Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 507(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Camille Briarlane: No. I’m busy researching Epipogium Aphyllum. I’m sorry, but I don’t believe I’ll have much cell service for the rest of the trip. We’ll talk when I return.
I fired off the text, quite pleased with myself for including the rare plant reference. Continuing through her messages, I kept up the ruse.
Veronica Singer: Any hot guys on the expedition? I miss you. If there’s a hot one, bring him home with you. And where are my pics? You promised pics of exotic shit. Pay up.
Camille Briarlane: I dropped my phone and cracked the lens, so I can’t take any pics. Everything here is great. I miss you too.
Link Stewart: I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I can’t wait for you to get back. You’ve only been gone a few days, but it feels longer. Everyone is getting into the Christmas spirit, but without you, I’m not feeling it. Send me some pics when you can. I’d appreciate something a little more risqué than plants, though. I love you.
Camille Briarlane: I don’t sext. We’ve set up a Christmas tree in the main tent here. Very festive. I’m really feeling the Christmas spirit. In fact, this may be the best Christmas ever. The expedition is going deep into the forest over the next week, so communication will be spotty.
A smile crept across my face as I fired off that little missive to Link the prick.
“Why are you smiling like you just drowned a kitten?” Camille sipped her coffee as Rita bustled around us with plates.
I shrugged as Rita set a glass of orange juice in front of me. “That creeper sloth meme gets me every time.”
She arched a brow. “Sure.” She muttered something like a curse under her breath, then spoke up, “Are you going to work tomorrow?”
“Of course.” I fucking hated it. The thought of leaving her was like a burr under my skin.
“I’m going to stay here?”
“Yes.” I took a vicious bite of bacon as I imagined her here without me.
“That’s a relief.” She settled into her chair and gave me a sassy smile. “A whole week without you sounds great.”
“Oh, darling Camille.” I returned her smile. “I’m taking the helicopter to and from the city all week. I’ll be home in time for dinner. And certainly in plenty of time for bed.”
Her smile faltered as Rita placed a plate of apple streusel pancakes in front of her. “Maybe you could take me to the city with you.” Her hopeful tone played like sweet notes in my ears.
I drained my coffee. “No.”
Her eyes fell, and she retreated inside herself.
The heartburn kicked up a notch, but I pushed past it. “Eat up. I have something else to show you today.”
“I’m not hungry.” She pushed her plate away.
“Don’t be that way. Rita made those pancakes special for you.”
She canted her head to the side and stared at the plate. Realization bloomed across her face. “These look just like Friar’s pancakes.”
“Your favorite.” I pushed the plate closer to her. “Give them a taste.”
“You can’t buy me off with my favorite foods.”
“I don’t intend to. I just want to make you happy.”
Her brow crinkled as if my words were distasteful to her. Yes, I understood that letting her go would make her the happiest at that moment. But what she didn’t understand yet was that I was the only one who could make her happy for the rest of her life. Why was that so hard for her to see?
“At least try them. For Rita.” I shot a look toward the door to the kitchen.
“You can’t keep using Rita against me.” Despite her words, she picked up her fork and ate a bite. Her eyes closed as she chewed. “These are so good.”
Rita pushed back into the room, a fresh carafe of coffee in her hand. “Everything all right?”
“Perfect.” Camille took another bite. “Thank you.”
“I’m so glad you like them.” She poured fresh coffee. “The recipe called for Granny Smith apples, but I used the sweeter Ambrosia variety. I hope that didn’t throw it off.”
“They’re better than Friar’s.” Camille said and wiped her mouth with her napkin in her singularly adorable way.
Rita beamed. “I’m glad.”
After Camille ate almost all her pancakes and finished another cup of coffee under Rita’s watchful eye, she declared herself full and thanked Rita again. She turned to me. “What did you want to show me? The well where you keep the lotion?”
“Your knowledge of movies starring psychopaths says more about you than me.” I reached out to brush a crumb from her chin, but she smacked my hand away and did it herself. “Just show me already.”
“As you wish.” I stood and offered to help her up.
“I got it.” She rose and tested her ankle.
When she winced, I stepped closer. “I’ll carry you.”
“No. I’m fine. I need to use it for it to feel better.”