Page 28 of Craving

“Mornin’! Not baking today?”

“Nope! Today, we’re renovating,” she replied, lifting the basket holding all their items and smiling as they passed. Bill grinned at her, then glanced at Marlon and nodded.

How many times had Marlon been to this hardware store, and he’d never learned Bill’s name? He’d lived in this town his whole life, and it was only as he watched Camilla interact with people that he realized how completely he’d kept himself apart. After his grandparents died, he’d isolated himself. Up until a week or so ago, he’d thought that was the best decision of his life. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Back at the house, they scrubbed and sanded and worked beside each other until Camilla’s stomach growled so loudly he heard it from across the room. She laughed and looked down at her midsection. “I need food.”

“How about in honor of my grandmother, I make us her famous grilled chicken sandwiches?”

Camilla beamed. “I would love that.”

Warmth spread through Marlon’s chest. He nodded, happy to be able to share something of his past with Camilla. They went to the kitchen. Above the fridge, he’d stashed his grandmother’s old recipes. The books were covered in dust, and way at the back was the box where she’d kept her handwritten recipe cards.

Camilla gasped when she saw it all, touching the books with soft, admiring strokes. “These are amazing.”

“I haven’t looked at them in a long time. Shoved them up there after the funeral and haven’t taken them down since.”

Camilla’s brows arched, her face full of sympathy. “Is it okay that we’re doing this? I don’t want to cause any bad feelings.”

Sinking down in the chair next to hers, Marlon shook his head. “It’s nice. I should have pulled these recipes down a long time ago. She used to make the most amazing carrot cake. I’d ask for it for every birthday.” He flicked through the handwritten cards until he found it. “Here.”

Camilla inspected the card and hummed. “This looks good. Did she have a frosting recipe?”

“Yeah. Here. I remember the smell of it.” He glanced at the old oven and smiled. “It was so exciting to come home from school, walk in the door, get hit with all the spices, and know that she’d made it for me.” Chuckling, he shook his head. “God, I forgot about that. My grandpa hated carrot cake, but he’d always have a bite. He said it was bad luck not to eat your grandkids’ birthday cakes. Sometimes I thought he was pretending he hated it just to make a big production out of taking a bite. He always finished his slice.”

Suddenly, Marlon felt choked up. He huffed and busied himself flicking through the recipe cards until he found the grilled chicken recipe, which included a quick marinade and homemade mayo, only pausing when he felt Camilla’s hand on his arm.

She smiled at him, and they didn’t need to speak. In that moment, he knew that she understood him in a way no one else ever had. She knew what it was like to be alone, to not have family to turn to. How you could cling to small moments for years and years.

Suddenly, being alone seemed like a lot worse proposition than being with her.

Holding her gaze, another bit of his heart thawed out. Then she leaned over and wrapped her arms around his neck. She hugged him tight for a few long moments, until Marlon took a long, shuddering breath.

He pulled away and waved the recipe card. “I’d better get started.”

“Can I help?”

“Sure.”

They cooked, ate, and talked about childhood memories. He told Camilla about the time he’d tried to bake a cake for his grandmother’s birthday and nearly burned the house down. The fire department had come, and he’d gotten to ride in the fire engine’s cab.

“Not a bad outcome,” Camilla joked. “Maybe you planned it that way.”

“I was a Machiavellian nine-year-old.”

She laughed at that, and Marlon’s cheeks creased in response. They headed back to the living room and tried the swatches of paint on the wall, which, to Marlon, looked like pale beige, slightly darker pale beige, and slightly more gray pale beige.

“Definitely this one,” Camilla said, pointing to the third. “I don’t even need it to dry down. The other ones are way too warm if you want to go with the couch we saw online last night. We’ll know for sure tomorrow when we see it in person. Pictures can be deceiving.”

He stared at the three squares of paint. “Sounds good to me, although they all look pretty similar.”

Camilla gasped theatrically. “Next you’ll tell me that all my lipsticks look the same.”

He grinned, moving toward her. He couldn’t stop himself. It was like their bodies were magnets, pulling them ever closer. “Maybe you should put them on your lips and show me, and we’ll find out.” His chest brushed hers as he crowded her against the wall. His hands found their way to the hollow of her waist, settling right where her body flared out at the hip. She was so beautiful. So soft and sweet and perfect.

“You got a thing for lipstick, huh? Might change your mind if you saw my black lip. Not sure you’d like Goth Camilla.”

Hard as rock and aching for her, Marlon inhaled the scent of her skin. She blinked up at him with those wide blue eyes, and Marlon was lost—or maybe this was what it felt like to be found again after twenty years spent gasping through the desert of his life.

---