Page 15 of Stray for You

“WINE, SIR?”

I jerk my head up too quickly. I didn’t hear the server approach, too busy anxiously scrolling through my phone hoping for a message from Cameron. It takes me a moment to parse the woman’s words.

“Yes, actually, whatever your best is,” I say. “Bring the whole bottle.”

“Right away, sir,” she says before retreating.

I sit at the nicest table in the nicest restaurant I could find in downtown Seattle. Conversation occurs at a sedate murmur. Chandeliers cast a warm, pale glow through a large dining room decorated in shades of white. The servers wear impeccable black head to toe.

I’m only a block from my hotel, but I arrived here a full half an hour early, my frayed nerves turning my room into a prison that I paced like a captive tiger. Part of me believes I’ll sit here and drink this overpriced bottle of wine alone, the same part of me that keeps re-reading the message Cameron sent in which he agreed to this meeting. Surely, that wasn’t real. Surely, I made that up. Surely, he isn’t actually going to show up. The guy hates me. He’s hated me for a long time. The attraction and fun only goes one direction here.

But that kiss…

The memory of him kissing me back in that parking lot theother night wars with the empty seat across from me in this restaurant. I never did understand Cameron. Was his anger real? But then what is that crackle that’s always existed between us? It can’t just be me who feels the shift in energy whenever we’re around each other. For as much as Cameron holds himself back, that kiss was real. I know what I felt. That wasn’t a guy running away from me. Quite the opposite.

A flicker of black passes the windows outside. My gaze snaps in that direction. Cameron didn’t say a word, didn’t look at me, but my eyes flew to him regardless. I watch him walk along the side of the building, check his phone, then enter the restaurant at last. He approaches the host cautiously, scanning the dining room as he does.

I shouldn’t, but I rise regardless, striding over to the host before Cameron can run away. I’m in the suit I wore for the conference today, my blond hair swept back, my face freshly shaved, but Cameron sports a bit of five o’clock shadow as he shifts awkwardly in his black jeans and T-shirt.

“There you are,” I say, flashing the smile that has won me more than a few new contacts and fun adventures during these stupid conferences.

It doesn’t work as well on Cameron.

“You didn’t tell me I had to dress up,” he grumbles.

“You don’t. Relax. You look great. Come on.”

I’m not sure if he believes me, but I do mean it. He’s like some classic Seattle grunge musician, complete with the perpetual scowl on his pouty lips. He suits the gray skies outside, though I’ll admit he stands out a little in this glittering, aggressively cream-colored restaurant.

He sits across from me at our table, eyes still darting around like he expects the staff to kick him out any moment. When the server approaches, he flinches, but she simply pours us each a glass of rich red wine from a decanter.

“You ordered wine,” he says.

“Yes, do you like it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t drink stuff like this.”

“Well, try it,” I say, waving at his glass. “I’m told it’s their best.”

I sip from my own glass. The wine is thick but not overwhelming, with a pleasantly sweet aftertaste that lingers on my tongue after I swallow.

“This is … actually okay,” Cameron says.

“I’m so glad their best wine ranks as ‘okay’ in your estimation,” I say.

Cameron rolls his dark eyes at me, but that moment dispels some of the tension. We’re back to being us, back to teasing and poking. Sure, there’s been times when it turned heated, especially when our moms were dating, but the banter always felt more playful than sincere. To me at least. Is the same true for him?

The server returns and refills our glasses. When she asks for our orders, I step in, swiftly ordering for both of us while Cameron fumbles with the menu.

“Is that really okay?” Cameron says when the server leaves.

“What? Ordering? It is what one does at a restaurant, you know.”

“I mean you ordering all that stuff,” Cameron says. “I don’t even know how much it costs.”

“Don’t worry about what it costs. It’s all going on the company card.”

I try a smile, but Cameron’s scowl deepens. Of course. I should have known. A play like that works great on other sales reps, but Cameron isn’t like those people. He isn’t here to dance with me. He doesn’t care how much money my bosses let me throw around. I attempted to do something nice, but in my arrogance all I really did was annoy him even more.

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