I think of my shoes, which are totally impractical for a walk, but I don’t seem to have the ability to say no. Luckily, there’s enough flagstone to keep a relatively flat surface. “Sure.”
I set my new handbag in one of the rocking chairs and walk toward the steps. Cameron waits like the perfect gentleman, allowing me to go first before following. “You’re lucky it’s quiet,” I say. “Doreen has a four-hundred-person wedding booked next weekend, so the area is going to be a madhouse.”
He quickens his steps until we’re walking side by side. “You’re not bothered by all those strangers milling around your cabin?”
Hmm. Good question. “I guess I haven’t thought about it. It’s the first wedding she’s had since I moved in. January is her slowest month.”
Cameron slips his hand in mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do. “Well, be sure to lock your door and maybe have a friend come over or something.”
My heart is going to be a melted puddle by the time this date is over. “I’ll be sure to do that.” I glance up with a flirty smile and hope he knows exactly which “friend” I want to come over. Small hint, it starts with a Cam and ends with eron.
I laugh at my own silliness, and it makes his eyebrows crinkle adorably. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” I take a deep breath and wonder how everything could be going so right in such a short period of time. “I’m just really glad you’re here.”
He squeezes my hand tighter. “Me too.”
We clear the first hill, and I soon realize that taking Cameron around the venue is like bringing a teenage girl to the mall. He stops at every curve, touches every tree, and has pulled out his phone at least ten times to snap a picture. Some are selfies, others scenery shots with a combination of guitar picks he carries. None of me, but that’s okay. Expecting as much would be a little neurotic.
“Sorry,” he says after the latest photo by my favorite oak tree. “Our band has a pretty significant social media following, so I’m always looking for content.”
I put out my hand for his phone and slide through the multiple shots. His creative genius expands well past music. Each picture is artwork. The frame, the angle, the lighting. I’m quickly learning that being with a guy as talented as Cameron is going to take an extra measure of self-esteem. “You’re really good at this.”
He shrugs like he did when Nate touted his music skills. “It’s fun most of the time.” As if he can sense he’s been distracted, Cameron slides his phone back in his pocket and takes my hand again.
His skin is warm and comforting, and I find myself snuggling closer as we turn back for my cabin.
“How do you get large catering trucks down that entry road?” he asks. “I kept praying no one was coming the other direction.”
“Yeah, it’s a tight fit. I guess Doreen just warns them.” The wedding venue has only one entry road, a narrow caliche drive that dips and curves before widening. Flood markers follow the ditches along the side, but Doreen says they haven’t had an issue in years. “There’s a better easement through the adjacent property, but the owner won’t let anyone use it.” I leave out that the owner is my mom and Doreen’s only sister. I want nothing but happiness in tonight’s date with Cameron.
“Has your aunt looked at expanding the road?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “We don’t talk business. Just shoes.”
“Shoes?”
“Yes. My aunt Doreen has the largest shoe collection of any person I know. Easily two hundred pairs.”
“I really didn’t need to know that.”
I spin, halting our forward progress, and stand in front of him. “Ah, don’t judge. Everyone has something they collect. Like you with your guitar picks.” My right hand is still tucked into his left one, and neither of us lets go. He looks down, his grin matching mine, and I realize that in my heels I’m much closer to his mouth than usual. Close enough that if I just lean slightly forward . . .
“Is that Dillon Kyle?” Cameron’s words are equivalent to a fire hose exploding against my stomach.
I check behind me, and sure enough, fate and karma have conspired to slap me in the face. Dillon is pushing a wheelbarrow of mulch right toward us. “You two know each other?”
“Yeah, forever.” He sounds happier to see Dillon than he is to see me, and I try not to let my irritation show as he disentangles his hand and moves around me to speak to his friend. “What’s up, man?”
Dillon looks up at the same time Cameron approaches with arms spread, and who would have guessed, he looks just as thrilled to see Cameron. They give each other a quick hug, and I hear the standard “Hello, how are you? Whatcha been up to?” from each of them. It’s annoying, especially since I’m just standing here, arms folded across my chest.
I drop them to my side when Dillon acknowledges my presence with a chin lift and a raised brow. He doesn’t say a word, but I can feel his judgment gnawing at my neck. Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“Do you usually work out here on the weekends?” Cameron asks.
“When I’m in the mood.” Dillon tugs off his stained leather gloves and tosses them on top of his mulch pile. I hate the amusement in his eyes, the same expression he wore the last time he had me cornered. “What are you guys up to?”
“Bryson’s playing at College Street,” Cameron says. “You should come. The whole crew will be there.”
I fight to keep my face placid. The whole crew? Like in a group date?
Dillon takes his eyes off me for only a second. “Thanks, but I still have a lot to do. Just tell everyone I said hi.”
“I will, but it’d be nicer if we actually saw you once in a while.”
Dillon shifts, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him act even a little uncomfortable. “I’m getting there. It’s just going to take time.”
They exchange a look of understanding that makes me feel like I’m missing the entire middle part of a story. And while my mind tells me I should care, all I can feel is an immediate need to get to the car, grab a Sharpie, and black out the last five minutes. Nowhere in any of my Cameron-slash-first-date fantasies did Dillon Kyle make an appearance.
I hug my arms as if a huge gust of wind just blew through. “Wow, it’s getting chilly. Are you ready?”
As I’d hoped, the gentleman breeding in my date takes over and he backs away from Dillon and his intrusive wheelbarrow. “Yeah, we should probably get going.”
Cameron moves down the path, leaving me a sliver of space along the flagstone to pass by Dillon without my heels sinking into the grass. Head down, I focus on my shoes, concentrating on a small defect in the stitching. My intent is not to be rude, but I don’t want to see him or talk to him. It took me an entire day to recover from our last encounter.
To my relief, Dillon doesn’t make any attempt to speak to me, either. I catch up with Cameron two strides later and wrap my arm around his elbow for the warmth and support I suddenly need.
I hear the click of the wheelbarrow behind me, and swirls of mocha-colored eyes with small gold flecks fill my mind. “Wait,” I say, clamping his arm like I might trip.
Cameron leans down because my tug doesn’t really give him any alternative. “You okay?” The angle is exactly what I need to finally see his eyes.
Blue. A surprisingly simple blue.
“Yep.” I smile when Cameron’s eyes crinkle adorably. “Now I’m perfect.”
thirteen
The twenty-minute ride to the restaurant confirms my nightmare. Tonight’s date is a group one. And not just any group. Four of Cameron’s closest friends, two of which are his roommates. Talk about throwing me into the fire without so much as an air tank. Or maybe this is a normal thing among singles in the church. I have no idea. But between Dillon and now the addition of four strangers, my hope for an intimate, romantic evening is gone.
I look out the window and try to get all my pouting out before Cameron finishes messing with the playlist on his phone. If I w
asn’t so disappointed, I might find his excitement over sharing all his favorite songs endearing. Instead, I sort of wish he’d pick a genre and stick with it.
Maybe the blues.
Was supposed to have a date with my dream guy . . . Na Na Na Na Na . . . even curled my hair . . . Na Na Na Na Na . . . Then came my storm cloud . . . Na Na Na Na Na . . . and it turns out they’re old pals . . . Na Na Na Na Na . . . and now I’m on a group date . . . Na Na Na Na Na . . . and my pants are so tight I can’t breathe . . . and I got the blues . . .
“Jan? Did you hear me?”
I jerk so fast I hit my head on the window. Ouch. “Sorry. Zoned out for a second.”
“I was just pointing out the courthouse.”
Through the windshield I see the towering building signifying the center of not only downtown but also the county seat, and for a moment I forget that I’m bummed out. The building is spectacular. Nine stories with a clock tower that looks exactly like it belongs in the fifteen hundreds. Nearly every corner is made up of turrets with large red-and-cream stone and arched windows, and the front is adorned with tall granite columns that touch ornate sandstone lattice.
“Wow,” I muse as we drive past, turning a corner to see that the design continues around the side and back. “Are those faces carved in the lattice?”
“Yep. They call them unrequited love carvings. Some say that the stonemason who did the detailing fell in love with a girl, and the more she ignored his affections, the more devilish the carving became.”
I grimace at the thought of being immortalized in such a twisted way. Poor girl.
Cameron passes through two more stop signs and the courthouse is well behind us now, but my thoughts are still with the stonemason and the girl, my heart torn between which one I relate to more. If I were to carve the face of my ex, would it be a beautiful sculpture representing the man who said “I love you” the first month we dated, or would it be the gut-wrenching version of the man who broke my heart through email? I honestly couldn’t say. Bitterness is a vicious thing that can bring out the worst in all of us.
“We’re here.” Cameron parks the car and says we’ll need to walk a little.
I don’t mind. The downtown area is beautiful, and the weather isn’t so bad tonight. Maybe some cool wind on my face will cast away the last of my negativity and get me ready to meet this group of his.
“So, go over the names of all your friends for me again,” I say as I join him on the sidewalk. Unfortunately, my brain does not remember details I hear, only see, which means unless the person is wearing a nametag or I happen to peruse a guest list, I’m guaranteed to forget it at least once.
Cameron slips his hand in mine, and just like that my apprehension fizzles away. Maybe instead of being so put out, I should see meeting his friends as a sign that he’s planning on my being around for a while.
“My apartment mates are Brian and Darrel.” He grins. “They’re very different and very distinguishable when you see them. Brian wears glasses and has a girlfriend, Kalee, so she’ll probably be here, too.”
“How long have you guys lived together?”
“Only for the past two years, even though I’ve known them, I don’t know, about seven years now. We met when I joined Grace Community’s praise band after college.”
I nod, repeating the names in my mind ten times each.
“The other two are Darcy and Alison. Again, very different and very distinguishable. Alison is dating Bryson, who started Black Carousel five years ago with Mason, the lead guitarist. The five of us have known each other since elementary school.”
Five guys and three girls. I can’t help but wonder if Cameron’s invite has more to do with evening the odds than spending time with me. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been used to fill a void or make an ex-girlfriend jealous. I grit my teeth and push away the thought. This isn’t my life in Georgia. I can only assume that these people are different, as well.
He stops in front of a battered redbrick building with a large flat awning over the door. A few empty wooden tables and chairs flank double glass doors, and a large window has College Street Pub spelled out in cursive white etching.
Loud chatter spills out as the doors open, and Cameron steps back, letting me walk through first. This is another aspect of Texas culture that I’m liking a lot. Even young boys will hold the doors for women, as if it’s as much a part of their upbringing as using utensils at dinnertime.
The restaurant is small, and Cameron spots his group immediately. They’ve pushed two tables together near the stage, and large glasses of water and what looks like tea cover the wooden tops.
My mouth goes dry as we approach, and I can’t help but notice that Cameron doesn’t take my hand again. I’m not sure why it bothers me, but it does.
I do a sweep of his roommates’ faces. The three guys couldn’t look more different. Cameron’s over six feet, has a solid frame, and a clean-cut, wholesome face that could easily grace the cover of a religious magazine. Whereas Darrel, the one without glasses, has a style that will unfortunately forever haunt my generation. Skinny jeans, a man bun, and a beard that reaches his collar.
Brian is soft and pale and should really consider new frames, since the ones he’s wearing only magnify his chubby cheeks. He’s holding hands with a girl to his left. Kalee, I remind myself. She’s cute. Bright red hair with freckles covering every inch of her skin. So much so that her shoulders appear dark brown. She has a birthmark near her elbow that’s pink and freckle-free.
“Hey. You must be Jan.” Brian’s whole face lights up when he grins, and his gentle handshake warms me like an old comfortable coat. “I’ve heard lots about you. I’m Brian, and this is my girlfriend, Kalee.” He glances over his shoulder, and Kalee offers a timid wave. She’s obviously the shy one of the two.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, and truly mean it.
Darrel simply lifts his chin at me and goes back to tapping on his phone. Not so nice to meet you is what I want to say to him, but just smile instead.
Brian sits back down, and one of the other girls jumps from her chair, giving Cameron a hug so tight I want to pry her hands off, and not just because she’s overly affectionate but also because Cameron’s body seems to meld into hers.
She lets go of him, and the next thing I know, her long, skinny arms are around me in a hug that no stranger should ever give another stranger.
“I’m so happy to meet you,” she says in my ear, and I glance at Cameron with help-me eyes. He grins, obviously not so great at reading facial expressions. “I’m Darcy,” she says after finally releasing her viselike grip. “And this bozo didn’t tell us you were coming until twenty minutes ago. If he had, I would have at least worn a nicer shirt.”
It’s only then that I notice her outfit. Loose jeans with two holes, brown work boots that rival Mr. Kyle’s in both style and ugliness, and a green shirt that says Made You Look. Yet somehow with no makeup that I can see, straight brown hair that looks simply brushed and not styled, and an outfit that’s more fit for the yard than an evening out, Darcy is flat-out one of the most naturally beautiful women I’ve ever seen.
I want to hate her, but for some reason I can’t seem to. She’s too darn sweet. And she’s linked her arm through mine like we’re lifelong friends.
“You know, you’re the first girl Cameron has brought to meet us in years.” She narrows her eyes at my date. “Usually he hides them far, far away.”
“And you can see why,” he says defensively, pointing at how she has me trapped next to her. “Jan’s arm is practically turning purple.”
“Please, you’re just scared I’m going to spill all your sordid secrets.” She winks at me. “Not really. Cam has no secrets. No skeletons and no vices. It’s pretty pathetic, actually.” She tugs me toward the seat she has saved. “As his best friend, I should at least have a little dirt on the guy.”
Great. Darcy is not just his incredibly beautiful friend, she’s his best friend. A
nd I’ve basically stepped into the first season of Dawson’s Creek. What do you bet that in the next ten seconds Darcy will hop up onstage, sing some beautiful ballad, and Cameron will discover how blind he’s been and give me the It’s not you, it’s me speech.
But that doesn’t happen. Instead, we sit, Darcy to my right, Cameron to my left.
The other girl turns and leans around Darcy to introduce herself. “I’m Alison. The normal one in the group.”
Her assessment is pretty spot-on. She’s exactly that, average. Pretty face but not especially striking. Medium build, nice skin, and brown hair. Her clothes are dressy but not overly so, and she’s the only girl wearing jewelry—a small silver cross that falls within the V in her shirt.
“Nice to meet you.” Gosh. I need to get some new material. I sound like a wind-up toy. “You’re dating Bryson, right?”
“Yep.” She smiles, and it’s etched with an infatuation too intense not to be a new relationship. “Saying that sounds so weird. We’ve been ‘just friends’ forever.”
Darcy leans in like she has a secret and whispers, “Don’t let her fool you. She’s been hung up on Bryson for years now.”
“I think it’s nice when you start out as friends first.” Not that I’d know. All of my relationships, short or long, were based on attraction and intrigue.
Cameron scoots close enough to wrap his arm around the back of my chair and addresses Brian from across the table. “Did you see Brent’s notes on the last song of our set? He emailed them an hour ago.”
“No shoptalk,” Darcy demands before Brian can answer the question. “You always do this, and I’m not going to spend another Saturday night talking about the Sunday morning song set.” She rolls her eyes my direction. “Maybe he does have a vice after all.”
“I’m just checking,” he says, then leans in closer to me. “Sorry. Won’t happen again.”
Darcy snorts. “Yeah, right.”
I can’t help but smile at the face she makes. Eyes crossed, tongue out, and completely unattractive. She doesn’t seem to care. In fact, I’ve never met another person so comfortable in her own skin.
Love and a Little White Lie Page 8
