Page 9 of Things We Tell Ourselves

Camille stares at her, confused by her admission. Leah doesn’t look away from Wade.

“Now apologize for bursting in here and projecting your fears of commitment.”

Wade frowns, rolling his eyes slightly. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” Leah retorts, pointing him to Camille. “The company has a decent-sized deal on the table, and you just made the inventor of Oxygen Recycler chase you through my house with a bat.”

His eyes enlarge, glancing over at Camille. She can tell that he had no clue who she was. He shuts his eyes as he gently says, “I am sorry.” His eyes open, meeting hers. “I hope I didn’t scare you too bad.” A slow one-sided grin stretches across the left side of his mouth.

Camille lowers the bat to her side. “It’s okay.”

Leah nods approvingly beside her.

“I’ve always wanted to beat a home intruder senseless, but,” she glances at Leah, “it probably wouldn’t be a good idea since he’s your son, and I’m hoping to work with you.”

Leah grins, opening her mouth to respond, but Wade beats her to it.

“Especially when he’s also the Chief Financial Officer of the company.”

Oh no. Camille internally cringes, the humor in her face falling as she turns to stare up at the man she’d nearly hit over the head with a bat.

He chuckles, his eyes drifting down to the bat hanging at her side. His brow furrows. “Is that my bat?” He steps forward, taking a closer look.

“Would you look at that?” Leah exclaims, examining the bat in Camille’s hand. “You were going to protect me at the expense of a hundred-year-old bat?”

Camille raises the bat looking it over. “I didn’t—”

“Everything okay?” Buck asks from the end of the hall, his hand tucked behind him.

“Everything’s fine,” Leah answers. “Just my son, making a grand entrance.”

Buck dips his chin at Wade, lowering his hand from his back. “Evening, Mr. Bloom.”

“Your timing leaves much to be desired,” Wade grunts, waving a hand in Camille’s direction. “Miss Inventor over here would’ve had me laid out already, using my own bat to beat me if my mother hadn’t stepped in.”

“To be fair,” Camille counters, looking down the hall at Buck, “I thought he was an intruder, especially after he said he was going to kill her.” She looks pointedly at Wade, who shakes his head.

“It was a figure of speech.”

Buck breaks into a broad grin, looking from Camille and Wade to Leah. “Thank God for moms, am I right?”

“I may still let her do it,” Leah smiles, glancing at her son, “you could use some sense beaten into you.”

“I am more than open to the idea that home invaders should be beaten,” he says, smirking out the corner of his mouth at Camille. He steps up to her, raising his hand. “As long as it isn’t with one of my collector’s items.”

She looks down at the ground, handing over the bat. Mistaking the homeowner’s son for a robber was embarrassing enough, but when she sees what she’s wearing, she feels like a complete idiot. She looks the part too wearing: her pajama top with pants that are covered in wrinkles.

“Let me know if you ever want a job in personal security,” Buck says to Camille, turning from the hallway.

Leah waves a hand at him. “Night, Buck.”

“He’s impressively quiet,” Camille murmurs, watching Wade hold the bat with white-glove-like care, “I bet he can take an intruder without any warning.”

“Okay, for one,” Wade states, holding the bat to symbolize the number, “I am not an intruder. I grew up here.”

“You clearly have more growing up to do,” Leah mumbles to herself, loud enough for all of them to hear.

Wade ignores her, keeping his eyes on Camille.

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