CAMILE WAITED IN the reception area of her attorney’s office and mentally calculated the amount of money in her checking account. Even with Rhys’s dance lessons and Anne’s future payments, no amount of adding and subtracting could conjure the funds necessary to afford this fiasco. Even if she won, and Bobby had to pay her legal fees, the ordeal would take months to conclude. Bobby was suing her for loss of income and defamation of character. If she lost and added the judgment to her student loan debt, it came to more than she could ever dream of paying off.
A mountain of debt before the age of thirty. She’d never recover. As it was, all she had was an unfinished master’s degree in a field where decent-paying jobs required at least that. If she’d stuck to her original plan and become a doctor, at least she’d have the means to pay off her medical school bills. Don’t go there, she told herself. She didn’t want to be a doctor. Then again, she didn’t know if she wanted to be a psychologist, either.
Despair flooded her thoughts. How had her life come to this? Tears burned and pooled in her eyes. Even though Nina had been sworn to secrecy, it was only a matter of time before Aubrey, and therefore her dad, found out about the lawsuit. The thought of facing her dad’s disappointment again was nearly unbearable. Thank goodness, her parents were still on vacation. It was easy to dodge phone calls and fake that everything was fine when they did converse.
In her heart, she knew she was a good person. She didn’t deserve this. But bad things happened to good people all the time; everyone knew that. Rhys’s situation was a perfect example. Those things only defined you if you let them. She would not let this define her. That philosophy might be something of a platitude, but for now, it would have to be enough. That, and the fact that her agreement with Anne meant she was officially engaged in something positive. A little good to balance out the bad. Spending time with Rhys without the added pressure of a relationship was a bonus.
Tricia, Bailey’s assistant, looked up from her desk. “Camile? Bailey will see you now.”
RHYS GRINNED WHEN his friend Brandon Sawyer answered his call, “Rhys! Buddy! How are you? Are you in town? Please tell me you’re in town and you have time for a golf game tomorrow. I need to play against someone who challenges me, but who I can still beat.”
“Sorry, man, I’m at home in Pacific Cove.” Rhys admired the view from his living room. The sight of the ocean stretching endlessly before him never failed to ground him, calm him, make him grateful and remind him to keep life in perspective.
“How long has it been since you left that home of yours?”
“Day before yesterday.”
“The grocery store doesn’t count.”
“I spent the evening at a wine tasting, film festival, dessert auction fund-raiser. Tomorrow, I’m going to a chowder cook-off.” And tonight, I have a dance lesson. But that felt like more than he wanted to share at the moment, probably ever.
“Liar.”
“You know very well that’s one thing I’m not. I’m serious, you wouldn’t recognize me lately. I am a veritable social butterfly. Butterfly might be overstating. More like socially awkward moth?”
Brandon barked out a laugh. “No, you already said butterfly. I like butterfly,” he joked. “You’re too pretty to be a moth. But if you are going out, does that mean it’s with a lady friend?”
“It does.” Rhys didn’t bother to clarify the fact that he hadn’t technically gone to the wine tasting with Camile. But he’d spent the evening glued to her side, and she didn’t seem to mind. Then, this morning, she’d invited him to the chowder thing. Progress. Which made him think her feelings for him might be overriding her protestations. Regardless, he was going to eliminate as many of these obstacles as he could. Starting now.
“Well.” Brandon paused. “I can honestly say I’ve never looked forward to meeting another human being as much as I’m looking forward to meeting this woman. But mostly, I can’t wait to tell Jane.”
“Ah, good. I’m glad you brought up your wife, who is smart and beautiful and way too good for you. She is the reason I’m calling. How is my favorite English professor?” It hadn’t been difficult to find out which college Camile had attended. When he’d learned it was St. Killian’s, the same university where Jane worked, it had seemed like a good starting point.
“Tenured and pregnant. And married, too, in case you forgot that part.”
Rhys laughed. Brandon had met Jane at a baseball game. He’d been with Rhys and a few other SEAL buddies. Initially, Jane had been interested in Rhys. A preference that had lasted only until Brandon began telling jokes. “Congratulations, my friend! I’m seriously thrilled for you guys. I’m coming to Portland soon, for sure. We need to celebrate.”
“Only if you promise me a round of golf and bring your lady friend. I want to meet the woman who has captured my lonely butterfly friend’s heart.”
“All right. That’s enough. Is your wife home? I need to ask her a favor.”
“TABBIE’S SEAFOOD CHOWDER has won best chowder for the last several years. It’s the pride of Pacific Cove.” Camile handed Rhys a steaming cup filled with a sample from Surf’s Up Grill, a restaurant located several miles down the coast. She’d informed him on the way that the annual competition was held in nearby Remington, but entrants traveled from locations all along the coasts of Oregon and Washington, and even northern California. Chefs prepared a pot of chowder for the judges and vats more for festivalgoers to purchase and sample.
Rhys dipped a spoonful and tried a bite.
“What do you think?” An aproned man behind the table in the booth asked him. “Best chowder of the day so far, right?”
Too much thyme and rosemary and there aren’t enough clams, Rhys opened his mouth to say and simultaneously glimpsed Camile’s pointed expression. How could she say so much with just a look? It reminded him of Anne.
Rhys thought for a long second and went with “Interesting choice of spices.”
“Hey, thanks, man.” The guy beamed. “My grandfather invented this recipe. He always used fresh spices, so that’s what I do.”
“I can tell,” Rhys added. “It’s very...obvious.”
Camile ushered him away as another group of eager chowder samplers approached.
“Well done,” she said. “I could tell you didn’t like it, but he couldn’t—that’s the point.”
“I didn’t like it. It tasted like a hot thyme-and-rosemary smoothie.”
Camile laughed. “I am so glad you didn’t say that to him. Ready for the next one?”
“Yes, this is fun. Willow would have enjoyed it.”
Willow had flown back to South Carolina the day before for her final round of practice. “She seems excited about the ball, so that’s good.”
Rhys smiled down at her. “She does. And that reminds me about something I want to ask you.”
“Of course.”
“You don’t have to say yes. I know you’re busy.”
“I’ve lightened my schedule a bit.” Camile didn’t feel quite right about keeping the reason from him. But Anne insisted. Anne was paying her to make time for Rhys, and she wouldn’t be able to do so otherwise. She’d drastically reduced her overall work hours, switched to two lunch shifts at Tabbie’s and retained three mornings at Blue Carafe, mostly so she could keep her finger on the pulse of town gossip.
“That bodes well for me, then. I was wondering if you’d want to go to South Carolina with Anne and me for Willow’s ball?”
“Really?” she repeated, not bothering to squelch her eagerness.
“Yes. I would feel so much better about the dancing if you were there. I know you don’t like taking time off work, but maybe—”
“Yes, Rhys,” she interrupted with a happy smile. “I would love to go to South Carolina with you.”
“BAILEY, I KNOW that Camile Wynn is your client, too.”
Bailey did an excellent stone-faced attorney visage. She used it on him now. “Rhys, you know very well information about who may or may not be a client falls under attorney-client confidentiality. Is that what this meeting is about? Because I’m billing you the minimum regardless.”
Rhys leaned back in the chair where he sat across from Bailey’s desk and crossed one leg over the other, ankle on knee. “Camile told me about the lawsuit.”
“Privilege,” she shot back.
“Are you aware that Bobby Veroni uses fillers and ungraded beef in his taco meat, but advertises it as one hundred percent organic?”
Bailey huffed out an exasperated breath. “Are you dating Camile Wynn?”
“Would it matter if I was?”
“I specifically warned you against getting involved with someone who was in trouble with the law.”
“A frivolous civil suit is not trouble with the law.”
“I know.” Bailey sighed and rubbed a hand across her brow. “I’m torn here. I cannot discuss this with you.”
“Can you recommend a private investigator?”
“The best ones are not cheap.”
“I’d like the best one in the entire state. Can you tell me who that is?”
Bailey stared at him for a long moment, indecision evident on her face. “I’ll give you three names.” Sliding a notepad close, she began to write. “These are in order of who I’d call first.”
“Thank you.”
She tore the paper from the pad and handed it over. “I’d feel sorry for Bobby if he didn’t deserve it so much.”
“I apologize for the cut in pay that could conceivably result from this endeavor where you’re concerned.”
“Don’t worry about me. She doesn’t deserve this. And if you make this go away, that will be payment enough.”
Rhys nodded.
“Rhys, I hope you...” She started to say more and then stopped. Finally, she settled for a resigned smile. “Camile is a lucky woman.”
Rhys could only hope that she saw it that way, too.
LAURA HAD BEEN relentless in wanting to make up for her untimely departure from the bowling alley a couple of weeks before. Camile had suggested meeting for lunch at her favorite brewpub in Astoria, both because her evenings were now booked solid and because it would give her some control over the length of the visit. She and Rhys were attending a semiformal fund-raising dinner for the mayor tonight, and she wanted plenty of time to get ready.
The pub was housed in an old converted fishing warehouse on the Columbia River. Sheet metal covered the walls of the spacious interior and the floor consisted of a thick slab of concrete. Camile thought the impossibly high ceiling was its best feature, with its eye-catching tangle of copper pipes intertwined with the exposed rafters. A stage made up one end of the dining area where they showcased live entertainment on the weekends.
There was a ton of seating and consistently great food. They served gourmet sandwiches and salads, creative pasta dishes and hand-tossed sourdough pizza topped with interesting combinations like smoked razor clams, locally farmed goat cheese and Oregon bay shrimp.
“You’re his dance teacher?” Laura said flatly.
They’d already ordered, Camile the “skipper’s choice” pizza loaded with seafood toppings and a Caesar salad. For an appetizer, she’d gotten the house specialty called “potatoes on the docks,” hand-cut French fries topped with gravy, shrimp and cheese curds. Laura was having grilled chicken and a tossed veggie salad with light balsamic dressing.
Because Laura asked, Camile had just finished telling her how she’d met Rhys. And was it her imagination, or did Laura say dance like it was a disease? This wasn’t the first time she’d detected derision for Camile’s love of dance; Laura had often pointed out that Camile would have a lot more time for school if she didn’t spend so much time in the studio. Admittedly, the assertion was true, but that was her choice, and she’d still managed to graduate at the top of the psychology department, even above Laura. She told herself it was difficult to understand someone else’s passion unless you shared it. Camile couldn’t think of anything Laura was passionate about outside of school.
“Yep.”
“I hope he’s paying you well.”
“He is. But that’s not why I’m doing it. You know dancing and teaching dance have always been my favorite things.” She took a sip of her coffee.
“I do know that.” Laura sounded sympathetic, but for the life of her Camile couldn’t understand why. “What kind of dance lessons?” Laura plucked the lemon wedge from the rim of her glass and squeezed it into her water.
“Waltz.” Amazing how that one word now filled her with so much pride. Rhys had almost mastered the steps, including the turns. The only thing missing was music. And she’d been working on a plan for that.
Wiping her hands with a napkin, Laura asked, “Why does he want to learn to waltz? He’s not getting married, is he?”
“No. His niece is participating in a debutante program.”
“Wow. They still have those?”
“They do.”
“Huh. Aren’t they rather, um, sexist by today’s standards? Isn’t the whole point to introduce a woman to society so she can get married? Is that the kind of message we want to send to our teens—that it’s ‘time’ to get married when you reach a certain age?”
This conversation felt off. The waiter delivered her appetizer, and Camile was glad to have the distraction to consider her response because she realized the reason why their friendship felt so strained lately. They’d never had one outside their little world of psychology: projects, research, tests, papers. If they were going to continue the friendship, they’d need to find some mutual interests beyond bowling.
Camile explained, “It’s really not about that. It’s a lovely tradition, and it means a lot to Willow’s mom’s family. The girls learn some very valuable skills.” Curious herself, Camile had discussed the details with Willow at length.
“Like what?”
“Etiquette, manners, public speaking, how to be a leader and to set a positive example for their peers, ways to get involved in their communities through volunteer service. And, of course, ballroom dancing.” She picked up a fry and gave it a twirl. “Which is where I come in.”
“That’s sweet. But it seems a little over the top, don’t you think? To pay a private instructor for dance lessons for one night in a child’s life?”
“No, it doesn’t. Not in this case. Not if you knew why it’s so important to Rhys, and to Willow for that matter.”
“Oh?” Laura looked interested. Of course she did. See? They could do this. Camile needed to get over this resentment or whatever it was that she was feeling for her friend and find that common ground. That was why, in that moment, she impulsively decided to confide in her friend. A mistake she’d come to regret for the rest of her life.
LOCATED OCEANFRONT ON the outskirts of Pacific Cove, The Shoals Hotel was one of the oldest, largest and grandest structures on the entire coast. The Victorian-style architecture lent itself beautifully to the grand ballroom comprising nearly half of the entire second floor. The space would be an ideal location for an elegant political fund-raiser like this one, if not for the atrocious acoustics.
Rhys could see the guy’s mouth moving, he could hear words, but the room was so loud he couldn’t concentrate on their meaning. Something about the mayor, maybe? And a new ordinance he wanted to get passed? Couldn’t anyone else hear the echoing pings of silverware scraping on the dishes? The inordinately loud clop of heels on the hardwood floor had him wondering why people insisted on purchasing loud shoes. Rubber soles were an option. And the squeaking hinge on the door leading into the kitchen needed about a quart of grease. Every time one of the waitstaff entered or exited, it made his teeth clench.
His jaw ached and he missed Camile. She’d texted to say she was going to be a few minutes late. How many constituted a few where she was concerned, he wondered?
“Don’t you think so?”
Rhys stared at the guy and gradually realized a response was expected. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck, prickling his skin and irritating him even more. A headache was forming behind his right eye. Glancing down, he studied the appetizer-laden plate that Anne had handed him several minutes ago. The pale pink salmon on crusty bread slices had him recalling an earlier snippet of the conversation.
“I don’t like the ordinance about seafood farming.”
“What do you mean you don’t like the ordinance about seafood farming? It’s perfect.”
“The risk of disease and decimation to native seafood populations is too high.”
“But we need this. The town needs growth. Do you have any idea how many jobs this could create?”
“Burning nuclear waste in the town square would create jobs, too.”
The man’s face scrunched and slowly turned red. “Are you comparing seafood farming to burning nuclear waste?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. Statistically—”
He felt a hand slide between his arm and rib cage, and he knew it was her before she even uttered the words, “Rhys, hi! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
All it took was the sight of Camile’s smiling face. That fast, and the distractions, the myriad of irritations chipping away at his brain with their tiny, vicious ice picks fell away. She was gorgeous as usual but also...different. Her hair, for one thing, was down around her shoulders and curled in waves. And that dress... The cinnamon-brown color was a perfect complement to her green eyes and brought out the warm gold tones in her hair. A flicker of a memory swam before him, but it was gone before he could place it. He rested his hand on top of hers, hoping she wouldn’t pull away. The feel of her skin against his heightened the calming sensation about a million times. He couldn’t explain the phenomenon, but he relished it. He’d begun to count on it.
“I think what Rhys means,” Camile said, smiling at the man, “is that he believes—as do you, Mayor Hobbes—that the focus should remain on sustainably harvested seafood whenever possible. But he’s open to the idea of farming if it’s done responsibly. Right, Rhys?”
Ah. The mayor. Made sense, seeing as how Anne had dragged him to this fund-raiser for the man himself. He’d read about this harebrained seafood farming scheme in the news. Camile’s summation of his opinion wasn’t accurate, but he picked up on her cue and said, “Possibly.” If about six hundred items were added, removed, and/or clarified.
Before the mayor could ask him to elaborate, Rhys leaned close to her ear and said, “Hi, Camile. I am very glad you found me.” That was when he realized that something was different. She looked different. He realized he’d never seen her hair styled this way or known her to wear quite so much makeup. It wasn’t a lot, but there was lip gloss and eyeshadow. No glasses... Had she done this for him or because the occasion called for it? Him, he thought. At least, he hoped that was the case because he liked the way she was searching his gaze. He didn’t dare move because he wanted her to find what she was looking for, hoped that she saw how he felt about her.
Anne joined them. Reaching out a hand, she introduced herself to the mayor.
Camile asked Rhys, “Can I borrow you for a minute?”
“Yes, please,” he said. They moved away, and he bent close to her ear, and said, “You can borrow me for as long as you’d like. Especially if it gets me out of here.”
Camile chuckled and, as he’d anticipated she would, tried to remove her hand from his elbow. Rhys held tight, and then slid her hand down his arm where he entwined their fingers. And left them that way.