Page 74 of Shattered Chords

To that, Malik quoted some passages from the Bible about faith, and Snowflake barked as if he understood what we were talking about.

When Frank left shortly after and I returned to the kitchen, where Malik was rummaging through the fridge, looking to make himself a sandwich, he asked, “Did you two make up?”

“I don’t know,” I told him honestly.

“We need to seriously rethink your rabbit diet.” He stared at the shelves crammed full of vegetables, his gaze full of pity.

“I need to seriously rethink my life first,” I said and headed upstairs.

It was Monday night and I was fucking nervous.

“What do you think?” Camille looked at me through her thick lashes as she stood across the table from me. There was something written on the front of her T-shirt, but I couldn’t read it all because the apron she was wearing was covering it up.

“Are you staring at my boobs?” She frowned.

“No, the logo?” I motioned at her top and sent another piece of cauliflower cookie she’d apparently tried to make today into my mouth. It tasted a little bland, but telling her that would be equal to signing my own death warrant.

Camille glanced down at her T-shirt, then pulled the strap wrapped around her neck over her head and lowered the apron so I could read the text.

Here for the bridal party, it said.

“We used to sell these at the store,” she explained. “They’re cotton. Great for hot weather.”

“So help me understand this.” I relaxed in my chair and placed my ankle over my knee, the leftovers of the cookie crumbling between my fingers. “How does a woman who’s never been married end up running a wedding boutique?”

My lesson with Ally had concluded a little while ago, and after hanging out with us on the terrace for all of three minutes, she’d run off to her room to take a phone call from Pauline. Now it was just me and Camille, the heat of twilight pressing on us from each and every angle.

The air continued to smell like burnt grass days after the fires up north had been put out, and the harsh Santa Ana winds were still at large, slamming against the massive oak tree nestled in the corner of Camille’s back yard.

“I took over the business from my mother,” she said, putting the strap back around her neck.

“Do you like it?”

“I do.” She reached for a paper napkin that nearly flew off the table and stuffed its corner under her plate. “Just because I’m not married doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m a woman and I have a very good idea of what other women want on their wedding day.”

Oh, Camille Rockwell was definitely a woman.

Battling my insane attraction to her was useless. It was a living, breathing being, hiding beneath my skin, clawing at my heart, and demanding to be quenched. We’d fallen into an oddly cordial routine with the guitar lessons that were usually followed by chats and sometimes—like today—dinners. Twice a week. Like clockwork. I had those brief moments with her, those fleeting seconds of feeling normal, unbroken, and...wanted.

Not in a sexual way but as a person.

I thought back to my wild days, trying to remember if I’d done something like this before—befriended a woman. No one came to mind, except maybe Cassy, but we were friends by default because she was Frank’s girlfriend and soon-to-be fiancée. And perhaps, eventually, his wife.

Thoughts of marriage used to scare me. Now I was curious about it. Curious about what exactly made two people stick it out for decades on end and not go their separate ways.

“So?” Camille stared at the second cookie that was still on my plate, eager to hear my verdict.

“It could use somechile,” I drawled, not wanting to offend her attempts at being creative with food.

“Aren’t you supposed to avoid spicy foods?”

“Are you making meals specifically for me now?”

“You know I like eating healthy too,” she bristled.

Licking my fingers clean of the cauliflower crumbs, I laughed at how easily she got riled up.

There was a beat of tense silence between us and the moment seemed just as good as any, so I asked, “Would you and Ally like to meet Snowflake and see my guitar collection?”

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