Page 40
“Whoa, that sounds wild.” Paige tentatively sipped from the mug, and she offered Cam a shy smile. “You’re right,” she said. “This tastes weird—like flowers but also something kind of dusty?”
“Yeah!” Cam enthused, offering a smile that Paige met with the start of one in return. “That’s a very good way to describe it.”
They sat, drinking tea and eating the cookies, while Cam tried to make conversation, careful not to press too hard about what had happened on Saturday night or anything too serious.
“I better get back,” Paige finally said, putting the mug on the countertop. “I told Dad I wouldn’t be long. He’s making me work with him while I’m totally grounded. So I guess I’m helping out at your grandmother’s house.” She sounded none too excited about this situation.
Cam nodded. It seemed as if Ian wanted to keep Paige in his sights for a while, which seemed perfectly reasonable, although she could see how it chafed at his daughter.
Cam had been avoiding Ian since he had dropped her off on Saturday night, deliberately not clicking on the several texts he’d sent and sending him to voicemail when he had called. Which wasn’t like her. But then again, she knew that what she had to say to him would be hard, and breaking her own heart in two was definitely not on her current to-do list.
“I’m really glad you came by,” Cam said to Paige. As much as she needed to distance herself from Ian, she couldn’t very well be curt with this young, clearly hurting young woman.
“Oh, I meant to ask, have you met our new houseguest yet?” Cam asked. The last thing she needed was for the teen—who would surely recognize Izzy Jones—to blast the news on social media.
“Um, no,” Paige answered. “I was only there for a minute before I came over here.”
“Ask Birdie to introduce you if she’s around,” Cam said. “But can you just promise me that you’ll keep it a secret? Like, don’t tell any of your friends or post anything about it?”
Paige gave her a look that Cam read as Adults are so weird, but she nodded. “Okay, sure,” she said.
After she saw Paige off—and made sure she was actually headed in the direction of Birdie’s house—Cam saw that her phone was buzzing.
“Hey, Francine,” she answered.
“Hi, Cam,” her friend replied. “You still up for taking a break and visiting Merriweather House?”
Cam checked the time and frowned slightly. “I don’t know. I was expecting Samantha, the woman who’s supposed to be helping me, to arrive nearly an hour ago,” she said. “I was hoping to get her going, and then I could slip out for a bit before I have to head to the town hall to pick up the catering supplies.”
“Bummer,” Francine said. “I’m free all day because the shop is closed, and for once, I don’t have an auction or paperwork or anything. I guess I could go without you, but that doesn’t seem right.”
“We can go another day,” Cam said without much hope, contemplating her busy week. “But if you really don’t have anything better to do, maybe you could help me haul the stuff from town hall over to the cafe later today? If you don’t mind a little manual labor? Pretty please?”
“Ha. I haul massively heavy furniture around on the regular, so lifting a couple plates will be no problem,” Francine said with enthusiasm. “Plus I think you just gave me an excuse to skip a workout today.”
“Happy to be of service,” Cam said.
“And I’ll bring Trixie,” Francine added.
“Who’s that?” Cam asked.
“Oh, sorry, I thought I had introduced you before,” Francine laughed. “She’s my truck—Trixie the Turquoise Truck.”
They made plans to meet up at noon, and Cam turned back to her cheese.
By the time she untied her apron to meet Francine, Cam had managed to mix up one batch of dough. Again, working with a power tool, like a food processor, would have made things go faster, but instead Cam had had to do it the old-fashioned way, cutting chunks of creamy-yellow butter into piles of flour with a pastry cutter—a half-moon-shaped wire device with a worn wooden handle—until the mixture was the consistency of coarse sand. It was soothing, actually, and absorbing, and for a blissful little while, she could finally stop thinking about Izzy Jones—or Ian McCabe’s hand on her cheek.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Trixie was parked in front of the town hall when Cam arrived after walking the few blocks from the cafe. From the looks of it, Roxy had managed to solve the garland emergency. The door was draped in lush greenery, and massive red bows adorned the door and the windows fronting the street. A loudspeaker was piping a tinny version of “Silver Bells” out to the sidewalk.
Cam walked in to find Francine waiting outside the door to Roxy’s office with a bemused expression on her face. She was wearing a kerchief, tied Rosie the Riveter style around her bob. Of course Francine would tackle chores in a chic uniform, Cam thought.
They peered into Roxy’s office, where, as usual, the mayor was on the phone, issuing orders from the sound of it.
“It needs to be bigger,” Roxy said firmly to the person on the other end. “Bigger! This display is going to be the centerpiece of Silver Cove!”
She paused while the other person was apparently speaking.
