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He grinned at Thorn. “Yeah, man. Let’s go get paid.”
* * *
In hindsight,the most popular bistro in Remington was probably a shitty place to hide, especially during Sunday brunch. But when Camila had finally sucked it up and told her family about the bank robbery the day after it had happened, they’d taken hovering to a whole new level. In the five days that had passed since she’d confessed thatmaybe, shemighthave beenslightlyinjured during an active crime, they’d all lost their minds. Her parents had shown up on her doorstep at the speed of light, despite her insistence that she was absolutely fine, her mother fussing over her every move and her father triple-checking all the windows in her fourth-floor apartment to be sure the locks worked, then ordering pepper spray for both her purse and her glove box, “just to be safe”. Her siblings—Marianna, Julian, and Gianna,andtheir respective spouses—had descended like locusts the day after that, filling Camila’s refrigerator, then freezer, with enough meals to sink an ocean liner and offering no less than five references to neurology experts even though she’d had no symptoms of worsening head trauma and the cut on her temple was almost fully healed. One of them texted her every twelve hours like clockwork, to the point that she’d swear they’d made a damned schedule.
But last night, when Matteo had used his turn to check inandsend her a detailed list of all the online-only banks she could switch her money and investments to, because clearly banking in Remington was far too perilous for her, that had been it. She’d sent a message to her family’s text thread telling them that she needed some space—and yes, that included no emails, in-person visits, smoke signals, semaphore, or carrier pigeons—then she’d called Delia and begged for some normalcy, a.k.a., a brunch date. Camila wasn’t exactly proud of it, but hiding was her only option if she wanted to preserve her sanity.
Well, that and falling back on the memory of Special Agent Kai Roman reminding her to breathe. But then she lost all the calm that brought her as soon as she remembered the way he’d kissed her like he was dying of thirst and she was the only water in the world.
Her cheeks heated, her gaze whipping up from the sketchbook she’d propped on the café table in front of her. Okay, so the kiss had been unbelievably hot, and yes, she’d wanted Roman as badly as he’d seemed to want her. But he needed to move slowly, and she was nothing but a boulder rolling downhill, loaded with chaos and constantly changing her mind.
But that kiss. God, if she closed her eyes, she could still feel his mouth on hers. His arms dragging her close. The need on his tongue as he’d parted her lips and—
“Hey! Sorry I’m a little late,” came a familiar voice from a handful of paces away, bringing Camila back to the busy restaurant with a startled blink. Delia’s smile was as wide as her outstretched arms as she enveloped Camila in a warm hug. Her best friend had never been the type to give those half-assed hugs with one arm, or—just as bad—the kind that lasted for a nanosecond. Like Camila, Delia was a full-bodied hugger, and Camila took advantage of the opportunity to glom as much comfort from the embrace as possible before they parted a few seconds later.
“No worries. I was just doodling,” Camila said, flipping her sketchbook closed and tucking it into her purse. No matter how frustrating her family got or how bored she grew with her career du jour, she could always rely on drawing to calm her. So, yeah, she’d been sketching alotlately.
“Ooooh, anything you want to share?” Delia asked. She’d always expressed a genuine interest in Camila’s art, even though it was far more of a hobby than anything else.
“Nah.” Camila didn’t follow up, mostly because admitting that nearly all she’d drawn this week were heterochromatic eyes would probably make Delia think she’d lost her marbles. The handful of sketches she’d drawn of a certain gorgeous, grumpy FBI agent? Yeah, she couldn’t exactly explain those to Delia, either.
Setting her swirling thoughts aside, Camila aimed at a smile. “Thanks for saving me from going crazy in my apartment. You look gorgeous.”
It wasn’t an understatement. Delia’s cheeks glowed pink, her shaggy blond bob framing her face in perfectly tousled layers and her engagement ring sparkling in the sunlight streaming in through the large restaurant windows. Camila took in Delia’s yellow-and-white striped sweater embroidered with tiny red strawberries and black capri pants with wide, white buttons lining both pockets—her best friend’s style had always leaned hard on retro—suddenly feeling self-conscious in her rumpled one-piece jumpsuit and poorly constructed ponytail.
“So do you,” Delia said, and Camila couldn’t help her smile.
“Spoiler alert. You’re still not a good liar. But bonus points for trying to boost my confidence.”
Delia shook her head, standing firm. “I think youaregorgeous, therefore you alwayslookgorgeous to me.”
Camila knew better than to argue with her. Delia wouldn’t hesitate to start spouting high-level philosophical theory to back up her point. “Whatever you say.”
They ordered a pair of pomegranate citrus mocktails—after those margaritas with Roman, Camila was done with day drinking for a while, thank you very much—and leafed through their menus for a full twenty seconds before Delia addressed the elephant in the room. “So, how are you holding up?”
“The same as I was a few days ago. I’m fine. Really,” Camila said. While they hadn’t seen each other face to face, they had shared a few phone calls since the robbery. Although Camila had given Delia the basic rundown on what had happened in the bank, she’d tried to avoid the topic, and all the “are you okays” that went with it, as much as possible.
“We don’t have to talk about what happened if you really don’t want to,” Delia pressed gently. “But being caught in the middle of a bank robbery is traumatic. That can mess with your head, no matter how tough you are.”
Camila sighed. “It’s not that big a deal. At least, not nearly as big as my family is making it. I swear, mymamiwas this close to literally rolling me in bubble wrap the other day.”
She held her thumb and forefinger up with only a scrap of daylight between them, and Delia laughed.
“Yeah, Matteo did admit they might have gotten just a tiny bit intense. That’s got to be pretty frustrating.”
Camila paused as their server placed their drinks on the tabletop in front of them and took their brunch orders, thanking him with a smile she had to force. “Frustrating doesn’t even begin to cover it,” she said after the server was out of earshot. “I know I’m the youngest of five, and I haven’t always inspired confidence in the responsibility department”—her face heated at the understatement—“but I’m starting to think my family is never going to think of me as a capable adult.”
“First of all, you are a very responsible person,” Delia said, ignoring Camila’s scoff in response. Her parents had made it crystal clear that five careers in twelve years did not equate stable adulthood. Her terminally single status? Didn’t help, either, especially now that even her grumpy-ass older brother was getting hitched in a few months. She was truly the last woman standing.
Delia continued. “Secondly, I know your family can be a little overwhelming, and I’m not disputing how annoying that is. But, in this case, is it possible that at least some of their fussing is warranted?”
Camila’s jaw unhinged. “You’residingwith them?”
“No.” Delia reached across the table to squeeze Camila’s hand, the move reminding Camila that Delia was and always had been the captain of Team Camila. “In this case, I don’t think there are any sides. I’m worried about you. They’re worried about you. We all love you. I’m not saying their methods are fabulous, but I do get the sentiment.”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” Camila said.
“Mmm. And when I was held at gunpoint by a money-laundering maniac a little over a year ago, were you worried about me?”
