Page 29 of Be Mine Forever

“Six o’freakin’ clock again?” Meredith moaned. “You know things happen once the sun is up, too.”

“Meet me at the park, or I’ll come get you.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re bossy?”

“Yeah, I told them to shut up or I’d fire them.”

“Must be nice.”

“It is rather.” Jo swiveled on the stool, tugging at the shorts that kept inching up. “Guess what I’m wearing.”

“Don’t you have a Neiman Marcus in your bedroom? How am I supposed to guess what you have on? It could be anything.”

“But it’s not. It’s your Christmas gift to me.”

“That’s my girl. Of course you would wear them when nobody’s home.”

“No one willeversee me in these shorts.”

“I have a matching pair, you know. Maybe I should wear them out tonight.”

“Okay, but don’t call me to bail you out of jail or a brothel or wherever those shorts land you.”

“Did you just say the wordbrothel? There are words from this century at your disposal.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. I bid you adieu.”

“Also, there’s English.”

“Bye, Mer.”

Jo found herself smiling after they hung up. Meredith might be brash and crazy, but they were friends. Jo hadn’t had many of those. Genuine friends who wanted to know her for herself. Who liked her not because of the Walsh name and fortune, but just as herself. Especially not girlfriends. She, Cam, and Walsh had been the Three Musketeers once. Now…

Jo glanced around the empty kitchen, hearing nothing but her own sighs and the hum of the industrial refrigerator. Maybe she’d binge-watch all theVikingsepisodes piling up in her DVR. She could knit while she watched, even though she probably wouldn’t make it through one episode without falling asleep. Waking up at four o’clock this morning was kicking her quickly spreading butt.

Just as she was about to force herself to her feet to watch television in the home theater, a key turned in the back door off the kitchen. Daddy and Mrs. Quentin were out of town. Walsh was in New York. The only other person with a key to the house was…

“Cam, what are you doing here?” Jo adjusted the thin strap of the camisole that kept sliding down her shoulder.

Cam walked in, wearing his standard uniform of battered jeans, Chuck Taylors, and inappropriate T-shirt. Today’s message:THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID. The dark hair fell around his ears, even longer than the last time she had seen him. Her stupid heart executed a perfect-ten somersault at the sight of him.

He placed a white bag on the island and leaned back against the countertop, crossing one arm over the other. Did he even realize his eyes wandered up and down her body, leaving lava-grade heat in their wake? Over the legs left bare by her micro-shorts. Over her collarbones and shoulders. Lingering on her braless breasts under the camisole. She was dressed to be home alone, not for company.

“Unc and I are supposed to grill tonight and play some chess.” Cam glanced at the watch strapped to his wrist. “He said seven o’clock. He’s not home yet?”

“He’s not home…at all.” Jo crossed her legs, intrigued to see Cam follow the movement closely before fixing his eyes back on his shoes. “There must have been some mix-up. Daddy’s in Chicago for a Walsh Foods emergency board meeting. He must’ve forgotten to tell you or something.”

Cam rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Or something.”

“Well, he’s not here, so I guess you can be on your way.”

Her very pores absorbed him like water, but she refused to ask him to stay. Refused to tell him she had missed him.

He nodded toward her little-sandwich-that-could on the paper towel.

“You in the poorhouse? That the best you can do?”

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