He smiled, raising his glass and clinking it lightly to hers. Their fingers brushed briefly and they both pulled their glasses away quickly, making her suspect he’d also felt the zap of energy move between their skin, though his expression indicated nothing. He took a sip of his whiskey, making a face as the liquid fire slid down his throat. She grimaced along with him. “It gets better the more you drink,” she said, her voice strained.
He let out a soft chuckle. “That’s usually the problem.”
She smiled, dipping her head in agreement just as the tiny thing with the—apparently—massive lungs let out that bone-chilling chirping sound. “Oh holy hell, little one,” Scarlett murmured, beginning to stand.
Camden’s chair scraped across the floor as he came to his feet. “Let me,” he said, moving around her and picking up the baby bird in his makeshift nest.
Scarlett grabbed the mashed egg she’d made earlier and handed it to Camden who sat back down. He used one finger to rub the bird’s beak right where he’d shown her earlier and the tiny thing opened its mouth widely, accepting the food he offered. “Amazing,” she said, noting the ease with which he fed the bird after she’d struggled to get even the smallest bit into its mouth. “Were you a mama bird in a past life?”
He smiled at her and her chest felt tight to see this big, strong man holding the delicate creature with so much gentleness. “Could be. Maybe that’s why I’m so restless,” he murmured, watching the bird as he ate from his finger. “In some past life I used to be able to fly and now I merely have feet.”
She tilted her head, taking him in, her curiosity spiking again, the question rising up inside her: who are you? “You’re restless?”
He looked up, appearing almost confused for a moment as if he hadn’t realized he’d made that statement out loud. “Sometimes. Who isn’t, I guess.”
She took another sip of whiskey, watching as he fed the bird. She was restless too. It’d come on in the last few years, this . . . feeling that she was supposed to be doing something, only she had no idea what. This notion that she was walking through mist and someone was calling for her only she couldn’t see them, couldn’t get to them, didn’t know what they wanted. The feeling had dissipated slightly with the purchase of Lilith House and the new sense of purpose at starting a business, but she had to admit some of it still lingered. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I know what you mean.”
Their eyes met, gazes clashing, heat flowing between them. God. Chemistry was a bitch of a thing. It didn’t care about timing or convenience. There was no shutoff button, no dial with which to lower the damn temperature. She’d given in to it before and it’d almost ruined her. She was still picking up the pieces of her self-respect. She didn’t need, nor want to be attracted to this man. And yet, the feeling was so alluring, so good. It was like a thrilling drug that made you come alive.
And she was pretty sure he felt it too.
And yet . . . she’d sensed such bitterness in him at Grady’s earlier that day. Had she misunderstood when she’d assumed it was directed at her? She did have a tendency to second-guess her own responsibility for other people’s reactions. It was the people pleaser in her.
He nodded over to the sketches on her wall. “Those are good.” He shook his head as though he’d misspoken. “No, they’re not just good, they’re incredible.”
She felt a warm flush of pleasure at his compliment, and the sincere expression on his face. “Thank you. They’re brand-new designs, all my own. As soon as I have a proper kitchen up and running, I’m going to create each one and do a photo shoot. Then I’ll have a brochure made . . . some initial advertising. It seems like a lot when I start thinking about all the to-do items on my multitude of lists.”
He squinted at her teasingly. “You have more than one to-do list?”
“Oh my gosh, yes. I have lists upon lists. I have binders of lists. I even have a master list of all my lists so I don’t accidentally forget about any of my sub-lists.”
He chuckled, a look of true amusement flashing in his green eyes. “One thing at a time, right?”
She nodded. “Yes. That’s my motto.”
There was a weighted silence before he cleared his throat softly. “So how’d you find this place anyway?” he asked, looking around the kitchen. “I didn’t think the bank advertised its sale anywhere outside town. It’s been empty for a long time.”
She tapped the pads of her fingers on the table soundlessly, tilting her head, recollecting. “It was the most random thing actually. I had just left work. I was working in this restaurant in Beverly Hills. The commute sucked and I sort of hated my boss.” She let out a short laugh, taking another sip of her drink, enjoying the burn now. “Anyway, I was walking to my car, tired, irritable, flour in my hair, you know, just living the glamorous life of a pastry chef, when a breeze picked up and this piece of trash—or so I thought—blew up off the street and stuck to my shirt. Well, I peeled it off and took a few steps to toss it in a trash can, when I happened to glance down at what it was. A flyer. This newsletter, with meeting times and whatnot, a church thingy, I think, and at the bottom was a picture of Lilith House and information about the sale. Well, I recognized the name because my friend Kandace had attended the school here. I stood there in the middle of the sidewalk just . . . stupefied.” She looked off to the side, remembering the feeling that had filled her chest, this sudden, overwhelming . . . fire to do . . . something. “I went home and looked up the pictures online and it just seemed . . . perfect.” She gazed behind him. “I mean, it had literally plastered itself to my body. It felt like fate.”
Camden had stilled, his eyes latched on her face. “What are the odds?” he murmured.
“Exactly. What are the odds?” Her gaze moved behind him as she pictured that unexpected moment. That flyer, it was like . . . it was the permission she hadn’t known she needed to make the first move to see her dream become reality.
“You believe in fate then? You think that brought you here?” He looked so serious, like every cell in his body was hanging on her answer.
She thought about it for a moment, gave it the consideration it deserved. “Yeah. I do.” She swirled her drink. Her body felt warm and loose. “I’ve felt it before too. I felt it the night I met Haddie’s father.” She looked down, feeling shy suddenly talking to this man she barely knew about such personal things but well, he was sitting across from her with a baby bird in his hands, and the alcohol had loosened her tongue. “Things obviously didn’t work out between us, but when I met him . . . it was like I felt this pull, some master plan, that almost seemed to come from outside of myself, moving me toward an unplanned fate. I know that sounds dramatic but it’s the truth. It was like . . . Haddie was meant to be created, she was meant to be here, despite everything falling apart once that happened. She was the point of it all and so there should be no regret.” Emotion welled up inside her, the love she felt for her daughter, and she let out a soft laugh. “My goodness, I’m a loose-lipped drunk, aren’t I?”
Despite her embarrassed smile, Camden’s expression remained intense, almost pained. “What are you thinking?” she asked.