And with a very suggestive wink in my direction that made my face turn beetroot red, Josie jogged away.
“You okay?” Cameron asked.
“Sure,” I answered, walking around him and setting up somewhere where those extremely distracting forearms were not visible. “I was just thinking that I forgot to ask Josie what the boogie thing was about.” I busied myself with the cashbox. “So how did you know about the spigot?”
* * *
Turned out Cameron had worked at a pub in his late teens. He’d also spent his summers juggling every possible job available before signing his first contract. It explained things. It also made a little spot on my chest expand.
But I wasn’t going to pay any attention to that. Me having a sweet spot for hardworking people wasn’t new.
It also turned out that the boogie part of the evening was a Green Oak band’s renditions of seventies and eighties songs. A band in which Josie played the bass.
It was truly fascinating the number of things that woman could do.
Except for brewing beer, as it also turned out. I’d had a sip of the Josie’s Jostler and let’s say it was so hazy I could have chewed on it. I wasn’t an expert on craft beer, and had always favored wine, but I didn’t think a hazy IPA was supposed to work like that.
Not that the crowd in attendance seemed to care. The Josie’s Jostler stand had been just as busy as the rest. I wouldn’t use the word packed—by my or any standards—but busy enough for Cameron to do most of the work and relegate me to token duty. That, unfortunately, had involved more sleeve-rolling, forearm unveiling, and muscle flexing when lifting glasses and exchanging barrels. At some point, I realized I’d been staring at one of his forearms—at that one specific inked spot left of his wrist—so hard and long that I had forgotten to collect tokens. So I’d thrown in a few dollars from my pocket and continued my ogling.
That was when he’d produced a beanie from a secret pocket in his flannel jacket.
I despised flannel, beanies, and secret pockets now.
That was why the moment the first five notes to “Boogie Wonderland” from the improvised stage hit and most people shifted in the direction of the band, I ran away.
Yes. I was officially hiding. From Cameron, not the boogie.
I was at the far end of the BBBBL premises, near the lake, with the not one but two goats María had brought with her as my only company. And if a ghost was to come out and lure me and the goats into the woods, I’d go gladly.
Brandy bleated from her spot at my feet. And just like every time she’d done that in the fifteen minutes I’d been here, Tilly stirred in response.
“You two need to stop that,” I whispered, obtaining another two baas. “No. Shush.”
I glanced over my shoulder, checking the crowd for a specific set of green eyes, dark beard, and beanie. Not a trace of him. Good. I returned my gaze forward, just in time for a gust of chilly air to hit me in the face and make me curl into myself.
The tweed suit was the warmest outfit I had, but Josie had been right, now that the sun was setting, it hadn’t been the smartest choice. Not that any in my wardrobe would have.
“But that’s okay,” I muttered under my breath, thinking back to Cameron’s beanie. And boots. And jeans. And flannel jacket. And how warm he must be. Maybe I should go by Outdoor Moe’s and get myself a beanie. Brandy nudged my leg with her head. “I know. I don’t think I could pull off a beanie either.” I could maybe do flannel. I sighed. “He could have at least left the jacket before leaving.”
“Who left?”
I almost fell off the rock I’d been sitting on. “Jesus,” I muttered, turning my head and finding that mountain of padded flannel a few feet to my left.
Cameron’s brows knotted under his stupid, silly beanie. “Jesus left?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but another gust of air picked up, stopping my words and sending a shiver to crawl down my spine. I curled my arms around my middle and gave him a shrug.
If Cameron cared about the lack of confirmation from my side, he didn’t say. Instead he crossed the distance separating us and planted himself right beside me. My eyes dipped low, to his forearms. His sleeves were down, thank God. His hands, however, were hanging between his legs. Relaxed. Rough. Large. That signet on his pinky. Ugh. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t hyperfixate on every body part this man flung in front of me.
Tilly, who based on her size looked younger than Brandy, trotted to Cameron’s side, providing a welcome distraction. He stiffened.