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“As in, the Grouch,” she clarified.
“Just for that, I should keep my trade secrets to myself,” Roman said, crossing his arms into a knot over the front of his T-shirt.
Camila wavered for a second at the sight of his biceps pressed against the fabric, but managed to arch a brow. “You won’t, though, because watching menotuse your process is going to drive you bonkers.”
Roman paused, then muttered a curse. “Are you trying to drive me crazy, or does it just come naturally to you?”
Camila laughed at the way he’d tossed her earlier words right back in her direction, and God, it felt so good. “Embrace the crazy, Roman. Who knows? You might actually like it.”
He made a noise of doubt, although the smile he was clearly trying to fight canceled it out. “These rolling carts speed things up,” he said, reaching for a sturdy pushcart similar to the ones online grocery shoppers used when filling orders. “Six kits will fit on here at a time. You can wheel the cart from station to station to grab what you need. Once you’re done, you just label whether the kit is for one person or a family, then drop them at the first table. One of the volunteers from the front will come grab them when they run low.”
“Sounds like an excellent process.” Smiling, she turned toward a second cart and began setting up empty bags inside the tray. Roman did the same with the cart closest to him. His movements were precise but fluid, each one full of quiet purpose, and Camila’s thoughts barged out of her mouth before she could curb them.
“You take everything you do this seriously, don’t you?”
Roman waited, placing two boxes of macaroni and cheese and a can of green beans into the bag in front of him before answering. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“No, not at all,” she said, and meant every word. “In fact, I’m a little jealous.”
Her face flushed at the admission, the heat growing even stronger as his chin lifted in surprise. “You’re jealous. Of me.”
For a second, Camila was sorely tempted to change the subject. Being the Garza family fuck up was bad enough. Admitting it to Roman, who was so dedicated to his career that he wanted to chase actual, bona fide armed bank robbers instead of running away from them? Yeah, that wasn’t exactly going to boost her ego. But hiding her feelings wouldn’t make them any less realorany less shitty, and anyway, she couldn’t deny the truth.
Ever since Roman had laid down beside her on that cold marble bank floor and told her she was okay, Camila had trusted him with her life. She could sure as hell trust him with this.
“Of how much you love your job? Yeah, I’m definitely jealous,” she said, sorting through the boxes and cans as she spoke. “You’re so dedicated, and you clearly love what you do. Don’t get me wrong. I like my job well enough. It pays my bills, and I’m grateful to be employed.”
“But?” Roman asked.
She lifted one shoulder, continuing to pack the meal kits on her cart as she spoke. “But it’s my fifth job in twelve years, and they’ve all been in different fields.”
His brows lifted, just slightly, but it was his only sign of surprise. “What did you do before the job you have now?”
“I should probably start at the beginning. I got my bachelor’s in psychology. I didn’t really have a specific career path in mind when I was in college, and the classes were interesting enough,” she said. “My first job was an entry-level position in social work, which I liked but didn’t love. But moving up in that field would’ve meant getting an advanced degree, and I was hesitant to sink that sort of time and money into a career that I wasn’t head over heels for.”
“Seems fair. What came after that?”
“Let’s see.” Camila paused to tick off each job on her fingers. “I’ve been a customer service rep for an insurance company—zero stars, do not recommend, by the way—a massage therapist, and a human resources assistant. Oh, and the guidance counselor thing at the middle school, obviously.”
Rather than respond with a glib comment about how often she changed her mind or, worse yet, a judgy question about when she’d settle down and find a career she could stick to, he said, “So, you haven’t found the thing you love yet.”
“Much to my family’s dismay.”
“Sounds like there’s a story, there.”
But rather than push her to tell it, Roman simply kept packing up groceries and giving her room to breathe, and hell if that didn’t make it all the more easy for the words to break free.
“I’m the baby of the family,” Camila said, surprised when he nodded.
“The youngest of five. I remember from the night we met.” Her shock must’ve made its way to her face, because he tapped his temple and added, “I’m an FBI agent. Remembering details isn’t something I can just turn on and off. Plus, I was, you know. Interested in the conversation.”
Heat expanded, low in her belly, but she pressed past it to focus on the conversation. “Then you probably also remember that we’re all in each other’s business on a near-constant basis.”
Roman chuffed out a laugh. “I believe the word you used the night we met was ‘tight-knit’.”
“It’s the same thing,” she said, arching a brow at him as they stopped at the same crate of canned vegetables, each adding corn and boxes of instant mashed potatoes to their meal kits. “We’re close, which can be great. But there are very few boundaries when it comes to being a Garza, which means your love life, your career path—pretty much anything personal—is fair game for commentary, and meddling is its own love language. Which probably wouldn’t be so bad if I were like the rest of them.”
“Sorry, how do you mean?” Roman asked.
