So Good: A Ribbon Ridge Novel (Love on the Vine Book 1) (22 page)

Wow, she was good. But then she’d noticed the crazy sparks—that was what she’d said, wasn’t it?—between them. Brooke considered brushing her off, as she’d done a few minutes ago, but she suddenly wanted to talk to someone about what had happened.
 

“Yes, I think he is.”

Kelsey looked surprised, her eyes widening. “I see. Did something happen?”

Brooke couldn’t withhold the smile from her lips. “You could say that. We, uh, had a moment last night.”

Kelsey turned on the bench and faced her. “What does that mean?”

Brooke winced, her eyes squinting. “We had sex in a restaurant bathroom?”

Kelsey clapped her hand over her mouth and giggled. “That’s a bit more than a ‘moment.’ You are too funny. Are you guys together now?”

Brooke shook her head definitively. “No. In fact, we both agreed it was a one-time deal.”

“Yet you’re holding back with the blind-date guy.”

“A little.” Brooke set her elbow on the table and put her forehead on her hand. “Ugh. What am I doing? I would much rather things move forward with blind-date guy—uh, Justin—than with Cam.”

“And why is that? The work thing?”

“Yes, and—” And what? Cam’s history as a player? Certainly, but he seemed to have relaxed that behavior from what she could tell. Or maybe it was something far deeper. Something she didn’t want to explore. Something to do with her and her inability to give him, or anyone else, a family. She slammed back the rest of her beer.

Kelsey was still studying her, likely waiting for the rest of whatever Brooke meant to say.

“That’s pretty much it—the work thing.” Brooke was done sharing for the day.

“I understand. That’s a bummer, though. Maybe there’s a way around it?”

Only if Brooke gave the account to someone else at Willamette, and she didn’t want to do that. She felt personally invested in their wine, and she wanted to be a part of its success. But if life had taught her anything it was that you couldn’t have your cake and eat it too. “I don’t see one, but really, it’s okay. I’m pretty sure I got him out of my system. Talking to you has helped me see that. I think I’ll give Justin a call.”

Kelsey nodded. “Sounds good. I’m a little jealous, actually. I wish I was ready.”

Brooke wanted to return Kelsey’s kindness. “Anything I can do to help?”

“No, it’s all me. I’ll get there eventually. I hope.” She smiled and glanced toward her empty glass. “Alaina must’ve paid the bill. Or maybe George comped it.”

Brooke slid out of the booth. “He comped mine as a sort of welcome to town.”

“George is the best. He’s one of the reasons I’m still here in Ribbon Ridge. He made me feel welcome from day one—like family.”

“That’s so great.” Brooke missed her family, but more and more she felt like Ribbon Ridge was home.

They parted and went their separate ways, and as Brooke walked to the store to grab something for dinner, she thought about what she’d told Kelsey, that she’d call Justin. Would she, really?

Or would she continue to obsess about Cam? She was fairly certain it would be the latter, unfortunately.

Chapter Thirteen

C
am stared at the prepackaged meals stacked in the deli refrigerator at Ribbon Ridge’s sole grocery store. It was a perfectly fine store, albeit small, but didn’t offer much in the way of variety for a single guy who didn’t cook. If it couldn’t be prepared in three steps or less, Cam didn’t make it.

So what was it going to be tonight—pulled pork or pasta with meatballs? He glanced at the items already in his handheld basket: paper towels, cereal, a half gallon of milk, and a bottle of microbrew. Beer went better with the pork. “Winner, winner, pork dinner!” he said as he grabbed it from the reefer.

“Are you talking to that?”

He swung his head around at the familiar sound of Brooke’s voice. Her hair was pulled up, and she wore cropped jeans and a fitted T-shirt. She looked casual and comfortable and heart-stoppingly sexy.
 

Cam took a minute to put his thoughts into coherent speech. “Uh, yeah. I always talk to my food. Don’t you?”

“I try not to, actually.” She held her hand up to the side of her head and twirled her finger. “People might think I’m crazy.” She whispered the last word, and he laughed.

He glanced at her basket, which was full of veggies. “Look at you being all healthy.”

“Sometimes a girl’s just gotta have a big salad.”

His stomach grumbled. Damn, that sounded good. “Boys too. But that’s a lot of work.”

She flicked a look toward her basket before tipping her head to the side. “What, chopping vegetables? That’s not a lot of work.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Now she laughed. “Then you either have the wrong knife or you’re lazy.”

“Both, probably.” He smiled, glad she’d approached him. It would’ve been easy for her to simply avoid him and any awkwardness. But this didn’t feel awkward. It felt…good.

“Well, I can’t help you with lazy, but the right knife is actually super important. You can cut much more efficiently if you have a good blade. I can’t believe a bachelor like you doesn’t have good knives. That’s pretty much the only thing you can count on a guy to have, right? And maybe a grill or a smoker.”

He shook his head. “I don’t have any of those. Didn’t I tell you that I don’t cook?”

“Maybe? But you’re serious, you don’t cook, like, at all?”

“Nope, much to my mother’s chagrin. My brothers are much better at it. Dylan is actually pretty good, or has gotten that way anyway. He designed himself a badass gourmet kitchen, and then he went and got married. All that domesticity breeds cookery, I guess.” He shuddered but smiled playfully.

“Ah yes, domesticity. The arch nemesis of a confirmed bachelor like yourself. I’m tempted to invite you over to demonstrate how a good knife can change your life.”

Tempted… He was tempted to do far more than that, but he reined himself in. They had a pact. Or an agreement. Or an assumption. Whatever. They weren’t supposed to repeat what they’d done the other night, and if he went to her loft for salad making, he was pretty sure it would lead to lovemaking.

At least on his part. Maybe she really was over it.

“You could save me from prepackaged pulled pork.”

She peered into his basket. “I’ve had that, and it’s actually pretty good. Besides, you’ve already talked to it—it’ll be sad if you reject it now.”

He laughed again, loving her sense of humor. “I think it’ll survive. Or not—I’ll eat it tomorrow.”

“In that case, you can come for salad.” She looked down at her basket briefly, and he saw her lips press together. When she tilted her head back up, her gaze was determined. “Just salad.”

“Just salad.”

She watched him warily. “I’m quite skilled with that knife.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He couldn’t resist a grin. “You may not want to show me all your tricks.”

She squinted at him for a second. “I can’t tell if you’re flirting. If so, knock it off or I’ll rescind my invitation.”

He held up his hand. “You win. No flirting.”

She turned toward the checkout registers, and he followed. She seemed quite over their…whatever it had been. His chest felt suddenly hollow. Because he wasn’t over it. He’d tossed and turned at night, his thoughts consumed with her touch and her scent. He longed to feel her against him again but was afraid that would never happen. Now he was even more sure of that.

This was stupid. He was in lust with her, nothing more. Okay, there was plenty more, but screw it. They could be friends. He wanted to be friends.

She started unloading her veggies onto the conveyer belt.
 

“Hey, I can pay for everything,” he offered.

She tossed him a gimlet eye. “This is not a date, mister. I’ll pay for my own salad makings, thank you.”

She said it in a good-humored enough voice that he didn’t take offense. He still couldn’t help wishing it was a date. God, he wanted to date her.
 

Yes.

Maybe he could convince her to give it a try…

She cleared her throat loudly.

He looked down at the belt and saw that she’d put out a divider so he could unload his groceries. “Thanks.” He transferred everything from his basket and set it under the check stand.

“Hi, Cam!” Marcia, the checkout clerk smiled at him. “What’s for dinner tonight?” She looked at Cam’s groceries on the belt as she scanned Brooke’s items. “Pork again? You just had that a few nights ago.”

He shook his head and gave her a wry, friendly smile. “Good to know you’re cataloguing my meals.”

She pursed her lips. “Someone has to. Your mother likes to know what you’re eating.” Marcia played in his mom’s Bunco group, and Cam had known her for probably twenty years. “She’d also like to know that you’re eating with someone.” She looked at Brooke inquisitively.

Great, just what Cam needed: Marcia reporting to his mother that he was on a date or something. Wanting to date someone and wanting your family to know about it were two very different things. Mom would probably fall prostrate with shock if she thought he was dating—right before she harangued him for every detail. That her stepson was married and a father and none of her own sons were remotely close to that drove her nuts. Cam rushed to quell any misunderstanding. “Uh, we’re neighbors, and we work together. We’re not eating together.” He inwardly flinched and thought about how to cushion that lie as soon as he and Brooke left.

Marcia frowned and then sighed. “Well, that’s too bad. You’d make a cute couple.” She winked at Brooke. “That’s twenty-eight thirty-three. Brooke, right?”

Brooke nodded. “Thanks.” She swiped her debit card and completed her transaction. Then she turned to Cam with a cool stare and said, “Nice seeing you. Bye.”

Disappointment coursed through him as he watched her leave. He shouldn’t be disappointed—or surprised, since he’d said they weren’t eating together. She couldn’t know he’d only said that for Marcia’s benefit.

Marcia made more small talk as she scanned his items slowly. He tried not to be visibly antsy but had already swiped his card and entered his PIN long before she’d finished. At long last, she was done. He bid her a hasty good-night and left the store at a fast pace. He looked down the street and saw that Brooke was already across the street at the corner a block down.
 

He dashed out into the street without looking and stopped short at the sound of a horn blaring. The car hadn’t come close to hitting him, but the driver held up his hands and clearly mouthed, What the hell?

Cam waved at him and mouthed, “Sorry!” before continuing across. He looked toward the corner and saw Brooke was waiting for him, her head cocked to the side. When he reached her, he saw that her expression was one of concern but also mild annoyance.

“Nice move,” she said. “You have a death wish?”

“Definitely not. I was trying to catch up with you.”

She arched a brow before pivoting and walking around the corner. “At your own peril.”

He caught up to her. “Evidently. Hey, I didn’t mean what I said back there. We are eating together—if you still want to.”

Brooke didn’t slow her pace. “Why’d you lie to Marcia?”

“She plays Bunco with my mom. She’s already going to tell her that she saw me with you at the store, and my mom will get a zillion ideas.” He rolled his eyes, wondering when their next Bunco night was so that he could avoid his mom’s inevitable phone call.

“What sort of ideas?”

“That we’re dating or whatever.”

Brooke cast him a narrow-eyed look. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know what ‘whatever’ is.”

What did she mean? “I just meant that she’ll draw her own conclusions.”

“Oh, I know what you mean. Given your history, I can only imagine what those conclusions might be.”

Shit, this was not going well. And they’d had such a great conversation at the store. He snagged her elbow and drew her to a stop as they reached the corner across from the entrance to her building. “Wait. Let me explain. My mom is desperate for grandchildren. My stepbrother just had a kid a few months ago, but their relationship is a bit strained, and she’d like a grandchild of her own blood—her words, not mine.”