Page 13 of Building Romance
“Guilty,” I reply.
He steps forward and now he’s in my space. Fuck. I hope this isn’t Cam’s bodyguard, because this guy could crush me in a single hand.
He points to my chest. “Don’t fuck with Cam. Also, you should sponsor her café for that bake-off thing. It’s the least you can do since you are trying to steal her customers,” he says.
I’m shocked into silence. Wait? Did he just suggest the same idea I was contemplating?
I swallow. “I was actually going to ask her about that, but, uh, well, we aren’t exactly on great terms. And…” I trail off. I’m still considering if I can even work with this woman without wanting to strangle her, or worse, she might strangle me.
He starts laughing and holds out his hand. “I’m Hutch Cromwell, by the way,” he says as we shake hands.
“I sort of figured that one out,” I huff.
He chuckles again and steps back, nodding toward Cam’s Café. “Cam is a fireball. She just might be the most stubborn human I know, but she also has the biggest heart. When I had the flu last year, she made me homemade chicken dumpling soup and biscuits. She also dropped a care package of medicine off at my door every day for a full week. So if you hurt her in any way, I will kill you and bury you out here where no one will find you.” I grimace. “But her café is amazing. She’s the best baker I’ve ever met. Her café deserves the recognition. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a way your two companies can coexist. I’m not the man to figure out those logistics, but perhaps you’re smarter than me when it comes to that sort of thing.”
“Any other words of wisdom?” I inquire.
“Nope. But good luck,” he says with another laugh. He motions to the café with his head. “You’re going to need it.”
He starts to walk away and then turns back to me doing that two-fingers-to-his-eyes-and-then-mine motion. “Don’t forget, I will level anyone who hurts my friends.”
“Yeah, got that,” I mumble.
He gives me a friendly wave and smiles as if he didn’t just threaten me with bodily harm. And what the hell was he doing in the park?
God, this is a weird-ass place. I decide today isn’t the day to provoke Cam Tanner. I start back toward the street and see Al crossing from Cam’s Café to his apartment building.
He also waves at Hutchinson Cromwell who is entering the café. Does everyone here know each other?
“Fletch, how are you?” Al says warmly as he approaches me.
“Oh, I’m OK, I suppose,” I reply because honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about what just transpired. It’s not every day a former linebacker threatens your life and also gives you advice all in the same conversation.
Al frowns as he opens the apartment building door. “Come on up. Let’s chat.”
It’s either chat with Al or go back to the office and stare at the ceiling while no good ideas pop in my head, so I guess Al’s offer is the more appealing of the two.
“Just for a few minutes,” I state, not sure how long I want to stay. I almost text Spencer to call me in fifteen minutes and pretend there’s an office crisis, but for reasons I can’t explain, I don’t.
I follow Al to the elevator. “Uh, does that thing work?” I ask.
He smirks. “Didn’t work a few weeks ago, but it’s all fixed now. Don’t be chicken. Come on,” he teases.
Now he’s just tapped into my competitive nature, one sculpted by being the youngest of three brothers and five male cousins. I get inside and we ride up to the top floor.
It opens into a private foyer and Al unlocks one side of a set of double doors and ushers me inside.
“How about a drink?” Al suggests, shuffling over to one of those giant globes that’s actually a liquor cabinet. He pulls out a bottle of whiskey, and damn if it isn’t a really good bottle from a small distillery in Scotland. The man does have a penchant for poker and really good alcohol.
He holds up the bottle and I nod as he pours us both a glass. I look around his apartment. I haven’t been here in years. Everything is still straight out of an antique store, which makes sense since his late wife owned one. I miss Edith’s cooking. She always had something cooking, stewing, or baking when I’d visit as a kid with my grandfather. I partly wonder if I open that cupboard by the television there would still be coloring books and games in there. I suspect there would be as nothing else has changed in here in the last thirty years.
“You need to sponsor Cam’s Café in the City Bake-Off,” he states as he sits and crosses a leg.
What the hell is it with everyone? Is there a conspiracy I’m not aware of?
“So I hear,” I reply as I sit down on a chair near him.
“Oh?” he asks, raising one big, bushy eyebrow.
