Not that he was looking for points.
“I can’t change the past. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that Delaney doesn’t have a father. I’m not trying to...buy your forgiveness. I’m looking out for my niece by helping to provide for her since...since Justin isn’t able to.”
“Isn’t able to because he’s dead.”
She wasn’t going to let him forget about that, or Cameron’s hand it in, that was obvious. “Yes, you’re right.” He tucked the envelope in the back pocket of his work jeans. Looking down at his dirty fingernails, he was reminded how much he didn’t deserve her forgiveness. He could live with that, but he wanted the ability to start over without being shunned from another community.
“Why are you here?”
It was the same question Ty had asked him a few days ago. “Because I want to start over. And to watch my niece grow up, even if it’s from a distance.”
“You can start over somewhere else. And you’re not watching my daughter do anything.”
“I’m not a—” He bit back the word criminal. According to his parents, his hometown, the state of Connecticut, he was a criminal. He’d opted out of a trial by jury knowing his fate was already pre-determined when his father promised he’d rot in jail for taking away his favorite son. “I would never hurt you or Delaney. I know I don’t deserve your trust, but I hope you can believe that.”
Cameron turned slowly and climbed back into the boat. It would take time to earn her trust. And he’d work day and night to build a new reputation for himself. Not the one he had before the accident, but a completely new one. There was nothing worth salvaging in the first thirty-five years of Cameron Smithfield’s life.
The rest of his life, however, was up for grabs.
He didn’t turn around to see how long Hope stayed and began working with the steel scraper again. The raw, physical labor did him good. It was a safe place to get his anger out. An outlet, his therapist called it.
Running, anything cardio, and working with his hands were his choice of therapy. During the first half of his prison sentence he spent as much time as possible in the gym, beating on the punching bags, power lifting. Bulking up only made him more of a target for the bullies, the hardened criminals in jail.
Cameron rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, his puckered scar a reminder of how little physical strength did for him. As corny as it sounded, it wasn’t until he gained inner strength that he could fight off the demons on either side of the prison walls. Especially the demons within.
The sun began to set, and Cameron realized how tired he was. His arms shook with soreness when he dropped the scraper and stretched. Another day and a half and he’d have the boat back to her owner. He knew every day the boat wasn’t on the water was a day of lost revenue and wanted to keep the customers happy.
Dwayne had been happy with his work so far. Granted, since his only other employee was nearly twice Cameron’s age, there wasn’t much competition. He had the muscle and the energy the old guys were lacking while they had the experience.
Working at the marina for six years before going to jail had given him a solid foundation, and he’d spent many hours in the prison library learning about motors and engines and fuel capacity. By the end of his eighth year in, he’d taken enough online college courses to earn a degree in mechanical engineering.
Nothing was as valuable as hands-on experience, though, as Dwayne liked to remind him. The older man had been kind, even fatherly, asking about Cameron’s family, which he avoided answering. There was a mutual respect toward each other and each other’s privacy, which Cameron appreciated.
Once he had all his tools wiped down and back in place, he washed his hands in the sink in the main office and scrolled through the calendar looking ahead at the next job. The 34 South Shore would be done by Friday night, and Cameron could tackle the faulty wiring on the 28 Ellis Yanmar.
Keeping his hands busy would also keep his mind busy.
And give him less time to fantasize about the way Hope’s lips would taste thirteen years later.
Were her lips still as soft as a ripe peach? He touched his lips, remembering how they tingled when she slid her exploring tongue across them, warming at the memory of Hope in his arms. Of her young, carefree innocence. Her sunny laugh. Her beautiful smile, so wide, so toothy, so genuine.
He held that memory close to his heart. It’s what got him through 3,538 nights in prison.
CAMERON WAS UP WITH the sun and put in a solid five hours of work before heading to the bank to take care of business. He’d expected more questions, a few hoops to jump through, but it was pretty easy setting up an account. Two accounts, really.
The second account was for Delaney. If Hope refused his cash, he could still put the money away for his niece. In six years she’d be applying for colleges. While he doubted he’d be able to save enough for tuition, she should have enough to help with the cost of books, and maybe a little extra for room and board.
After finishing off the day on the boat, he continued with his routine of washing up, checking the schedule, and driving to the next town to his scanty apartment. There weren’t many housing options in Crystal Cove. Mostly summer rentals and family homes. All he needed was a room to lay his head and enough kitchen space to cook a meal.
Rent was pretty cheap in Woodbine. The neighboring town attended the Crystal Cove schools, as did the town of Eastcliff. Each had its own piece of character. Crystal Cove had the shore and hosted its fair share of tourists, while Eastcliff was a tad more upscale. There weren’t many businesses, mostly self-employed family run operations. Insurance, real estate, attorneys.
Cameron had his share of those.
Woodbine was inland and didn’t have any shoreline, but it did have a gorgeous lake that spread into Crystal Cove. He spent the few hours he wasn’t working driving around, even fishing a little in the summer.
He’d lucked out buying bait at Binny’s convenient store one morning and noticed the For Rent sign in the window upstairs.
Binny had a deep, scratchy voice showing decades of heavy smoking under her belt. “Why does a nice looking boy like you want to rent a crap apartment above my store?” she’d croaked.
“I’ve been down on my luck and hoping to turn things around. I’m looking for something small while I get myself going in the right direction.”
Binny had eyed him skeptically and brought him around back where a long staircase led them to the apartment door above.
“It ain’t much,” she had warned.
It was perfect for him. One open room that served as bedroom, living room, and kitchen, and a small bathroom with a standup shower in the back. They shook on a fair price, and Binny didn’t even ask for references or a contract. He paid week-by-week, with one month’s rent as down deposit. He couldn’t have asked for a better set up.
Cameron stopped for some groceries on his way home and climbed the stairs to his apartment, holding four bags in one hand as he unlocked the door.
There was no one greeting him. No dog. No cat. No girlfriend.
No family.
He felt more alone now than he did all his years in prison. Whether he’d had the cell to himself or had a roommate, there were always people around. Always noises. A schedule to follow. Someone telling him what to do, where to go.
And now, with his freedom in front of him, only the cold, empty air surrounded him. Setting the bags on the cramped counter, Cameron reached for the six-pack of beer first, cracking open the can and taking his first sip.
His first sip of beer in nearly thirteen years. The cold ale chilled his insides and made him feel like a man again. A free man. He had no desire to get drunk, no desire to go to a noisy bar where the beer would flow more freely.
The simple act of buying groceries and sipping on a beer while making dinner made him feel...normal. He’d been out of jail for a year and a half, but had been more focused on finding Hope than to worry about any type of normalcy in his life.
Maine represented freedom. Goals. His future, whatever that may be.
Cameron put the rest of his groceries away and sliced onions, peppers, and mushrooms, sautéing them while he cubed boneless chicken breasts. He tossed them in the pan, added the teriyaki sauce he bought, then boiled water for his instant rice.
Nothing fancy, but hot, good food that satisfied his hunger. He ate at a leisurely pace, enjoying not being on a specific timetable. After dinner, he cleaned the kitchen and took a shower.
Unable to afford cable, or a television, he unrolled his sleeping bag on the floor and crawled in. It was eight o’clock on a Friday night and Cameron was sleeping on the floor of a cheap apartment above a convenient store.
The noise from the parking lot and the store beneath him didn’t keep him up. Cameron had learned to sleep through just about anything.
He slept a long, hard, dreamless sleep and before he knew it, the sun was rising, signaling another day. Once again he followed his routine: a five-mile run along the lake, followed by another shower, oatmeal for breakfast. He packed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, an apple from the orchard in town, a couple granola bars, and filled a bottle with water.
Cameron had saved enough over the past year to afford more than what he had, but there was no point in it. He didn’t need anything else. There was no one to impress, no one to show off to, no one who would insult him about his meager lifestyle.
Living simply was always his style, even growing up in the lap of luxury in Darien. His parents had been embarrassed that Cameron didn’t want a nice car; he preferred his heavy-duty truck. Which was a nice vehicle for a teenager. But it wasn’t an Audi or Mercedes or Land Rover.
He’d opted out of suits and ties, sticking with whatever brand of jeans he found at the mall, and a work shirt.
Laughing at the memory of the look on his dad’s face when he’d come home wearing a pair of Dickies work pants and a flannel shirt, Cameron picked up his keys and headed down the stairs of his apartment. Making his father angry amused him as a teen and apparently still pleased him today.
He started the engine to his nineteen-year-old truck and headed to work. It was the one thing he asked of his parents when he went to prison. That they didn’t get rid of his truck. He promised his dad if his truck was waiting for him when he got out, that he’d hop in and never look back.
And that’s what was waiting for him sixteen months ago. No mom. No dad. No note. Just his lawyer, an envelope with the few things he had on him when he went to jail, and his keys.
Message spoken. Loud and freaking clear.
CHAPTER FOUR
HOPE SAT CROSS-LEGGED in bed, a notebook in her lap, and rested her head against the wall. The pale pink room hadn’t changed much over the past two decades. She’d miss the nostalgia of being in her childhood room but looked forward to being in her own home. In a grownup bedroom.
The last week had been crazy busy, picking out paint for Delaney’s room, packing their few belongings, cleaning the house on Farmhouse Road and keeping up with work. With the town hustling about getting ready for its first Fall Festival, she didn’t feel right taking friends up on their offer to help spruce up the place.
As the most popular carpenter in town, Ty’s phone had been ringing off the hook all week. He’d apologized dozens of times for not being available, and Hope felt bad that he thought he was responsible for taking care of her. He’d offered to come late at night to clean the carpets and sand the wood floors, but Hope wouldn’t let him. Besides, this was his annual hunting weekend with his dad. She didn’t want him canceling it for her.
They’d been best friends for years, even dating in high school, and supported each other through crisis after crisis. She was the only one who knew the story behind his scar, and he was the only one who knew all the details about Delaney’s father.
At first, when she’d returned home from college scared and pregnant, she thought Ty could be the one. The man to step up and be the third member of her family, but it never felt right. They were too good of friends. He was more like an older, protective brother, and she knew he thought of her like a sister.
He’d cried on her shoulder more than once—each time he was drunk out of his mind—and he’d told her as much. They were both relieved to find the other felt the same.
Her best friends were all busy getting their businesses ready for the festival as well. Lily’s spa was booked solid this week and next, while Jenna had bunkered down in her home painting and making her stain glass to sell at the festival.
Ben and Alexis had their hands full with baby Sophie and getting the function hall at Coastal Vines ready for the influx of traffic. Even if the festival didn’t bring in many outsiders, everyone in the nearby towns would be out and about.
Which meant the restaurant would be busy as well. She put Mia on the schedule for extra shifts, fitting her in between the times Lily needed her at the spa.
Hope looked down at her lap and read through the two-page list of things she needed to get done. It wasn’t like moving in was a priority. Her parents had made it clear that she and Delaney were welcome to stay as long as they needed.
Once the festival was over, she’d have the house in move-in condition. It would only take a few trips to get their stuff in. And then she and Delaney could go to outlet stores to shop for furniture.
Putting her notebook aside, Hope swung her feet out of bed and went to the bathroom to shower and prep for the day. With only one bathroom in her parents’ house, she didn’t take the long, hot showers she used to love as a teen.
Soon, though. Very soon.
Hope washed her hair and skipped on the shaving to save time. Heck, she hadn’t shaved in weeks. In the colder months when she didn’t wear shorts, and there was no man in her life to know the difference, there was no need to.
Stepping out of the shower, she towel dried her hair and wrapped another towel around her body. Her skin care and makeup ritual were short and sweet. She opened the jar of coconut oil and scooped out a chunk, warming and melting it between her palms. She rubbed it across her arms and legs, then through her hair.
Wiping any excess off on her towel, Hope dabbed wrinkle cream around her eyes and dabbed moisturizer on her cheeks and forehead. She studied her face, noticing the fine lines around her eyes and new ones appearing in her forehead.
Age was creeping up fast on her. A woman with wrinkles and soon-to-be gray hair shouldn’t still be living at her mother’s house.
At this rate she might as well adopt twenty-five cats and call herself the thirty-year-old virgin. Although she wasn’t. She was thirty-one. And not a virgin.
She’d dated Jake on and off last year. He was okay for dating but not the kind of man she’d envisioned stepping in and being a father to Delaney. He didn’t take well to her, and Delaney was pretty easy to get along with.
Other than Jake, there weren’t too many repeating dates. Not only was the dating pool in the area limited, she had no time or interest. Ty, though, he would be the perfect husband. Once she got through the move, and dealing with Cameron, she’d work on setting Ty up with one of her friends.
But Cameron. Hope sighed and went into her bedroom to dress for the day. Her wardrobe consisted of t-shirts in various colors, both long and short sleeved, with The Happy Clam emblem on the left and a smiling clamshell on the back.
Donning her usual attire of jeans and long-sleeved navy blue work shirt, she slipped her hair back into a ponytail and laced up her sneakers. Average at best, no one would ever describe her as a showstopper. That was Lily. Or pretty. That was Jenna. Or cute. That was Mia.
Being a single mom sort of put the kibosh on anything other than being practical. It bothered her that Cameron coming to Crystal Cove made her suddenly self-conscious. She didn’t care
what he thought of her looks, but his background bothered her.
Not just his criminal record but his family’s wealth as well. Justin had talked about his family’s wealth often. So often he’d come off as a braggart. At first, it made Hope insecure in her humble upbringing, but Justin had a way of making her feel special. Like a Cinderella story.
Cameron was a Smithfield as well and had enough money and power to stir up her life. To insist on his family having an active role in Delaney’s life. It wasn’t that she was opposed to her paternal grandparents visiting her, but Hope wanted to shield her daughter from the drama of having an uncle in jail. Of being judged for her Target-brand clothes and her job as a waitress.
Even now that she owned the restaurant, it wouldn’t be to the standards of the Smithfields. She’d only read about them in the online papers when Justin was killed. When Cameron was in the hospital and later arrested.
The few interviews of Thomas and Janice did not paint them in a very nice light.
“Ugh,” Hope slapped the light switch off as she left her room. Such a waste of her time. The last thing she wanted to do was think about that family.
She peeked in on Delaney, sound asleep in her cramped room, the tiny bedroom off the living room that used to be an office space when Hope was young. The twin bed and dresser barely fit, but her daughter was happy, snuggled under her blanket, sound asleep.
“Hey, Dad.” Hope kissed her father on the cheek and took the mug of coffee he offered her. He’d always been an early riser. The coffee maker, the breakfast cook. Since The Happy Clam didn’t open until eleven, Hope used the morning time to go through paperwork, pay the bills, or read a book. She barely had time to finish the one each month that the girls in the book club picked. Today wouldn’t be that day.
She’d volunteered to set up the tents and tables in the common area off Seaview for the Fall Festival. It wasn’t a lot of space, mostly a garden, walking path to the beach, and a few scattered picnic tables. A place to stop and enjoy the view or eat your lunch while taking a walk.
Where There's Hope_A Well Paired Novel Page 4
