Page 9 of The Devil's Waltz

“Are you sure everything’s okay, Cami?” she asks.

I force a nod and attempt to pair it with a believable smile.

Her heels echo off the pavement as we walk across the student parking lot toward her car. “Okay, well I want to hear everything about your maybe-date with…”

Right. I hadn’t mentioned his name before. “Xander.”

“Oooh, that’s a hot name. He’s hot, right?”

My thoughts take a dive back to the kitchen at Hallowed Grounds. The way Xander took over and cleaned up my injuries when I was too freaked out to get my hands to stop shaking. The memory of his fingers brushing my skin makes me shiver. I certainly wasn’t in a place to appreciate his looks mid-panic attack last night, but thinking about him now—

“You areblushing,” Phoebe gushes, reaching over and squeezing my shoulders—just short of hugging me.

An awkward laugh slips past my lips, and I fight the urge to cover my face. “Yeah, he’s hot.”

She grins, fishing her keys out of her bag. “I knew it!” After a quick hug, she gets in and starts her car, rolling down the passenger window. “Text me later! Unless, of course, you’re busy—in which case, you have my full support to turn off your phone and get some!”

I shake my head, laughing as she backs out of the parking spot and drives away. It takes me a full minute to realize the pit in my stomach all but vanished while I was consumed with thoughts of Xander.

I might be in trouble.

FOURXANDER

Arriving at Storyville shortly before three, I grab a seat on the leather couch in the corner near the front entrance so I can spot Camille when she comes in. The space is rather busy for the middle of the week, making it too warm to have the wood-burning fireplace lit. Still, the café has a welcoming atmosphere, with hardwood floors and exposed lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. Soft music, the smell of coffee and baked goods, and the hum of multiple conversations from people standing in line and sitting around the café fill the air.

I stand when Camille enters, waving to grab her attention.

Her eyes meet mine, and recognition shines in their soft brown depths as she approaches.

“Camille,” I say in greeting. “It’s good to see you again.” She looks beautiful in a white long sleeve shirt tucked into black jeans and paired with ankle boots—casual but stunning. I can’t look away, especially when pink blossoms on her cheeks under my gaze. She clearly likes the attention, but isn’t sure what to do with it.

Her lips curve into a faint smile. “Under better circumstances this time.” She cringes, shaking her head, as if she wants to take back her words. “I mean, it’s good to see you, too.” After we sit on the couch, her eyes flit around the room, taking it in as she runs her fingers through her loose brown curls. “I can’t believe I’ve never been here before,” she comments before looking back at me.

I angle myself toward her, wanting to move closer but careful to not make her uncomfortable. The faint scent of her floral perfume reaches me, and I inhale slowly, finding myself wanting to savor it. “I’m sure everything is delicious, but I have to admit I’ve only ever ordered the chocolate croissant. Once I find something I enjoy, I tend to stick with it.”

Her eyes stay locked on mine as she nods. “That sounds good.”

“What can I get you to drink?”

“Day-old coffee?” she says without missing a beat, amusement flickering in her gaze.

My lips twitch. “Look who’s funny now.”

Her lashes lower as she catches her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before asking, “What are you having?”

“Americano.”

She wrinkles her nose, then exhales a short laugh. “Sorry. I’m not much of a coffee drinker.”

“Says the girl who works at a coffee shop,” I tease, bumping her knee with mine.

“I know, I know.” She turns her gaze toward the coffee bar. “Hmm, I’ll probably just get a chai latte.” When she reaches for the purse at her hip, I wave her away.

“I’ve got it.”

She pauses. “Are you sure?”

“It’s my treat,” I assure her, standing. “Be right back.” Joining the line to order, I pull out my phone and scowl at the message from Blake. He’s my oldest, closest friend, but also the biggest pain in my ass—and today is no exception.

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