He almost said that no matter how complicated things were between them, she could always count on him to be there. But instead he chose a safer response. “Well, I do have a vested interest, you know.”
“Guess we may as well start bailing.” Hurt flashed in her eyes as she picked up a saucepan and positioned it under one of the drips, the water pinging sharply as it hit the metal.
“You should probably use something bigger,” he said matter-of-factly.
She stared at him as if he had two heads. “You’re kidding, right?” They were getting wetter and wetter as the ceiling kept springing leaks. Water spouted from different holes, dripping on their heads and splashing up from where it fell on the floor.
“Kidding about what?” he asked. She ran behind the desk and brought back a wastebasket, which she placed under a leak. And she looked angry.
“Tell me you didn’t just give me advice about bailing water.”
“I was just suggesting that you use the smaller containers on the smaller drips and the larger ones on the big ones.”
She grabbed a lobster pot from the pile and held it toward him. “Would you like to tell me where to put this?” She gave him a deadpan look and waited a beat before frowning sharply. “Because I might have a few ideas.”
“Ha-ha.” As he took the pot, he said, “You never took my advice anyway.”
“Probably because you dispense it like an Italian grandmother.”
“Italian grandmothers are wise.” He tried not to get her goat but it was so much fun he couldn’t help himself. “Besides, I can’t help it if I’m always seeing more efficient ways of doing things.”
She rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing worse than a guy who thinks he’s right all the time.”
Only he hadn’t been right about her. After all, he’d thought he could forget her. Holding up his hands, he kept his tone light. “Hey, I’m just trying to be helpful. You must admit bringing the trash cans inside was a great idea.”
She cracked a wry smile. “You’ve always been a man of action. Resourceful. I’ll give you that.”
Her small concession pleased him more than he wanted to admit. Their sparring reminded him of the old days. In a good way. She was fun to argue with. And for some reason he loved teasing her. “I don’t think I’m right all the time.”
She pointed up at the ceiling. Waiting for a concession.
“Okay. I’m sorry for trying to tell you what to do.” He held out an empty bucket as a peace offering. She stared at it. “I’m trying to be nice, okay?”
“If you were nice, you’d give this up and go find yourself another place to open 1.0 and all your other points.”
“Now you’re making fun.”
She sighed and looked as if she was carefully weighing what to say next. “It’s just that every time I say that name, I can’t help thinking it sounds like Thing One and Thing Two. Or like a giant restaurant chain. Impersonal.”
“Thanks for your opinion.” They were back to square one. Where they would always be as long as they were on opposite sides.
He’d busied himself with setting out a few more containers when she said, “I’m not saying that to be mean. I guess I’ve always given you my honest opinion. I have more thoughts, too, if you want to hear.”
He stopped hauling water for a moment and turned to her. She stood there, in the middle of all that dripping, her gaze direct and quiet. “Sure. Tell me.” When had she ever not had an opinion?
“I can see you opening up a restaurant,” she said, animatedly gesturing with her hands like she was imagining it herself. “Greeting people, because you know everybody. Shaking their hands. Asking about their families. Planning the menus, putting little twinkle lights all around outside. It would be called something simple and welcoming like Cam’s Place, not Cammareri 1.0, which sounds like a robot droid or something.”
He snorted. “A robot droid?”
“Impersonal. Cold. Unoriginal.”
He laughed. Not because she’d said something critical. But because her eyes still got that dreamy look in them when she was seeing another place, another world.
“That sounds like me. Except I think you’d have to be the one to add the twinkle lights.”
How had she settled for covering up the mistakes of spoiled celebs? She should be running her own show, taking over the world. Because she had the insight to do it. To lead, not to follow.
Suddenly he could see himself walking around an outdoor area strung with lights, hearing the murmurs and laughter of people having a great time. Smelling the savory Italian dishes cooking in the kitchen. Taking the time to talk to people.
She was dead-on. He loved doing that—schmoozing. He’d greet every single person who walked in. Ask after their families. Walk over to each table and make sure their meals were a great experience. As for the food—it would be all homemade Italian cuisine. Pasta made by hand. Fresh bread from the local bakery. And of course the Cammareri secret pizza dough recipe. With wines he would select himself.
“Cam?”
He shook his head to clear it, only to find her handing him a giant paint bucket overflowing with water. “What made you want to open a restaurant?” she asked.
He shrugged, trying to think of a neutral answer. One that would keep her at a distance, where she needed to be. But instead, the truth spilled out. “My dad. He raised us by himself and worked all day, but we had the best family dinners—spaghetti with homemade sauce, lasagna, gnocchi, braised ribs. He’d stay up at night prepping things for the next day so we could sit and eat together, and that’s how he kept tabs on us. By feeding us well. By making sure we showed up for dinner no matter what. I think that’s the reason we’ve all stayed close.”
“My stomach is rumbling and it’s four in the morning,” she said, emptying a flowerpot into a bucket. “So it was something you’d always planned on doing?”
He shook his head. “Not really. The restaurant executives came calling at just the right time. I felt it was important to capitalize on my popularity before it fades.” Okay, he definitely had to shut up now. He was giving away the truth to the competition.
“Your popularity will never fade,” she said with absolute sincerity. “You’re really famous. I mean, people call you a young Tom Brady.”
He tried to smile, like hearing those words wasn’t hard. “Thanks, but I’m a few Super Bowl rings shy of him. And that’s where the comparison will end.” He’d never get the chance to stand up to Brady’s record. Fate had dealt him a different hand.
There was an awkward silence. She was looking at him with what looked an awful lot like pity. Cam was kicking himself for admitting weakness when she said, “That’s not where it ends. Because you’ve always been more than a football player.”
He snorted. “I just don’t want to be the kind of person to sit on my laurels my entire life.” That’s why the restaurant appealed—it was something completely different. A fresh start. Far removed from the constant reminder football would always be of his shattered dreams.
She moved a giant garbage can under another avalanche of water. He helped her position it, accidentally placing his hand on top of hers.