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“You’re a good son,” I said, hoping to ease the line that had formed between his eyebrows.

A humorless twist took shape on his mouth, one I didn’t like at all. “I’m an obedient son.”

“What’s the difference?”

He looked at me, gaze dipping to my mouth before returning to my eyes. His entire body canted toward mine, and his voice lowered. “A good son listens to his father’s advice and heeds it. He obeys his father. Respects him. An obedient son also does those things”—he threw back the rest of his whiskey—“but he doesn’t want to.”

Seventeen

Another vanilla lavender latte sat on my desk Monday morning. I cast a furtive, intrigued glance at Cam in his office, but he was busy typing away at his computer, utterly unaware of me.

“Good morning, Helen,” I said when she arrived at her desk.

She looked at me, then did a double-take, likely because of my glasses. I rather liked them, but they did change my entire aesthetic. If anything, they sweetened my looks—a deceptive ploy I was utilizing to improve my chances at today’s marketing meeting.

Helen said nothing, and for a panicked moment, I feared she might be deaf. I attempted a quick “hello” in ASL, but she only looked at me like I was crazy.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, red-faced and flustered, then glanced around for a distraction.

Bennett froze as I laid eyes on him traipsing my way.

“Good god almighty,” he muttered.

“What?”

He shook his head, black curls bouncing, and stopped behind me. His hands gripped the back of my chair, spinning me so I faced Cam’s office. “How are you this morning?” he asked like this wasn’t odd at all.

“Still wondering about my coffee. Is it you?”

“I’m not that clever,” he said under his breath, then louder, “Camden.”

Cam pulled his gaze from his computer and, like it did on Friday, his face froze as he looked at me. With a single blink, he lifted his eyes toward Bennett. “Yes?”

“How was your weekend?” Bennett’s innocent tone made me suspicious at once. What was he doing? I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so I clasped them tightly together and rested them over my knees.

“Fine.” Cam’s eyes softened when he addressed me. “Good morning, Honeycutt. I trust your weekend was great.”

Laughing, I nodded. “Exceptional, in fact.”

A smile flickered on his face just in time for Shep to break our eye contact. His quick, graceful steps brought him directly between me and his son, and he stepped into Cam’s office, shutting the door without looking back.

Bennett returned me to my desk and leaned close behind me. “I enjoy torturing him.” Whistling, he strolled away.

I sat blinking at my desk for several seconds, uncertain whether I was being teased or encouraged. A pointed throat-clearing across from me brought my attention to Helen, who pursed her lips.

“What was I supposed to say to that?” I whispered.

She only smirked, and I was left alone to ponder the goings-on around me.

A single conversation last week—as well as a few well-timed smiles and bright greetings—had slowly warmed Booboo. Our pre-meeting went a little smoother until…

“What do you mean you want to have a man drinking a fruity drink?” he demanded.

I took a slow, calming breath. “It was just a thought⁠—”

“We don’t advertise people drinking other brands at this company.”

“It wouldn’t be a branded drink.” I looked to the others for support, but received none. “It would just be a jab at cultural norms, that women only drink frilly drinks and men only drink whiskey or beer.”