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She turns and throws me a smart-ass look. “I’ve got this.”
“Pretty confident for someone who nearly caught the cabin on fire,” I tease.
She wrinkles her nose and snarls.
I lean against the counter and watch her. Because she’s so stubborn and wants to prove her point, she grabs the handle with both hands and proceeds to flip it as though she’s a celebrity chef. Only she puts too much strength into it and the cake flies in the air, then falls dough side down on the floor with a splat. Seconds later, Bruno rushes into the kitchen and gobbles it up, not caring how hot it is.
Cami frowns, then shrugs. “Good boy.” She leans down and pets his head. “He’s a champ at cleaning messes.”
I nearly fall down laughing. “I wonder how many messes he’s eaten in the past two weeks.”
“It’s our little secret.” She looks at him. “Right, Bruno?”
He stares up at her, his little tail wiggling as he begs for more. “Bruno,” I warn, and he turns and trots away once he realizes he’s not getting it. I try not to feed him too many table scraps because it’s not healthy for him.
“Let me help,” I tell Cami, and she reluctantly moves over. I scoop the batter, then pour it into three perfect circles. They’re palm size and don’t take too long to cook before I flip them over.
She playfully scoffs. “Okay, now you’re showing off.”
“Pancakes were one of my favorite things to make when I was old enough to stay home alone. I remember cooking so many one time that I was nearly sick from eating them. I had a stomachache for days.”
A giggle escapes her. “I can only imagine. We never ate stuff like that growing up. I would’ve probably killed someone for a stack of pancakes at thirteen. And now, I go between eating like a rabbit and gobbling up all the processed shit because of how strict my mother was.”
“She was weird about sugar,” I confirm, remembering the weird shit she’d try to feed me when I was playing with Ryan. It always tasted like cardboard.
She nods. “Apparently, it goes straight to your hips. So every Valentine’s Day, Easter, and Halloween, I buy ten bags of candy. You’d probably throw up if I told you how much of it I eat. Then I go back to refusing carbs for a few months. It’s a vicious, stupid cycle.”
“Your secrets are safe with me.” I make a few more pancakes and give her a stack of four, then she grabs some fancy ass maple syrup from the cabinet.
“Well, now I know the way straight to your heart. Bread, sugar, and sweets.”
She nods, takes a bite, and moans loudly. “And your cock,” she adds.
“That too.” I chuckle. “And what’s his name?”
She eyes me with a smirk. “Zeus. How could I forget?”
“Damn, I’ve really missed you,” I admit again, imagining our night together.
“Me too.” She grins with a mouthful. “I’ve missed having real food. It’s so much better when you cook,” she says.
I snicker. “Probably because it’s actually edible.”
“That is most definitely why.”
I meet her eyes as I take my own plate to the table. There are unspoken words and stolen glances as we eat, both wanting to be all over each other but knowing we can’t just yet.
We clean the kitchen once we’re finished, but it takes a while since I get out of breath quickly.
For lunch, we pop a pizza in the oven and eat on the couch while we watch some new docuseries about a religious cult in Texas on Netflix. We lie around the rest of the afternoon, holding each other close, and I squeeze her just a little tighter while we watch the news.
Though it’s been over a month since I left my apartment, I don’t want this to end. I could get used to this. Cami’s become such an integral part of my days that when this is all over, and we go back to our everyday lives, I’ll probably be lost.
Eventually, she changes the channel, and we try to tune into something more comedic to take our mind off what’s happening in the world. Though I have a lot of work to catch up on, one more day off won’t hurt. We spend the rest of the night together, taking every advantage of this time as we can.
Chapter Twenty-Five
CAMERON
DAY 41
It’s been a week since Eli’s fever broke, and I’m so damn relieved. We’ve taken extra precautions around the house and have cleaned it top to bottom several times. I’ve never been this germ cautious, but I find myself washing my hands regularly.
As I look inside the freezer, I see there’s only one package of chicken left. We’re out of eggs, bread, juice, and other stuff. When Eli enters the kitchen, he wraps his arms around my waist and kisses the nape of my neck. My eyes flutter closed, and I lean into him as he mentions making a run to the store. I turn around and watch him as he pulls his wet hair up into a bun.
