Page 126 of Why Cheese?
Pausing on the edge where the bookstore becomes a cheese shop, Cam eyes me up and down. “You’ve gone all a quiver. I assume at seeing me in my finery.” He tugs the lapels of his smoking jacket that on anyone else would look ridiculous. Instead of a twat, Cam’s the eccentric but dashing Count just waiting for his opportunity to get someone alone.
“You’ve caught me,” I say.
He glides in, taking me in his arms like a gentleman about to guide a lady to the dance floor. Then those chivalrous hands traipse under my sweater and his voice dips into smokey honey. “And what does this valiant hunter win?”
“Mmm,” I moan, breathing bonfire and amber off of his cheek. Cam caresses my chin and teases the edge of my lips. I turn to kiss him.
“Mr. Cam?” one of his pupils calls for him.
With a smile, I step back. “Your adoring public awaits.”
“Duty is a horrific word. Do you have any idea the lengths I went to escape it? Yes, Torrence, what is it?” Despite his protestations, Cam lights up as he addresses the young man.
“What do you think of this?” Torrence passes over his phone.
Twisting it around, Cam reads the screen and sighs. “You are trying to woo a lady, not place an order with the Amazonians. How do you first greet her?”
“You up?”
A soul-quaking groan bursts from Cam. He covers his eyes. “No. Dearest creator above, what clay have you given me to work with? We begin with a compliment, of course.”
“Right. Right.”
It took a little while for Cam to figure out his place in this new world. He’d seemed happy bouncing from job to job, doing everything he could to avoid work, and swinging a hammer when Roq was looking. But after Brie’s book club took off, Cam somehow wormed his way into not only leading it but creating a poetry-slash-wooing seminar for woefully unprepared men.
“You ask if she would like to receive a portrait of your Johnson. You don’t just send it unwanted. Youths!”
“Um, excuse me.” A young woman clinging to her bag approaches me. “Do you know where Brie is?”
I try to stand up taller as if that’ll help me see around the people milling about by the cheese stands. For a second, an elbow flies out between two people from the back of the store and I smile. “I think I do. Give me a minute, and I’ll fetch him for you.”
“Thanks.” She blushes and slips away to the other small half of the store where four easels wait in anticipation of another class.
“Excuse me, excuse me.” I have to worm my way through a crowd who’s not here for the free samples. Instead, they’re watching the wild arm movements and careful brush strokes. Judging by how animated Brie is, he has no idea they’re here.
“Brie?” I call out to him.
He waves his head back and forth and curves a line of paint up the wall. I walk over the tarps, my shoes squeaking from the rain, and cup his shoulder. Brie jerks and tugs out one of the earbuds with a pop. “Violette?” He smiles at me, then he catches the crowd watching him.
Poor Brie’s face turns bright red and he tries to duck into the collar of his painter’s shirt. “What…what’s going on?”
“With them? I think they like watching you work.”
“Oh. Okay. That’s…” Shaking, he tries to put his brushes down and nearly knocks over his water cup. “Don’t look at it!” Brie suddenly throws his arms up as if he could block the fifteen-foot-long mural. “It’s not done.”
“Are you sure?” I start to step back to take it all in, but Brie snatches up my hands. He cups his palm just above my eyes to protect his unfinished work from me. The rest of the world’s opinion doesn’t matter. Only mine.
“I…I want to get it right. Perfect. Before you see it.”
“Brie.” I ruffle my fingers through his hair, nearly undoing the ribbon at the back. “There’s no such thing as perfect.”
His eyes drop for a second, then he peers up at me. “Maybe not.” Leaning into me, he bites his lip and whispers, “…but you’re pretty damn close.”
Brie goes in for the kiss just as the crowd cries out for more. His lips land on my cheek instead. I hold his jaw to keep him there for a second before he slips away to his adoring audience.
“Wh-why are you back here?” he asks while wiping off his hands.
“Oh, I think your painting class is about to begin.” I point to his eager student who gives a little wave.
