One and Only(22)

“What about marriage, kids, the white picket fence?”

“Nope, nope, and nope.” And that was it. She held up a hand to signal the end of the conversation. Because the only thing left to say was, I already ruined one family, and those words would never be uttered aloud to another soul. Not even Wendy. Because it was impossible for anyone, except maybe her brother, to understand. And she was never going to be more of a burden to him than she already had been by dumping that confession on him.

That had been the one great thing about Felix—he hadn’t wanted kids. Maybe that’s why she’d stuck around for so long. With him, she’d been able to imagine a future that included a life partner, but one who wasn’t going to pressure her to procreate.

“One more question,” Cameron said.

She shook her head. She was done with this little stroll down memory lane.

He asked anyway. “Why are these in here and not in your bedroom?”

She laughed. And here she’d been expecting him to insist she was making a big mistake, that women weren’t fulfilled without love and family. That she just had to keep searching until she found “the one.” It was an insidious cultural norm and she expected it at every turn. To have Cameron not go down that road was refreshing.

So she answered him honestly. “They are not in my bedroom because I tend to use them more in here.” That would have been a sufficient answer, but she decided to throw him for a loop by adding more of the truth. “I find that when I’m writing for long stretches, they’re, uh…” But, crap, her bravado faltered, and she trailed off.

“You get yourself off in this bed,” he said, grinning. “That’s what you meant when you said you ‘napped’ in here a lot.”

Her face was heating again, but she clung to her “no shame” stance. “It’s good for productivity, I find.”

He was nodding, eyebrows raised, but still there was no mocking in his gaze. “I can totally see that.”

She waited, because surely there was more. Cameron MacKinnon couldn’t let this whole conversation pass without making some kind of suggestive remark, could he? This was the guy who’d ordered an ice cream sundae the other day specifically so he could use it to make lewd gestures.

But she was met with silence. “Well, okay then. If you’re all set, I’m going to go to bed. Tomorrow’s the bachelorette party, so tomorrow morning is my last chance to figure out something for that danged chakram I’ll need for Comicon on Sunday.” When he smiled, she added, “A warrior princess’s work is never done.”

She had the strangest impulse to blow him a kiss, but she stifled it.





Chapter Ten

SATURDAY—SEVEN DAYS BEFORE THE WEDDING



By the time Jane got up the next morning, Cameron had made his bed, helped himself to a shower with the towel she’d left for him, and made breakfast. He’d even thought about looking up a recipe for hollandaise sauce on his phone. He’d been lying before when he’d fed her that line about only making eggs Benedict for his lovers. Cam could make passable versions of lots of basic dishes. He’d had to learn, as a kid, because his mom often worked nights at the diner. But his repertoire wasn’t very extensive.

He’d thought better of hollandaise, though. Not only did it sound like an easy recipe to mess up, it was better not to go there, having declared that there was a certain level of intimacy associated with the dish.

So scrambled eggs it was again. But he didn’t think she’d mind because he had also made her a—

“Oh my God, is that a chakram?” she shrieked.

The juxtaposition between her sleep-rumpled hair and pajamas and the fact that she was literally jumping up and down in front of his work-in-progress was pretty amusing. “Yeah. I saw a flattened box in your recycling, so I decided to give it a shot.” He moved to stand by her side at the tiny kitchen table. “I made the basic shape out of cardboard using my pocketknife.” She ooohhed like he had informed her he’d conducted open-heart surgery with his pocketknife. “So I think all you need to do is get some spray paint.” He showed her the image on his phone he’d been using as a guide. “Silver on the outside here,” he said, pointing to the corresponding part on the cardboard, “and gold here.”

She’d gone completely silent. She stood there mutely, blinking at his creation. All of a sudden, he felt like a total fool. She’d probably just been being polite before. What had he been thinking? Was he a five-year-old at the craft table? She probably had some much more elaborate creation in mind. Something classier than spray-painted cardboard. “I, uh, saw that there were a few different versions of her chakram when I looked online,” he said, because, hell, why not add to his idiocy by talking about it? But he couldn’t seem to stop. “Of course, I don’t know the difference between them like you do, so maybe I made the wrong one. I thought this yin-yang-style one looked cool, but—” God. Stop. He forced himself to shut his mouth.

She turned to him, her eyes shiny with—were those tears? “Oh, hey,” he said as one escaped from the corner of her eye. “Don’t cry. You can tell me it’s shit. I’ve been through basic training, sweetheart.” Not to mention a summary trial. “I’ve got thick skin.”

She shook her head, and the motion dislodged another tear on the same side. “It’s perfect,” she whispered.

Whoa. That was not the reaction he’d been expecting, and he lost his breath for a moment. Warmth suffused his chest, and he reached out to brush away the two tears. He used his thumb to get them, and he’d been going to pull away when she grabbed his hand and brought it to her lips, kissing the back of it like she was the duke and he was the maiden in a fairy tale or something.

“Thank you,” she said. It was almost like no one had ever done anything nice for her before.

He cleared his throat, in search of his voice. “Damn, if that’s what I get for a little cardboard craft project, you need to raise your standards.” He busied himself setting out the eggs that he’d been keeping warm in the oven. “I hope you don’t mind I whipped together some breakfast.”

“Are you kidding?” she said, clearing away the newspapers he’d laid under his little DIY-fest. He noticed she very carefully moved the chakram to the top of the refrigerator, which was pretty much the only surface in the tiny kitchen that was empty. “I’m sorry I slept so late. You should have woken me.”

“I have to say, I didn’t take you for a lie-about,” he said, pouring her a cup of coffee and gesturing for her to sit.

She grinned. “I hate getting up in the mornings. Last night’s exhaustion aside, I’m usually up late working.”

An image flashed into his mind of her hunched over her computer in the dark. More of a movie, really, than a still image, because then she got up and laid down on the very bed he’d slept in last night, and—

“And I have to say, I didn’t take you for an early bird.”

He tamped down the spike of desire the dirty movie in his mind had summoned and loaded her plate with eggs and two pieces of toast. “In the army, there’s no sleeping in,” he said.

“I suppose not.” He slid the plate over to her and she moaned, which didn’t help on the whole desire-tamping front. “The only thing I think I love more than eating is eating without having to cook.”

Damn, and right now, there was nothing he loved more than feeding Jane Denning.

“So, Cameron,” she said through a mouthful of eggs. “I feel that you and I have achieved a sort of détente. Would you agree?”

“I guess so,” he said, wary because it seemed like he was being set up for something. Were they going to have to talk about yesterday’s ill-advised kiss now?

“So tell me about the bachelor party.”

“The bachelor party?” he echoed.

“It’s tonight.” She cocked her head. “I assume you’re going?”

Shit. He didn’t know. It would be weird for the brother of the groom not to go to the bachelor party, he assumed, but not only had he not received an invitation, he hadn’t even known it was happening. But then, he hadn’t really been around, had he?

Jane leaned forward on her chair like she was going to whisper a secret to him, though they were, of course, alone.

“I need to know if there’s going to be a stripper.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Stripper,” she said, enunciating the word like he wasn’t a native English speaker. “I don’t care what the answer is, but I need to know. Elise keeps talking about crashing the boys’ party, but she is not going to be cool with a stripper, and it’s infinitely better that if there is one, she not know about it. So do me a favor and tell me now and I’ll be able to keep her away if need be.”

“I honestly don’t know,” he said.

“Can you text me an update?” she asked.

“I guess so?” Shit. That shouldn’t have come out as tentative as it had, like he was asking rather than answering a question. “Yes,” he said more firmly. “I’ll try to find out what’s going on and let you know.” Of course he was going to Jay’s bachelor party, for God’s sake. Despite their recent clashes, they were brothers.