by Kait Nolan
“Well that sucks. Either way it sounds like you’re better off out of there. They weren’t your caliber of people.”
“Knowing I have the moral high ground is cold comfort when it comes to trying to get another job without references. I’ve been with this firm since graduate school.”
“References or not, I’m sure your work speaks for itself. Not to mention your academic credentials. Twice valedictorian, top of your class at Northwestern. Taylor medalist at Ole Miss.”
Norah sat up to look at him. “How do you know all that?”
“Miranda talks a lot. She’s really proud of you. Come back here.” Cam pulled her back where she’d been tucked up against him. “Is that why you haven’t told her? Are you worried she’ll think of you differently?”
“No. I know she loves me no matter what, which is why I came. But I know her. She’ll try to steamroll me to make a big change, and right now I just…I guess I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”
“I’m hearing a lot more upset about the job than the guy.”
He was fishing and Norah knew it. She found she didn’t actually mind. “The job mattered. Pierce didn’t. Or rather, he was an extension of the job. Work has always defined my life, defined me. I don’t know who I am without it.”
“You’re more than your job, Norah. From my point of view, you’re a woman who takes her commitments and responsibilities very seriously. Clearly your parents did a great job instilling in you a hard work ethic, but they missed out on some of the essentials.”
Norah bristled and started to sit up, but he held her in place.
“Don’t get your dander up. I’m not insulting your folks. But they clearly didn’t teach you that the other side of hard work is play. That sometimes you just need to be still. That it’s okay to just be. They didn’t teach you the value of sitting on a swing in the dark or dancing under the stars. All that’s important too.”
She tried to imagine her parents doing any of those things and couldn’t see it. Her father was always working on some brief and, when she wasn’t at the hospital, her mother was always keeping up-to-date with the medical literature, even over Saturday morning coffee. And Norah had followed right along in their footsteps within the confines of her own field. She understood work. Work had always been a constant. It made sense in a world that otherwise often didn’t seem to follow any rules.
“Did I piss you off?”
“No, I was just trying to remember the last time I truly just chilled. Went to a movie without trying to analyze the advertising campaign or to a party without automatically building mental dossiers on all the attendees. And I…can’t.”
“Seems like maybe you need a remedial course in just plain living.”
Christ, that was sad. “Are you volunteering as teacher?”
“Why not? I’m here, you’re here, and they’re playing one of my favorites.” Cam brought the swing to a stop and rose, setting both their drinks at the base of the tree. He held out a hand. “Dance with me.”
Norah laid her hand in his, letting the coat fall to the swing as she stood and stepped into him. She didn’t notice the cold, not when the warmth of his hand curved at her waist and he began circling her to the quiet rhythm. She angled her head, straining to identify the music because it seemed safer to focus on that than on how it felt to be pressed almost against him. “Moon River. Old school.”
“Other kids got Goodnight Moon. I got this.”
The idea of it delighted her. “Please tell me you had one of those Fisher Price record players in your room.”
“For a little while, but it didn’t survive my cousins very long. No, I had this little tape deck thing. Mom filled up both sides of a tape with the song, and every night she’d put me to bed and press play. I’d fall asleep serenaded by Sinatra.”
“That sounds lovely.” Smiling, she tipped her head back to look at the sky again. “This is lovely.”
“So are you.”
Her eyes had adjusted enough to see his face in the faint cast of light from the house, and what she saw there made her pulse leap. Foolish, she thought. Theirs was a temporary intimacy, a product of shared secrets and darkness. But for all that it was fleeting, it was so incredibly temping to give into the desire to touch and be touched. To feel, for a little while, as if she wasn’t alone.
One corner of Cam’s mouth lifted, drawing her gaze. God, he had beautiful lips. As the instrumental solo began, he slid one hand around her back, shifting from a dance to an embrace. Her hand flexed on his shoulder, with nerves or to get a better grip on him, she didn’t know. But he didn’t kiss her, instead nudging her head to his shoulder and resting a cheek on her hair. After a brief flare of disappointment, she relaxed against him and lost herself to the music and the solid, steady feel of him against her. By the time the song ended, Norah found herself soothed, as much by the man as the dance.
Reluctant to step away, she lifted her head. “I feel better. Thanks for listening. And for the dance.”
“Anytime.” Cam brushed the hair back from her face with another of those feather-soft touches.
Inside, somebody shouted. The music cut off and the countdown began.
Cam didn’t drop his hand. With each second that ticked by, Norah’s heart kicked harder.
“…six…five…”
He stroked his thumb along the curve of her cheek, and she couldn’t stop herself from leaning into the touch.
“…three…two…one!”
“Happy New Year,” she whispered.
He bent his head so she felt the warmth of his breath. “Happy New Year.”
They held, trembling, at that delicious edge of temptation as noisemakers and whoops sounded from inside. She didn’t know who moved first, only that his hand tangled in her hair and the mouth pressed to hers was no gossamer brush of lips. Heat sparked between them, rushing along her skin, heady and welcome.
God, yes.
She rose up, twining her arms around his neck to draw him closer and held on for the ride. He changed the angle, drew them both deeper into the kiss. The taste of him punched into her and lit up nerve endings she hadn’t known existed. It was so wholly unexpected and glorious to be lost in a tangle of sensations and needs.
“Hush! Get out of my flower bed!”
Norah broke off, reflexively turning her head toward Miranda’s shout. Cam made a growl of protest.
“Um…” It was all she could manage with her brain cells obliterated. She was deliciously dizzy, still gripping his shoulders for balance.
He pressed his brow to hers, his breath gratifyingly unsteady. “How long are you staying?”
“Longer now, I think.”
“Good.” Reluctance in every gesture, he eased back and released her. “I’ve gotta go rescue my dog.”
Still swaying, Norah watched him walk back around the side of the house to accept Miranda’s wrath. She lifted a hand to her still tingling lips and let out a trembling exhale.
Oh boy.
Chapter 5
“You’re wool gathering.”
Norah looked up at the accusation, noting the mix of amusement and concern in her companion’s eyes. He flashed an easy smile in response to her sheepish expression, and it was a lovely smile. But it wasn’t the one she wanted to see.
“Sorry, Mitch. I’m afraid I’m not the best company.”
“He’s not worth it.”
“Who?” She hoped she didn’t look guilty.
“The shark. He didn’t deserve you.”
“I wasn’t thinking about Pierce.” She’d been thinking of Cam and wondering why he hadn’t been at the New Year’s Day bowl game marathon at his aunt and uncle’s house.
“Have you got some other reason for frowning, sugar?” He leaned back in the booth, arms spread out along the back in a relaxed posture that invited confidences. Norah had reason to know it was, quite often, his default position, part of what made him so appealing. She also knew she could move around to his side
of the booth and burrow in for one of his bear hugs, and he’d listen and make outraged noises in all the right places because he cared. She’d always loved that about him. But when she broke her silence, it needed to be with Miranda first.
“You mean other than the fact that I will soon have to return to the land of crappy tea?” She sipped at the perfectly mixed, syrupy beverage in her glass.
“Ah, work then. You know you’re not supposed to think about work when you’re on vacation.”
“And when have you ever known me not to think about work?”
“You’re the poster child for workaholic.”
“It ain’t good for a body to do nothin’ but work.” Mama Pearl, the heart, soul, and very opinionated mouth of Dinner Belles, leaned over to refill the half-empty glass of sweet tea.
“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.” Norah thought again of Cam. You’re more than your job, he’d said. Then what the hell am I?
“Maybe it’s the good Lord sendin’ you a message to slow down, child. Time you be payin’ attention. It shouldn’t take you three years to come back down to visit family.” The broad, dark face was set in lines of censure.
Norah loved that Wishful was a place where they understood that family was more than blood. “Yes ma’am, you’re absolutely right. Thank you for the pie, by the way. It was fabulous.”
“Maybe you’ll pick better next time.”
“I could hardly pick worse.”
“Need to skip out on all them Yankee boys and come find yourself a good Southern man.”
Mitch stretched his arms wide across the back of the booth. “I keep telling her I’m available. She keeps breaking my heart.”
He was handsome, funny, loyal. They had history. But he just didn’t make her heart race. Unlike his quieter cousin. “I’m pretty sure your heart is made of silly putty and easily mended. You fall in love as often as some men change socks.”
“What can I say? Women are fascinating creatures and there are so many flavors to try.”
Mama Pearl wagged one stubby finger in his face. “One of these days, Mitch Campbell, you gonna find yourself one that ruins you for all others, and we all gonna enjoy the show.”
Norah laughed as Mama Pearl ambled away to another table. “Oh, I would love to be around to see the woman who manages that.”
“You could be. What’s really holding you in Chicago?”
Less than you can imagine. But that was on the list of things she really didn’t want to think about just now. “And what would a high-powered marketing executive do down here?”
“I’m sure you could charm everybody into something. I never met anybody who could say no to you.”
“Oh they exist. They’re just really rare. But seriously, I could work up full marketing campaigns for every business in town in a year—not that most of them would even see the need for my kind of skills—then what? I have an urban skill set.”
“There are urban centers below the Mason-Dixon line. You’d at least be close enough to visit more easily and more often. And we could steal you for Christmas. Miranda told me what happened this year.”
Norah shrugged. “It’s the Burke way. We are our own brand of dysfunction.”
“Which is why we made you an honorary Campbell years ago.”
“Don’t think I don’t appreciate that. Your family means more to me than you can possibly know. But what would my mother do? Dad’s finally moving on. She’s married to her work. I’m not leaving her alone for the holidays.”
“You know perfectly well we’d welcome her with open arms. It’d be good for her.”
Norah tried to imagine her very serious mother in the middle of the usual chaos that defined the Campbells and couldn’t. She and Miranda could carry on a conversation over mutual medical geekage, but what would she say to everyone else? She had no life outside work. Then again, when Norah was in Chicago, neither did she.
Because that, too, trod too close to subjects she wasn’t ready to think about, Norah switched topics. “You ever think about leaving?”
“Not really.”
“That surprises me. You love the city. The energy, the people.”
“I do. But I like home, too. I’ve got a good thing going here. Not a lot of inducement to leave. But for the right job—or the right woman—I might.”
“You’d change your whole life for a woman?”
“Sure. You can always find another job. Love is a much rarer phenomenon. You find it, you best hang on to it.”
She hummed a non-committal note.
“Sorry, sugar. That’s probably still a bit sensitive, yet.”
“Not sensitive at all. I wasn’t in love with Pierce. Not if the mark of love is being willing to change everything for him. If that’s what love is, I’ve never been in love before. I can’t fathom being willing to change my entire career for a guy.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
For other people, maybe. But that wasn’t the kind of stock she came from. Burkes existed for career alone. That’s just the way it was.
~*~
Cam managed to time things so that he was climbing out of his truck about the time Norah stepped out of Dinner Belles with Mitch. Hush leapt out of the truck and made a beeline for her, all wags and Wookie greetings. When she started to jump, Norah held up a hand and gave a command. His enthusiastic pooch actually sat, tail sweeping the sidewalk as she waited for pets and praise. Wonders never ceased.
Cam’s own heart began to gallop as Norah looked up from his dog and shot a wide smile in his direction. Jesus, he hadn’t been this nervous-excited since he’d asked Laura Hollingsworth to junior prom.
Get a grip. Advice that might’ve been good to take before he’d executed acts of Bond-worthy subterfuge with his family in order to find out Norah’s schedule so he could casually run into her in town. He hadn’t been able to wait nine hours before wanting to see her again, but he’d managed to hold off on just showing up at Miranda’s the day after the party. They’d want girlfriend time, and his cousin was not, on any level, a morning person. Besides, he didn’t need to come off as some over-eager schoolboy. Or worse, a pushy, obsessed lunatic. But surely two days was within the realm of reasonable.
“Is this a conspiracy?” She divided the smile between him and Mitch. “The rest of the Campbell clan working to make sure I’m not bored on my vacation while Miranda’s at work?”
“Hey, you know I hate to eat alone.”
“I had to come into town for some errands.” A half lie. Cam had made up errands so he had to come into town.
“Then perhaps you’d let me steal your dog for a few hours.” Hush, leaning against Norah’s legs and looking up in adoration, was clearly on board with that plan.
“That could probably be arranged.”
“I gotta get back to work. You have time to drop Norah off at Miranda’s on your way back to the nursery?”
“Sure.”
“Then unless you object, I’ll leave you in my cousin’s capable hands.”
Yes, please. Cam shoved those hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, working to keep his face neutral.
“I can think of worse company.”
Mitch gave Norah a squeeze. “I’ll see you later, then.”
They stayed silent, both watching as he walked away. When he was out of earshot, Norah tipped her head toward him. “Are you particularly busy at work or can I steal you along with Hush?”
“Are you tryin’ to talk me into playin’ hooky, Miss Burke?”
“I absolutely am. Somebody told me recently I needed to play more.” Though her face was sober, her eyes shone with amusement. “Seemed like good advice.”
“Far be it for me to refuse a lady.” He gestured toward the town green. “Shall we walk?”
They fell into step, Hush prancing a few paces ahead. Cam itched to take her hand, just for the chance to touch her. But this was downtown Wishful. That’d be as good as taking out a billboard decl
aring his intentions. He didn’t even know what they were yet. He only knew that she was the first woman to truly spark his interest in years and that kiss had been…epic. Today was about finding out if they were on the same page with that interest and, if he was lucky, getting his mouth on her again.
She started to pull ahead of him, legs moving with a brisk efficiency.
“You in a hurry?”
She jerked almost to a stop, then into motion again with her eyes on his feet. “You can take the girl out of the city. But seriously, your legs are a foot longer than mine. You don’t walk, you mosey.”
“Moseying is good when you want to enjoy somebody’s company.”
The noise she made might’ve been a laugh. “I’m out of practice with that, too, I guess.”
Cam couldn’t help himself. He rubbed a hand down her back. “That wasn’t meant as a criticism.”
She shifted ever so slightly into his touch. “I suppose I stay wound pretty tight.”
“Don’t apologize. You’ve got reason to be.” As they walked, he noted the fine lines of strain still around her eyes and guessed she still hadn’t come clean to Miranda about her job. But he said nothing, placing a hand at the small of her back to steer her toward the fountain. “That’s what hooky is for, anyway. Finding your way to unwind.”
“Would you believe I have never played hooky in my life?”
He glanced at her, this type-A, perfectionist overachiever, with a strong moral compass and staunch belief in The Rules, and smiled. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me about you. But rumor has it you’re a quick study for anything you set your mind to.”
“I do have that reputation. So what are the rules of playing hooky?”
“Rule 1: Never feel guilty for playing hooky.”
“Well, I’m not the one legitimately playing hooky today.”
“And I feel not a qualm about it, so we’re good on that front. It’s one of the best parts of being your own boss. Rule 2: Choose your company wisely. You want a partner in crime, not someone who will bail on you if things get dicey.”
She laughed. “And what constitutes dicey for grown ups who don’t have the threat of detention or parents?”
