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“I’m determined,” he retorts. “Where’s the shovel?”
“In the garage,” I say, throwing a thumb over my shoulder toward the back door in the kitchen. It leads out into a small fenced-in backyard that sits between the house and the freestanding garage off the back alley.
“Perfect.” He smiles, movie-star white, straight teeth that have never known the misery of a slap shot to the face.
Making himself right at home, he walks through my house to the back door. When he goes to open it, I finally start coming to my senses. “I’m about to make French toast for me and Travis. Want some?”
“That would be great,” he says without looking back at me. “Just yell when it’s done.”
And then he’s gone.
“Everyone wants me to yell at them when the food’s done,” I mutter, but inside, I’m chuckling.
I’m able to spy on Camden through the kitchen window as he clears snow from my back steps, presumably after he shoveled in front of the garage door, which I can’t see from this position.
The bacon is done and I’m about to dip the bread in the egg mixture when he opens the back door. “Mind if I cut through to do the front steps? I’m going to leave some mess behind.”
“Of course I don’t mind,” I say, waving him in. “But leave the shovel out there and kick off your boots. It won’t take me long to get this first batch of French toast done and you can eat before you go back out.”
“Sounds right by me.” He takes off his gloves and knit hat. His brownish-blond hair stands at crazy angles all over his head and the mom in me wants to smooth it down. The twinkle in his brown eyes speaks to his fun-loving nature, something I see every time I look at Travis.
The woman in me is well aware that Camden is no boy, though.
“What do you want to drink?” I ask as he shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over the back of a kitchen chair.
“Got any coffee?”
“Sure. I’ll make a pot.”
“I’ll make it,” he says easily. “Just point me in the right direction.”
While Camden expertly works the coffee pot, I dip and drop the thick bread slices onto the electric griddle. As the coffee brews, Camden leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest to watch me cook.
“Where’s Travis?” he asks.
I nod upward. “Video games.”
“I suppose he spent the morning outside. I saw the snowman.”
“That was a joint effort. But I had to get some work done and he was happy zoning out in front of the TV for a while. I’m sure he’ll go back out later.”
I manage to get four pieces of bread on the griddle when Camden says, “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”
That startles me so much, my body jolts. Not that I’m closed off or even put off, it’s just… I didn’t expect it, especially not with that low timbre of concern.
Turning slightly to face him, I say, “Sure.”
Camden unfolds his arms and presses his palms onto the counter near his hips. He glances around the house and then locks his gaze with mine. “Are you doing okay?”
I tilt my head sinceokayis a subjective term in my life. “How do you mean?”
His smile is slightly chagrined. “It’s probably none of my business but I can’t help but notice the change in your lifestyle since Mitch died. You used to live in a gorgeous home and you drove an Escalade. But now… you’re not. So I guess I’m asking, are you okay financially or do you need help?”
Heat prickles and then burns my cheeks. I involuntarily duck my head and turn back to the French toast, using the spatula to lift the corner of one to see how it’s doing. Not ready to flip yet, which means I can’t busy myself to avoid his question.
My hesitation prompts him to add, “Tell me to back off if you want, Dani. No judgment here. I only want to know if you’re okay.”
I take a deep breath and turn my head his way. “We weren’t quite prepared financially when Mitch died, so I’ve had to make a few changes.”
