Page 20 of Things We Tell Ourselves

She reads over the last messages one more time. As she scans over them, she picks up her fork, handing him the cantaloupe. He takes it from her and shoves the entire piece in his mouth.

“What’s worse,” she asks, looking up at him, “neurotic or deranged?”

He chews the cantaloupe, having taken too big of a bite to answer without showing her the food in his mouth.

“Either way, you weren’t lying,” she shakes her head, handing him his phone. “So, no second date?”

Wade chuckles, taking a drink of water. “No second date, but I did change my number. I’m sure she loved that.”

He’s so relaxed, laughing at his own nightmare of a date that it’s contagious. Camille snickers along with him. She takes another bite of her omelet and sits back in her chair, gazing at Wade instead of the beautiful view.

“Are you staying the weekend?” she asks.

He stares across the table at her, causing her chest to tighten, a slight curl settling into the corners of his mouth. “Do you want me to stay?”

Her cheeks burn under his gaze, and it has nothing to do with the morning sun. “I…think Leah would love it.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but the door behind Camille opens before he can get a word out.

“Ms. Bloom is laying down,” Delilah says, walking out onto the terrace and around the table to face them. She looks down at Camille, “she wanted me to let you know that a car will bring you to the boutique in an hour.”

“The boutique?” Camille asks, not understanding.

Delilah lowers her voice. “The clothes.”

“Ah, yes. Thanks.” Camille nods, having forgotten about her clothing situation.

“And Leah would like you to be on the conference call this morning in her place,” Delilah tells Wade before heading for the door.

“Then I’d better get going,” he says, finishing off his water and taking one last bite of omelet. He slides his chair away from the table, looking at Camille who’s turned to finish her omelet. “This was nice.”

Her mouth is hanging open, a heaping forkful of omelet about to be shoved inside. Camille quickly lowers the fork, its contents falling onto the plate. She beams up at him. “I enjoyed it too.”

He stands, taking a step toward the door before pausing, turning back to Camille. “Hey, you never said. What is your favorite flower?”

Camille looks up at him, startled. She knew the answer, but with the handsome man staring down at her, it takes her a second. “I don’t have one.”

The corner of his mouth curls. “But no chocolate strawberries.”

She smiles. “That’s right. No chocolate strawberries.”

Six

Buck opens the back door, offering Camille his hand to help her out of the backseat. She takes it and steps out onto a wide sidewalk. A boutique sign reading Harper Exclusive hangs over the glass double door, surrounded by large windows.

Buck releases her hand, glancing at the doors before returning to the driver’s seat. “I’ll be out here when you’re done.”

“Thanks,” Camille murmurs, in awe of the boutique windows.

No mannequins are in the windows, just large abstract paintings hanging down from the ceiling on either side of the door. “Appointment Only” is written in black on the double doors. “You sure this is a boutique?”

“That’s it,” he calls over his shoulder. “If it’s locked, press the doorbell.” He gestures to a small, black button to the right of the doors.

She should be excited to go shopping in L.A., but in true Camille fashion, she feels like she’s bubbling up. She knows it started at breakfast. Not from the food, but from the company. She hadn’t known what she was expecting, but Wade surprised her in every way. He wasn’t a self-centered corporate brat; no signs of being uptight, despite the stress of being an executive in a company with high expectations of him. What surprised her the most was his relaxed manner. Eating breakfast with him felt more like she was hanging out with an old friend. He was great, and that somehow made her very nervous.

No, she thinks. You’re nervous because this boutique is about to tell you that they don’t have anything larger than a size six.

Calling Evelyn this morning was a bust. Camille forced some optimism, imagining Evelyn at the airport, boarding a plane to come here. But that would mean that Evelyn would’ve had to wake up early, figure out the restaurant fiasco, and get in contact with Delilah to sort out her plane ticket. Unlikely, to say the least, but it makes her feel slightly better imagining that she’ll have her best friend here soon.

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