Page 53 of Red Hot Harmony

“I don’t know if I told you, but Camille is a keeper. You should really try to make it work.” Her tone was serious.

“Are you implying I’m genetically wired to fuck up every single relationship I attempt?”

“That’s not what I said. And I typically don’t advise my clients about their private lives. I just fix the scandals they create, because they don’t know how to keep their dicks or whatever in their pants, but—and don’t get upset at me for this—you’re like a blind kitten stumbling in the dark, trying to figure out where you are, and you don’t see a good thing when it’s right in front of you. By the way, you don’t have to pay me for this pep-talk. It’s on the house.”

“Thanks?” I was a little stunned by the honesty and couldn’t come up with a witty retort fast enough. Or maybe my brain simply didn’t want to cooperate.

Twenty minutes later, we were in the back of a car I hired, headed to Woodland Hills. It was a little less flashy than yesterday’s ride and the perfect type of vehicle to do a drive-through of the local Starbucks, where we got a coffee for Camille, a tea for me, and an assortment of pastries.

We spent a portion of the drive eating, sitting side by side with napkins and wrappers all over our laps and cups stuffed in the holders.

I was hungry as fuck and devoured my bagel with unmatched efficiency.

“Do you remember about next Saturday?” she asked when she was halfway done with her croissant.

“You’re presenting me to your parents.”

She nodded. There was silence and then, “Are you nervous?”

I had to think about it for a bit. “I guess so. I don’t know. I’ve never been introduced to anyone’s parents before. At least, not that I remember.”

Camille shifted to face me. She arched a brow and followed it with what I assumed was supposed to be a frown. “You’re not joking, are you?”

“I swear on my guitar collection.” I pressed my palm to my chest.

She made atsk-ing sound and shook her head. “What am I going to do with you, Dante Martinez?’

I leaned in and whispered, “Whatever you like, mama.”

Breakfast was suddenly a distant memory. We kissed until it became a necessity. Like air. It seemed impossible to part, despite the driver who was all business in the front, doing his best not to look in the rearview mirror.

“You’re such a bad influence,” Camille finally said as she came up for air, her lips puffy and glistening and begging to be cherished.

“How am I a bad influence?” I laughed.

“I can’t think about anything else but you.”

“And that’s abadthing?”

“I’ve got a store to run and a kid to raise.”

“Hey.” I snatched her hand in mine and held it against my thigh. “You can still do all that and have me, right?”

“I suppose I can.” A mischievous smile graced her lips.

As we exited the freeway, Camille suddenly tapped my knee and pointed at something outside the window.

I turned my head and looked.

Thick plumes of smoke rose from behind the trees. It wasn’t anything unusual per se. I’d already seen dark skies and had ash cover my entire yard earlier in the season, but this seemed close.

I rolled the window down a smidge and dry, acrid air hit my nostrils.

Camille’s face showed concern, her gaze following the line of smoke as we rounded the corner and merged with traffic. “My mother will be very upset if they don’t put that out before Saturday.”

“What could be more romantic than some ash falling from the sky?” I grinned.

Camille puffed out a small laugh.

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