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Roger nodded along, rubbing his chin. “Interesting. I never thought about it like that before.”
We continued the tour, chatting a bit more. I drew on some examples from my art history studies, making comparisons between the cars we saw and the evolution of art styles through the twentieth century. I was making it all up as I went along, but I knew enough about art to be able to draw some good parallels and make what I thought was a convincing argument.
When we made our way back around to the offices, Roger smiled at me and shook my hand. “Well, Miss Cole, you've certainly been an enlightening interviewee. I really enjoyed our talk.”
“Me too,” I said, wearing a hopeful look. I didn't want him to think I was too desperate, so I didn't let myself ask directly whether I had a chance at the job.
“I've got another interview scheduled this afternoon,” he said, leading me to the door. “Then there's the holiday weekend coming up, of course. So I'll give you a call next week to let you know. But I really did enjoy our talk.”
“Thank you,” I said, trying to hide my disappointment. I understood why he couldn't give me an answer right away. But I'd still hoped for something more.
I went out to the parking lot. Cam was waiting for me there, leaning against the hood of his car. I looked at the hood, blushing when I saw it still had my butt-print on it.
“How did it go?” Cam asked me.
“Good,” I said. “I think.”
Now that it was over, I wasn't so sure. Roger and I had certainly gotten along well, but it was possible he was just being polite.
“Come on,” Cam said, opening the car door for me. “I'll take you to dinner. To celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?” I frowned at him. “I don't even know if I got the job yet.”
“We'll celebrate nailing the interview.” He winked at me. “Then we can have another celebration after you get the job.”
I laughed, getting into the car and feeling like some weight had been lifted off of me. Cam always seemed to know the right thing to say to lift my spirits.
Chapter 10
Cameron
I was reading an email from my father when Ami asked me, “What's wrong?”
I shrugged. “Nothing, really. Just holiday stuff.”
“Oh?” She arched her eyebrows, looking at me expectantly.
When I didn't say anything at first, she kept staring me down. I sighed, a defeated smile spreading across my face. “Why? Did you already make plans?”
“Well, no,” she said, sticking her lip out in an adorable pout. “But I thought since we're together now, maybe we would...”
I chuckled, reaching up to caress her face. Ami could be adorable when she was pouting. “Well,” I said, “I just got an email from my dad. Turns out my parents aren't doing Thanksgiving this year.”
“They're not?” She frowned. “Why not? Is something wrong?”
“No.” I gestured with my phone, where my dad's email was still on the screen. “They moved down to Florida last year. Dad said the warm weather would be good for his bones, though really I think he just wanted to be by the beach year-round.”
Ami smirked. “Sounds like a big scam to me.”
I nodded. “And most of the extended family isn't too keen on going all the way down south for the holiday. My dad always cooked dinner for the whole family, including all my aunts and cousins. But my cousins are all grown now, and moved out. Two of them are in college out of state, another one got a job up in Vermont, another got married and moved to Virginia with her husband. Makes it kind of hard to get the family together anymore.”
“Oh. That must be disappointing.” She squeezed my hand, giving me a comforting smile.
I shrugged. “Yeah, kinda. Dad said him and Mom are just going to a turkey buffet dinner instead of cooking. He said everyone is welcome to come along, but it seems like a long trip just for dinner at a restaurant.”
“Oh. Yeah, I guess so.” Ami slumped, looking deflated. Then she sat up straighter, her eyes going wide. “Well then, you should come to Thanksgiving with my family! I know Mom and Dad would love to see you again.”
I smiled. The idea of spending Thanksgiving with Ami and her family sounded nice. Her parents had always treated me well. Her dad was encouraging, even if she seemed to think that he nagged her. And her mom had always been patient with me, even when Mark and I dented her car with a hockey puck when we were teenagers.
But then I remembered...Mark. I looked to Ami. “What about your brother?”
Ami slumped again. “Oh. Right.”
She sighed, settling down on the couch and leaning her head against the cushions. “I haven't talked to him since the other day,” she said. “I didn't want to deal with him blowing up on me again.”
