He says nothing. It’s silent for so long that I begin to feel stupid because clearly, I’m not making any kind of sense. My fingers play with the loose strings from the hole in my jeans. I twirl the threads of denim around my finger, biting my tongue to not say anything else to make more of a fool of myself.
Why do I suddenly care? I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t give a damn what he thinks of me, of this town, of anything. But I’m stubborn. And for some terrible reason, I want to prove to him that maybe he shouldn’t hate the town of Sutten. If he won’t leave, I want to teach him how to embrace the slower-paced lifestyle that comes with the town I’ve lived in my entire life.
“I’ve never questioned which group I want to be in,” he finally admits.
“And are you now?”
His head cocks to the side. It’s with this simple movement that I realize his hair isn’t as perfectly styled as every other time I’ve seen him. It’s nowhere near messy, but I don’t think Camden is ever unkempt. He strikes me as the kind of guy who wakes up in the morning and immediately gets ready no matter what he has planned for the day.
“I’ve only ever known the one.”
His answer makes me smile. Maybe it’s his hesitant tone, so unlike his typical commanding and sure one. Maybe it’s because our day hasn’t even really started, and I feel like today could change things for him. But mostly, I think it’s because Camden is proving to me that he isn’t what I thought he was. And I’m curious as hell to find out more about the man who makes a terrible first—and second, and quite honestly third—impression.
“What is all of this?” Camden asks, looking along the community center’s gym, which is lined with vendor booths and people.
I take a step forward, trusting that he’ll follow me. My instincts are right. I don’t have to look over to feel him a step behind me.
“This, Mr. Hunter, is our community art show. Well, more like a vendor fair, but you’ll find a lot of art here. And I think it’s important for you to see that beautiful art can come from all kinds of places—and that maybe there’s a lot of talent for your gallery right here in Sutten.”
“Pippa!” a familiar voice calls from a few booths down. I smile at Miss Mary and her booth of handmade soaps. They’re my favorite to use, and even though I pretty much have a stockpile of them at home, if she asks if I want to buy one today, I won’t be able to say no.
“Hi, Miss Mary,” I say with affection as we come to a stop in front of her table.
“I’m shocked you left that bakery of yours to come to the event today.” She wraps her arms across her chest, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “And what handsome man do we have here?”
“I’m not always all work and no play,” I answer, eyeing a new scent of soap and lotion I haven’t seen from her before. I look over at Camden, who looks incredibly uncomfortable here with his hands tucked in his pockets and his eyes roaming the space. “This right here is Camden Hunter. He bought the Richardsons’ gallery. He practically begged me to take him here today. He’s been impatiently waiting to check out the local talent.”
It’s only a small lie. He did pretty much beg me to help him with his opening, which I traded for bringing him here today, but he had no idea the things I had in store. Despite the little white lie, I do think he’ll be impressed by what some people here in Sutten have to offer.
Mary clutches her chest as if I just told her Camden saves the lives of babies or volunteers at a homeless shelter. “Wow,” she says in awe. “That’s so kind and thoughtful of you.”
I have to rub my lips together to keep from smiling and blowing my cover. It’s just so funny to see her look at him in wonder, knowing that his skin is probably crawling at the fact the attention is on him. “He’s a very, very kind man,” I lie.
Camden Hunter isn’t kind. He’s a man of power, a man who will do anything to get what he wants, including creating a gallery that goes against all of the small-town values of keeping things local in Sutten.
Miss Mary is completely unaware of the type of man Camden is. She seems to be mesmerized by his charm already, and he hasn’t even said anything. It must be nice to have a face so perfect that you don’t have to say a word for people to fall at your feet.
“Pippa here is the sweetest girl,” Miss Mary admonishes. Now, her bright eyes are pinned on me. “She’s as sweet as they come. I’ve known her since she was in diapers, running around church trying to get naked while Pastor Mark gave a sermon.”