kitchen was to the right, and the foyer wasn’t so big. Have you done renovations?”
I jerk back, stumbling over myself. “What?”
She has the gall to throw me a wink. “Kidding, although I could’ve found the floor plan if I was motivated enough. It’s a travesty the FBI hasn’t recruited me. I’m seriously skilled at digging up information.”
“That’s alarming on so many levels,” I mutter.
“Your place is nice,” she continues, peeling off her winter gear. “I was expecting something more sinister. Maybe some leather and gargoyles? Disappointed that the dragon isn’t here, but I suppose the city isn’t the best place for a fire-breathing creature.”
Heartbeat slowing to a normal rate now that I know my private residence isn’t public information, I roll my eyes. “Percival is a snowbird. He winters in Florida.”
Her smile grows even wider. Turning her head to the left, she asks, “Kitchen this way?”
I nod, but she’s already moving, hips swinging as she waltzes farther into my space.
“Oh my God.” With no other warning, she drops to the ground.
I spring forward, stomach sinking, thinking she’s hurt.
“Cameron,” she breathes, pulling me up short, “do you know what this is?” she asks, her voice almost reverent.
She gently drags her fingers over the gold handles of my built-in electric oven.
