“Are you listening?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you going to write this down?”
“I’m making notes,” I reply, and tap my head, indicating that I’ll remember what she says.
“Well, that’s comforting,” she mumbles, and turns away, making me smile. Cami has always been funny. She’s giving and kind, and we once had a special friendship. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t want her. Had she been a couple of years older, there was a time when I would have pursued her romantically, but then I went into the Navy, and she got married, and life carried on. It’s not right for a man to continue to call and send letters to a married woman, no matter how much it kills him that she belongs to another man. So we drifted apart.
Suddenly she stops pacing, links her fingers nervously together, and sighs. “Landon, I wanted to thank you for coming home when Mom and Daddy died.”
I stare at her for a moment, then shake my head, shove my hands in my pockets, and shuffle my feet. “You don’t have to thank me for that.”
“Yeah, I do.” She nods. “It was a weird time, and having you here was . . . well, comforting.”
“I’m glad. How are you?”
“Better,” she says, and smiles. “A lot has happened in the few years since then.”
It’s been a few years? I had no idea. Time sure goes fast.
“The restaurant keeps all of us busy.” She takes a deep breath and looks around the empty space. “Speaking of, I think a row of booths, like the existing ones we have, would be beautiful over here,” she says, gesturing to the far wall. She continues to share her vision, her eyes shining with excitement.
She’s professional and animated, and I can’t look away from her. I never could. The dimple in her cheek winks when she grins, talking about the need for a larger storage space in the back. Her hair is up in a simple ponytail, and she’s in jeans, sneakers, and a sweatshirt.
She still looks sixteen.
But when she turns, and her sweatshirt molds against her body, she’s anything but a kid. She's all woman.
Beautiful, stunning, amazing woman.
“Seriously, you’re not paying attention to me,” she grumbles.
“Oh, I’m paying attention,” I reply. Maybe not the way she wants, but I’m paying attention. “How are you and the cat getting along?”
She frowns. “He’s taken over my house.”
“He likes you. You’re a likable girl.” I shrug and watch as her frown deepens, then she shakes her head.
“We’re talking about work.”
“I think, for the first meeting, we did good,” I reply, and glance about the room. “What used to be in here?”
“A toy store,” she replies. “I guess most people buy stuff online these days.”
“I think I can raise the ceiling in here,” I say, studying the drop ceiling. “I can make it match your existing ceiling, open it up a bit.”
“Good. I don’t know why they made it lower.”
“Probably to save on heating costs.”
“Raising it will be much better.” She’s nodding, hands on hips, slowly sauntering around. “Can we match the floors too?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Awesome.” She pauses, smiles, and claps her hands. “I’m so excited!”
“Even if I’m your contractor?” I ask, and reach out to tug on her hair, but she ducks out of my way.
“I guess I can deal with you.”
“You like me.” The crush she’s had on me since we were kids has never been a secret. I managed to keep mine hidden, but Cami never did.
“You’re okay.” She shrugs and chuckles, and for the first time that I can remember, she’s not looking at me with that sparkle in her eyes, and I’m not sure what to do about that. Or if I even should do anything about that.
But I fucking miss it.
“I think I have everything I need.”
“Great.” She walks past me, but stumbles forward, and I catch her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against me.
“Hey, easy,” I murmur, my face just inches from hers, and for just a brief moment, that sparkle is back in her eyes, making my gut clench. She’s not nearly as immune to me as she’d like to believe. “I’ve got you.”
“This is what I get for wearing sneakers,” she grumbles as her little hands clench my jacket and she manages to get her feet under her.
“You don’t usually wear shoes?”
“Not sneakers,” she mumbles, and tries to pull away, but I tighten my arm and take a moment to enjoy