Page 6 of Best Laid Plans (Rock Harbor #1)

CHAPTER FOUR

CAM

Cam

Prob a good time to mention that I decided to get out of the city and I’m at your apartment.

Wyatt

Celeb status getting to be too much? Being mobbed in the streets? Women throwing themselves at you?

Cam

Shut up. And speaking of unexpected women…

Wyatt

Oh shit.

Cam

Yeah man, I’m aware. Your sister tried to murder me with a baseball bat last night.

Wyatt

Feels right for where things were at when I left. Everything good?

Cam

I’ll make it work.

Wyatt

How long you in town for? Will I see you when I get back?

Cam

Let’s say that my boss and I are having creative differences. Can I let you know?

Wyatt

Has the fame gone to your head? Did you sleep with his wife or something?

Cam

Man, I wish it was that simple.

Wyatt

All good. Stay as long as you need. I’m sure Elle will chill out in a few days.

C am, so far, was finally getting the blissful solitude that he’d been hoping for. He’d been in the small kitchen for the last ten minutes, scrounging around to see what the food in Wyatt’s fridge could amount to for breakfast.

It was a decent haul, considering that Wyatt was out of town for two weeks.

A dozen eggs left in a two-dozen box. Typical of his best friend.

A couple of red peppers that were just on the right side of fresh.

Onion, set in a bowl atop the small kitchen island.

Fresh spinach, which looked newly purchased.

He felt the makings of a plan coming together when he spotted a block of cheddar cheese in one of the drawers.

Guess he was eating an omelette. And in spite of whatever the hell it was that had happened with Elle this morning–and last night, if he was being honest–he started prepping enough for two.

He also had a slinking suspicion that Wyatt had left his sister some provisions until she went to the store herself, and Cam wasn’t going to come into a home to steal all the food like a thief. Not that he got the impression that Elle would be using it anytime soon.

After washing the vegetables, he threw a towel over his shoulder and pulled a chef’s knife out of the butcher’s block next to the stove. He made it a point to sharpen them for Wyatt whenever he was in town, glad to see how cleanly it still sliced through the pepper.

He chopped quickly, using practiced, easy movements that allowed his mind to drift as he entered a flow state. After finishing with the pepper, he grabbed the onion. His large hand bent at the knuckle to hold it in place. He let his mind wander, even though he knew where it was going to lead him.

Elle. Annoying. Attractive. Still his best friend’s little sister.

Cam needed to remember exactly who she was–someone he had no business thinking about–and keep her safely in that box.

But still, he wasn’t going to be an asshole just for the sake of it.

Even if Elle wanted to survive on food that would outlast the apocalypse, she’d get breakfast, too, and maybe learn that there was a flavor profile other than ‘processed.’

After he found a shredder in one of the drawers, he turned on the stove and threw in some olive oil to saute the peppers and onions .

He wasn’t a snob about food, even though he knew how that sounded. He loved it. Cooking it. Sharing it. Studying it.

This morning, he’d been studying Elle the exact same way. Which, in his defense, only made him human.

He wasn’t oblivious to the way that some women looked at him, but Elle had taken him by surprise. The way her eyes had grown slightly larger, her mouth pouting into a little ‘o’ shape that had no business looking so attractive. He hadn’t been lying. She had an incredible mouth.

But he should have never said that. They were oil and water. To her, he’d always be the sullen kid that got into fistfights growing up. And she was the hometown girl who made good and moved away.

They didn’t value the same things, at all.

But he was a big enough man to admit that she was too damn pretty for her own good.

He couldn’t stop himself, last night playing through his mind as he sautéed the vegetables at the same time he cracked the eggs and then whisked them together.

Elle had been mostly a lump of blanket and the whole ‘trying to kill him with a baseball bat’ had taken center stage. Now, he had time to focus on the important things. Like how Elle had been a little spitfire, willing to go toe-to-toe with an intruder.

He smiled as he moved the vegetables out of the pan and added a little more oil.

Within another minute, half the egg mixture he’d whipped up was covered with a lid and beginning to set beautifully.

It only took a few minutes longer for everything to come together before Cam placed a perfectly fluffy omelette on one of the plates he’d gotten out.

While he ate the one he’d just made, he repeated the process and in another five minutes, he had a second–in his opinion–faultless omelette that could make Elle forget all about the box of Poptarts on the counter that he knew she’d been the one to bring into the apartment .

He debated his next step as he quickly washed the dishes and replaced them in the kitchen, like he’d never been there.

He didn’t take for granted that as an executive chef, his dishwashing days were over.

It’s where he’d gotten his start in professional kitchens outside of Rock Harbor, spending years with dry, cracked hands that could now withstand aggressively hot temperatures.

Deciding not to overthink it, he strode over to the guest bedroom and knocked on the door. The rules to ignore one another didn’t count when hot food was at stake. Even Elle should be able to understand that.

She opened the door, bleary-eyed, rubbing her face like she’d just woken up.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were sleeping,” Cam said instinctively. He really wasn’t trying to get under her skin. At this moment, specifically.

“Didn’t sleep well last night,” she admitted in her sleep-soaked haze. “Showered and then crashed again.”

Cam tucked his hands in his pockets and turned sideways, tilting his head toward the kitchen. “I’m heading downstairs, but I made you an omelette. It’s on the island.”

Elle blinked a few times before yawning. “A peace offering?”

Damnit, he liked this version of her, sleepy and less guarded, like she didn’t automatically assume he was the anti-Christ. “Sure, let’s call it that.”

Her eyes grew more alert when she realized that Cam was staring at her oversized Rock Harbor Lobsters football t-shirt, which brushed the tops of her thighs.

“What are you looking at?” She crossed her arms to cover herself. Like she hadn’t flaunted her tits in his face a few hours ago.

“You’re wearing my t-shirt,” he said incredulously, pushing down the unexpected stirring of feelings it caused. Women didn’t have his clothes. Most women had never even seen inside his bedroom. And it was less complicated that way.

Between his chef’s schedule, roommates, and–most importantly–his unwillingness to pretend like he was built for a normal life, it was a situation that has honestly never come up.

Becoming a chef was the perfect schedule for someone who wanted to avoid having a traditional life.

He didn’t mind failing at things, but he wasn’t going to take someone else down with him.

But here was Elle Pierce, incredibly soft looking legs, sleep-mussed hair, and fuck–those lips–looking like she’d just spent the night getting wrecked and had put on a memento to keep Cam close. Not that she knew how Cam felt about that shirt, particularly.

Elle, however, was not of the same opinion. She stood up straight and leveled him with a look . “This is not your t-shirt. I’ve had this shirt for like fifteen years. I stole it from Wyatt, if we’re getting technical.”

Cam laughed in disbelief. This was going to be fun, and he couldn’t help the desire to rile Elle up.

“Because I joined the football team for about two weeks. Your brother convinced me to, our Freshman year. There,” he said, pointing, “you can see the streaks that I got on it when your dad had us paint the restaurant.”

Elle looked down at the threadbare shirt, studying it closely, like she was noticing the splotches of blue for the first time.

Years ago, it clashed with the vibrant red of the lobster, which was now just a faded pink.

“Were you a hulk at fourteen, too? I don’t remember that,” Elle said, that last part seemingly to herself before she met Cam’s eyes again.

“It was an extra they gave me to practice,” he admitted, though it had been oversized, then.

He hadn’t hit his growth spurt until the following summer when he’d shot up by about a foot, overnight, it had felt like.

It had probably been meant for some booster club member who wanted to relive his old glory days, but it had ended up in Cam’s hands.

“Late bloomer?” Elle’s tone was teasing, but she still had her hands wrapped around the shirt like there was nothing that would part her from it.

“Something like that.” Not that Elle knew it, but Cam wasn’t going to fight her on it. He’d assumed that it had ended up in some donation bin, though he hadn’t thought about it in a long time. His pre-season on the football team was not a happy memory.

Getting hit at home and on the field hadn’t been a good time, and since he couldn’t lash out at one of those places, football practice had suffered the brunt of his unchecked anger.

It was no surprise when he’d been kicked off the team, and honestly, he was glad to have more time to spend in the Pierces’ kitchen.

Once he’d gotten bigger–imposing enough that he could stand his ground with his dad, he’d forgotten all about his ill-advised time on the team. Wyatt, however, had taken to football like a duck to water, never looking back.

“Okay, well… I feel like the finders keeper’s policy is probably in effect at this point,” Elle said, her voice hedging, like she really thought that Cam may take it from her.