Camden Hunter is infuriating.
He has a perfect face. A perfect body. Is rich as hell. One of the most talented people I’ve ever met. And the asshole can cook, too.
His eyes are trained on me as I blow on the spoonful of soup, cooling the hot liquid down before taking a bite. My mom used to make the best soup ever, spending Sundays throwing everything in the fridge into a pot and somehow making it delicious. But damn, this chicken noodle soup almost compares to what she used to make.
It’s delicious, which is annoying as hell.
I can’t even say he’s lacking in personality anymore because the more I get to know him, the more I think the whole asshole thing is a front. Sure, he still has his moments where he can be a dick, but he’s not as bad as I first thought.
And I don’t like that at all. Because now he’s doing things like taking off work to come take care of me and make me soup, and it doesn’t feel like we’re enemies who might have sex anymore. It feels like I might have actual feelings for the art dealer next door, and I have no idea if it will hurt me in the end.
I try to push any negative thoughts out of my mind. One day, I might come to regret letting Camden into my life little by little, but right now, I want to soak it in. I want to feel special, like maybe him taking care of me is out of character for him and that he may be feeling the attraction between us, too. For me, it isn’t just the sexual tension. There are feelings, and it’s terrifying and exhilarating to wonder what might happen.
“So are you just going to leave me hanging, or are you going to confess that my soup blew you away?”
I slurp the liquid from the soup with a casual shrug. “It’s okay.”
He narrows his eyes on me. “You’re lying.”
I like the casual way he sits in his chair, his long legs slightly parted. He holds himself so confidently, even while sitting in my tiny kitchen, watching me eat soup. He’s got the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, showing off his perfect forearms. The muscles along the top ripple with his movements, beckoning me to reach out and touch them.
“You’re watching me awfully close, shortcake.” His voice is low and taunting.
I meet his blue eyes, trying to play it cool like I wasn’t just imagining gripping his strong biceps as he railed into me.
What kind of medicine did he give me?
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I lie. He and I both know I just got caught ogling him, but it’s fine. I’ll distract him by telling him he makes mediocre soup when in reality, I think it’s the best chicken noodle soup I’ve ever had.
“Mhm,” he hums, sitting back in his chair. He knows exactly what he’s doing when he brings his fingers to his mouth and runs his thumb along his bottom lip.
The asshole is bringing attention to those perfectly chiseled forearms. He’s trying to tempt me, tease me, and if I didn’t feel foggy from the sleep—or the medicine—I might just crawl across this table so he could finally fuck me.
“Careful with the speed at which you inhale the soup.” He nods toward my bowl of soup, which is already halfway gone. “You might have me believing you’re actually enjoying it.”
“It’s because I’m starving, and I have no other options.”
“You have a pantry and fridge full of food. If my soup is so terrible, I can find you something else.”
My spine straightens, the spoon clanging into the bowl as I look at him in confusion. “Did you buy me groceries?”
His lips pick up in a cocky smirk. “I did. Would you like me to make you something different?”
I don’t answer him at first. All I can do is stare, trying to figure him out. He’s constantly shocking me. His thoughtfulness takes me by surprise. He didn’t have to bring me herbal tea and food this morning. He didn’t have to hold me while I slept. And he certainly didn’t have to make me soup and buy me groceries.
He’s so different today than all the other days I’ve known him. It can’t only be because we hooked up.
“Shortcake?”
“Hm?”
He aims a knowing smirk my way. His eyebrows rise as his thumb still teases me by tracing his bottom lip. “Would you like me to make you something different?”
“The soup is fine.” I take another bite. It warms every part of me, comforting me in a way I didn’t know I needed.
It reminds me of being with my mom, of the days I stayed home sick from school and she took care of me and made me soup. We’d watch game shows on TV, and she’d hold me while I napped. He probably doesn’t realize he’s done it, but he’s given me a little piece of my mom back. A little reminder of her. And it means the world to me.
“Thank you,” I begin, suddenly feeling overcome with emotion. “For making this. For all of it.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
I set the spoon down and sit back in my chair. When my eyes meet his, I feel the burning sensation from fighting back tears. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. He just watches me carefully, as if he’s ready to round the table and comfort me at any moment.
“I do, though. I’m sure you’ve missed a lot of work to be here today, and you spent money on groceries—which I’ll pay you back for, by the way—and yeah…just thank you for it all. No one’s ever really done this for me. No one but my mom.”
His eyes soften. He sits up, placing his hands in his lap. “The fact you even offered to pay me back is insulting. I will never take your money, Pippa.” The use of my actual name and not the nickname he’s given me makes it seem like he’s scolding me—maybe he is.
“And I don’t care about missing work today. It can wait. What I care about is that you feel better. I can’t believe I’m saying this out loud, but I like taking care of you.”
Neither one of us looks away. His breath gets faster, but his gaze stays steady. If he regrets giving me that little slice of vulnerability, he doesn’t show it.
“I don’t need anyone taking care of me.” My words come out crueler than I’d intended, but I can’t help it. I don’t want to let my walls down completely. To tell him that today means the world to me.
“I think you do.” He doesn’t seem deterred by me lashing out in the slightest. In fact, he angrily shoves out of his chair, the legs making a scraping sound against the hardwood. Before I can ask him what he’s doing, he’s rounding the table and crouching in front of me.
“I haven’t been here very long, but from what I’ve seen, you’re always taking care of other people.”
I don’t say anything. I’m too lost in the way his fingertips dance along my inner thigh in a comforting motion.
“But after your mom, who’s been taking care of you?”
All I can do is swallow, trying to fight the feelings bubbling out of me. I hate letting people know how I feel. I don’t want people to know their words and actions have power over me. But I can’t help myself at the moment. His words have split me wide open, my vulnerability on full display for him. Now all I can do is hope that we don’t go back to the place where he’d use that vulnerability against me.
“You give so much to your business. Your family. This town. But I think it’s time someone gives something to you. And today, I’m making it me.”
“And tomorrow?” My voice shakes. Maybe it’s because my entire body slightly trembles from his tender words and the gentle caress of his fingertips.
“Well, I’d like to take care of you tomorrow, too, if you’ll let me.”
His piercing blue eyes bore into mine, unraveling every single defense I’ve put up against him. I’m supposed to hate the man who wants to change some of the things I love most about Sutten, but instead, I find myself developing feelings for him. It was a lot easier when there was hate in my heart for Camden Hunter. The feelings that are blossoming deep inside seem like ones that’ll last far longer than any hate.
He looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t have to. By the way he squeezes my inner thigh and the way his eyes travel to my lips for a fraction of a second, I’m confident he’s thinking about kissing me. If I wasn’t worried about making him sick, I’d already be closing the distance between us.
“You done?” He nods his head toward the almost empty bowl of soup.
“Yeah.” My voice is hoarse, but it isn’t because of my throat hurting. It’s because emotion clogs my throat as an unwelcome guest.
I watch him clean up, portioning the soup into small dishes so I can just heat them up in the microwave and eat. He wasn’t wrong about getting groceries. The leftover soup containers barely fit in the fridge with everything else that’s in there.
As I look around my kitchen, I realize not only did he cook and order my groceries, but he’s cleaned it as well. The stainless steel fridge gleams, so clean that if I walked up to it, I’d be able to see my reflection. The counters shine underneath the lights.
Did I get sick and enter some parallel universe? Why’s he being so nice?
When he’s got the pot cleaned and drying on my drying rack, he wipes his hands on a towel and turns toward me. “Time for you to lie back down.”
“I have a fever—I’m not dying. I don’t have to lie down.”
“Do you have to argue with me about everything?” This time, there’s a slight smile on his lips. Like his question is playful.
“Well, we made it a couple of hours without fighting. At least we set a new record for ourselves.”
“You were sleeping for most of it.”
I shake my head at him, not bothering to hide my grin. God. I think I really like this guy.
“Come on, Kitty,” I call, tapping my thigh to get her to follow me. “Let’s leave him behind and go lie down.”
“So you actually do follow directions.” His voice comes from right behind me as he follows me back to my room.
I climb into bed, watching Camden scratch at Kitty’s ears as she looks up at him like he’s her favorite person ever.
“You know, it’s annoying that I rescued her and have taken care of her for months now, and you give her one belly rub and she’s completely in love with you.”
He sits down on the floor with her, a sight I never expected to see, and lets her climb into his lap. “I’ve heard I have impeccable charm.”
I scoff, pulling the blankets to my chin. “You’re the least charming person I know.”
He holds a hand to his chest, pretending that my words hurt him. “I’m going to change your mind about me, shortcake.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
