Page 41 of Good Days Bad Days
“No?” he repeats when I leave the refusal hanging between us. As a professional I think a special crossover withSqueaky CleanandSecond Chance Renovationwould be great—I love Dino and Tina, and I love the idea of restoring a house that’s been ravaged by hoarding. And no matter what happens, Ian and I will have to find a way to maintain a work life. I think we both know that. It’s why this space is so necessary for me to process what I need next, what our little family needs next.
But I don’t like the idea of exposing my parents to the unforgiving glare of the public eye—of exposing our relationship to the judgments and comments of fans and critics who’d like nothing more than to spend hours on discussion boards or in comment sections talking about my past, a past I’ve spent my whole life running from.
“I’m sorry, Alex, but I’m not comfortable with it, and I don’t think my parents would sign the participant agreement. Besides, Dino’s more than halfway finished, and the house—the house might need to be torn down. We won’t know until we get it cleared.”
“Then we do a rebuild.”
“That’s not our brand,” I argue, sticking to business-related issues Alex’s fiercely capitalistic mind can grasp rather than personal ones he’s likely to brush off. “Our brand is renovation—not new construction.”
“Charlie,” he says my name in a deeply condescending tone, “it’d be a crossover episode. Brand matters less with a crossover. Plus, the audiences of both shows will love how relatable you are. America is tired of the perfect family. They want the slightly messed-up family. I bet we could get you on the cover ofPeopleagain, in a heartbeat. This is gold.”
Gold. As though Ian and I sharing our first failed marriages and our now blended family isn’t enough vulnerability—I have to bare my greatest traumas to the world? What the hell kind of business am I in?
“I’m sorry but—no. I can’t,” I state firmly, anger heating my neck, making me restless. Abandoning all effort at playing nice, I collect my purse, keys, and sunglasses to signal my impatience with this conversation. There’s no wiggle room in my answer, and after years of working in this industry, I know it’s clear—this is a hard no, a no that could lead to attorneys on both sides if it’s not respected. Would I blow up my whole career for this no? Maybe. I really might.
Alex sighs, and after an annoyed pause continues his side of the conversation like I haven’t drawn a line in the sand.
“I’m having Karen get some details together so we can really talk through what this would take and then I’ll circle back around. Dino is in, and I’d like to see this happen sometime next week so we don’t miss any more of the cleanup. Take the rest of the weekend to think on it.” He doesn’t wait for my response and hangs up.
I’m left with a silent phone in my hand and a ringing in my ears as a list of every single person I need to contact to shut this down filters into my consciousness, when a knock sounds at my window.
I yelp, placing a hand over my racing heart when I see a familiar face. “Cameron Stokes, you almost gave me a heart attack,” I say, rolling down the window.
“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry Charlie.” He leans low enough to make eye contact. “I stepped outside to call and check on you and saw you sitting in the car. I knew I was going to freak you out if I snuck up on you. I tried not to.”
“No, no. I ... hold on, I’ll get out,” I say, rolling up the window and tossing my bag over my shoulder. It’s not snowy anymore, a slight warm-up over the past few days melting much of the spring snow into large, murky puddles, but I’m still wearing my cheap snow boots, preferring comfort and warmth to fashion while here in Wisconsin, and they hit the asphalt with a clomp.
Cam offers his hand, which is surprisingly smooth compared to Ian’s calloused palms. He helps me out of the car, nonchalantly pushing the door shut behind me so we end up face to face, inches between us. He smells good, a rich, musky cologne with a slightly sweet undertone that for half a second makes me want to lean in for another sniff.
“I thought maybe you changed your mind,” he says, staring down at me. He’s taller than I remember, my head only reaches his shoulder, and in the daylight his hair looks lighter, a sandy blond and curled a bit at the roots. His smile is white and polished, which should be expected for a dentist. But his eyes—his eyes look the same as I remember. Green with brown spots—eye freckles, I used to call them.
“No, no.” I break eye contact, blushing as an indulgent tingle travels over my arms and legs, settling into my chest. “Not at all. My work call went long. That’s all.”
“Ah, yes, the infamous work call. That explains everything.” His reply is lighthearted, playful, as easygoing as when I told him I couldn’t go to homecoming because my mom didn’t want me dating until I was sixteen. He glances at the fancy facade of the restaurant and then back at me like he’s picked up on the anxiety bouncing around inside me. “You look like you could use a walk. How about a quick tour ofthe town? Oh, and if you don’t mind eating on the go, there’s a stand not too far up the street that’s said to cure all work-related stress in one burger or less.”
“In one burger or less?” I ask, a giggle tickling the back of my throat. A walk with Cam is exactly what I need to clear my head. “How can I resist that kind of guarantee?”
He tugs on my hand, the one I’d nearly forgotten he’s still holding, leaning in the direction of the pedestrian bridge. My bare ring finger feels strange wrapped up in another man’s grip, no matter how familiar he might be. I give his hand a squeeze and let go.
“Hold on one sec.” I dive back into my car, locate my phone, shut it down, and place it inside the storage area under the center console just in case Alex or one of his bots tries to call me again.
“Ready?” he asks, his hands shoved into his coat pockets as though he’s showing me he has no intention of rushing things.
“Ready,” I say, slamming and locking the door.
“Then let me be the first to say—welcome to Janesville.”
Chapter 16
Greg
September 5, 1970
Janesville YMCA
“She’s coming to your place?” Mark asks as he wraps a towel around his waist in the YMCA locker room. “That’s a date.”
“It’s not a date. It’s work.”
