“I mean, I’m not some weirdo,” he presses. But he’s sort of acting like a weirdo, and doesn’t seem able to stop himself. And that damn mattress! He does probably reek of piss. He backtracks a step, putting a bit more distance between himself and the back of Avery’s cutoff shorts, which fit her perfectly.
She spins around to face him, her face expressionless. “Can I help you find something here, or . . . ?”
“Maybe I’m just browsing.”
“Fine. Browse away. But don’t mess anything up.”
“What am I, a toddler?”
Avery smirks. “Chocolate all over your face, and you smell like you peed your pants. If the shoe fits . . .”
“Okay, I won’t touch anything. You can assure your boss the inventory won’t be dirtied by my filth.”
“I am the boss.” She cocks her head. “This is my store.”
Cameron opens his mouth, but to his surprise, can’t find a comeback. She can’t be much older than he is. All he has to his name is a disgusting camper, and she has an entire store.
“Look, I know your type.” Her voice has an edge to it now. She folds her arms tightly. “I don’t know what you’re after, but you played Jess for a favor. I know it.”
“Why do you care? You two don’t exactly have a neighborly relationship.”
“I care because I can’t stand players.” Avery scans him up and down. “Who exactly are you, anyway? I’ve never seen you around before.”
“I was just trying to get that realtor’s help,” Cameron says, then after a pause adds, “I’m trying to find my dad.”
“Oh.” Avery’s voice softens a tiny bit and her arms relax to her sides, which improves Cameron’s view of her spectacular little chest. She drags in a breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to come out swinging. My day got off to a cold start.”
“I know the feeling, believe me.” Cameron smiles, and Avery melts a little more, extending her hand to clasp his as he introduces himself. As he lets go, his goddamn neck lets out another one of its bone-on-bone cracks.
Avery winces at the sound. “Ouch. You okay?”
“Yeah, I think so. Slept weird last night.” He regrets the words as soon as they come out. Is this what passes for a pickup line in your thirties? Complaining about back pain? Of course, he doesn’t add that the source of his ailment is the world’s nastiest camper. Warm light streams through the shop’s window as the sun continues to climb the midmorning sky. It occurs to Cameron he should’ve hosed off the mattress this morning before he left; it could’ve dried in the day’s heat. Why do these things never occur to him in the moment?
“Messed-up neck, then. I’ve got something for that. Just a sec.” Avery ducks behind the counter and pops up a second later and hands him a small container. It’s some sort of cream, with a bright orange price tag affixed to the lid. $19.95. “It’s totally natural,” she explains. “I use it whenever a long session on my board leaves me sore.”
Cameron feels a single brow inch up. Twenty bucks for organic Vaseline. He forces a weak smile. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
“It’s on the house.”
“Really, it’s okay.”
“Will you just take it?” An actual grin cracks Avery’s face as she thrusts the little pot toward him. “I’m a sucker for injured creatures.”
When Cameron walks out a little while later, his neck is slick with overpriced balm and Avery’s number is programmed in his phone.
ETHAN IS SITTING on his front porch when Cameron pulls into the driveway. Cameron heads toward the house, well aware of the cheeseball grin plastered on his face.
“Someone called for you bit ago,” Ethan says. “From some airline? Left a number to call back when you got home.”
“Thanks, Ethan.” Cameron’s pulse quickens. His duffel bag. Good thing he added Ethan’s landline to his claim last time he checked the status. His phone battery lasts about two seconds these days. The thought of replacing his phone has been out of the question, but with his jewelry-containing bag on the way and a job, he’ll check out the new model they released this spring, the one with six cameras or whatever. The one that can practically cook dinner for you.
Still grinning, he ducks into the camper and dials.
“JoyJet baggage services,” a woman answers, sounding anything but joyful.
Cameron gives his claim number. “So, when will my bag be delivered?”