Page 18 of Best Laid Plans (Rock Harbor #1)

Becca’s eyes went wide. “So you’re like… roommates? Is he still broody and mysterious? Did you two talk about your childhood love of him? How’s it going? I cannot believe you buried the lede.”

“I guess yes, technically. Yes, absolutely. No, I’ll take it to the grave,” Elle responded in rapid-fire succession.

She drained the rest of her iced coffee, unsure if she was feeling so keyed up from the extra caffeine or where this conversation was going.

She had to talk about it with someone, or she was going to go insane. “As for your last question…”

Becca uncrossed her legs and leaned closer, her forearms resting on the table. She waited with baited breath. “Tell me. ”

“It’s an… emerging situation,” Elle managed, not sure how to explain everything.

“Shut the fuck up,” Becca squealed. “Did something happen between you two?”

“We’ve had… moments,” is what Elle settled on. God knows where Cam’s head was at with the whole thing, but they definitely weren’t on the same page. “He seems very intent to leave them at that.”

“Idiot.” Becca looked aghast in her honor, and Elle appreciated it immensely.

Elle could still remember how his hands had felt on her body in the restaurant kitchen.

How she’d have done anything for him to keep going.

It had been electric, as she’d been enveloped in his scent and his touch.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d wanted something so badly, to get lost in what was happening between them.

To feel relief between her legs, that no amount of touching herself had quelled since yesterday.

“He’s definitely attracted to me.” Elle thought about the bulge in his boxer briefs last night. She’d wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, to take him in her hands and her mouth and make him forget any semblance of control or resistance to the idea of them giving in.

“So, what’s the problem?” Which was a very valid question, as far as Elle was concerned. It’s not like she was requesting that he ask for her hand in marriage.

“We didn’t exactly get off on the right foot,” Elle admitted. “I sort of hit him with a baseball bat.”

Becca’s jaw dropped. Her hand went slack, and she just managed to keep a hold on her coffee cup. And then, Becca burst out laughing, the sound filling the entire cafe.

“I thought he was breaking into Wyatt’s house,” Elle defended.

“And regardless, I have been forthright with him regarding my intentions. Post-assault, of course. Ball’s in his court, now.

” She didn’t need to get into the exact details of basically propositioning Cam in the apartment kitchen last night.

Especially when he hadn’t taken the bait.

“Well, m’lady, as long as you’ve been forthright , I’m sure his post will come henceforth regarding his response to your intentions,” Becca said with a poorly executed British accent.

Elle rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

“So what happens next?”

“Nothing?” Elle answered honestly. She’d already thrown herself at the man once. “We’re working at the festival starting tomorrow. I’m still looking for a new job in Boston. Cam’s doing… whatever it is that he’s doing. And he seems to think that anything between us would be too complicated .”

“He is your brother’s best friend,” Becca acknowledged.

Elle scoffed. She did not need realism right now. Not when she knew how good Cam’s body had felt against hers. “Whose side are you on?”

“Always yours,” Becca said seriously, and Elle knew that it was true. Even after the years and unsaid words between them. It was the glimmer of positivity in what had become a chaotic and confusing trip home.

“I don’t have a lot of dignity left, but it’s enough that if I throw myself at that man one more time, there’d better be a cliff on the other side when he moves to rebuff me again that plunges me to my death.”

Becca shrugged. “Then don’t overthink it. Have fun. Be normal. See where things go. Seems like you two keep being drawn together, and things like that have a way of working themselves out. One way or another.”

“‘Be normal’ is your sage advice?” Emotionally, Elle was shifting between a teenager with a crush and a woman who wanted to take control of her desires and mount Cam like a stallion she needed to break. She didn’t know what ‘normal’ was, anymore.

Becca snort laughed. “Glad that’s what you took away from that.” She glanced down at her watch. “Sorry I can’t stay too long. I dropped Zoe off early before my afternoon shift, but I have to get over to the inn.”

“I’ll walk you back to work?” Elle asked, standing up and then sliding her laptop into her bag. A walk with Becca in the morning sunshine was far preferable to staring at a screen and whoring herself out to companies who didn’t care if she existed or not.

Becca’s smile was genuine and infectious, and Elle smiled right back. “Sure. I’d like that.”

It was Friday late afternoon, and Elle had never been so grateful for the steady line of people at the Pierce’s Seafood Co.

’s stand. It meant that she didn’t have to notice how Cam’s forearms flexed as he manned the grill in his black t-shirt that she knew had to be dripping with sweat.

His backwards hat covered his neck, but she could see a few beads trickling down before disappearing under the neck of his t-shirt.

Not that she was paying attention. Because truly, she was busy .

The stall was small. And hot. So fucking hot. The plastic sides were drawn on the back and sides of their little slice of hell, which meant that any possibility for a draft was nothing more than a pipedream.

She knew that she looked like a mess, her ponytail askew from running back and forth so quickly to grab orders. It was very likely that she smelled like she, herself, had been dropped in the industrial frier they’d brought. And her pores… all she had to say to her exfoliator was good luck, babe.

“Two flights,” Cam said from behind her. He’d been cooking non-stop since ten a.m., finding time to assemble the dishes, too. It was hard not to be impressed with him, face focused in concentration, his hands moving on auto-pilot between prepping, cooking, and plating.

Elle shot him a grateful smile. The food was all Cam, but the flights had been Elle’s idea. Making the small plates even smaller and billing them as a sampler. They could charge more for the variety, and it allowed customers to try more of what the restaurant had available.

“Two flights,” Elle said to the middle-aged woman with dark, wavy brown hair and a fanny pack around her waist.

“Is it true that the winner of Ultimate Chef is cooking at your booth today?” she asked, peeking around Elle and trying to get a good view of Cam on the grill.

“Sure is. Cam Devers, Boston-chef wunderkind that he is, got his start in the kitchen at Pierce’s Lobster Co. as a teenager. Seems like it’s the least he could do,” Elle said, grinning mischievously. She wasn’t above hamming it up to push as much word-of-mouth business as she could.

Her libido and Cam’s brush-off aside, Cam didn’t need to be here. It wasn’t his family’s business on the line. But he was showing up. For her parents. For her brother. And maybe, though she didn’t allow the thought to sit for too long, for her , too.

Or, she was just deluding herself, and if Cam had been able to pick, she would have been the last person he’d have agreed to pack himself into a fiery sardine tin with for the day.

Cam’s voice called from behind her as the woman walked away. “Scallops are eighty-sixed.”

Elle shot him a confused look. “What?”

He smiled broadly and made a slashing motion across his chest. “Sold out. Done. Finito. Nada mas.”

“Can we grab the ones for tomorrow?” Elle asked, looking at the line of half-a-dozen people waiting to order.

Cam laughed, surprisingly joyful about the situation. “Those were the ones for tomorrow. I’m going to see what your dad has at the restaurant or head down to the docks and try to broker a deal.”

Elle grabbed the piece of chalk set on top of the long table that they were using as a counter. “That sounds like a later problem then.”

They had six small bites that could be purchased individually or in a flight where the customer selected four options. Elle quickly crossed off the scallops from their chalkboard menu, which elicited more than a few groans.

Elle shot Cam a grin. “You’re disappointing your fans.”

“Unless they’re fair weather fans, in which case–who needs ‘em–we’ll see them tomorrow.” With the brief lull of Elle taking orders, Cam lifted his shirt and wiped his face.

Elle wanted to look away, but she couldn’t help herself. His abs were on full display, glistening from the heat. She wanted to lick them. God, he looked good. The fire from the burners paled in comparison to the temperature ratcheting up inside her body, melting her from the inside out.

Sexy and competent. This so wasn’t her fault.

When she moved her focus up enough to meet Cam’s stare, she caught him looking at her.

The hem of his t-shirt was fisted into his hand, and Elle wished desperately that it was her own.

He looked hungry , the way his eyes roamed across her face and chest, and she wondered what he saw.

What he wanted to do about it. What he’d let himself do about it, if he stopped worrying about what could go wrong and focused, instead, on everything that could go right.

Her body thrummed with awareness, most persistent between her thighs, and she pushed her legs together.

“Excuse me?” A voice called from behind her. The next person in line, Elle realized with a groan.

It was like whatever spell Cam had been caught up in was broken as she felt the moment between them dissipate.

He looked back to the burners, very focused on anything except Elle.

She already missed the electricity in those green eyes.

In the idea of possibility, and how much she wanted to know exactly what Cam felt like against her, slick with sweat.

But she’d promised that she wasn’t going to push things. So, instead, she turned back to the customer waiting to order and pasted on her best smile. “So sorry about that. What can I get you?”