Uncovering Camila (Wildflowers Book 3)

by Vivian Winslow

  Chapter 5

  “I’ll have two Viagra,” Marshall says.

  Camila gives him a look.

  “What? It sounds good, and I’m hungry.” He points to the menu on the counter. “It’s the seafood empanada.”

  She shakes her head and presses her hands against the counter to keep from touching him. It’s been a long time since she’s wanted to hold someone’s hand, or rather since she’s wanted someone to want to hold her hand. Even Eliseo didn’t inspire that urge in her.

  In rapid fire Spanish she orders her usual, ham and spinach arepas with a café con leche.

  “Oh, I’ll have a coffee too,” he adds.

  Camila repeats his order in Spanish before handing over the cash.

  “I should get this,” he offers, opening his wallet.

  She turns her body toward him and folds her arms in front of her chest. “Why? Because you’re a guy and we’re on a date?”

  “What? Why can’t I pay?”

  “Because you just said that you ‘should’ as if there’s some rule about who pays on dates. For a supposed feminist I thought you’d know better.”

  Marshall scowls and leans the side of his body against the counter. “And as a feminist I figured you would respect my desire to pay, as in treating me the way you want to be treated. I didn’t mean to imply that I should because I’m male.”

  “What else does should imply in this context?” She can feel her anger spread through her and her face flush.

  “That I would like to make up for showing up at your work place when you weren’t expecting me and for my attitude. I’m grateful you gave me a second chance, and I wanted to show you by paying for dinner, or breakfast, or whatever this is.” He waves his hand toward the tray the server is pushing toward them. Marshall picks it up. “I’d offer to let you carry it, but I’m not sure if that would make it seem like you’re serving me.”

  Camila notices the muscles of his neck tense as he speaks.

  “Be my guest.” Camila motions toward the communal high-top table occupied by one person she recognizes as a bartender from a local pub.

  She pulls a few disinfectant wipes out of her bag and hands one to Marshall.

  He opens his mouth, but she holds up a hand. “I don’t want excuses.”

  “How about an explanation then?”

  Camila sets aside the wipe and fixes her eyes on him.

  “You’ve got to give someone the benefit of the doubt. Trust doesn’t develop out of the blue,” he says, wiping his hands. Up close, Camila can see just how well manicured and smooth they are, a far cry from the scars and tattoos Eliseo had. “Admittedly I was exasperated, but it’s because I think you judged me unfairly. I was making a friendly gesture, and you made it political. How can any parties bridge their differences without some trust?”

  “Can you at least understand my position? You’re still a stranger to me, and I don’t want to feel I owe you anything.”

  Marshall holds up a hand. “I wouldn’t try to make you feel that you did, and in the end, only you can choose how you feel.”

  “Are you patronizing me?” Camila bites into her arepa, feeling frustrated.

  He finishes his first empanada. “Why would I presume to do that? I’m just trying to get you to see my position and why I felt insulted that you would assume I had some sort of agenda.”

  “Don’t most men on Tinder have an agenda?” Camila fumes.

  “Are you seriously going to judge me for using Tinder? What’s the alternative then? Being alone because I’m afraid of meeting people who may not meet my expectations? Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

  Camila narrows her eyes at him. “I’d prefer to think I’m selective.”

  They eat in silence, mutual tension radiating off of them. While Camila knows there’s some truth to what he’s said, she’s too stubborn and too proud to admit it, at least to Marshall. She steals a glimpse and notices him watching her.

  “What?”

  “You always argue with your dates?” He asks.

  “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t had a real one since college.”

  Marshall chuckles. “And I thought I was out of practice.”

  She smiles at that. “I don’t know who’s worse at it, you or me.”

  “I think we can assume we’re equally terrible.” He points to his plate. “Want some Viagra? It’s incredible.”

  Camila picks up a plastic fork and takes a piece of crab. “That is amazing,” she says before swallowing.

  “Think we can try again?” He asks, offering his hand. “I’m Marshall James.”

  Camila hesitates for a moment, unsure if she wants to bother getting to know him. Then again, this is the closest she’s been to a guy since Eliseo. By his intensity, she doesn’t doubt he’d be a good enough lover. Maybe it’s enough. She finally says, “Nice to meet you, Marshall. I’m C.C.”

  “Tell me a little about yourself C.C.”

  Camila shakes her head. “You already know a lot about me.”

  “Not really.” He holds up his right hand and begins to count with his fingers. “A feminist, a bartender, well-read, speaks Spanish, likes the color purple and has a crazy cousin named Shoshana who sets her up on Tinder dates with misunderstood feminist men.”

  “That’s more than I know about you.”

  “What do you mean? You know the last book I read, how old I was when I first had sex and had my first date. I mean that’s more like second or third date information right there.”

  Camila chuckles. “Since you were such a Casanova in high school, why aren’t you meeting women the old-fashioned way?”

  “Oh you mean like picking them up in bars?” Marshall smiles.

  “Touché.” Camila smiles in spite of herself. She gave him that one.

  He shrugs. “Friend of mine told me to try it. I haven’t lived in the City since high school, and when you get to be my age, it’s hard to meet new people. So I thought I’d give it a try. I honestly think you were my first swipe.”

  “Lust or love at first swipe,” Camila muses. “There’s a topic for Shosh’s podcast.”

  Marshall smiles. “It does have a ring to it.”

  “So how old are you if you don’t mind me asking?”

  He shakes his head. “Not at all. I’m thirty. You?”

  “Twenty-five. Where’d you move from?”

  “D.C. area,” he replies vaguely.

  “You getting bored with this interview?” Camila asks.

  Marshall nods. “Kind of. All that stuff doesn’t really speak to who we are does it?”

  Camila shakes her head in agreement. “No it doesn’t.”

  Chapter 6

  “I love New York before sunrise,” Camila says as they continue along Centre Street.

  “Same here. The City has so much energy during the day that I enjoy how still it is right before the dawn.”

  Camila regards him out of the corner of her eye. They’ve been in each other’s presence for almost three hours, walking the near empty streets of the Lower East Side and Chinatown, and she hasn’t felt time move at all.

  “I can’t believe we walked all the way here,” Marshall points.

  Camila’s eyes track his finger, and she smiles. “Brooklyn Bridge. It sounds cliché, but I love this bridge. I remember when I was a kid, whenever we’d cross it, my father would point and say, ‘This iconic landmark is testament to what can be achieved when a woman’s in charge.’”

  “Your father sounds incredibly progressive. Mine was more a facts kind of guy. When we’d drive over it, he’d say, ‘This bridge was opened in May of 1883.’”

  “That would’ve helped me on my assignment about bridges in the second grade. We were told to write about our favorite bridge here in New York. My classmates drew crude pictures of a bridge and wrote down dates and facts. Thanks to my parents, I wrote an essay on Emily Roebling and her impact on women and education.”

  “How’d you do?”

  Camila
shrugs. “No better than the kid next to me who couldn’t write in complete sentences.”

  “It sounds like you got more out of it than the rest of the kids who probably don’t remember who Emily Roebling is.”

  “True. I confess I’m impressed you do.”

  “Impressed? Hell I’m relieved. I honestly didn’t think we’d be covering late 19th century history tonight. Or should I say this morning?” Marshall grins that friendly smile, which Camila has discovered is one of his most endearing traits. That and perhaps his arms, or his broad shoulders, which accentuate his back . . . . She shakes her head to rid herself of thoughts that are beginning to take hold.

  “Is that a fifth date conversation topic?” Camila asks wryly. They haven’t done anything but drink, eat and walk, and it’s the most fun she’s had in months.

  “Totally fifth date. I’d never nerd out before that.” Marshall’s smile gets bigger as it starts to chip away at Camila’s steel exterior. She could try hard not to like his dry sense of humor or the fact that he knew who Emily Roebling is, but she decided it’s not worth the effort.

  “You calling me a nerd?” She shoves him playfully.

  “If the shoe fits,” he replies, holding onto her arm to avoid falling back. His warm touch on her cool skin sends shivers down her body.

  Perhaps Shoshana’s right. All she’s needed to do is find someone worth her time. Time. Shit. She has so little of it left. Since when did my choices begin to feel like a prison sentence? Of course she knows the answer to her own question. Since now.

  “What’s wrong?” Marshall asks, noticing the subtle shift in her mood.

  Camila looks out toward the Bridge. “Nothing, it’s just.” She groans, not wanting to admit how badly she wishes she could have more time before school begins. “I’m not ready for this date to end.” Her heart pounds against her chest. She’s never been this honest with a guy she’s just met. She never had to be. Most guys approached her, and she’d willingly fall into whatever was convenient. This time, however, if she’s going to make the most of the time she has left, she has to make the first move.

  “Who says it has to?”

  She looks down at his hand, still on her arm. “No one.” Her heart flutters as she utters those words. There’s something empowering about being the one to say, I want to be with you. Granted she didn’t say it explicitly, but Camila knows he gets it, gets her circular way of talking. Gets her.

  Marshall takes his hand away quickly and clears his throat. “You know I’ve never done something, and I’d like you to be the first to do it with me.”

  Camila looks at him questioningly. “You realize how creepy that sounds.”

  “I didn’t until it was out of my mouth,” he laughs. “Sorry.”

  “What is it?”

  “Catch the sunrise from the Bridge.”

  Camila starts to speak, but he puts his fingers to her lips. “Now don’t get all technical about the sun and the radius and latitudes. I’ve ridden in a car across the Bridge, but I’ve never walked it. And I want to experience the dawn with you. Simple as that.”

  “That it?” Camila mutters, her lips smashed against his finger.

  Marshall nods. “Yes.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Of the 22.8 square miles of the Island of Manhattan, Camila would swear that they covered at least a third of them by late morning. She knows she’ll regret not resting her feet before her ten o’clock shift, but that’s the thing about finding connection. You’re willing to give up a lot just to keep it going. And as they wandered through the waking streets of the Financial District, through TriBeCa, the West Village and into SoHo for their second breakfast of the day, she promised herself it was worth the discomfort in her feet.

  “Why did you agree to come to the bar so late?” She asks, picking at her salt and pepper bagel.

  Marshall sips his cappuccino before answering. Camila covers her smile at the adorable way his lips curl around the rim when he drinks.

  “I guess you could say I did it for the experience,” he answers. “I never had a date that started so early in the morning, or late at night. Although you, I mean your cousin, wouldn’t agree to see me whenever I suggested it, so I figured if it was the only way to get a date with you, I should at least try.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Camila says.

  “In any case, this is the most active date I’ve been on. I think I burned off the drinks and the two empanadas in seven hours.” Marshall shows her his watch. She can’t help but notice it’s an IWC. Her uncle wears the same model.

  A yawn escapes Camila before she can stifle it. “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be. It’s selfish of me to keep you out. You working tonight?”

  Camila nods. “I start at ten.”

  Marshall flags down the server for the check. “Will it bother you if I get the check this time?” He asks.

  A smile spreads over Camila’s face. “Great of you to ask. And no, it won’t.”

  Chapter 7

  “Thanks for breakfast,” Camila says, leading him up to the stoop.

  “I guess we’re even now. No one owes the other anything.” He smiles.

  “I guess not,” Camila replies distractedly, searching for her keys. She can feel him distance himself from her, leaving one foot on the step.

  She looks up and notices the car waiting. “Were you just walking me to the door? You don’t need to worry about my safety.” Her defenses begin to go up. Did she read him wrong?

  “I know you can take care of yourself. I just wanted to spend a little more time with you.”

  So maybe not. Her body warms to that confession. At least she won’t regret blowing off some Law Review work. She takes the keys out of her bag.

  “So,” Marshall rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks for the first breakfast and watching the sunrise with me.”

  His nervousness makes Camila want to laugh. As much as she’s inexperienced at dating, he’s clearly inexperienced at casual encounters.

  Camila positions the key outside the keyhole but doesn’t move. “You coming upstairs?” She asks. Six days until school, six days until her law student life swallows her up like a giant black hole. Fuck. Today may be the last bit of time she has for sex for a while. Anxiety quickly replaces her excitement. What she won’t acknowledge is that it isn’t for the lack of time that she feels anxious as much as it is his hesitation. Normally a potential lover wouldn’t keep so much space, but Marshall hasn’t moved from his place on the step. What is he waiting for?

  “I just wanted to make sure you got inside safely,” he mumbles.

  Camila’s eyes run over him. “This neighborhood isn’t as rough as it looks.”

  Marshall looks back at the car and then at her. “You want to keep hanging out?”

  Camila lifts a shoulder. “Or other things.” The question is fairly straightforward.

  His hesitation makes Camila wonder if she’d misinterpreted his interest. “No worries if you’re not up for it,” she says unfazed, giving him an out.

  “Yeah, you know, I just realized . . . ,” he pauses, searching for a response, anything. “I’ve got a thing later.”

  Camila almost laughs. She’s never been turned down for sex. Ever. “Okay. See you around.” She turns the key and walks past the discarded take-out menus and mail littered across the foyer. When the second door closes behind her, she looks over her shoulder and spots Marshall getting into the car. Must’ve read him all wrong, she thinks to herself.

  Chapter 8

  “I knew you were going to mess it up,” Shoshana complains into the phone.

  “How did I mess it up? He’s the one who turned me down when I invited him up.”

  “Maybe it’s the way you asked him. How am I supposed to know, I wasn’t there.”

  “I didn’t say anything that hasn’t worked before. I mean, really, how many ways do you say, ‘Hey let’s go back to my place and hook-up?’” Camila asks, throwing a loose
silk tank over a fitted black one. She moves the phone to the other hand as she puts her arms through the holes.

  “Maybe he wants more than that? Or maybe he drank too much and wasn’t confident he could perform?”

  “You’re analyzing this way too much. Let it go, I already have,” Camila tells her. Although the fact that he turned her down is nagging at a small part of her.

  “I can’t just let it go. I spent over a week on Tinder and OkCupid vetting men for you. You’re not an easy match, believe me. There’s no way you were going to sleep with a guy who couldn’t name the capital of Jordan. That narrows the field considerably. Marshall was the last-man standing, and you had to go and fuck it up.” Shoshana sighs. “What am I going to do with you, C.C.?”

  Camila laughs into the phone. “Give up now and save yourself the heartache. I’m fine. Although, I have to ask, why did you use my nickname?”

  “Less identifying that way. Besides, it makes you sound way more laid back than using your full name.”

  “You really think I’m that uptight?” Camila pulls her fitted black jeans up and buttons them.

  “The Camila I know is far from uptight. You’re like your mom. You come off like you mean business, but it’s just something you project out into the world so people take you seriously.”

  “I don’t have time to be analyzed tonight, Shosh. I’m late enough to work as it is.”

  “Fine, whatever.”

  “Just promise me no more set-ups. Marshall was cool, but I don’t have time for any distractions, ‘kay?”

  “Says you.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Camila promises before tossing her phone onto her bed.

  “We’re slammed tonight,” Jared says, reaching behind Camila for a bottle of Herradura tequila. “Table 8 wants tons of tequila tonight.”

  Camila glances up at the table. Three couples, all around her age, are laughing and getting completely wasted. “Good for them. I wouldn’t want that hangover tomorrow,” she replies, pouring a generous amount of vodka into a shaker for a dirty martini.