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I totally judge people by how they treat anyone in the service industry. But I know that this probably isn’t Cam’s usual predicament when dealing with waitstaff. At least, I hope it’s not.
His eyes are darker than I have seen them. And I can feel the desire in his stare dance over every inch of my body that he can see above the table.
But as fun as this back-and-forth is, he is one hundred percent losing my attention to this eggplant Parmesan that was just placed in front of me.
“This looks incredible,” I say as I pick my fork and knife up, readying myself to dive in.
Taking the first bite, I start to think that the people in love with inanimate objects on that one crazy addiction show maybe aren’t that crazy after all. Because this is the most delicious bite of food I have ever tasted.
“Mmm,” I close my eyes and moan before I swallow, my eyes rolling to the back of my head.
When my eyes open, Cam is looking at me with the sweetest, most endearing stare.
“What?” I say with the biggest smile on my face.
“Nothing. I just wish you’d look at me the way you do that eggplant Parm.” He chuckles.
Why is that the greatest pickup line that I have ever heard?
“Because only food that tastes this good deserves that look. Sorry, Cameron,” I say sarcastically.
“How do you know I don’t taste that good?” He smirks. “You haven’t even tried.”
The bite I just swallowed catches in my throat at his words. And now, I’m coughing like an idiot, and he is beaming like he won the damn lottery.
“Are you okay over there?” he asks mockingly. “Maybe you need mouth-to-mouth? I will totally volunteer,” he says so much louder than I would like. He smiles, then takes a sip of his water.
I almost hate how much fun I am having, how easy and natural this feels. I hate that this is going to have to end. But I will enjoy it until then.
“Do you want to be covered in red sauce in five seconds?” I raise my eyebrows.
“You embarrassed, Little Dove?” Cam asks as he takes another bite of his ravioli.
“Shut up and eat your damn pasta.” I motion to his bowl with my fork.
With his eyebrows raised, he points to his mouth that is currently chewing.
“Yeah, well, just keep doing that.” I can’t help the laugh that breaks my character.
We continue to eat and make smart-ass comments to one another, and before I know it, two hours have passed, our dishes have been cleared, and the restaurant is emptying out.
Cam pays for our meal, which I certainly wasn’t waiting around for him to do. But the second the bill was brought, he handed the waiter his Black Card without even looking at the ticket.
This is what I have learned so far about Cam Costello.
His star sign is Cancer, and his birthdate is July 1.
He has so much more to him than what meets the eye. It’s in the little things he probably doesn’t even realize he’s revealing.
When he mentioned his family, I noticed he avoided talking about his dad. And the one time that he did, his fist was clenched on the table—probably an involuntary reaction.
He spoke of his mom with such kindness and respect that I wanted to cry. And when he told me that she had passed away, I reached across the table and held his hand while he continued to share about her. I also noticed he never mentioned how she had died. But that she was cremated and he has her ashes in an urn at his house so that she can always be with him.
He loves hockey more than anything—that is clear as day with how his eyes and face light up at the mention of ice or a puck. I could honestly listen to him talk about hockey all day long, and I barely understood a single thing he described. He lives with one of his teammates and is practically on the ice all day, every day.
His open communication is probably what shocks me the most. But the haunting look that I have caught in his eyes time and time again is a close second. It felt familiar as soon as I saw it.
I want to know what caused it, who caused it. But I also know it’s none of my damn business unless he wants to tell me.
