She smiles, eyes briefly dropping to her coffee. “So, what are you planning to do all summer when you’re not working or rescuing feral cats?”
“Eat pancakes with neighbors, apparently.”
“Well, consider me honored.”
Her fingers gently tap against her coffee cup, a slow rhythm that shouldn’t feel intimate but somehow does. I catch myselfstaring again. At her mouth. At the ease in her posture. At what I have no business wanting.
And then Vera returns, breaking the spell with two steaming plates and a grin before taking off again.
“Okay,” Cami says, syrup already uncapped. “Moment of truth. Let’s see if they live up to the shirt.”
I dig in without hesitation. “They’re better than expected; syrup’s not bad either,” I admit.
“See? T-shirt slogans never lie.”
We eat in silence for a moment, a comfortable silence that makes chatter, neon lights, and coffee refills fade into the background. When her gaze flicks up to meet mine, it lingers. Each time a little longer. Her knee brushes mine under the table. Accident? Maybe not. I never knew pancakes could feel like more than breakfast.
Cami tears a piece of bacon, then says, “You know, I didn’t plan on being here.”
“In Crystal Cove?”
She nods. “Supposed to be in New York already. But my best friend had to bail at the last minute on his house-sitting commitment, and I offered to step in. Figured ocean air and solitude before the next chapter might be a burnout cure.”
“And has it so far?”
Her brows lift. “Well, it’s been a pretty chaotic few days. First a birthday suit encounter, then cats in the attic…”
We both laugh, but there’s a sharp tilt in her tone—like she’s deflecting. The wordchaoticsnags my attention, as if she means more than kittens and chance encounters.
She leans forward, elbow on the table, chin propped on her hand. “You ought to sleep with someone younger. Become the main character in an ultimate revenge plot.”
I chuckle, surprised. “That’s exactly what my business partner said. He suggested I find a younger, hotter distraction. Know anyone?”
Cami grins, popping another piece of bacon in her mouth. “Guess I’ll start recruiting.”
I know damn well the last thing I need is a distraction. And the only person I’d want one from is sitting across from me, eating bacon like she hasn’t already knocked the wind out of me. That alone should scare me. Instead, it makes me want to stay right here, stretch this moment out, even if only a few minutes longer.
Our drive back is quiet in the best way: low dashboard lights, coastal air spilling through cracked windows, and Cami humming now and then to a playlist of old-school soul and 90s alt-rock I forgot was even on my phone. Her occasional nods of approval are small wins that grab my ego by the collar and tell it to behave.
Turning onto our street, I ease into the driveway, kill the engine, and just sit, not ready to break whatever spell we’ve been under.
Cami’s door opens with a quiet click before I reach for mine. She hops out, her sandals crunching gravel as I follow, rounding the front of the car to fall into step behind her.
Cool and quiet, the night carries only the hush of waves as we walk toward her door, illuminated by a dimmed light.
“Thanks for the rescue mission,” she says, more delicate now. “And for the pancakes.”
I nod, eyes on hers. “Glad I could help.”
We stop just shy of her front door, the space between us thinning.
Her gaze lifts, catches mine, then flicks to my mouth and back again.
My pulse kicks up like it already knows what I’m thinking.
God, I want to kiss her.
Lean in. Close the gap. Taste all the things I stopped believing in.
