“You don’t have to thank me.”
I set the spoon down and sit back in my chair. When my eyes meet his, I feel the burning sensation from fighting back tears. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. He just watches me carefully, as if he’s ready to round the table and comfort me at any moment.
“I do, though. I’m sure you’ve missed a lot of work to be here today, and you spent money on groceries—which I’ll pay you back for, by the way—and yeah…just thank you for it all. No one’s ever really done this for me. No one but my mom.”
His eyes soften. He sits up, placing his hands in his lap. “The fact you even offered to pay me back is insulting. I will never take your money, Pippa.” The use of my actual name and not the nickname he’s given me makes it seem like he’s scolding me—maybe he is.
“And I don’t care about missing work today. It can wait. What I care about is that you feel better. I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud, but I like taking care of you.”
Neither one of us looks away. His breath gets faster, but his gaze stays steady. If he regrets giving me that little slice of vulnerability, he doesn’t show it.
“I don’t need anyone taking care of me.” My words come out crueler than I’d intended, but I can’t help it. I don’t want to let my walls down completely. To tell him that today means the world to me.
“I think you do.” He doesn’t seem deterred by me lashing out in the slightest. In fact, he angrily shoves out of his chair, the legs making a scraping sound against the hardwood. Before I can ask him what he’s doing, he’s rounding the table and crouching in front of me.
“I haven’t been here very long, but from what I’ve seen, you’re always taking care of other people.”
I don’t say anything. I’m too lost in the way his fingertips dance along my inner thigh in a comforting motion.
“But after your mom, who’s been taking care of you?”
All I can do is swallow, trying to fight the feelings bubbling out of me. I hate letting people know how I feel. I don’t want people to know their words and actions have power over me. But I can’t help myself at the moment. His words have split me wide open, my vulnerability on full display for him. Now all I can do is hope that we don’t go back to the place where he’d use that vulnerability against me.
“You give so much to your business. Your family. This town. But I think it’s time someone gives something to you. And today, I’m making it me.”
“And tomorrow?” My voice shakes. Maybe it’s because my entire body slightly trembles from his tender words and the gentle caress of his fingertips.
“Well, I’d like to take care of you tomorrow, too, if you’ll let me.”
His piercing blue eyes bore into mine, unraveling every single defense I’ve put up against him. I’m supposed to hate the man who wants to change some of the things I love most about Sutten, but instead, I find myself developing feelings for him. It was a lot easier when there was hate in my heart for Camden Hunter. The feelings that are blossoming deep inside seem like ones that’ll last far longer than any hate.
He looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t have to. By the way he squeezes my inner thigh and the way his eyes travel to my lips for a fraction of a second, I’m confident he’s thinking about kissing me. If I wasn’t worried about making him sick, I’d already be closing the distance between us.
“You done?” He nods his head toward the almost empty bowl of soup.
“Yeah.” My voice is hoarse, but it isn’t because of my throat hurting. It’s because emotion clogs my throat as an unwelcome guest.
I watch him clean up, portioning the soup into small dishes so I can just heat them up in the microwave and eat. He wasn’t wrong about getting groceries. The leftover soup containers barely fit in the fridge with everything else that’s in there.
As I look around my kitchen, I realize not only did he cook and order my groceries, but he’s cleaned it as well. The stainless steel fridge gleams, so clean that if I walked up to it, I’d be able to see my reflection. The counters shine underneath the lights.
Did I get sick and enter some parallel universe? Why’s he being so nice?
When he’s got the pot cleaned and drying on my drying rack, he wipes his hands on a towel and turns toward me. “Time for you to lie back down.”
“I have a fever—I’m not dying. I don’t have to lie down.”
“Do you have to argue with me about everything?” This time, there’s a slight smile on his lips. Like his question is playful.
“Well, we made it a couple of hours without fighting. At least we set a new record for ourselves.”
“You were sleeping for most of it.”
I shake my head at him, not bothering to hide my grin. God. I think I really like this guy.
“Come on, Kitty,” I call, tapping my thigh to get her to follow me. “Let’s leave him behind and go lie down.”
“So you actually do follow directions.” His voice comes from right behind me as he follows me back to my room.
I climb into bed, watching Camden scratch at Kitty’s ears as she looks up at him like he’s her favorite person ever.
“You know, it’s annoying that I rescued her and have taken care of her for months now, and you give her one belly rub and she’s completely in love with you.”
He sits down on the floor with her, a sight I never expected to see, and lets her climb into his lap. “I’ve heard I have impeccable charm.”
I scoff, pulling the blankets to my chin. “You’re the least charming person I know.”
He holds a hand to his chest, pretending that my words hurt him. “I’m going to change your mind about me, shortcake.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
33
CAMDEN
“What did you want to be when you grew up?” Pippa asks, sitting back and leaning her body against her sectional. Her legs are outstretched, her fuzzy socks with bright pink hearts resting against my thigh. We sit on her living room floor, Supermarket Stakeout playing in the background as we eat straight from an open pizza box between us.
“Do you really want to know my answer to that?” I take another bite of my own slice. I had to slip away for two hours when Pippa took her second nap of the day to finish some work at the gallery, but before I left, she requested I pick up pizza from a place named Crusty’s Pizza Parlor. When I asked why she wanted it from this specific place, she’d answered it was something her family used to do when someone was recovering from being sick. They’d order pizza when they were on the mend. It was her mom’s way of making sure the kids didn’t milk their sickness for all its worth and try to get extra sick days from school.
“Of course I want to know the answer. Did you want to be an astronaut, or were you dead set on selling other people’s art from a young age?”
I chew the pizza. Despite the cheesy—no pun intended—name for the pizza place, the pizza is actually phenomenal. It’s far greasier than I typically choose to eat, but I like indulging. I like breaking my own rules for her—even if it’s just in the form of opting for something not high in nutritional value for the night because pizza excited her, and I like to see her happy.
“My answer might be far more depressing than you like, shortcake,” I answer honestly. My childhood wasn’t terrible in the way that some others deal with. But it wasn’t happy. I didn’t know a parent’s love. And even though I got every material thing I could’ve ever wanted, I didn’t get the one thing I needed—for my parents to actually love and care about me.
“Tell me anyway?” She sets her pizza slice down and leans forward, hanging on to whatever I’m about to say.
“To be honest, I didn’t look to my future imagining a career. I just pictured myself away from my parents, doing something that would upset them because I felt like that was just a little slice of karma.”