Coming Home to Seashell Harbor (Seashell Harbor #1) - Miranda Liasson Page 0,58
have lovely curves. His inner self groaned.
“Quit staring at my boobs!”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t. I…I mean, I was demonstrating.” Geez. How had this taken a turn?
“Well, your mind is in the gutter.” She smoothed down the front of her dress. “And anyway, my dress isn’t revealing at all. I could wear this to church and Gran would be pleased.”
“Yeah, but you look…you look…” Apparently, lust had made him dumb.
She crossed her arms. “I look what?”
He was sweating. What was wrong with him?
She smiled. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Look. I…I just want to say I never meant for us to be on opposite sides like this. And what you’re doing with these dogs…it’s a great idea.” What else could he say? That Fuller-the-vet was too smooth and he didn’t like it one bit? He had no right. “And one more thing. I hope…I hope that however this turns out, we can be friends.”
Friends. What a load of baloney. He could never be friends with her when all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her, pull her close, and get lost in the sweet softness of her. He swallowed hard, trying to get a grip.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I’m sorry we’re fighting. That we’re enemies in this.” Her gaze snagged and caught his. She looked honest and sincere, her usual MO, but there was a guardedness about her.
He’d told her that kiss hadn’t mattered.
It had mattered. He’d felt it down to his marrow. Yet he’d pretended it hadn’t meant anything. That she didn’t mean anything.
“I could never be your enemy,” he said quietly.
Their gazes locked again, and something passed between them. Something he could not define. Sadness, longing, chemistry…parts of all three.
“Listen, Hadley—”
Before he could speak, a family with two young children walked up. “Excuse me, can we ask you about this white one?” the mom asked.
Cam’s stomach churned in an ominous way—he didn’t know why—because Jagger could use a good family to love and cherish him. When he watched the kids petting him, he felt his heart twist. He’d grown fond of the mutt. Saying goodbye would be…awful.
“What kind of dog is that?” the mom asked.
Hadley smiled and waved to the kids, including a little guy, maybe one year old, in the dad’s arms. “We believe Jagger is mostly Labradoodle,” she explained. “We found him underweight and missing an eye. He’s precious.”
“He’s awfully tall,” the dad said. “He almost looks like a deer with those skinny legs.”
Cam bit his lip to stop from saying something to discourage them from the dog. Jagger deserved better. “He’s a great dog,” he managed, suddenly needing to clear his throat.
Someone called his name from the main thoroughfare next to the booths. A dad with two young sons. “Cam? Hey, would you do us the honor of your autograph?” At his side, the boys looked at him with that starry-eyed excitement that he’d always loved but that now ripped out his heart a little.
How long would it last? A couple more years maybe?
“Of course,” Cam said, pulling out the permanent marker he kept in his pocket, ready to go.
* * *
“Cam sure looks adorable standing across the way in that red checkered apron,” Gran said later that day as she sat next to Hadley, helping pass out information and giving families doggie advice.
Hadley checked her watch. “Did you say Paul is coming to get you after he finishes his shift at his booth? Because I’d say it was definitely time.”
“Don’t get smart with me,” Gran warned. “I’m allowed to think Cam is cute no matter what you think.”
Sadly, she was right. Across the way, Cam was standing in front of his booth wearing that ridiculous apron, still somehow managing to look super hot.
“What on earth is he passing out?” Gran asked, following her gaze. There was a large crowd gathered, a line snaking down the grassy main aisle of the festival clear down to where the food trucks were parked. All the volunteers in the pie booth next door, mostly senior citizens, were watching in fascination. People were holding up their phones, shooting pics of Cam, who was smiling and glad-handing and passing out something on a tray. Lucy came around the back of the booth with more trays and handed them to Nick, who was also helping. Even Mr. Cammareri, in his own black apron, was passing out craft beer samples.
“We’re doomed,” Hadley said. “He’s got his entire family and half the town over there. And the answer to