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CHAPTER 3

Little Victories Bucket List No. 13: Make a new friend

The man's sharp words about not trusting strangers hung heavy in the air. Cammie wasn’t na?ve enough to believe that everyone she met had good intentions. But in her experience, it was the people she should have trusted the most that were the least trustworthy. Namely, her monster of a father.

She shuddered, the betrayal a cold fist clenching her heart, the image of her father’s true self and his unspeakable acts seared into her mind. The memory sent a wave of icy dread through her. One day, could she possibly reflect on those past days without feeling the intense, physical reaction she had now? Could she ever reach a point where the thought of those days wouldn’t trigger the familiar tremor in her hands, the rapid beating of her heart, and the suffocating feeling of horror? What she wouldn’t give for a moment of peace, a moment free from her fear, worries, and anxiety. The ache in her heart was palpable as she thought of that indeterminate, obscure time. A moment she yearned for with every fiber of her being.

But for now, she pushed all thoughts of her father and a future free from his evil reach away to focus on the man in front of her. Safely on the ground, she could finally see him clearly, and took in every detail. A wide chest and broad shoulders dominated her view, requiring her to crane her neck to see his face. She knew she was short, but she figured this guy was well above the average male in the height department. Considering his size, she fantasized about what it would feel like if he hugged her; she imagined it would be an all-encompassing experience.

She tore her mind away from that thought and focused on his face. His dark hair, dampened slightly with sweat from his recent run, clung to his forehead and she felt the inexplicable desire to brush it aside. Strong brow, full lips, sharp cheekbones, all combined to create a dazzling display of man, and while she found all those many aspects of him attractive, it was undeniably the intense, captivating gaze in his eyes that ensnared her the most completely.

There were stories behind those dark orbs. Stories she instinctively knew were locked away, a silent burden he carried. In her mind’s eye, she could imagine the darker flecks of brown scattered across his irises as tiny, dark marks holding the memories of some past traumas or hurts he had endured. Like a constellation of sorrows. And the dark circle surrounding them represented the box where he kept them tightly confined and hidden from view. His eyes, pools of untold stories, sparked a torrent of emotion within her, leaving her breathless and utterly captivated.

She shook her head, mentally berating herself for her quixotic thoughts.

“I’ve seen the very worst of what humanity is capable of, sprite. Trusting a stranger so quickly isn’t smart,” he said, his brow furrowed as he misinterpreted her subtle head shake.

Strangely, his assertion, a statement advising against trusting him, did nothing to dissuade her; in fact, it merely caused a smile to spread across her face. “If you were really untrustworthy, you would have walked on, leaving me in that tree. Probably snagging my bag on your way past. I think I can risk trusting you.”

A sudden flare ignited in his eyes, hinting at a complex mixture of emotions that were difficult to read. She had barely begun to consider it when he swiftly and completely erased any emotion from his face, leaving it blank and impassive. The sight of him so quickly hiding himself away from her caused a hollow ache to form in her chest, a feeling of emptiness and rejection that settled deeply within her.

What the hell was wrong with her? She’d just met the man. Heck, she didn’t even know his name. It was utterly baffling how the mere act of gazing into his eyes could evoke such a powerful, almost overwhelming torrent of emotion within her.

He shrugged his broad shoulders, a silent gesture that said, “It’s your call.” Then he started walking away. “Come on. Let’s get that scratch treated.”

Hastily grabbing her bag from the base of the tree where she had placed it, she ran to keep pace with his significantly longer strides. As she drew alongside him, his paces visibly shortened to match hers.

“I’m Camila. Cammie,” she said, introducing herself with her new name for the first time. Surprisingly, it came easier than she expected.

“Jeeves.”

Intrigued and slightly perplexed by the unusual name, she tilted her head and stared at him, a brow furrowed in confusion. “Nickname,” he said by way of explanation. She thought he’d leave it at that, but then he continued. “Wade Butler.”

“Ah. Butler. Now Jeeves makes sense. Clever. Mind if I stick with Wade?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Wade it is, then.” After a few quiet steps, she asked. “You from around here?” She was referring to Bell Creek, the small town in the foothills of the Blue Ridge mountains that served as her current hiding place.

“Transplant.”

She liked that response, curt as it was. “Me too.”

“So you said.”

“What brought you here?”

“Job.”

“What do you do?”

The man’s pause was brief, a mere hesitation, but because she was so attuned to him, she felt its impact immediately. “Security.”

Cammie wasn’t sure that was the full answer to his job, but it was all he was willing to share with a virtual stranger at the moment. She had the sense that he had an active job. He was fit and had an edge that told her he’d had specialized training. Former military, perhaps. The SEAL’s that had rescued her had that same bearing. The men that had taken her had that same edge too, but she felt that Wade’s was different. An edge that was meant for good, not evil.

“I’m currently looking for a job so . . .” She let the sentence trail off, unsure where she wanted to go with it. It seemed preposterous, almost laughable, to ask him if he knew of any job openings.

“What do you do?”

Oh. That question had her suddenly stymied. What did she do? She’d never had a job while she’d lived with her father. At least not a paying one. She’d been her father’s maid, cook, and slave—a life of drudgery and servitude—without a moment’s peace until the day she wasn’t. With a determined shake of her head, she pushed aside those thoughts and focused on his question.

Her interest in coffee was merely a hobby. She’d never made a living off of the pursuit of the perfect brew, so she was unsure how to answer his question honestly. She settled on, “Barista,” the lie tasting as bitter as coffee on her tongue.

He was quiet for a moment and Cammie thought that was the end to their conversation, but then he said, “There is a bakery in town. The pastries are good, but the coffee is shit. Owner might be hiring.”

His offhand suggestion completely took her by surprise, leaving her momentarily speechless. “Um . . . okay. I’ll have to check it out.”

As they arrived at the parking lot, Wade guided her towards an enormous truck, the sheer size of which prompted a burst of laughter from her. “Overcompensating for something?”

A barely perceptible twitch played at the corners of his lips. “Trust me, sprite. I don’t need to overcompensate for anything.”

Her cheeks flushed instantly, a burning red spreading across her skin like wildfire. “Okay, then,” she muttered with a sudden desire to check the validity of his statement.

As he opened the back door and leaned in, she caught a glimpse of a spark in his eye and a slight grin, a subtle clue that suggested he was aware of the direction of her thoughts. She believed that the mortifying experience of being stuck in a tree represented the absolute pinnacle of her embarrassing moments, a high point of humiliation. Clearly, the day promised a wealth of cringe-worthy situations yet to unfold, each one including a fresh wave of awkwardness.

This current state of affairs did not reflect her true abilities; she was capable of so much more. She knew that. It was time to stop letting these little annoyances, these minor indignities, chip away at her peace of mind. She had escaped a harrowing future, a terrifying ordeal that had tested her strength and resilience, and she knew, beyond any doubt, that she was a capable and strong woman who now possessed the freedom to chart her own course in life.

With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and willed the redness in her cheeks to dissipate. Believing she had triumphed, her moment of victory was short-lived as Wade, his deep voice a commanding rumble that sent a shiver down her spine, approached, first-aid kit in hand, and uttered the words, “Turn around and lift your shirt.”

Yep. Those words, like a spark igniting tinder, set her mind ablaze with a whirlwind of fantasies, each more vivid and tempting than the last. The central theme mostly involving him and a bed.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't realize how long she had been standing there until she felt a touch on her shoulders, a gentle nudge that prompted her to turn around. She was beginning to despise that irritating little twitch at the corner of his mouth, a quick flicker she only noticed in the periphery. And only during her humiliating moments. So much for her self-image as a strong, capable woman.

His fingers brushed lightly against her lower back, sending shivers down her spine before warm air caressed her bare skin as he lifted her shirt, revealing the long, angry scratch. “Hold this up,” he ordered.

Cammie tightened her elbows and held the shirt up just below her breasts and waited. Only when the alcohol wipe made sharp contact with her skin did she realize she’d been holding her breath; the sudden, chilling sensation causing a startled exhale. Against her flushed skin, the wipe offered a welcome chill. Yet, as his fingers grazed her skin, a spark ignited, spreading like wildfire, leaving goosebumps and a feeling of intense heat in its wake.

Jiminy. What was that? She’d never felt such a profound, almost overwhelming sensation from another person's touch before. A man she’d just met. This could not be happening.

A man was not the plan.

Staying safe and free. That was the plan.

Anything else was just ridiculous.

With the immense truck looming next to her, Cammie's gaze was fixed resolutely on the distance as Wade carefully applied an antiseptic-soaked cotton pad to the wound on her lower back. She flinched.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp. “Almost done.”

His hands were gentle, careful. It felt oddly intimate—the silence, the brush of his fingertips, the soft warmth of his breath behind her. She hadn’t expected her day to proceed like this: stuck in a tree, rescued by a man who looked like he’d walked straight off the pages of a survivalist calendar, and now half-undressed in standing beside his truck while he played medic.

“Okay, I have to ask,” he said, wiping away the last of the blood. “Why were you in a tree?”

She let out a breath, one that almost turned into a laugh. “Because I never got to be in one as a kid.”

He paused. “What?”

“I wasn’t . . . allowed to do much. My father was strict. Overbearing, really. I wasn’t allowed to get dirty, to be loud, to run wild or act like a child at all. So now, I’m trying to catch up on everything I missed.” She smiled, wincing slightly as he pressed a fresh bandage in place. “Climbing a tree was on my list.”

“Your list?” he asked, stepping around to look her in the eyes.

She nodded, suddenly shy. “It’s silly, I know.”

“No,” he said softly, and there was something in his gaze that made her breath catch. “It’s . . . different. Brave.”

The air between them shifted, warmed. He was still crouched slightly, his hand resting lightly on her hip to steady her, his eyes scanning hers like he could read all the parts of her story she hadn’t yet told. She felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the cut on her back—and everything to do with how deeply he was seeing her.

“You’ve got more things on that list?” he asked, voice rough.

Her smile curled. “Plenty.”

“Well then,” he said, stepping back slowly, reluctantly. “We better make sure you’re in one piece for all of them.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the words or the way he said them, but her heart fluttered like a nervous bird in her chest. She’d just met him . . . and yet, she felt like this was the start of something worth writing at the top of any list.

Cammie tugged the hem of her shirt down carefully over the fresh bandage. “Thanks, by the way. For not laughing. Or . . .lecturing me about tree safety.” She paused with a laugh. “At least not lecturing me too much,” she said remembering his gentle scolding about climbing the tree alone.

Wade leaned against the truck, arms crossed, watching her with an amused glint in his eyes. “I might save the lecture for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

He shrugged. “Assuming you don’t plan to go skydiving before breakfast. You seem like the type who might.”

She laughed. “That one’s actually on the list.”

“Of course it is.” He shook his head, smiling. “What else is on there?”

She tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm . . . roasting a marshmallow over a real campfire. Learning to ride a bike without training wheels—don’t judge me. Catching fireflies. Oh—and kissing someone just because I want to.”

That last one slipped out before she could think better of it. Her cheeks flushed instantly, and she darted her eyes away.

Jeeves didn’t speak right away, but she felt the shift in the air again—like the atmosphere had suddenly become charged. When she looked back at him, he wasn’t smiling anymore. He was watching her, closely. Like she’d said something that cracked open a door he hadn’t meant to walk through.

“You’ve never kissed someone?” he asked quietly.

“Nope.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Sheltered childhood, remember?” She knew that admitting to that she was also confessing to a much better secret. One that had to do with her virginity.

Wade stepped forward then, slowly, closing the space between them. His hand lifted, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and lingered against her cheek. “I see.”

The quiet intensity of his words nearly undid her. He was so close she could feel the warmth of him, the steadiness that seemed to pulse off his skin.

“And if you ever do want to cross that one off the list,” he said, his voice deep and gentle, “I’d be honored to be the guy.”

She smiled, heart pounding, breath catching. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He nodded, his thumb tracing lightly along her jaw before stepping back, giving her space. Respecting her. It only made her want him more.

He glanced at his smart watch and winced. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to get cleaned up and ready for work.”

She tried to hide her disappointment but didn’t know how successful she was at it. “Oh. Okay. Again, thanks for the save.”

“It’s what I do,” he returned. “See you around, sprite.”

With that, he climbed into his truck. As he drove away, she watched, a smile playing on her lips, the sound of his engine fading into the distance, and a feeling of thrilling possibilities washed over her. A flutter of excitement hit her. Something new and wonderful was about to begin, promising untold adventures.