“Yeah, Camdyn,” he said, swiping a piece of tomato out of a bowl I had sitting nearby. “I’m sure accusing you of being a witch is just a side effect of my tendency toward desperation. Isn’t that what you called it?”
Tendency toward desperation? I can’t imagine myself saying that, but I did, didn’t I? How could I have been so horribly awful?
“I’m sorry, Cole,” I muttered, glancing up at him. “I was really angry with you, but I hope you know I didn’t mean that.”
“I’m really not sure what I know, actually,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders, and then he turned away from me. “Where do you want the tables?”
Rosalie directed him outside to the left of the house, and soon I found myself alone in the kitchen. I began slicing cucumbers as I felt a hot tear trailing down my cheek.
You are such a jerk, Camdyn. Such a colossal jerk.
I hastily brushed the tear away and took a deep breath. My old habits of running from my problems might not have been ideal, but “stand and fight Camdyn” wasn’t so great either. “Stand and fight Camdyn” was currently crying into the wedding cucumbers, and I despised myself a little. I hastily grabbed an onion and began chopping so I would have a good excuse for the tears when Rosalie came back.
Leaning forward, I could see the two of them out the window, her pointing to different parts of the yard and him nodding in return. Then they stood out there for a significant length of time, him with his arms folded across his chest and her looking like a teacher giving a lecture.
Just look at him out there, helping his aunt do heavy lifting in the middle of the day. What kind of guy voluntarily does that? I can’t believe I called him desperate. Why did I do that? God forgive me, I think I called him a hillbilly, too. Well, I’m not going to do that anymore. I don’t care what he says, or what he does, I’m not saying anything mean to him, starting now.
After a few minutes, they started walking back toward the house, and I stared down at my onions so I wouldn’t have to look at either of them. I heard the front door open, but I kept my gaze on my cutting board.
“It smells really good in here,” Cole remarked as he walked into the kitchen somewhere behind me. He and Rosalie made small talk about the dinner menu, and he admired the cakes, but I didn’t turn around. After a minute, I felt him tug on a piece of my hair like Charlie always did. I glanced over at him, and he looked down.
“I guess you got all the bugs out of your hair,” he said.
“I hope so,” I told him. He just kept standing there, so I went back to cutting onions.
“Do you want to help me outside?” he asked.
“No, thank you.” From the corner of my eye I saw him turn to Rosalie to get her reaction.
“I’m sure Aunt Rosalie can handle things in here for a minute, if you want to help me,” he continued. I couldn’t help him, though, not right now.
“Thank you for asking me,” I said, “but I think I’ll pass.”
All that thinking about my grandma, and then Cole showing up and reminding me how mean and spiteful I had been, followed by him standing here trying to be nice to me – it was all becoming too much. I felt it growing inside me like a bubble, and I wished he would go outside already before I cracked.
Stop thinking about it, I told myself, and I kept slicing through the onions, pulling the knife back and forth. I tried to think about anything else, but it wasn’t working. I was almost at the point where I thought I could hold it all together when Cole reached out and wrapped his hand around my arm. It was no use fighting - I crumpled into a puddle of sloppy emotion and began full-out crying over the onions.
“Camdyn, you okay?” he whispered, turning me toward him. I couldn’t look at him - I was so ashamed of myself for blubbering like a baby. He brushed his thumb across my cheek, and then I felt his arm against the small of my back, pulling me into his chest. I wasn’t even sure why I was crying anymore, I was so horrified at the situation. He was holding me against him, his free hand pushing my hair away from my face, and I couldn’t seem to pull myself together. I almost felt as though I was standing on the outside watching events unfold and shaking my head in utter mortification.
“What’s wrong?” I heard Rosalie ask.
“I have no idea,” Cole told her, as I took a deep breath to try to calm my emotions. It was no use. His shirt was warm from being out in the sunshine, and I was acutely aware that it was currently soaking up my tears. I could feel the gentle strength of his arms, and it was killing me that he was being so nice. After a moment, I finally found enough strength to push myself away from him and manage a slight smile.
“I’m okay,” I said, attempting to move past them as Cole grabbed my wrist. “Really, I’m okay.” He reluctantly dropped his hand and I headed down the hall toward my bedroom, shutting the door behind me.
I sat in the bedroom for about fifteen minutes, no longer crying but still feeling about three inches tall. I couldn’t shake the feeling hanging over me that I didn’t like who I was. I caught myself thinking about my grandma, and was reminded again of what she told me about finding my roots.
How can I figure out where I belong if I can’t even figure out who I want to be?
I knew who I thought I was, at least before this week. I was intelligent, independent, and capable. I had total and complete control of my life. Even when I was handed messes, I took care of them and moved on. I was successful, too, and that had to count for something.
But how successful am I, if I still feel like I have to hide? C.W. Oliver isn’t the reason the books sell, so why am I still crouching behind that shadow? What if my problem isn’t C.W. Oliver at all, but Camdyn Taylor? Sure, on the outside I can make everything seem fine, but inside I still feel like an insecure little girl looking for her mother and father.
Of all the times to have a freak-out session, why did I have to have this particular emotional hiccup in front of Cole and Rosalie, though?
I was appallingly embarrassed, and I chided myself for being so pathetic. If I could have gone back and redone the last half hour of my life, I would have done it in a heartbeat. Forget the last half hour - I would have taken the last few days.
Maybe that’s the problem with having control, though – if you always know the outcome, nothing interesting ever happens. I’m sure I would never have chosen to be lost on that gravel road, yet that’s the only reason I’m here in the first place, sitting in the spare bedroom feeling the need to apologize to Cole and Rosalie.
I took a minute to look in the mirror to be sure I didn’t look too terrible before I stepped out of the bedroom and headed back to the kitchen. Rosalie had already put my salad together, and she was cutting lemons for lemonade when I walked in. She set her knife and lemon down as soon as she saw me, wiped her hands on her apron, and tilted her head towards me.
“What was that about, darlin’?” she asked, and I shrugged my shoulders in reply.
“I don’t know, really,” I told her. “I am sorry, though.”
“There’s no need to be sorry. We all have those days now and then.”
“Is Cole still here?” I questioned timidly, moving toward the window.
“You mean the one who despises you?” she asked with a laugh. “He’s still outside.”
I took a minute to watch Cole from the window as he pulled a table into place, the sun reflecting off the shades he wore on his face. I felt so humiliated by the way I acted, part of me wanted to go back to helping Rosalie and worry about him another time, but I knew deep down I had to apologize. Forcing myself into motion, I stepped towards the door and out into the warmth of the afternoon, quietly sauntering over to where he worked. It took him a minute to notice me standing there, but when he did, he walked over to where I stood in the shade and removed his sunglasses.
“I just wanted to apologize,” I told him, trying to force a smile. “As you can imagine, I am completely mortified and totally embarrassed.”
“Do you want to talk about it?
” he asked, sitting down on the grass. I sank to the ground beside him and pulled my knees up against my chest.
“Not really,” I said.
“Aunt Rosalie thinks I made you cry,” he stated, gazing out in front of him toward the tables.
“Is that what you think?”
“I doubt it. I was a lot harder on you yesterday, and you gave it right back to me.”
“Yeah, about yesterday,” I hesitantly began, “I said some horrible things to you, and I wish I could take them back.”
“What things?” he asked, turning towards me. I thought about detailing them, but decided that wasn’t a great idea.
“Everything other than, ‘Thank you for helping me with my car.’”
“I don’t remember you saying that.”
“I know. I should have.”
He turned back toward the tables and I gazed in that direction too, off to the distance. I hadn’t noticed before how close to the river the house was – I could see it through the tree line if I really tried. I absently pulled at the grass near my feet and then found a leaf and twirled it through my fingers.
“So, just to be clear, are you saying you don’t think I’m desperate, or you’re just sorry you said it out loud?” he asked. I glanced over at him and the way the corner of his mouth turned up assured me he was teasing again.
“Of course I don’t think that,” I stated, shaking my head. “I’ve been in town long enough to know you’re a highly sought-after bachelor around here.”
“That’s almost scarier than being desperate,” he said with a laugh. I chuckled along with him until he grew silent again, and then I stared off at the river. I noticed a path leading past the barn, and I made a mental note to explore it later, when I had the opportunity.
“Aunt Rosalie told me about the cleaning you’ve been doing, and helping in the kitchen,” he said. “I know it means a lot to her.”
“I’m happy to help,” I told him. “She’s been far too kind to me.”
“I’m just afraid she’ll get attached to you,” he stated, picking up a leaf and rolling it between his fingers. “What’s she going to do in a week or so when you decide to move on?”
“Go back to normal, I guess,” I said with a shrug of my shoulders. He leaned over and stuck the leaf behind my ear.
“And what about you?” he asked with a smile. “Will you just go back to normal?” I felt a twinge of sadness, and decided to play it off as a joke.
“What is this normal you speak of?” I replied with a smirk, pulling the leaf out of my hair and throwing it at him. He rolled his eyes and leaned back on his elbows, looking up towards the clouds.
“I must admit, the past couple days have led to a pretty big discovery for me,” he stated, a smile tugging at his lips.
“What is that?” I asked. He sat up and rose to his knees, taking both my hands in his and looking deeply into my eyes.
“It is possible,” he began, “to be really angry with someone, and still think they’re completely adorable.” He lifted my hands and pressed his lips to my knuckles, flashed an impossibly beautiful smile, and then rose and walked away without a backwards glance.
-§-
Guests started arriving at the bed and breakfast around five-thirty that evening, as they were having the rehearsal dinner before the rehearsal itself. The first few to show were the overnighters, and I helped see them to their rooms while Rosalie made the final dinner preparations. They all looked to be in their early- to mid-forties, with the exception of the mother of the bride, who was decidedly older.
By six o’clock, all the other dinner guests had arrived, and Rosalie and I were carrying dishes outside and playing the part of waitresses. She did everything so elegantly, from the table presentation to the dishes themselves. I was thoroughly impressed. There was no doubt in my mind that Rosalie was very talented indeed, and definitely in the right line of work!
(And surprisingly, I did not drop anything – victory dance!)
Everyone seemed pleased, with the exception of one young man who looked mad at the world. He picked at his food and had barely eaten anything when I came to take his plate. He was even able to resist dessert, which looked so good I had considered eating the remains of it off other peoples’ plates. (No, I didn’t actually do it.)
After everyone was gone, we set to work cleaning the kitchen, and I was surprised at how quickly it went. She turned the radio on, and while we worked I sang along to the music while she mostly laughed at me, especially during my rousing rendition of “Stand by Your Man.” She told me I should be on Broadway, to which I replied that I was just too shy, and then we both laughed. When we finished the dishes, she asked if I would go over to the church with her and set some things up for the cake.
“You are very chipper this evening,” she commented as we walked out the front door.
“And why not?” I replied. “It’s been a perfectly wonderful day.”
“Including the bit where you went on a crying jag?” she asked with a smirk.
“Naturally,” I said, flashing my best smile. “That was the best part.” I added a wink at the end just for good measure, which sent her into uproarious laughter.
We arrived at the church just a few minutes later, and we snuck in the back so we wouldn’t interrupt the rehearsal. Rosalie didn’t really need my help, so I crept to a spot where I could see what was going on and I peeked in at the couple. I couldn’t help but notice the grumpy young man I had seen at dinner now standing at the front of the church next to the groom. He was fairly thin, with glasses and spiked brown hair, and he was still wearing a very long face. After listening for a few minutes, I realized that he was the bride’s son. As soon as they gave him the opportunity, he bolted out of there and headed outside. After making sure again that Rosalie didn’t need me, I ventured outside to see if I could find him. Eventually I noticed him at a side door to the church, sitting on the steps.
“Hey,” I said as I walked up to him, “my name is Camdyn. What’s yours?”
“Tyler,” he told me, not looking up.
“You don’t like weddings?” I asked, sitting on the step next to him. He rolled his eyes and made a strange grunting noise in his throat.
“Nope.”
“All weddings, or just this one?”
“Aren’t you that waitress from the bed and breakfast?” he said with a smirk.
“I’m Rosalie’s friend, yes,” I told him. He kicked at a small piece of chalk underneath his shoe and dragged it across the pavement, creating a small white line.
“You’re really pretty,” he shared, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink.
“Thank you,” I replied. “That’s very nice of you.”
“My mom’s getting married,” he stated, continuing to drag the chalk.
“Yeah, I figured,” I stated quietly, trying to think of what to say. “How old are you, Tyler?”
“I’m twelve.”
“So you’re practically an adult,” I said, earning a smile from him as he sat up a little straighter. “You are so lucky.”
“Lucky?” he asked suspiciously.
“Yeah,” I began, “my dad passed away when I was four, and my mom left my brother and me.”
“Wow, that stinks,” he muttered, slouching over again.
“Yeah, that’s why you’re lucky. Your mom really loves you, doesn’t she? I have no idea what that feels like.” Tyler looked over at me to try to determine whether I was telling the truth, and when I offered him a sad smile, he half-smiled in return.
“I guess so,” he resigned.
“And now, you’ve got this guy who isn’t related to you at all, but he is volunteering to be part of your family. Do you have any idea how cool that is?”
“That doesn’t sound very cool to me,” he quickly retorted. I picked up a piece of chalk next to the steps and began using it to draw on the pavement beside me.
“Well, it might not seem so now, but that would have been really cool
to a kid like me.”
We sat there in silence for a minute, him staring down at his tennis shoes and me drawing loops with the white chalk. Eventually he leaned down and picked up his own piece of chalk, drawing lines across the pavement. I reached over and put an X in one of the spaces, and without a word we started playing tic-tac-toe. About five minutes had passed when he finally broke the silence.
“I’ve decided I will make a deal with you,” he stated.
“Okay, shoot,” I told him.
“I will do this wedding thing,” he began, his cheeks turning pink, “if you will be my date.”
“Your date?!” I laughed. “Don’t you think I’m a little too old for you, Tyler?”
“I don’t mean a real date,” he argued. “I just want you to sit by me, and maybe take a couple pictures that I can show my friends later, to rub it in.” I laughed then and nodded my head.
“Well, in that case, I can’t agree to call it a date, but I would be happy to accompany you.”
“And take pictures?” he asked with a big smile, which made me chuckle.
“All the selfies you want,” I told him.
“Really?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, patting him on the back. “Now let’s get inside before I change my mind.”
He quickly rose from the step, gave me a sheepish grin, and we walked side by side back into the church.
-§-
Once we were back at the bed and breakfast, I helped Rosalie finish tidying up the kitchen for a few more minutes before I headed off to bed. I sat down to my laptop, staring blankly at it, thinking I was running out of time and had to do some more writing soon. Not tonight, though; I was worn out and my heart wasn’t in it. After I closed it and placed it on the nightstand, there was a slight knock on my door.
“Camdyn, can you come out here for a minute?” Rosalie asked quietly. She usually didn’t bother me when the door was closed, so I wondered if something was wrong. When I pushed the door open a crack, I saw Rosalie standing next to the bride, and she looked as though she had been crying.
A Reason to Run (The Camdyn Series Book 1) Page 11
