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Taking my foot off the break, I start to roll. “Have a good run.”
He shrugs. “Basically done. Just saw you swim off this way last night and was curious where your place was.”
It takes a second, but then the truck jerks to a stop with an embarrassing screech. “You were looking for me?”
That fucking smile. “Don’t you have somewhere you’re supposed to be?”
TREVOR
What the hell am I doing? Last week, I would have sworn the only reason I came back here was to hide out from the world and be alone. Now?
One glimpse of Cam and my heart started in on the aerobics.
A couple hours of talking, and all the plans I thought were rock-solid suddenly feel rocky instead.
A few minutes this morning and— well, no turning back now.
I shoulder through the front door of Dorsey Outfitters, looking up when an old-fashioned bell sounds above my head and then taking in the rest of the store with a growing sense of unease.
Not what I was expecting.
In all the time I lived in Wildren, I never had a reason to come in here. My mom didn’t hunt or fish, so it wasn’t how I grew up. All my time went to hockey. And while Cam worked here, we weren’t the kind of friends where I’d show up at his job to hang out or make plans. So I’m not prepared for the sheer size of the place, the warm, lodge-like atmosphere, or that, thirty minutes after opening, it’s already hopping.
But apparently Dorsey’s is where the senior sect hangs out.
There are no less than a dozen old-timers ranging in age from I’m guessing sixty to ninety. They’re parked on long couches watching some bass fishing program like the last episode of Pam & Tommy just dropped. They’re pouring refills at a coffee station with a tray of mismatched ceramic mugs and a warehouse-sized canister of powdered creamer. Two of them are leaning against the counter shooting-the-shit style over a copy of what I’d bet is the Gazette. And behind the counter, in that torturously hot, fitted black polo with the store logo over the chest is Cam.
He’s nodding attentively to this shrunken raisin of a man who looks to be telling some kind of big-fish story based on the slow-motion gesturing happening over there.
“Gullsy, that you?” A burly guy with a gray buzz cut slaps his knee from the couch.
Behind the counter, Cam straightens.
I raise a hand in greeting, and the old guy gives up a wheezing laugh. “Just this morning Missy was telling me that Cheryl heard from Pastor Craig you were back in town.”
Face heating, I nod. “Yes, sir. Back for a month.”
There’s a chorus of croaked greetings and comments about my last game with the Slayers. It’s nice but also makes me feel more than a little conspicuous.
Eventually, I make my way over to the counter where Cam’s standing in a wide-legged stance, arms crossed over his broad chest, a curious smirk on his handsome, clean-cut face.
“So much for my plan to quietly drop some coffee by for you. Half the town’s in here.” I look back to where most everyone’s attention has returned to fishing. “Didn’t realize this was such a hot spot.”
“That it is. Is one of those for me?” he asks, nodding toward the heavy paper cups in my hand.
Trying to be cool, I hold one out. “Felt bad about you missing your coffee window. Though I guess you’ve got plenty here.”
The corner of his mouth twitches as he waves me in. I lean over the counter, and he meets me halfway. There’s a wash of his breath against my skin, and I close my eyes against the sensation, afraid of what they’d reveal.
“It’s decaf. They don’t know, but we’ve been making both pots with the same stuff since before I was born. A deal Gramps made with one of the wives forever ago, and we’ve stuck with.”
“Whoa.” I pull back a couple inches, as far as I can willingly make myself go. “And you trust me with this state secret?”
His laugh is low and warm, the same one I remember from when we were paired up for biology lab in high school, the one that drew me in with a force I didn’t understand. But made me curious just the same.
“What?” he asks before taking a sip and then rocking back on his heels with an almost pornographic moan. Or maybe it was standard appreciation and the fact that I haven’t gotten any for damn near six months is starting to screw with my head.
“Just thinking about the first time I noticed your laugh.” I say it quietly, but his brow still goes up and his eyes shift from me to the crowd behind us.
