by Skylar Hill
They were in Lydia’s offices in the Pearl, where she operated Arabesque Events out of the top floor of what used to be a pipe factory. The suite was sleek and feminine and precisely crafted—a lot like her, really. There were bright splashes of color everywhere, from the vintage scarf–draped ceilings to the midcentury modern furniture to the rag rugs underfoot, making the rooms feel eclectic and fresh. Lydia’s inner office was an all-white room, her elegant black desk an contemplation in mid-century modern design, with its odd curves that reminded him of music notes. She had art instead of photos on the walls—some of the pieces he’d helped her acquire, since he was the one that had gotten her into modern art in the first place.
The two of them had been friends since childhood, and he really wouldn’t know where he would be without her. She was like a little sister, a part of his life and family for such a significant time, it was hard to remember when she wasn’t around. His parents had embraced her from the second he’d brought her home with him one day after school, and there were summers when she spent more time at his house than her own—and for good reason. Lydia’s relationship with her mother had never been good. He was pretty sure his parents had been behind the scholarship to the prestigious dance academy Lydia had been awarded as a teen but would never have otherwise been able to afford.
When the two of them were young, she’d been his artistic reprieve at home in his scientific family and a valued ally at school, where his dyslexia made him a target, and her age—she’d been skipped up two grades—had drawn bullies to her.
And now that they were adults, she had given him an even greater gift than her enduring friendship: She’d brought Cam into his life. For that, he was pretty sure he owed her at least a dozen pairs of those really fancy shoes she liked to wear.
“Well, now that business is done,” Lydia leaned back in her elegant tufted suede chair. It was bright magenta, dominating the room with its bright color. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” James said immediately.
Lydia rolled her eyes, and he deflated a little, because she saw through him way too well. He didn’t even bother to continue the charade: “I’m fucking exhausted and I’m worried as hell and I want to punch something every time I think of that asshole getting free.”
“There’s the honesty I like to see,” Lydia said, her lips—painted a orangey-red to match the tangerine dress she was wearing—curving into a smile. “You want me to hire a hit man? I’m pretty sure the wedding I did last year was for a mafia princess. The father of the bride totally hit on me. I could make some calls.” She wiggled her eyebrows like she used to do when they were kids, startling a laugh out of him.
“I wish it were that simple,” he said.
She sobered immediately, her eyes growing serious. “Cam and Evie will get through this,” she assured him. “No matter what happens. Even if he gets out.”
“You don’t know that,” James said, quietly, finally able to voice the fear he held most.
“I do, though,” Lydia said, and there was no doubt in her face, just belief. “I know because Cam has you, Jay. And with the exception of your father, you are the best man I’ve ever known. So I’m not worried. Because yeah, it might be hard. It might be horrible. But you and Cam have each other. And love endures. It lifts us up. It can lift you up from this, too.”
Her belief and faith in him was touching—he wished he had her confidence, and he said so.
“I’ll be confident enough for all three of us,” Lydia said with an encouraging smile that cheered him.
“You’re an amazing friend, Lydz,” he told her.
“I wish there was more I could do. I mean… we could explore the hit man idea.” She tapped her mouth thoughtfully. “Though I suppose it’d be hard to get to him inside the prison.”
There was part of him that almost wished that were an option. He was a moral man, raised by an extremely ethical and empathetic father who’d made it his life’s mission to improve and give back to the world. He’d never before felt rage like the kind that was now a near-constant presence, simmering in his chest. He’d never felt the desire to just… crush another person into dust.
But that’s what he wanted for Keith Fawcett. He wanted him destroyed for what he’d done to Cam and Evie. The fact that Keith just got to sit in a prison, at the top of whatever hierarchy there was inside, getting fed, with a roof over his head, seemed so wrong. The fact that he might walk free was so enraging, it filled his vision with red every time he thought on it.
He realized he was breathing a little harder, his fists clenched around the arms of the chair. “I should get going,” he said, trying to smile normally. “You’re coming to our house for dinner tonight, right?”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Lydia promised.
“I’ll see you then,” he said. “And Lydz… thanks.”
She got up, reached out, and hugged him. “I love both of you so much,” she said. “And I’m so glad you two found each other. It’s going to be okay. Have faith.”
As she walked him out of her office, he could only hope her faith would become truth.
Chapter Five
Cam
“How did your session with Sheila go?” James asked as Cam slid a cookie sheet of golden brown garlic twists out of the oven.
“I’m still having trouble,” she admitted, feeling that pesky twinge of guilt again. “But she says we’ll get it by next session. I hope so, considering it’s our last.”
“You’ll get there,” James said and she smiled, looking up at him.
He was sitting on one of the bar stools she’d found at an antique shop, leaning against the kitchen island, watching her with that expression that was all hope and warm affection, like he wanted to be near her always. Every time their eyes met, a distracting little shiver went through her. When he was stretching earlier, his shirt lifting to show those ridged abs and that very happy trail, she’d been so preoccupied she’d almost cut her finger instead of the carrots.
“Tonight is exactly what I need,” she told him, setting the twists to cool on racks before turning back to the maple balsamic glaze she was making for the vegetables. “Did you fire up the grill?”
He nodded. “And I seasoned the steaks and prepped the chimichurri sauce. We’re all set.”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Nandy started barking, leaping up from his spot at James’s feet, bounding toward the front door with slobbery enthusiasm.
“I’ll go get it.” James got up, following Nandy down the hall. Cam shook her head, laughing as she slid another sheet of garlic twists into the oven.
Then she heard Tasha’s voice, and then the click of her heels as she came into the kitchen. “Something smells amazing! James said he was going to take Nandy for a quick walk around the block, because he got all excited and started running around in circles. Nandy, not James. Obviously.”
“We’re working on his focus when it comes to greeting people,” Cam said, glancing over her shoulder at her friend, smiling wryly.
Tasha, with her piercings and her killer eye makeup, was the kind of woman who would usually intimidate her. She was so confident and assured and she burned very brightly. But Cam was done letting her silly insecurities get in the way of good things. In Tasha, she had found a true and loyal friend—and a fellow female artist who understood what it was like to work in the industry. She loved James—and he was a lot more enlightened than most—but there were some things he just didn’t get. He’d always listen if she brought anything up, and she was grateful for it, but being able to share a female perspective and womanly commiseration was something she’d always wanted. She’d always been the only woman in the shops she worked in. Now that that was about to change with Exile Ink, she was more excited than ever.
“I love the purple,” she said, nodding to the streaks in Tasha’s hair.
“Thanks. I was tired of the aqua and decided to change it up before the opening,” she said. She pulled two bottles of
wine out of the enormous black studded purse she carried around like a security blanket. “I brought red and white.”
“Bless you,” Cam said, pointing to the counter where a corkscrew lay.
Tasha came over to grab it, uncorking the bottle of red and pouring a glass for herself and one for Cam. “Anything I can help with?” she asked.
“You can sit, relax, and drink your wine,” Cam said.
“That I can do,” Tasha said, perching on one of the stools, hooking her silver stiletto heels on the bottom rung. “Okay, so dish,” she said.
“About what?” Cam asked, walking over to the fridge and pulling out the bowl of vegetables she’d tossed in olive oil and pink sea salt.
“About Grant! I want to know all about this mysterious bad boy of reality TV. You know, I never actually watched his and James’s show? I tried once, but it was so weird, since I knew him, that I shut it off after the first five minutes.”
Cam laughed. “I didn’t watch it when it was on, either. I caught a few reruns during a marathon once, but I’ve never been a huge TV watcher. And then, well, like you said, it seems kind of weird now.”
“So what is Grant like?” Tasha asked.
“I haven’t met him yet, either” Cam said. “James picked him up at the airport this morning and took him to his new place. But he should be arriving soon.”
“Have you seen his work? It’s incredible,” Tasha said. “There was this piece he did, early in his career, that’s so realistic it looks like the lion’s going to leap off the guy’s chest.”
Cam nodded, knowing exactly what piece she was referring to. “The shading,” she said, aware that her voice was a little hushed in awe. “He was only 24 when he did that.”
“Color me impressed,” Tasha said, taking a sip of her wine. The doorbell rang again, just as the time on Cam’s phone went off.
“Deal with dinner,” Tasha said. “I’ll get the door.”
She left the room in a breeze of citrus perfume—a special blend made just for her, she’d told Cam when she’d asked—and Cam grabbed the potholders, pulling out the final batch of twists as she heard voices in the hall, and then footstep.
“Cam, look who’s here!” Tasha said cheerfully at the doorway of the kitchen.
She turned, her eyebrows rising a little when confronted with the man in front of her. He was boyishly handsome, with a mop of dark curls that fell into twinkling green eyes, and a dimple that flashed as he smiled at her.
“You must be Grant,” she said, smiling back at him.
“That would be me,” he said. “It’s lovely to finally meet you, Cam.”
“Likewise,” she said. “James is going to be back in just a few minutes. He’s walking the dog.”
“Ah, yes. Nandy, I believe?”
“James told you about him?” Cam asked.
“Something about a picture book?” he said, flashing that devilish grin again. Oh yeah, she understood now why this man had been the toast of the L.A. tattoo scene.
“It was Tasha’s idea, actually,” Cam said.
“Guilty,” Tasha said with a laugh. “Do you want some wine, Grant? Or beer?”
“Oh, where are my manners?” Cam said. “Of course, let me get you something to drink.”
“Whatever wine you have is fine,” he assured her, taking the glass of red that Tasha poured for him. He took a sip and made a surprised sound. “Is this from Broken Bow?”
Cam looked on as Tasha shot him an impressed smile. “It is,” she said. “I’m surprised you were able to narrow the vineyard down with one sip.”
“Tom, the owner, is a good friend,” Grant explained. “I’ve helped him with the harvest on occasion.”
“You’re kidding,” Tasha said. “I’ve known Tom’s family for years.”
As the two of them began to exchange stories, Cam smiled, watching them and wondering if she was imagining the way Grant’s eyes lingered on Tasha’s lips as she laughed. Then the doorbell rang again, and this time, she went to grab it, leaving the two of them to drink wine and talk in the kitchen.
She walked down the hallway, feeling a strange sort of happiness. She’d always wanted to have a home where everyone gathered, a place where friends and family would come, not just for holidays, but for Sunday dinners and a hub for everyday gatherings too. And this little Craftsman bungalow she and James had put their love and hearts into was becoming that place. It filled her with hope for the future, but also fear. Fear that it might be taken away.
She pushed the thought down as she opened the front door, to find Aiden and Lydia standing on the porch, engaged, once again, in a spirited conversation.
“…. you can’t just make a statement like that and expect me to drop it,” Lydia was saying.
“Oh look, it’s Cam,” Aiden said as she cleared her throat. His blue eyes clearly said Save me! and Cam rolled her own.
“Hi, you two,” she said, giving Aiden the escape he clearly needed. Lydia rarely dropped things, or if she did, she’d circle back to them eventually. Cam loved her, but her friend was deeply stubborn. And so was Aiden, which was a problem, because Cam was pretty sure Aiden and Lydia’s mutual stubbornness was the main reason they hadn’t succumbed to the clear attraction between them.
“I brought you flowers,” Lydia said, holding up the bouquet of tulips wrapped in brown paper.
“And I brought you vodka,” Aiden said, shaking the bottle he had in his hand.
“Flowers and liquor are always welcome,” Cam said, kissing Lydia on the cheek as the two of them came inside. “Let me just go find a vase for these. You two head into the kitchen. Grant and Tasha are already in there.”
“We’ll need olives if you’re going to make martinis,” Cam heard Lydia tell Aiden as they went into the kitchen and she turned into the living room.
Other than the kitchen, this was probably her favorite room in the house—though the bedroom definitely had its many charms. She’d brought her couch from her place and James had his grandfather’s leather chairs from the lumber mill days, and they fit together, a hodgepodge of design and eras. She liked that she could sit in one of those chairs and swear she could almost catch a whiff of sawdust. The leather was well-worn, countless people must’ve sat in them throughout three centuries, but they were loved. Cared for.
Like everything in James’s life.
She went over to the volcanic rock that made up the fireplace’s mantle, smiling at the framed photo of the two of them standing barefoot in the sand, the ocean in the background as they beamed at the camera. They’d taken it earlier this year, when he’d whisked her off to an Oregon Coast lavender farm for a weekend away. She still had a sketchbook of ideas from that trip, the rolling hills of lavender, acres and acres of purple surrounding the inn they stayed at… unbelievably gorgeous.
Moving the picture a little to the left, she picked up the pink Depression-glass vase set next to it. This had been her mother’s and her grandmother’s before her, passed down in the family to the oldest daughter. It was a elegant little vase, perfect for the tulips Lydia had brought.
The front door opened, and the sound of paws on the polished cherrywood floors filled the air as Nandy came trotting into the room. He sniffed the air curiously, his head whipping toward the kitchen when he heard the voices. He let out an excited little yelp and dashed down the hall, his paws catching against the rag rugs on the floor, rumpling them in his excitement.
James laughed, shaking his head and hanging Nandy’s leash on the hook before stretching out a foot to smooth the rugs out.
“Everyone’s here,” Cam said. “We should get the steaks started.”
“In a second,” James said, crossing the room. She set the vase back on the mantle as he approached her, trapping her between his body and the mantle as he kissed her. His hands anchored on her hips as she sighed into his mouth, her own arms wrapping around his neck. “I love you,” he murmured when they finally parted, his thumb stroking her cheek.
Sh
e pressed her hand over his, smiling softly. “I love you, too,” she said.
A raucous round of laughter burst out from the kitchen. “Your brother brought vodka,” Cam informed James.
He groaned. “Oh God, he never drinks. If he starts, he’ll get all chatty and start ranting about quantum physics. Come on, we have to save ourselves and everyone else.”
He pulled her toward the kitchen, laughing, not doubting in the least a drunk Aiden would do such a thing.
By the time the group of them settled outside for dinner, around the teak table on the back patio, it was dark out and the wine—and vodka—had been flowing for at least two hours. James had lit colored lanterns and set them along the porch rails and on the table, casting the area in a warm, inviting rainbow light, the citronella warding off any mosquitos, as well.
Cam placed the last of the garlic twists on the table as James served up the steaks and for a few minutes, the companionable sound of knives and forks clinking against plates and compliments to the chef were all that was heard.
“I think you’ve outdone yourself with this glaze, Cam,” Lydia said, spearing a strip of grilled red pepper with her fork. “I kind of want to take a bath in it.”
Tasha laughed. “The newest in beauty trends: balsamic baths!”
“Take ten years off your age!” Lydia added with a snicker.
“You two have clearly had too much wine,” Cam said with a fond smile as they giggled some more.
“I’m a bad influence,” Grant said with a wink. He was sitting across from her at the table, his plate piled high.
“Always,” James agreed.
“I have stories about this one,” Grant told Cam, taking a bite of a garlic twist. His eyes shut. “I swear, Cam, are you sure you want to stay with this guy when you’re such a catch? These are incredible.”
Cam laughed, her hand sliding along James’ thigh under the table. “I think I’ll stick with him,” she said. “But I will take a rain check on all those stories. I need all the ammo I can get.”
