Page 52 of Taming the CEO

She ran past me, unlocking her front door. After we both walked inside, she closed and locked it. Her home smelled like pines and orange, and it was pleasantly warm.

"Holy shit, that's quite a storm," Cami said.

"I agree."

I helped her take off her jacket before discarding mine. I looked around curiously, noticing how small but very cozy the place was.

"Thank God you came by," Cami said, pushing her hair behind each ear with one hand.

"How's your hand?" I asked. "Is it hurting?"

"A bit," she admitted. She kept glancing out the window.

"Do you have Advil?"

"It doesn't hurt that bad. If it doesn't get better, I'll take one. Make yourself comfortable.” Her voice was a bit more high-pitched than usual.

We both took off our shoes, and then she led me from the mudroom into the living room. Right away I realized where the smell of oranges came from: she'd hung dried slices at the windows.

She smiled sheepishly. "It's kind of my thing. I hang these up after Halloween for the color, you know? And come December, I replace them with Christmas ornaments. It was a tradition Mom and I used to have."

"It looks nice. I didn't realize dried oranges would still carry their fragrance."

"They don't. I have a diffuser with essential oils, and I often put a citrusy smell in it. So, I guess I'll get comfortable, um..." She laughed nervously, pointing at the window. "That's just gonna get worse and worse. I’ll check the town’s Facebook page too. They usually post updates when there's bad weather."

She stood behind the couch, drumming her fingers on the backrest.

"Cami," I said, walking up to her, "is my being here making you nervous?"

"A bit. I don't know why."

"Then I'll go. You don't need to explain yourself."

"No! It's not bad nervous, you know?"

I frowned. "There's a good nervous?"

She nodded vehemently. "Yeah, of course."

"I had no idea."

"Let's drink something." She tilted her head toward a tiny kitchen on the right side of the living room. "I've got hot chocolate. Or I can make mulled wine. Yeah, let's have mulled wine. It's fitting for the weather, although you won't be able to drive after that."

She spoke very quickly, seeming even more nervous than seconds ago. She was fidgeting and shifting her weight from one leg to the other.

"I can drive the few minutes to the Gris. Come on, let's make mulled wine," I said. "You tell me the recipe and I'll prepare it for you."

"Oh, that's not necessary!" she exclaimed.

"You can’t do anything with that hand.”

"Okay, Mr. Boss Man. At least I can get the red wine by myself," she said, reaching into an overhead cabinet and taking out a bottle. That was an interesting place to keep bottles. "I have cinnamon and a few other spices here." She opened another cabinet, taking out five different spice bags. "And I have pots there. You can use the bright red one." She pointed to a cabinet door under the counter.

I crouched, grabbing the red pan, and chuckled.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"That every pan you own seems to have a different color."

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