He taps at the screen, and a moment later, images of inch-tall ovoid-shaped toys appear.
“Oh,thosethings,” I say as he slowly scrolls through the results. “I remember those. Kids would trade them and race them down ramps and stuff.”
“Yup.” His lips kick up at both corners. “I had one of the biggest collections in school.”
The idea of a tattoo-less, beardless Cameron collecting such weird-looking toys only makes me feel more affectionate toward the man. “That’s cute.”
“Not cute,cool.” He hands my phone back. “Why do you even have a get-to-know-you question list handy like this?”
“I have a lot of things handy,” I admit with a shrug. “That’s what the notes app is for. One is full of tracking numbers for packages I already received. Another saysdon’t forgetwith absolutely no context about what I wasn’t supposed to forget. Then there are coordinates to a parking spot from a trip to Miami, a pros and cons list about cutting my own bangs, a grocery?—”
A raw, throaty laugh interrupts me. It’s louder than I’ve ever heard from him. I can’t help but smile at the sound, heart thumping beneath my ribs. Cameron may not laugh often, but when he does, it’s real and rich and has me fiending for more.
“Jesus Christ,” he says through his laughter. “Anything else?”
“Only my horoscope from three years ago. I saved because it said I’d meet someone important on a Tuesday.”
He makes a humming noise, dropping his head. “I see what you mean now. You really do have a lot of information stored in your notes app.”
I flash him a thumbs-up. I wouldn’t call myself a hoarder, per se, but I have an issue with throwing things out—whether it’s a birthday card, a ticket stub from a show I saw years ago, or a drunken note on my phone titledWhy I Think My Uber Driver Was Actually My Soulmate. I blame my dad. His obsession with artifacts and insistence that the littlest things can reveal the most important information was passed down to me. I learned at an early age how to document my life. It’s highly unlikely that historians will study me in two hundred years, but one never knows.Death Becomes Heronly won one award at the Tony’s despite receiving ten nominations, so anything’s possible.
“Send it over,” Cameron says, those three words teetering on the edge of a demand.
I steeple my fingers and cock my head. “A please would be nice, you know.”
“Pleasesend it over.” This time he rolls his eyes. “I’ll look at the questions later this week. I’m too tired to choose my favorite conspiracy theory right now.”
I belatedly note the exhaustion lining his face—the dark bags under his eyes, the way his jaw keeps clenching like he’s holding back a yawn. I thought I was being amiable by coming to him, but I didn’t consider that he hasn’t been home in nearly a week.
Quickly, I tap the little square near the top of the screen and share the note with him, then clear my throat. “One last question… how serious are we supposed to be?”
He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes darting away, his mouth forming an expression that almost looks like a grimace. “I guess serious enough that Gigi backs off.”
“Meeting the family serious?” I push. “Sharing a Netflix account serious?”
“You already know my sister,” he points out. “And I don’t think we need to share a Netflix account.”
“Good, because it’s clear you have no taste in television.” I brush my thumbs against my knuckles, ducking and digging for the things that need to be said. “If we’re doing this, we need to be on the same page. What happens when this ends? The business partnership is in writing, but the relationship part—when do we break up? How do we break up?”
“Kennedy—”
“I’m serious. I need to know what I’m getting into.” I force my head up, my eyes locking with his. “I’m already letting you invest in my business, which terrifies me, by the way. Adding a fake relationship on top of it? That’s complicated. What if people find out it’s not real? What if it hurts my business? What if?—”
“What if you meet someone?” he asks brusquely.
The question catches me off guard. “What?”
“What if you meet someone you want to date for real? We should have an exit plan for that.”
Oh. Right. Because this isn’t real. This is business. I need to remember that.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to ignore the weird twist in my stomach. “That makes sense. Same goes for you. If you meet someone, or if Gigi backs off and you don’t need the cover anymore, we should be able to end it cleanly.”
“Agreed.”
I stand up quickly, suddenly wishing I hadn’t pushed the conversation so far and made things weird. Collecting my things, I turn, readying to hightail it out of here.
“Kennedy,” he says in that low, gravelly timbre. When I turn back, he wets his lips, throat bobbing as he swallows. “Um, thank you. For doing this. I know it’s asking a lot.”
