Page 34 of Pretty Desperate (Pine Village #6)

“That’s not like you, honey. What happened? Did you bump into something?” Lydia asks, pulling my attention away from the woman beside me and across the table.

She drops her eyes for a second before responding. “I don’t know. I got a little lightheaded, but it passed quickly. I’m fine,” she assures her parents before taking a sip of water and giving them a smile. But her smile seems off. Forced. Fake.

“Well, I’m sure the new cake will be better than the first. You’re the best baker in the state,” Dennis boasts to his daughter proudly.

“Thanks, Dad,” she replies as the margarita is delivered to our table.

I want to ask her about her dizzy spell, but don’t want to make a big deal of it either.

At least not in front of her parents. Instead, I let Nicholas do his thing and take our orders.

“This week, we have a slow roasted prime rib on special, as well as crab au Gratin with a homemade creamy cheese sauce, and our side is a baked potato or horseradish smashed potatoes. You also get to choose between a side salad or cup of soup, which is creamy asparagus this evening.”

I’ve heard the specials before—obviously, since I set them—but I’ve rarely been rewarded with watching the excitement pass through the eyes of those about to enjoy them.

And Jillian? She seems downright ravenous now that she’s heard the list, which makes me both excited and worried.

When was the last time she ate? Has she eaten at all today?

She seemed to inhale what I brought her last night, but perhaps she hasn’t gotten the proper nourishment today, which is why she’s felt dizzy?

I had a roommate in culinary school who would get sick when he had low blood sugar.

Maybe that’s what’s going on with Jillian, and if it is, I can definitely fix that.

She will eat until she’s ready to burst.

We all place our orders and dive into easy conversation.

Jillian drinks her margarita and even when talk is turned toward me, I can’t seem to take my eyes off her.

She seems to relax a little, probably thanks to the tequila, and engages effortlessly in discussions about her bakery, her parents’ work, and some chores they still need to do around the house before the cold winter sets in.

Conversation turns to me, just as our meals are delivered. “So, what made you choose the route you took, Kameron?” Lydia asks with interest as she uses her fork to cut a piece of her crab dish.

“Well, believe it or not, I have always loved cooking. I used to help my mom in the kitchen a lot when I was growing up,” I tell her, my throat starting to clog with emotion.

“It became our thing, something we’d do together often.

” It helped us heal, I want to say but keep that nugget to myself.

I rarely talk about my brother and what life was like after he passed away.

“That’s wonderful, not only because you learned such a difficult craft, but that you have memories to carry with you throughout the rest of your life.” Lydia gives me a knowing smile, clearly understanding the deep meaning of why I chose the path I did.

I flash her a small smile before glancing over to Jillian. She’s having the prime rib, and I remember a conversation we had very early on in our…relationship. She doesn’t like fish but doesn’t seem to mind shrimp. “Would you like to try some of my crab au Gratin?”

She glances down at it and wrinkles her nose. “It doesn’t look very appetizing,” she murmurs.

Taking a small bite with my fork, I make sure there’s a taste of the creamy cheese sauce on top and hold it out toward her. “Try it.”

Her green eyes bounce between the food on my fork and my own eyes eagerly watching, waiting.

Holding my gaze, she leans my way and wraps her lips around my fork.

If her parents weren’t sitting at the table, I might picture those very lips wrapping around something else, but I push all thoughts of that out of my head right now.

“Well?” I ask when she swallows.

“It’s good,” she replies, seeming surprised.

“Of course it is,” I tell her with a wink, undeniably cocky when it comes to my food. “Here.” I carefully scoop some of the food off my plate and set it on hers.

“I can’t take your food,” she insists.

“Sure you can,” I reply, recalling how she got lightheaded earlier. She can have all my food if it means she’s healthy and well again.

“Thank you,” she mutters, her leg bouncing a little under the table.

“You’re welcome.” Feeling two sets of eyes on me, I look up and give her parents a quick smile. “How’s your food?”

“The crab au Gratin is delicious,” Lydia insists, already halfway through her first one. “And the smashed potatoes are so tangy and perfect.”

I nod before turning my gaze to Dennis. “How’s your steak, sir?”

“Very good, Kameron,” he replies, taking only his second bite of meat. He chose to pair his steak with a baked potato, loaded with butter, sour cream, and fresh chives. After he chews and swallows, he asks, “I hear you’re buying the building next door.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I sense Jillian’s tension escalate. “Yes, sir. Mrs. Krokus has decided to sell her building to me for a restaurant expansion.”

He nods. “That’s exciting. Do you think you have enough business for that?” he asks, watching me intently.

“Dad,” Jillian chastises, as if his question isn’t a valid one.

I glance her way and smile, letting her know it’s okay.

“Actually, sir, yes. The last three years have seen a steady growth, despite the season. Obviously, the heavy tourist season will see a greater need for the space, but we often fill up on Saturday nights and Sunday afternoons. Plus, we’ve had more inquiries for small dinner parties or gatherings, and with the current space we have, it can be difficult to meet their needs. ”

“But surely, it’ll take more of your time and energy to expand and renovate.” He glances at his daughter, and I catch his meaning loud and clear.

Taking Jillian’s hand in mine, I give it a gentle squeeze as an easy smile crests my lips. “I’m sure it will be, sir, but I’ll always make time for your daughter. Spending time with her isn’t a hardship or a chore. In fact,” I turn to look at the woman beside me, “it’s my favorite part of the day.”

She smiles back at me, and in this moment, it feels genuine.

My feelings.

Our relationship.

Dennis gives me a nod, obviously happy with my response. He reaches for his drink and holds it up. “To Jillian and Kameron. To growing together, even when life wants to pull you apart.”

My throat is thick as I grab my water glass and clink it against the other three. As I take a needed sip of the cold liquid, my eyes seek her out, watching as she takes a drink of her margarita.

We enjoy the rest of our meal, and the mood feels much lighter than it did at the beginning. It’s as if I received their blessing, and perhaps with my little speech, I did. I don’t know if Jillian believes what I said, but I meant every word.

It wasn’t something to say to make her dad happy.

They were real.

Every reason for embarking on our original agreement seems to have long faded away until there’s only me and Jillian left. Not the other bullshit. In less than three weeks, I went from barely knowing the real her to craving her every second of every day. How wild is that?

I’m desperate again, but for an entirely different reason.

I’m desperate for her.