Chapter 8

By the time she’d reached Borne Market, some of her ebullient cheer had faded, but Camille forced herself through the doors anyway. Unless she wanted to eat scrap metal, barn wood, or cat food, she had to do this.

Grabbing a cart, she speed-walked toward the produce aisle, avoiding any eye contact. It didn’t help.

“Camille Brandt!” Mrs. Murphy called from where she stood next to her register. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Come over here and talk to me.”

Quickly debating and abandoning the idea of feigning sudden acute deafness, Camille turned and headed toward the checkout, telling herself that the upcoming conversation couldn’t be any worse than the encounter she’d just had with Ryan, and she’d managed to survive that.

“How are you?” Mrs. Murphy asked with heavy sympathy and a whole lot of avid curiosity.

Blinking in surprise, Camille tried to figure out why Mrs. Murphy was using that tone. “Um…fine. Busy with all the Christmas orders, so I should probably…” She gestured toward the aisles, knowing that it was likely a useless escape attempt.

She was right. “June Lin and I were just talking about you.” Tsking, Mrs. Murphy shook her head with sadness belied by the gleam in her eyes. “She said she sat you down and talked to you about your little problem.”

Here we go. With great effort, Camille resisted rolling her eyes. “I don’t have a problem, Mrs. Murphy. Mrs. Lin is just a little too good at noticing when I have visitors, that’s all.”

“That’s what I told June. She needs to butt out of your sex life. You should have fun while you’re young. At least you have company now. It’s better than you spending all your time alone like you did after your dear grandma died.”

Don Nally rolled his cart toward Mrs. Murphy’s checkout lane, and Camille eyed him, hoping he’d distract the cashier long enough for her to slip away. “I’m not…” She trailed off, not even knowing where to start correcting all of Mrs. Murphy’s false assumptions.

“I just have to ask one thing,” Mrs. Murphy said, and Camille braced herself. Don, her potential savior, was no help, listening avidly as he very slowly emptied his cart onto the belt, one item at a time. Camille frowned at him as Mrs. Murphy continued, “Barry? Really? He’s so…unpleasant.”

“Already? How’d you even know about him? That just happened.” Seeing Mrs. Murphy and Don light up with glee at the admission that wasn’t really an admission, Camille shook her head. “Not that anything happened with Barry, except that he picked up my packages. He didn’t even come inside!” Taking a deep breath, she tried to smother some of her indignation. For two people who professed not to be able to stand each other, Mrs. Lin and Mrs. Murphy had an awfully efficient system of gossip. Forcing a smile, Camille mentally reminded herself that Mrs. Murphy was an elderly lady, and as infuriating as her insinuations were, they weren’t actually harmful. “Good to see you, Mrs. Murphy,” she lied. “You have a customer, so I’ll just go get my shopping done.”

“Don’t stop talking on my account,” Don said, but Camille was already moving. How had she thought that grocery shopping was going to be better than her abbreviated trip to the diner?

She sped through the aisles, keeping her gaze focused firmly on the items on the shelves. As she reached the dairy corner, her last stop before checking out, she’d managed to evade attempted conversations with no fewer than five different people, and she was feeling almost triumphant as she grabbed a half gallon of milk out of the cooler.

“Camille!” The instinctive cringe at the sound of her name was quickly followed by relief when she recognized the voice. Turning, she saw Maya rushing toward her, and she just managed to move the milk carton out of the way before the girl squeezed her around the waist. Giving her a semi-awkward, one-armed return hug, Camille felt a bubble of hope rise in her as she looked over Maya’s shoulder. This time, she wasn’t disappointed. Steve was headed her way, looking as rugged and handsome as always, pushing a half-full grocery cart.

“Hey, Maya.” Camille couldn’t take her eyes off him. How anyone could look so good in the awful fluorescent lighting of the Borne Market was beyond her. The thought reminded her of her own rather rumpled appearance, and she resisted the urge to smooth the hair tumbling over her coat in messy curls. “Hi, Steve. Doing some shopping?” The second the question was out, she wanted to suck it right back in. What else would they be doing at the grocery store?

Kindly, neither of them pointed out the stupidity of her question. “Yeah. I had choir practice after school,” Maya said. “I’m doing a solo at our winter concert next week.”

“Congratulations,” Camille said, finally able to rip her gaze from Steve so she could focus on Maya. “You must be a really good singer.”

“I’m okay.” Maya shrugged, ducking her head a little as she peeked up at Camille. “I wouldn’t say I’m spectacular, though.”

“I would.” Steve stopped his cart next to Camille’s and leaned on the handle.

“That’s because you’re my dad,” Maya said, although she couldn’t hide her delighted smile. “You have to say that. It’s, like, in the dad rule book.”

“Your choir director didn’t have to offer you a solo, though,” Camille said. “I bet your dad’s saying that because it’s true, not just out of fatherly obligation.”

“Do you want to come to the concert?” Maya asked, and Camille shot Steve a quick look. When he nodded his agreement to the invitation, she turned back to Maya.

“I’d love to hear you sing.” The thought of packing into an auditorium with a bunch of Borne parents didn’t thrill her, but she figured she could hover near the back for a quick escape after Maya finished her solo. She wouldn’t mind sitting with the Springfields, either, despite the crowd. “When is it?”

“A week from tomorrow,” Steve said. “We can pick you up beforehand.”

“Yes!” Maya agreed enthusiastically before Camille could respond. “That way, you can go out for dessert with us. That’s what we always do after concerts.”

“Uh…okay.” Despite her hesitation, she couldn’t stop the smile that spread over her face. Was that a date? Had she just been invited on a date by Steve Springfield? Okay, it’d officially been his daughter who asked, and it was a family date, but Camille didn’t care. It still felt amazing and exhilarating and like the start of some new, wonderful thing.

“Camille!” Deanna Lin called out as she pushed her cart toward their small huddle in the corner. Camille groaned, and Maya giggled, leaning against her arm.

“Sorry,” Camille grumbled quietly to Steve. She didn’t want to be a bad influence on his daughter, but Deanna was a chatterbox—and she was Mrs. Lin’s daughter-in-law, which meant that it was going to be hard to escape the upcoming conversation.

“I completely agree,” Steve muttered back, and Camille had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning.

“Oh!” Deanna eyed the three of them with a smile. “Don’t you look like the sweetest little family?” Her expression turned puzzled. “I thought June said that you and Ryan were dating?”

Even though Steve’s exasperated look was directed at Deanna, Camille still felt an urgent need to at least try to set the record straight…again. “There’s not anything between me and Ryan. He just sold me some barn wood.”

Leaning closer, Deanna lowered her voice to a carrying whisper. “So you didn’t just have a huge lovers’ quarrel at Birdie’s?”

“What? No. No quarrel, and Ryan and I are definitely not lovers, so no. Not a lovers’ quarrel or anything even close to that.” More words of denial wanted to spill out, but Camille managed to hold them back as she glanced down at Maya, who was watching with avid attention. “We talked for a minute, that’s all. Ryan flirts with everyone without meaning anything by it. Maybe that’s what your informant saw.” Her tone became a little bitter on the last few words, but Deanna was unintentionally ruining the toasty warm feeling Steve and Maya had caused. With them, for just those few moments, she’d felt like a normal person, someone who could possibly fit into their family. Now they were watching as she reverted back to the town weirdo.

Although Deanna was good-natured and obviously not intending to cause distress, Camille desperately wanted the conversation to be over so she could slink out of the store and return to the safety of her workshop.

“Informant?” Deanna blanched, looking confused by the snap to Camille’s words. “You make it sound like I have a whole team of spies reporting back to me.”

Despite her irritation, Camille couldn’t help but laugh. “That actually sounds like something Mrs. Lin—June—would do. Aren’t you getting her night-vision binoculars for Christmas?”

Deanna’s smile tentatively returned. “It does sound like her. How’d you know about the binoculars?”

“She let me know that she’s going to be keeping better watch over any goings-on at my house.” Camille grimaced. “I wish someone interesting would move into the old Smith place across the street so that she’d have someone else to obsess about.” Remembering that she was talking to Mrs. Lin’s almost-as-gossipy daughter-in-law and that everything she said would likely get back to her—and that Maya was listening to everything with wide eyes—Camille closed her mouth.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Deanna’s gaze flickered toward Steve, a small smile quirking up the corners of her mouth. “Your life seems plenty interesting to me.”

In her periphery, Camille saw Steve glance at her, and she inwardly cringed. Why hadn’t she just sucked it up and eaten that solitary can of bamboo shoots for dinner? She would’ve been hungry, but at least she would’ve been spared this humiliating conversation.

“I should go.” Suddenly, Camille couldn’t stand there another second. “My milk’s getting warm.” She gave Maya, who was still leaning against her, a quick side hug as a goodbye and pushed her cart forward before Deanna could say anything else.

As she passed Steve, he caught her cart handle, stopping her. She hesitated to look up at him, worried that she’d see doubt in his face, that he’d join the ranks of Borne gossipers who thought she was strange and antisocial. She stiffened her spine. Even if she was strange and antisocial, it wasn’t his or anyone else’s business. Emboldened by her rush of indignation, she looked up and met his gaze.

His eyes weren’t judging her, though. Instead, he looked warm and affectionate and even sympathetic, and Camille was caught, unable to look away. She vaguely heard Deanna saying something, but she didn’t really care what it was, not while Steve was looking at her in that unexpectedly lovely way.

“Will you be coming out to the ranch soon?” he asked, his voice quiet and so intimate that goose bumps spread over her skin.

“Yes. Tomorrow, probably.” She couldn’t have told him no at that moment if her life depended on it. Besides, she couldn’t wait to get out to the ranch. Except for when she was in her workshop, everything else in her life seemed so hard and uncomfortable, like a pair of shoes that didn’t really fit. With Steve and his kids, though, she felt as if she clicked effortlessly into place, as if they’d made a spot in their family just for her. The thought immediately made an alarm sound in the cautious corner of her brain. She was just getting to know the Springfields. If she continued thinking like that, she knew she’d end up getting hurt. Somehow, though, with Steve looking at her with that sweet yet intense way, it was hard to stay coolly pragmatic about what could be.

“Come for dinner,” Maya said, sounding excited. “It’s my night to cook, so Dad’s helping me make pizza.”

Camille glanced at her, happy to see that Deanna must’ve left while she was focused on Steve. “By ‘make pizza,’ do you mean sliding a frozen one in the oven? Or putting sauce and cheese on half an English muffin?”

Steve laughed softly as Maya answered. “Neither. We actually make the crust and roll it out and throw it in the air and everything.”

“Non-frozen, homemade, hand-thrown pizza? How can I refuse?” It was only after she’d accepted that she remembered to check with Steve, since accepting an offer from one of his very generous children seemed a little too close to inviting herself to dinner. “If that’s okay?” she asked him.

Steve came amusingly close to rolling his eyes. “Of course. We love having you.” They beamed at each other, and Camille forgot where she was again for a moment, until he tipped his head toward her cart. “You should probably go before your milk gets any warmer.”

“Oh!” She gave an embarrassed half shrug and lowered her voice. “I just said that so I could get away from Deanna. Some of the gossip she and Mrs. Lin come up with is just crazy. I mean, Mrs. Monroe thinks I have a thing going with Barry? Really? They couldn’t have made up a better booty buddy for me than him?”

Steve’s laugh boomed out, and Camille smiled as she watched him. His face was totally transformed by happiness, and it was even more beautiful than usual. “I agree,” he said. “You deserve so much more than Barry.”

His words made her float as she pushed her cart away from them.

“Dad?” Maya’s high, clear voice reached her ears clearly. “What’s a booty buddy?”

Heat flooded Camille’s face as she rushed toward the checkout at the front of the store. Despite her embarrassment, the warm residue of Steve’s words remained with her. Even Mrs. Murphy’s risqué stories about her life before she’d married Mr. Murphy couldn’t dim her happiness. Camille paid, scooped up her groceries, and walked out the door, giving thanks that Mrs. Murphy couldn’t follow her.

When she reached her house, she scurried toward the workshop door before Mrs. Lin could catch her. Camille knew that Mrs. Murphy had definitely found a moment between customers to text Mrs. Lin everything that’d happened at the grocery store. She was pretty sure that Mrs. Lin would be lying in wait for her to get home so she could either lecture her some more about her man-hoarding ways or try to pry more details out of Camille so that she’d have more information to lord over Mrs. Murphy at their next gossip club meeting or whatever they did when they got together.

Darting through the door, Camille quickly shut it behind her, letting out a huge breath of relief. Lucy jumped down from the edge of the scrap-metal bin where she’d been perched next to the rejected horse sculpture. It hadn’t quite made it into the bin, but Camille had managed to perch it on the edge, mainly to free up more room on her workbench.

Making her way across the shop, Camille held the kitchen door open for Lucy to walk through. Although she knew perfectly well how to use the cat flap, Lucy preferred to have Camille hold the entire door open for her, like the reigning queen that she was.

“I bought you some treats,” Camille said, kicking off her boots before setting the bags on the table. She started sorting through her groceries, surprised that she’d actually gotten a good amount of food. Since most of her shopping had been done with her chin to her chest and her eyes on the floor, she’d half expected to bring home fifty cans of lima beans and a double bunch of parsley, but she’d managed to pick out actual meal-worthy food.

As if lured by the mention of treats, Lucy padded over and sat at Camille’s feet.

“Aren’t you the sweetest,” Camille cooed, crouching down so that she could pet the cat. “Such a pretty kit… Ah!” Lucy opened her mouth and let a baby mouse drop to land on Camille’s socked foot. Lurching back, she lost her balance and toppled onto her butt as the mouse fell to the floor. Apparently, it was not as dead as Camille had assumed, since it got to its feet and darted toward the fridge.

“Lucy!” Camille yelled, scrambling to grab the mouse before it made it underneath the appliance. Once it was under the refrigerator, she knew it would be nearly impossible to get it out, and then there’d be a mouse loose in her house—or, rather, another mouse loose in her house. “What are you doing? You’re a cat! You don’t catch and release mice! You eat them or drop corpses at my feet or ignore their existence. I don’t care what you do, as long as you don’t bring them into the kitchen and let them run free!”

The last word was more of a grunt as she lunged toward the mouse. Knowing she’d be too slow to catch it, she tried to put her body between it and the fridge. It worked somewhat, sending the mouse scuttling in a different direction.

“Oh no.” Camille grabbed for it again, but missed by several feet as the mouse darted into the space between the counter and the stove. She glared at where it had disappeared and then turned to her cat, who was sitting on the floor, cleaning her chest and looking quite proud of herself. “Lucy…” she muttered, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good to lecture her. Pushing herself to her feet, Camille allowed herself a few muttered curse words that did, in fact, make her feel better.

“At least I have food,” she consoled herself, trying not to think about how hard it would be to sleep tonight knowing that yet another mouse was sharing her home. The sight of a frozen pizza reminded her of her conversation with Steve and Maya, and that did help. By the time she started the oven—after first loudly warning the mouse to stay away from the stove—the memory of their encounter had her smiling again.

There was something about Steve Springfield. Just the thought of him made her happy.