The Long Game (Long Game, #1)(51)

His head tilted, his eyes leaving mine and roaming all over my face for a moment that seemed to stretch too long. There was something new there, in his expression. Something that had nothing to do with sadness. Something that made me shift in place.

“My nonna arrived in England with the change in her pocket and a handful of jewelry that wasn’t worth much,” Cameron offered, raising his hand and showing me his pinky. “This is the piece she treasured the most. It belonged to her father, and my own dad gave it to me when I turned eighteen.” He exhaled through his nose, slowly. As if he needed the time. “This is all I have left from her, my roots. That, a head full of dark hair, and a ragù recipe she used to make for celebrations or bad days.”

A tsunami of questions swept through me as we sat there, on that rock, in silence, with the boogie beats echoing across the lake. And, God, I’d never wanted to ask every single one of them so bad in my life. I wanted to forget I’d been hiding from Cameron and I didn’t really like him. I wanted to pretend he didn’t think I was some annoying spoiled woman he had to put up with and ask all about him.

“You do have great hair.”

Cameron chuckled. And that chuckle didn’t help. The way he was looking at me didn’t, either.

I faced away, another shiver rocking me head to toe as much as the skin of my face was burning with… whatever I was feeling.

Something fell on my shoulders.

It was heavy and soft and warm. It was padded flannel.

“Cameron—”

“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s cold. And you’ve been shivering all night.”

My lips popped open. I wanted to complain. But he was right, and for once, I didn’t think I had the energy to fight. I inhaled deeply, tiredly, burrowing myself into his jacket. I filled my lungs with his scent.

“Thanks,” I breathed out, ignoring how unbelievably good it—he—smelled. “I… appreciate this expression of human decency on your side. And accept it.”

Cameron sighed, and I knew he remembered his own words. “I’ll accept that you think I have great hair. I also believe I do.”

I started smiling, and as my lips bent, Cameron’s gaze dipped to my mouth. In the distance, the music came to an abrupt stop that was followed by one loud and boisterously clattering sound. As if an instrument had fallen to the ground and shattered. We both started to turn.

But a distressed baa stopped us. It was loud, and just as boisterous.

And it was also Brandy.

Losing her ever-loving goat mind.

My arms reached out in her direction. “That’s okay, Brandy,” I said in what I hoped was a soothing tone. “You’re fine. That was just a little scare. But you’re okay, I promise.”

But Brandy wasn’t okay. And she wasn’t soothed, either. Her head swayed side to side and her paws hit the ground back and forth. It didn’t take a vet, a zoologist, or even a person who was mildly informed about goats to know that the poor animal was rattled to her core.

Helpless, I reached out again.

Brandy jumped to the side, almost hitting a log that had been resting against the rock we were sitting on. I lunged myself to stop the blind animal from hurting herself. But I missed. Again.

“Adalyn,” Cameron warned, his voice right behind me. “Let me—”

“No,” I interjected. Because he was scared of them. I couldn’t possibly expect him to calm the goat.

So I resumed my quest, reaching for a panicked Brandy, but I—

Looked down, and found a trail of anxiety-induced poo.

“Oh God,” I said as I veered for the opposite side. But Brandy was still distraught—and therefore, very much pooping all over the place. “Brandy,” I tried again, seeing Cameron dash for me out of the corner of my eye. “Cameron, no,” I warned him, thrusting one hand in his direction and the other one in the direction of Brandy. “The goat,” I explained, watching how Brandy twirled and headbutted into my side with enough force to push me a step back. “The poo,” I added, stepping on something soft and feeling my shoe slide forward. “The flannel!” I finished, miraculously managing to grasp the jacket with both hands and throw it up into the air.

I landed on my ass.

“Jesus Christ, Adalyn,” Cameron barked. “Are you okay?”

“Tell me your jacket is safe,” I answered from the ground, blinking at the now dark sky above me. Hmm, pretty. “And I’m fine. The goat poo softened the blow.”

My suit on the other hand? Not so much.

A head popped into my field of vision. His lips were in an angry pout. Hands came around my arms. Sides. Head. Neck? I didn’t know, because before I knew how, or where his hands had been, I was upright and the hands were gone.

“Hey,” I complained. “I was fine down there. That was an intentional trip.” His brows arched. “I was looking at the stars?” I tried. Cameron’s nostrils flared. “Fine. I fell. But you can’t be mad, because I saved the flannel. And I really was looking at the stars.”

“Fuck the jacket—” he started.

But something behind him distracted me. Brandy. Heading for the water.

“Oh no.” I sprinted around Cameron. “Brandy!”

Cameron murmured something, or maybe he shouted it, I didn’t know. And I didn’t—couldn’t—care. I was too busy jumping into knee-high freezing water to make sure a blind six-month-old goat named Brandy, whose poop I was covered in, didn’t drown.