1
7 Years Ago—August
CAMERON
It was the night of Josie Mitchell’s high school graduation and she was drunk as an adorable skunk.
And Cameron was in the tenth circle of hell. Did hell have that many circles? Whatever, he’d found a new one. Charting undiscovered hell territory—of course he’d be good at that.
“That was a great night,” she said, looking up at him from the passenger seat of his car.
“I’m glad you had fun. Do you…need help?” He opened the passenger side door to help her out.
“No,” she said indignantly, and then all but fell out of the car.
“Okay, I gotcha,” he said, getting her to her feet and propping her up against the front fender. Where she slid, like she had no bones, toward the front wheel.
“I had fun because of you,” she said. “You made it possible, Cameron.”
“Well…” He didn’t know what to say to that so he let the word trail off, grabbed her by the waist, and shut the passenger door. The sound of the slamming door sent some animal scurrying off in the bush and he hoped he hadn’t just woken up the whole family.
“You give the best gifts,” she said, turning to look at him, which meant her face was very close. He could turn his head and…
Do not turn your head.
His graduation present to her had been chauffeur service for her and her friends from the Riverview Inn—her family’s lodge in the Catskill Mountains—to all the graduation parties. So she could have fun and be safe.
“Well, you’re no slouch either,” he said. The only way he knew how to take a compliment was to deflect it.
“Okay, five questions,” she said.
“Josie.”
“No. It’s my turn. You five question me all the time.”
“Fine. Go.” He pretended to be annoyed. But mostly he was just nervous, not sure what questions might come out of drunk Josie’s mouth. This was a game they’d started playing the summer the ground had been broken on Haven House. Top five favorite movies. Top five favorite television show finales—those were her type of questions. Top five ways to eat potatoes. Five worst things you’ve ever eaten—those were his.
“Best gift you ever got?”
“The coffeemaker you got me on my birthday.” It was this high-tech, expensive camping thing that fit in the palm of his hand. He loved it so much. He loved that she knew he would love it. “But the year you got me all the Bourdain books. That was a good year, too.”
“I need to replace those. You’ve read them to pieces and…” She paused. Hiccupped. They stopped, a stone clattering off his shoe.
“Are you going to throw up?” he asked.
“Totally not,” she said like she was offended. Which meant there was a fifty-fifty chance she was going to puke. He got them walking again. A little faster now.
Tonight, all he’d done was drive her and Helen around playing Beyoncé at top volume. He’d wanted to take her camping, to this place he’d found way up in the mountains behind the lodge, where there was a lake so clear and blue it looked like a sky. A place he knew she would love. But then he’d thought about being in a tent with her and rejected the idea.
He’d thought this would be better.
Stupid me.
“You are such a good guy,” Josie breathed. Her breath was, like, eighty percent alcohol; he was getting drunk just being close to her. “Did you know that?”
“Yep,” he said, trying to keep her on her feet and also open the back door. But she kept melting. Against him. Against the door. She was a puddle of Josie, in the way of everywhere he was trying to be.
“No.” She grabbed his face.
Ouch. A little rough, there, Jos. And he thought she might be going for some kind of stern look, some kind of serious I mean business type look. But she was too drunk. And too dear to manage it.
God. She is beautiful.
As quickly as he thought that, he stopped. He was good at that after all these years. Thinking a thing he shouldn’t and then just…not. Just stopping.
“You’re my best friend,” she said.
“I know.”
He got the door open, managed to get them inside the dark and cool kitchen. No one there, waiting up.
Thank God.
But they were all sleeping here at the lodge. Alice and her husband Gabe. Max and Josie’s mom, Delia. If they weren’t quiet he’d have a million Mitchells in here.
“Cameron,” she said. “You have to listen to me.”
He actually laughed. “Josie. I’m listening. I’m a good guy and I’m your best friend. You’re mine, too.” These were things they didn’t actually say out loud. Like saying them out loud might tip the chemistry of their friendship into that place he was trying to avoid. Trying not to look at. Trying to pretend didn’t exist.
And, frankly, pretending was easier when they weren’t touching.
He stepped away, setting down his bag, and she leaned back against the wall looking… Jesus.
“You need to drink some water,” he said, and quickly turned away to get her a glass.
“Cameron,” she said. “You could do literally anything. You know that, right?”
This again. “You Mitchells are really into telling me that these days.” It was like they were trying to get rid of him. He’d turned twenty-two and suddenly his future was all anyone wanted to talk about.
Which was weird, because in so many ways he still felt like the shitty sixteen-year-old kid he’d been. He’d skipped school and gotten caught stealing a car and no one at home had given a shit. He’d been surprised the judge had—and had sent him to the Riverview for community service with Max instead of to juvie.
Max, Josie’s adopted dad, had been his first boss here. But then he’d met Alice, who was in charge of the kitchens, and he’d traded Max and constant wood chopping for Alice and the kitchen. And it changed his life.
But years later, he still didn’t know what he was supposed to do without the Mitchells. Alice. This kitchen.
Josie.
“Another one of my five questions. I still have some left.”
“Not really.”
She ignored him. “What do you want to do with your life?”
This. Right now. The Riverview Inn kitchen and you. Every day, all day.
“What do you want to do?” he asked, deflecting again. His great talent.
“Write amazing television. I want to make people cry. And change people’s minds. And make them stay up all night to just watch one more episode.” He smiled at her passion. “But the question is for you,” she said.
His silence was possibly damning. But if he opened his mouth, the words he could not say would come out. Love you.
“You are smart. And funny. And you work hard and you’re a great chef.”
“Thanks, Josie,” he said and brought her the water. “I’ll put you down as a reference if I ever get another job.” She took one gulp, most of which splashed down her neck, and handed the glass back. He ignored the water dripping across her chest into the top of her dress. It was yellow and short. She looked amazing in it.
“You…you could come to New York with me. You could get a job in a kitchen. Alice would give you a letter of recommendation and I’ll go to school. And we’ll be broke, but it would be fun? Wouldn’t it? You and me? The big city?”