I’ve been asked a lot if I knew they were together, and I really didn’t know. Looking back, I don’t know how I didn’t, but I also trusted both of them. It was my brother and my best friend. I’d figured they’d tell me if something was happening. But I don’t blame them for not telling me. Sometimes you just want to keep things private. There’s nothing wrong with that.
“When will Miss Marigold be coming back?” Her knitting needles click against one another as she works hard on a row of the ugly sweater.
“Hopefully soon. I don’t think she’ll be able to stay away from Sutten for too long this time.” She’d texted me last night to check in before going back into her writing cave. The way she was talking, I’d be shocked if she didn’t have the first flight back to Colorado booked the moment she turns in her manuscript and finishes whatever meetings they need her at.
“That’s really for the be—” Rosemary stops midsentence. I follow her gaze until we’re both gaping at Camden opening the door to the cafe.
He looks hot as hell, dressed in a button-down shirt and a pair of khakis. But that isn’t what catches my attention. It’s the enormous bouquet of roses in his arms. It’s the most massive bouquet I’ve ever seen—and they’re for me.
Rosemary gasps as the door shuts behind him. “I knew it!” She gawks, staring at Camden in shock. “You’re getting freaky with him!”
I close my eyes, wanting to disappear from the face of the planet. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. I groan, letting one eye pop open to find Camden looking between Rosemary and me, his eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
“Excuse me?” He coughs.
“You’re penetrating our dear, sweet Pippa, aren’t you?”
Jesus. I don’t know what’s worse. Her saying “getting freaky with it” or using the word penetrating. They’re both terrible—horrific—and the pink tinge to Camden’s cheeks tells me he agrees.
Rosemary’s words are so out of pocket that she’s even making cool, calm, and collected Camden blush.
“Well, are you going to answer me?” Rosemary asks. She pulls her glasses down her nose, her eyebrows raised on her wrinkled forehead, waiting for Camden to answer.
He looks at me, clearly not knowing what to do in this situation. Too bad I have nothing for him. This is what nightmares are made of. I take back every single thing I ever said about loving living in a small town. This part is mortifying. Having people invested enough in your life to pry into it even when it’s none of their business.
Maybe this is my karma for being nosy.
Maybe it’s hearing Rosemary continue to fire questions at Camden in rapid succession—using words from the human language that should never ever be used to describe sex.
“How long have the two of you been fornicating?”
“Are you making sure to wrap your willy?”
It keeps getting worse and worse until I hold my hands in the air. “Rosemary! Can we not?”
She places her knitting supplies in her lap, pinning me with a disappointed-grandmother-type look. “I’m just asking some questions, dear.”
I look at the clock above the door. “Looks like we’re closed now. How about I help you gather your things? I bet Harold is waiting for you at home!”
She gives me an incredulous look. “No. You know darn well he’s sleeping in his recliner, pretending to watch TV.” She looks back to Camden. “You listen very closely, young man.” Camden’s eyes widen at the way Rosemary’s voice turns stern. “If you hurt Pippa, I might just kill you. I’m old enough I could handle a few years in prison before dying there. She’s gone through too much, and I don’t know much about you New Yorkers. You hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” His voice catches for a second. Is he actually scared of her?
I try to hide a grin despite the mortification seeping through my veins. This is too funny. I think sweet, old Rosemary terrifies Camden.
“I won’t hurt her,” he promises, his eyes finding mine for a split second.
Damn. I really like him. He’s cute right now, fumbling over words under the scrutiny of Rosemary, and I’m eating it up. I like seeing this vulnerable side of him.
I’m starting to like a lot of things about him. A lot.
“I best be going now,” Rosemary mutters, acting as if it was her idea to leave, as if I wasn’t just begging her to disappear two minutes ago.