Chapter7
Mac
I pulledup to Cameron’s house in one of the many older neighborhoods in Sterling Mill. Picket fences divided the backyards, which looked big enough for kids to have a swing set and run around in, but not so big that neighbors couldn’t chat with each other as they came and went.
They made my belly twist.
I wouldn’t be able to stand everyone noting my comings and goings as they looked out their windows. Based on experience, I knew trusting your neighbors wasn’t always wise. People could be nosy and judgmental. I preferred the sound of birds and crickets chirping, not lawnmowers. I wanted the freedom to work when inspiration struck, even if it meant running a table saw at two in the morning. And I was trying to save every penny, so I didn’t want to feel obligated to buy cookies or raffle tickets from their kids.
Basically, I wanted my privacy.
It wasn’t so much that I was antisocial. I just wanted to be in control of when and who I crossed paths with. My little cabin was perfect. It was quiet. Peaceful. I had a place to put my clothes and rest my head for as long as I needed, but I could quickly pack it up and leave with no emotion. It was all I needed. Because attachments to anything only meant heartache.
Cameron’s two-story house was more than any one person needed. But that was her right.
I climbed out of the company truck I was still using. As soon as we returned from Colorado, finding one from a used lot Bristol mentioned to me was a priority. I was glad I’d negotiated the use of this one, but I hated being indebted to anyone.
Through the door, I heard distant swearing. Despite not wanting to be here, I couldn’t help but chuckle. Cameron might project an image of refinement on the outside, but I sensed there was a hidden fire on the inside.
I peered through the beveled glass of the front door, but I didn’t see her. I lifted my finger to ring the bell. Instead of the pleasant ring, a sudden, terrible wail pierced the air, causing a dog to bark in the yard next door. I jiggled the door, expecting it to be locked but was relieved when it opened.
“Shit!” I heard Cam’s voice yell over the smoke alarm as gray smoke wafted through the air. I pulled my phone from my pocket to dial 911 while I raced toward the commotion.
I entered the kitchen in time to see Cam struggling to open a window above the kitchen sink, where something black and smoking sat inside it. Not seeing any flames, I moved her tiny figure aside, unlocked the window, and shoved it upward, relieved to breathe in the fresh air. I grabbed a towel and waved it at the alarm until enough smoke cleared away that the shrill noise stopped.
I turned to her, my eyes raking over her small figure. “Are you okay?”
She looked back at me, her eyes looking huge in her red face. I waited for her to burst into tears, something I had no idea how to handle, but I knew I couldn’t turn around and run back to the sanctuary of my cabin.
Instead, she drew her hands to her hips and glared at me as if I caused the issue. “I knew better than to try to cook,” she grumbled. “Every time. Every single damn time. I’m hopeless when it comes to cooking.”
“Is that what that was?” I asked, peering at something black and still smoking in the sink. “I thought maybe you were experimenting with how to create a new kind of charcoal or something.”
Her eyes widened for a moment. Then, to my complete surprise—and immense relief—she laughed.
“He’s got jokes,” she muttered. “Who knew?”
“What was that, anyway?”
“It was supposed to be your dinner.”
“You cooked me dinner?” A strange warmth filled my chest at the thought of her going to such trouble for me.
“Well, it didn’t seem right to ask you to come over and work without feeding you. I was trying to make my grandmother’s pot roast because it was my grandfather’s favorite, and I thought you’d like it, too. You seem like a red-meat kind of guy. And I mean, Bristol can make it, and she’s even less domestic than me.”
There was frustration and a bit of dejection in her tone that didn’t sit well with me. “I appreciate the gesture, anyway. What do you think went wrong?”
“I was running late, so I thought if I cooked it at a higher temperature…” Her mouth quirked up on one side as she shrugged.
Now it was my turn to laugh. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”
“So I see,” she answered wryly. “Sorry. I’ll order something from Simply Ruth’s and have it delivered.”
“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you have something here we can eat. Sandwiches or soup?”
She stared at me like I was asking her to remake her earlier attempt at the roast. “Um, I have a few veggies Chase dumped on me a couple of days ago. He keeps a heated greenhouse just so he can have fresh vegetables all year.”
“Got any eggs?”