My eyes go wide because she’s supposed to be on my side. No one except for the people in the church should know about me running around at two without any clothes on in the middle of a service. I blame it on my mom. Dad still to this day loves to tell everyone that my mom found it hilarious and wasn’t the least bit embarrassed by my antics. That was my mom. She was vivid and full of life. She could make a joke out of anything, and there are just days that I wish she wasn’t ripped out of my life without warning.
“Pippa sure is sweet,” Camden drawls. He flashes his straight, white teeth, his incisors slightly sharper than the rest of his teeth. “Kind of reminds me—” He pauses as if he’s having to think through his next words. “—of shortcake…”
My eyes turn to slits. His smirk tells me he thinks he’s funny, but I don’t find it amusing in the slightest.
Meanwhile, Miss Mary is eating up every second of it. She stares at Camden with stars in her eyes. Like she just said, she’s known me since I was an infant, and Camden says one complete sentence and she’s clearly head over heels for him.
“Shortcake is my least favorite dessert.”
Miss Mary whips her head in my direction. I didn’t know she could move that fast. “You’ve won awards with your strawberry shortcakes. I thought you loved it.”
She’s betrayed me. Camden snickers while my face heats with embarrassment. I’m going to go home and toss out every single one of Miss Mary’s soaps because she’s supposed to be on my side. She wasn’t supposed to tell him that the little nickname he’s given me isn’t as bad as I make it out to be.
“Well, we’ve got to get going,” I lie, pulling on the sleeve of Camden’s button-up. “So many vendors to see, so little time.”
“Oh, why don’t you just get one bar of soap, honey? Or lotion? In the spirit of strawberry shortcake, I do have a few bottles left of my sugar strawberry lotion.”
“I’m really o—”
“She’ll take it,” Camden interrupts. He pulls his wallet from his pocket and thumbs through hundred-dollar bills. I want to laugh when he pulls out two of them, as if one single little bottle of lotion would ever cost that much.
“I hate strawberries,” I argue, watching Miss Mary wrap the pink bottle of lotion in white tissue paper.
“Lying is a sin, darling,” Miss Mary scolds, looking at me with slight disappointment. “You’ve bought this lotion from me before.”
My cheeks puff out in frustration because I’ve been caught in a lie. Worse, in front of Camden, who beams so wide I might actually find it charming if I didn’t know the smile was at my expense.
Miss Mary gets us all packaged up, and Camden listens to her talk about her five grandchildren. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who does small talk with strangers. In fact, his harsh, rude personality strikes me as quite the opposite. I always thought he came off as entitled, meaning he thought he was better than everyone else. Instead, he’s showing little glimpses of himself that make me question what I really do and don’t know about him.
I reach to grab the little bag from his hand as we walk by a few more additional booths, but he pulls it from my reach. “I’ll carry it.” His tone makes it seem like there’s no further room for discussion.
“I can carry my own bag.”
He stops in his tracks, disrupting the flow of traffic for a minute. Shoppers funnel around us as Camden looks down at me. “You can do a lot of things. It doesn’t mean you should have to.” And with that, he begins to lead the way toward something that’s caught his eye.
15
CAMDEN
I’ve come to the conclusion that all the stereotypes about small towns are true. Starting with the idea that everyone knows everyone.
Pippa is the perfect example of that. We can’t walk a few steps without someone stopping to talk to her. Whether it’s someone begging for her to finally share her buttercream icing recipe or someone asking how her family is doing, she’s always talking with somebody else about something. Some people ask who I am, some of them don’t. Most of them don’t seem to care who I am; they just want to speak with her.
I don’t know if Pippa realizes it or not, but the people in this town love her. Their faces get brighter, their smiles get wider, and they seem captivated by every word she says to them. I was put off by the idea of coming here when she first told me what we were doing, but now I’m almost grateful she brought me. I’m fascinated by how much everyone seems to love her in this town. I’m really just fascinated by her.