Chapter Six

Talk about motivation. As ridiculous as it was, Reese’s screenplay challenge ignited a fire in Cam’s veins that hadn’t been there in a long time. He should feel guilty for going through with it. No way could she best him at this. “You’re on.”

“Great.” She wiggled in her seat again, straightening her back like she was proud of herself.

Pros to this game of theirs? He thrived on competition. She’d come up with the perfect plan because really this benefited him. She didn’t have a job to lose. Or a reputation at risk. She’d decided to put herself out there for him, despite having a busy work schedule.

Cons to this game? Her sincerity and selflessness slayed him. Writing with her every day would be pleasurable torture and he’d have to work to keep his hands to himself. Looking at her now, her auburn hair in a high ponytail, her blue-gray eyes sparkling with excitement, and a simple white cotton dress draping her body to mid-thigh, his fingers itched to reach out and touch her. Her effortlessly sexy and wholesome disposition had been right under his nose for years and it seemed friendship no longer remained a strong enough barrier to his base needs.

“You’re thinking really hard over there,” she said.

“Planning my strategy.”

“Good.”

If she only knew.

They finished lunch with little more conversation, always comfortable to eat and sit with stretches of silence between them.

“Thank you,” Reese said, getting to her sneakered feet after he paid their bill. They said goodbye to James then walked out of the bar and onto the sidewalk.

“Reese Resnick, is that you?”

Walking straight toward them was Cam’s childhood friend, Scarlett Sheridan.

“Scarlett?” Reese asked. “Oh my gosh. Hi!” Reese wrapped her in a hug.

“It’s been a long time.” Scarlett turned her attention to him. “Hey, Cam.”

Over the years, Scarlett had made no secret of her fondness for him, and to this day he didn’t exactly know how to act around her. The last thing he’d ever wanted was to hurt her feelings.

“Hi, Scarlett. How are you?”

“I’m good.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Keeping busy with the bakery and Thomas.”

“Thomas?”

“My son. He’s three months old now.”

“Wow. Congratulations.”

“Congratulations!” Reese chimed in.

“Thank you. I’m so happy to run into you,” she said to Reese. “Pixie mentioned you’d be here and I missed you on your last visit.”

“I’m happy to see you, too. And I’m sorry for not keeping in better touch.” Reese pointed to Scarlett’s apron. “Looks like you’re on a break from work.”

“I am. I’m trying to do ten thousand steps a day. Losing the baby weight hasn’t been as easy as I’d hoped.”

“You look great,” Reese said. “And I’d love to get together while I’m here to catch up and meet Thomas.”

“I’d love that, too. Do you have time to come grab a treat at the bakery? I’m on my way back there.”

“I could go for a cupcake. Cam, since you bought lunch, can I buy you one?”

He held back a groan. He really should get home to write. This morning’s writing session had been a bust, with Gael invading his space to talk about the garage and cars.

“The cupcakes are on me,” Scarlett said, clearly wanting them both to visit her store.

Two sets of eyes pleaded with him, but it was Reese’s light-colored beauties that had him saying, “Sure. Let’s go.”

He walked behind the two women, listening to them talk nonstop about cupcakes and cake pops. Reese had zero knack for preparing healthy meals, but when it came to baking desserts, she kicked ass. She made him a cake with old fashioned frosting from the can and sprinkles on top every year for his birthday. Her creations didn’t always look top-notch—she liked to claim her cakes had character—but they tasted delicious.

A bell on the door chimed as they entered the bakery. Cam hadn’t been inside in a while, but the sweet smell remained the same as he remembered.

“The store looks beautiful,” Reese said, striding straight to the colorful baked goods. “You painted and put in a new display case since I was last here.”

“Yes and thanks. What can I get you?”

Reese turned her head to look at him. “What are you getting?”

He checked out the offerings. “I’ll take a carrot cupcake please.”

“I knew you’d pick that.” Her nose scrunched, carrot her least favorite flavor. “I’ll have a black and white please.”

“You got it.” Scarlett plated their cupcakes, handing them each their own order. Reese led him to the last available table by the window, sunlight streaming in and adding highlights to her reddish-brown hair.

“This is really good,” she said after her first bite. He nodded his agreement. Scarlett had some serious baking skills.

“Okay, so I have one screenwriting question.”

“Only one?”

“For now. Is there a window for asking questions?”

“You’ve got a little frosting—” He pointed toward the corner of her mouth.

Her tongue darted out to lick the pink icing. “Did I get it?”

“You did.” He watched as she ran her tongue over her bottom lip, the motion distractingly sensuous. Poets could write about her full pink lips. Songwriters could wax poetic. And she was genuinely unaware of their appeal. He tore his eyes away. “And no window. Feel free to ask anything, anytime. You know that.” That she seemed taken with the world of screenwriting was a huge turn on. She’d mentioned liking her job with Shay, but they hadn’t discussed it at any length lately. Mostly because he kept waiting for her to tell him she’d quit to move on to something new.

She dropped her chin, her focus somewhere he couldn’t see, before raising her eyelids, her long lashes sweeping up. “My question is…” A sparkle danced around her irises. “What font should I use?”

He laughed. He laughed until his sides hurt. She laughed, too, clearly intending to keep him on his toes. Bring it.

“I’m serious,” she said cheekily.

“I have a question for you,” he said.

“I have an answer.”

“Are you planning to stay at CTC?”

She swallowed. “I really like it there.” The vulnerable quality to her voice hit him in the middle of the chest. “Shay is awesome, and for the first time I don’t feel stuck at a job.”

“That’s great.”

“Most of the staff are really nice and the work is interesting and fun and—”

The fire alarm sounded, proud and loud, and drowned out whatever Reese was about to say next.

She jumped to her feet in a panic. “What is that?” she shouted.

Cam stayed calm, aware of the bi-weekly town-wide alarm in the summer and fall months. “That’s the Rustic Creek fire alarm. It goes off twice a month, June through November. It’s only a test and will stop in about twenty seconds.”

She sat back down and covered her ears with her hands. He finished his cupcake.

When the alarm stopped, she dropped her arms. “That’s one aspect of Rustic Creek I’m not sorry I didn’t know about. I’m guessing it’s because of the fire last year, where everyone had to evacuate?”

“Exactly.” He and Reese had been worried sick waiting to hear on the safety of his parents and everyone else. Two people lost their lives and a few properties were severely damaged. One fireman badly injured. “The mayor put the alarm system in place about a month later.”

“How do you know if it’s a real alarm?”

“If it’s a real call to action the alarm will sound, then immediately stop, and then pick up again. After that the mayor will come over the intercom with an advisory.”

“It’s weird hearing you say ‘the mayor’ instead of your dad.”

“He likes us to call him “the mayor” when discussing anything town-related.”

She cracked up. “Really?”

“On all the days that don’t end in ‘Y.’” He tried to keep a straight face. Failed.

“Okay, Mr. Funny, what do you say we head back to the guesthouse and get to work?” She popped the last bite of cupcake into her mouth.

“Great idea.”

“I’m full of them.” She licked a bit of frosting off her finger and damn, if his body didn’t react. Every move she made gripped him. Left him wanting more. And he had to get over it. If she noticed this new awareness on his part, she might push him away.

…

Three hours later, Reese sat on the couch with her laptop on her thighs, a spiral notebook open, and her iPad beside her. She read quickly, a big plus with her job, and after twenty minutes of staring at her computer screen with no story idea for her screenplay, she’d decided to read instead. She typed up the last of her script notes for Shay and saved the Word doc. One down.

Cam glanced at her from his position on the chair beside the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, his hair an adorable mess from running his fingers through it several times. He shut his laptop with a decidedly unsatisfactory click. From what she’d gathered from his lack of typing, he hadn’t had a very productive afternoon.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked. Meaning his story and what troubled him about it.

“No, but thanks.”

She stared at him. He stared back. His eyes, his nose, his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead, all came together to produce a very handsome face. “While I was working, I may have googled some advice from Academy Award–winning screenwriters.”

The murky hue dulling his tired eyes fizzled out. “Oh, you did, did you?”

“There was some good stuff there.”

“Lay your favorite on me.”

“Jordan Peele said ‘when dealing with writer’s block, follow the fun. If you aren’t having fun, then you’re doing it wrong.’”

“Which got you thinking…”

It’s like he could read her mind. “That we should have some fun. But a kind of fun to help with your story.”

“I’m listening.”

She put aside her computer and leaned forward. “Think you could get your hands on some fireworks? Nothing major, just a couple little ones? And only the legal kind.”

His brows furrowed. “You want me to buy fireworks?”

“Are your ears plugged or something? Yes. Or party poppers might work, too, if you can’t get the good stuff. Anything with some spark and combustibility that can be placed on the ground.”

He lifted his feet off the coffee table and planted them on the hardwood floor. “Okay, Girl-With-A-Plan, I think I can meet your request. What are you going to do while I track down some low-hazard firepower?”

She grinned. She loved it when he went along with her ideas like they were perfectly normal. He trusted her and followed her lead with unflinching calm, making her feel more important than anyone else ever had.

“I’ll be shopping, too.” She jumped to her feet, excited. “Meet back here in an hour?”

“That should work.” He stood. “This is going to be fun, you say?”

“Totally!”

A little over an hour later, they reconvened on the driveway. The timing was perfect; Pixie and Paul were out for dinner, Gael was still at work at the garage, and she didn’t know where Nash was, but he wasn’t home.

Which meant no one would be alarmed by the noise about to go down.

The fading sun shone down on them and a lukewarm breeze ruffled leaves. “You ready?” she asked, bouncing on her feet. Two large plastic shopping bags lay on the ground.

Cam put down a small cardboard box. “I think so.” Kneeling, he pulled out his purchases. “We’ve got a couple of fountain fireworks, some sparklers, and a volcano.” He looked up at her. “Whatcha got?”

She dumped out the contents of the first bag. “I have Hot Wheels cars and two crisscross crash sets! I thought we could blow everything up. You know, like they do in your movies. If this doesn’t inspire you and bring out your inner crash-boom-bah, then we can’t be friends anymore.” She poured out a dozen Hot Wheels cars from the second bag. “Am I awesome or what?”

Cam watched her, appreciation written all over his face.

“Correction,” she said. “We’re awesome.”

“We make a good team.” He seemed unable to take his eyes off her, for one second, two, three. He blinked first and then looked down at the goods. “Before we do this, I’ve got something for you.” The pure joy in his voice made her heart happy.

He pulled a firefighter’s jacket out of his car. An official one, judging by the thickness, utility color, and reflective stripes. “Gotta protect the director of this action sequence.”

“Did Jordan give that to you?” Jordan Radcliffe, cousin and all-around amazing woman.

“She did. When I stopped by the fire station and said I wanted it for you, she handed it right over.”

“Because of the sparkler incident.” Statement, not a question. When Reese was nine, and visiting over the Fourth of July weekend, she’d burned her hand on a sparkler and Jordan had been there to help keep her calm—and Cam, too. He’d been upset that Reese had hurt herself.

“No idea.” He moved behind her to help her put it on. She instantly gained like ten pounds, the thick coat heavy on her shoulders.

“It was nice of her to let you borrow it. But what about you?”

He stepped in front of her and rolled up the sleeves of one arm, then the other, just enough to allow her fingers freedom to wiggle. “I’m good.”

“Cam.”

He pulled her ponytail out from under the jacket. The gesture felt far more intimate than it should. “This isn’t my first time with pyrotechnics. I’ll be fine.” He took a step back, glancing down her body. She still had on just a cotton dress and sneakers. “Maybe you should put some pants on.” His protectiveness and care sent a rush of warmth through her. Or maybe it was just the jacket.

“Shut up already! This is more than enough.” She shooed him away. “Let’s get started, okay?”

“Okay.”

They took the cars out of their packaging and readied the fireworks. Cool to the touch, the spacious concrete driveway served as a safe base for their miniature action sequence. Cam located some matches inside the house and soon they were lighting fireworks and placing them beside and underneath the toy cars. She and Cam jumped back as sparks flew sideways and up into the air, launching the lightweight cars several feet above the ground.

“It’s working!” Reese clapped her hands.

“Know what music is playing in my head?”

“Duh. ‘Ode to Joy’ from Beethoven’s ‘Ninth Symphony,’ ala Die Hard.”

Cam wrapped an arm around her in a side hug. “You got it. You’re also a genius for suggesting this.” Yay! She hoped that translated to him writing some kick-ass action scenes.

She tilted her head back to look up at him. He angled his down. Looked at her mouth for longer than was polite before letting her go. She shivered and for a moment forgot this was about his writing career.

“Let’s set up the track,” he rushed to say, “and crash some of these babies before we blow more up.” He put distance between them and got busy doing that, effectively extinguishing whatever unfamiliar, holy-shit-we-want-to-kiss-each-other vibe had just occurred between them. A good thing, given even the smallest lip-lock would change things.

“I call the cars with flames on the sides,” she said. “And you have the rest.”

“Deal. Do you remember wanting to line up cars with me when I was a kid?”

It took her a minute to go that far back in her memory. “I do. You made your own track on the hardwood floor in the family room and lined them up in perfectly straight lines, right?”

“Right. And you always wanted—”

“The yellow car with the red flames.”

He smiled at her. “Yep. And then you’d drive through my straight lines and ruin my careful execution.”

“You’d get so mad at me.”

“Not mad. Frustrated.”

She canted her head to the side. “I still frustrate you. It’s part of my charm.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, with a lopsided smile this time.

They spent the next half hour crashing cars. Blowing up cars. Arguing over the best car chases in movies—she picked a scene from his last movie but he said that didn’t count so she chose the Mini Cooper chase in The Italian Job and he picked the opening getaway scene in Baby Driver. They also laughed so hard she almost peed her pants.

She sang out a lyric from “The Roof is on Fire” and cracked up further.

Cam laughed with her. Nothing was actually on fire, but their car collection was definitely worse for wear.

After setting off their final explosion, Cam said, “That was a blast.”

They exchanged a look and then dissolved into laughter again. He was such a punny guy. But best of all, he’d had fun. She crossed her fingers that the next time he sat down to write, the words flowed.