Page 12 of Best Laid Plans
“You’re wearing my t-shirt,” he said incredulously, pushing down the unexpected stirring of feelings it caused. Womendidn’t have his clothes. Most women had never even seen inside his bedroom. And it was less complicated that way.
Between his chef’s schedule, roommates, and–most importantly–his unwillingness to pretend like he was built for a normal life, it was a situation that has honestly never come up. Becoming a chef was the perfect schedule for someone who wanted to avoid having a traditional life. He didn’t mind failing at things, but he wasn’t going to take someone else down with him.
But here was Elle Pierce, incredibly soft looking legs, sleep-mussed hair, and fuck–those lips–looking like she’d just spent the night getting wrecked and had put on a memento to keep Cam close. Not that she knew how Cam felt about that shirt, particularly.
Elle, however, was not of the same opinion. She stood up straight and leveled him with alook. “This isnotyour t-shirt. I’ve had this shirt for like fifteen years. I stole it from Wyatt, if we’re getting technical.”
Cam laughed in disbelief. This was going to be fun, and he couldn’t help the desire to rile Elle up. “Because I joined the football team for about two weeks. Your brother convinced me to, our Freshman year. There,” he said, pointing, “you can see the streaks that I got on it when your dad had us paint the restaurant.”
Elle looked down at the threadbare shirt, studying it closely, like she was noticing the splotches of blue for the first time. Years ago, it clashed with the vibrant red of the lobster, which was now just a faded pink. “Were you a hulk at fourteen, too? I don’t remember that,” Elle said, that last part seemingly to herself before she met Cam’s eyes again.
“It was an extra they gave me to practice,” he admitted, though it had been oversized, then. He hadn’t hit his growth spurt until the following summer when he’d shot up by about a foot, overnight, it had felt like. It had probably been meant forsome booster club member who wanted to relive his old glory days, but it had ended up in Cam’s hands.
“Late bloomer?” Elle’s tone was teasing, but she still had her hands wrapped around the shirt like there was nothing that would part her from it.
“Something like that.” Not that Elle knew it, but Cam wasn’t going to fight her on it. He’d assumed that it had ended up in some donation bin, though he hadn’t thought about it in a long time. His pre-season on the football team was not a happy memory.
Getting hit at homeandon the field hadn’t been a good time, and since he couldn’t lash out at one of those places, football practice had suffered the brunt of his unchecked anger.
It was no surprise when he’d been kicked off the team, and honestly, he was glad to have more time to spend in the Pierces’ kitchen.
Once he’d gotten bigger–imposing enough that he could stand his ground with his dad, he’d forgotten all about his ill-advised time on the team. Wyatt, however, had taken to football like a duck to water, never looking back.
“Okay, well… I feel like the finders keeper’s policy is probably in effect at this point,” Elle said, her voice hedging, like she really thought that Cam may take it from her.
He held his hands up. There was no reason to explain to Elle the memories that shirt held, and why he was happy to be rid of them. Even if seeing Elle in it was creating a whole new host of confusing memories that blurred bad feelings with good ones, making something entirely new that he didn’t know how to feel about.
He cleared his throat, like he was weighing the decision heavily. Finally, he let out an accepting sigh. “It’s all yours.”
Elle’s eyes lit up so brightly that it was like he’d just solved the world’s problems. And now, with a full smile on her face, her hold on the t-shirt shifted from protectiveness tosomething that Cam thought was more like the way someone held a puppy.
That was Cam’s cue to leave. He wasn’t anyone’s hero, and he hoped that Elle knew that. “Anyway, this was a fun walk down memory lane, but I’m heading downstairs. Your omelette’s getting cold.”
He turned quickly and crossed the room in seconds so that when Elle said, “thank you,” he was already heading out the apartment door.
Pierce’s Lobster Co. felt like home. The smell of fresh seafood enveloped him as he walked in the glass double doors. It smelled like a salty ocean breeze, slightly briny, and he took in a deep inhale.
The front of the restaurant was a seating area decked out with simple, square tables covered with red and white checkered tablecloths, each with four wooden chairs set around them.
On the walls, Cam could still see the faded blue lobsters that Mr. Pierce had made he and Wyatt paint along the right side of the room, though just like his football shirt, they’d grown faded over the years. Affixed to that wall were dozens of family photos of Wyatt and Elle. Cam, too, after he’d come on the scene. Plus other family photos of various configurations, mostly all taken at the restaurant. The left side of the room was a large glass window that gave the restaurant a bright, airy feel that most dingy lobster shacks weren’t known for.
The Pierces’ had a good thing going–a traditional, no frills seafood restaurant–even though it had grown a little more weathered with time.
He plucked at his t-shirt as he surveyed the room. The air was already warm from the large stock pots, at least a dozen,which would be filled with fresh lobsters to boil throughout the day.
Cam hadn’t been back to Rock Harbor in eight months, the longest he’d ever been away. Once he’d been selected forUltimate Chef, things had moved quickly. He was on set in Los Angeles for six weeks to film the show, and after the three months of post-production, it had begun airing about four months ago.
Once he’d returned to Boston after filming had wrapped, life hadn’t stopped. He’d been making a name for himself in the city as an acclaimed chef, but being on a nationally televised show had upped the ante in a way he hadn’t really been prepared to deal with.
Michael Vittori, the owner of Gossamer, where Cam (maybe) worked, hadn’t known he was going to win. But that hadn’t stopped him from milking any and all notoriety he could bring to the restaurant as the show was airing.
By the final episode, Cam had felt like a prized pony being trotted around, almost wishing that he wouldn’t have won.
It had taken four days for Michael to plan the celebration party that would kick off the most chaotic night of his life.
And now, as he stood in the restaurant that hadtrulymade him the chef he was, he felt like shit for not coming back sooner.
These were the people he should have been celebrating with.
