Page 43 of Best Laid Plans (Rock Harbor #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CAM

C am could get used to this. It was Wednesday afternoon, and he was working in the kitchen during the lull between lunch and dinner, Elle seated on a stool near the prep table.

Her hair was up, legs crossed over one another with a notebook balanced on her shorts-clad thighs. She looked incredible, relaxed as she scratched something else down on the almost filled piece of paper she’d been writing on.

Even if this was the ‘lull,’ Cam was still busy as hell, though he didn’t want Elle to know that.

She may leave or–worse–try to jump in and help.

And then he’d have to watch her muddle around the kitchen, erratically chopping things or staring too long at boxes in the freezer in her desire to reorganize them for ‘maximum storage efficiency.’

Which would be nothing but a distraction for him, strangely attracted to every single thing she seemed to do, regardless of how much harder it made his own life.

Because the reality was that he loved having her here. They were almost done with the proposal for him to invest in Pierce’s, which he’d be sharing with Mr. and Mrs. Pierce this weekend. And what happened then? Well, he wouldn’t let himself think too far ahead on that one.

When she looked up, brown eyes scanning his face, Cam’s heart did this really inconvenient clench, as she stared at him with perfect, smiling lips that she was bouncing her pen against.

He tried to focus on continuing to methodically dice potatoes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s a really good proposal. It makes sense for you. It makes sense for my parents.”

“And it tells Heads & Tails exactly where they can shove it, right?” Cam said, opting for levity since the constriction in his heart hadn’t abated. He needed to get that under control or he may lose a much-needed finger.

Elle laughed, loud and melodious. “The new exterior sign has nothing to do with them.”

Cam raised an eyebrow and stilled his knife. Better safe than sorry. “What about the smaller signs that you’re trying to put up from the main drag to Pierce’s to lead foot traffic here?”

He loved the unapologetic, mischievous smile on her face. “That’s just great marketing. And it’s not my fault that Pierce’s has a great relationship with dozens of businesses in the area, all of whom would love to support the restaurant staying open.”

Elle had been busy this week, to put it mildly.

Along with the investment proposal, she’d worked on a marketing plan that would help increase foot traffic in spite of their less than ideal location.

All while staying up late into the night with Cam, who’d started sneaking into her bedroom every night after Wyatt had gone to bed.

And yeah, that made him feel a little shitty, but high school had started again on Monday, and Wyatt was so focused on the first football game of the season coming up on Friday night that he was early to bed and early to rise. Cam had barely seen him, their schedules like ships in the night.

He couldn’t say the same thing for Elle, who he’d now spent more hours with this week than he’d ever spent with another person unless it was because they worked in a kitchen together. And somehow… he only wanted more.

“Have you heard from Reynolds Consulting yet?” Cam asked, picking up his knife again and forcing himself back down to planet Earth. He may as well just stab it into his chest at this rate and get it over with faster.

An inscrutable look passed across Elle’s face, and she started picking at the edge of her notebook. “I haven’t yet. Which is really weird because I know that the interview went well. Dan all but told me they’d be making an offer.”

Cam nodded. The look made a lot more sense in that context.

They’d talked about the interview later in the night after their explosive sex last week, the first time that Cam had snuck into her room so they could sleep in the same bed after Wyatt had come back.

Elle Pierce usually accomplished what she set out to achieve, so he could only imagine how crazy it was driving her that all she could do was wait.

“No wonder your proposal went from a general outline to a multi-pronged badass three-year plan in a matter of days.”

Elle scoffed, even as she preened with the well-deserved praise. “I would have done that no matter what.”

But Cam continued to push. Because he was a stupid, stupid person who wanted to macerate his own heart.

It was exposure therapy at its finest. “I’m sure they just need to get the offer prepared.

If it was a no, you’d probably have already heard.

” For some masochistic reason, he needed Elle to say the words to him.

That she was excited about the job. That she was excited to leave Rock Harbor.

That she’d be gone as soon as the ink on her contract was dry, back to her old life and all of its trappings.

He wasn’t sure why, but she’d been less than enthusiastic in talking about the role, surprisingly mute on the subject over the last few days. Was this what Elle being nervous looked like? “It’s okay if you’re nervous about it.” He flashed a lopsided smile. “I won’t tell.”

Elle uncrossed her legs and hopped down from the stool. She walked over to him slowly, like a predator tracking its prey. “I’m not nervous. I’m… contemplative,” she said, her voice a little breathy.

Cam’s knife stilled again. He was going to be here chopping potatoes for the clam chowder all night at this rate.

But still… when a woman like Elle looked at you the way she was looking at him now, there was nothing to do but drop everything and bask in it.

Especially when it had an expiration date.

When she reached his side, she scratched lightly down his forearms. It was like she wanted to distract him, but from what?

For the last week, it was like they’d both been pretending that they could exist in this liminal space forever.

Amazing sex. Spending lazy mornings together.

Elle focused like a dog with a bone on getting the proposal together.

Cam pretending that Elle wasn’t going to get the call any day that she’d gotten the job, at which point she’d probably immediately make plans to go back to Boston.

But this was how he lived his life. Existing in the moment. Looking at what was right in front of him. There was no point in worrying about what came next, even if that’s exactly what he was doing.

And unless the Pierce family was involved in some way, he had never been the guy who tried to figure out how to make things work .

Now… as Elle ran her fingers up and down his arms playfully, scratching a methodical pattern that was driving him insane, he was thinking that Boston was less than ninety minutes away from Rock Harbor.

It’s not like Elle was moving to the moon.

The idea of them continuing to see one another wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

Only, every time he thought about it, an uncomfortable ro ck churned in his stomach.

As if Elle would want to put in that kind of effort–for him.

Cam, as a Boston bootycall for Elle was one thing.

Coordinating schedules and logistics and making one another a priority was something else entirely.

Because he couldn’t imagine being anything else to her. Elle Pierce was… incredible. And Cam had no plans to be the anchor that kept her harbored at the dock instead of out exploring the wide open sea and everything it had to offer.

He’d never been good at saying what he wanted. Even worse at going after it. So instead, he tilted his head down and captured Elle’s mouth in a surprised kiss. Her lips parted, a soft, fluttery exhale washing over his face.

His body ached with wanting, the sensation of being rooted in place as every molecule in his body screamed at him to do something . Tell her. Put it on the line.

But he couldn’t. He wasn’t a horse worth betting on, and salesmanship had never been one of his skills.

Instead, he leaned into the kiss, his arms wrapping around her smaller frame, mapping every curve and divot and inch of her body.

This was enough. For as long as he got to have it. It had to be.

The first Rock Harbor Lobsters football game of the season was tomorrow night. Which meant that when Cam returned to the apartment around nine p.m., Wyatt was in a mood.

Since Cam had known him, Wyatt had been ritualistic bordering on superstitious, focus and repetition the cornerstones of all his pregame rituals.

As a player in high school and college, it had been more focused on his own performance.

Now, as a coach, which Wyatt had been doing for the last five years at his alma mater, the process looked a little bit different.

As Cam shut the door behind him, he heard the tell-tale signs of the ritual already in full swing. A curated playlist of seventies music blasted through the apartment. Cam strained his ear. ‘Crocodile Rock,’ if he was remembering correctly.

Tomorrow, with the team, it would be a mix of contemporary rap and hip hop to get more pumped up ahead of the game. But tonight, Wyatt was relaxing and getting in the zone.

Cam could hear the shower running, which was such an unhelpful sound, given that he knew who was on the other side.

He put his water bottle down on the counter.

Wyatt stood a few feet away, methodically cleaning the kitchen cabinets.

“You know they’ve come out with like… fifty more years of music since this playlist,” he teased, trying to distract himself.

Wyatt gave him a side-eye but continued cleaning. “Why mess with a good thing? We won state last year with me listening to this playlist every Thursday night.”

Cam nodded seriously. “I’ve always heard great things about the power of music.”

“Don’t yuck someone else’s yum, Cameron,” he chastised.