Tears sprang into Margaret’s eyes as she realized that Cameron, who’d lost his father just months before, was staring thoughtfully at her.
It’s all I’ve pictured for most of my life.
The elevator dinged to announce its arrival, and Margaret exited, still staring at the photo as a deluge of tenderness saturated her heart.
“Cam,” she whispered, wondering what was going through his mind at the moment the photo was taken, but quite sure he’d probably pulled her braids and tried to make her cry immediately after.
“Morning,” he answered from just behind her.
Cameron leaned against the wall beside the elevator, a smile on his beautiful lips, his green eyes sparkling like emeralds. He wore jeans and a white polo shirt, and his black hair was still damp from a recent shower. Her mouth watered.
“Morning,” she said.
He reached for the box, sliding his hand against hers as he took it. “What’s that?”
“An old picture,” she said, glancing down at it before holding it up for him. “At the Englishes’ pool.”
Cameron placed the box on the floor and took the frame from her. “Wow. When was this taken?”
“Nineteen ninety-eight.”
“Look at you.”
She grinned, sidling beside him to look down at the picture in his hands. “And you.”
“Me? I’m not in this.”
She pointed to the group of three boys off to the side. “You’re in the middle.”
He stared at the picture for a long time before looking up at her, his eyes serious—so very serious—as they searched hers. “I’m watching you.”
“You are.” She reached up and palmed his cheek gently. “How is it that I’ve known you forever, but I’m just getting to know you now?”
“I’m falling for you,” he said softly, wincing as the blurted words faded away. “Bad.”
“Me too,” she said, with a whisper of a smile.
He pressed his lips to her palm, holding her eyes with his, with a scorching tenderness that made her body come alive, that made tendrils of pleasure unfurl from the place where he kissed her.
“Miss Story?”
Margaret dropped her hand from Cameron’s face and felt her cheeks flush with heat. She’d forgotten that they were in the lobby of their building, sharing an intimate moment while on public display.
“Franklin. Ahem. Yes?”
The concierge, grinning knowingly, approached with a small FedEx box. “This just came for you, miss. From Mexico.”
“Mexico?”
She took the box and glanced at the return address. “Oh. It’s from Baja.”
Cameron looked at her inquisitively.
“The best wines in Mexico come from Baja California, and I recently inquired about vine acquisition. I bet this is a proposal.”
“I can’t say that I’ve ever drunk a wine from Mexico,” he said.
“You have. You just didn’t know it. Mexico has a very ancient winemaking tradition. Believe it or not, the very first winery in the Americas was in Mexico, and those grapes, which originally came from Spain, were imported to Napa Valley in the early 1800s. So all the best California wines are, in essence, Mexican.”
“Actually, they’re Spanish,” said Cameron.
“Purist.”
“I assure you my thoughts right now are far from pure,” he said, letting his glance drift from her face to her chest before recapturing her eyes suggestively.
She grinned at him. “Naughty.”
“With you? I wish.” He took the FedEx box from her and placed it on top of the collection of albums, diaries, and frames, then lifted the whole box in his arms. “Shall we?”
“Absolutely.”
***
Hours later, after tasting all of Harrell Reserve’s summer wines, they sat side by side in Adirondack chairs while a local band played a decent cover of Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl.” Cameron watched Margaret’s lips move silently to the words of a song that could have been written about her, and her face was a soft gold, lit by the late-afternoon sun. She had a fair smattering of freckles that she probably concealed with makeup most days, and he loved the way they sprinkled playfully over her nose and cheeks. He turned back to face the band and sighed, barely resisting the urge to draw her face to his and kiss each and every one of them.
He’d learned a lot about her today.
She’d been fired from Story Imports on Friday.
Her father was a bona fide bastard.
Her mother had been dutiful and quietly ineffectual before an aneurysm took her life a few years ago.
She loved her sisters.
She intended to start living in Newtown as soon as Geraldo finished her apartment and she could put it on the market.