Page 12 of Things We Fake
“Yes, you do care. She’ll have a coronary if she thinks her only grandkids will be cat babies.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m stopping at the grocery store, and then I’m going home to spend what’s left of my pathetic weekend in peace.”
“Okay. Don’t forget we’re going hat shopping tomorrow for the Easter Parade.”
The Easter Parade, a longstanding tradition I’d never understood, was an excuse for people to show off their most extravagant and outrageous outfits while strolling down Fifth Avenue on Easter Sunday. Since I wasn’t a fan of flamboyant clothes, and I hated hats with a passion, I wasn’t looking forward to the occasion.
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “I’d rather go see Sam’s murderabilia collection.”
I shoved the phone into my bag with a vengeance. I knew I had to go, or the girls would gang up on me, and I’d never hear the end of it. Maybe Lily was right and I was a people pleaser. But sometimes it was easier to pick my battles, and this was one I was willing to lose.
I was only supposed to pick up two things: milk and frozen strawberries. As if that would ever happen. The one thing I should never do is go shopping for groceries when I’m depressed. In with the frozen entrees, fruit for smoothies, salad fixings, eggs, and milk, I tossed in a container of ice cream, three chocolate bars, a bag of potato chips, and a pack of cookies. I also picked up a six pack of beer and two bottles of wine, since I was outand I didn’t want to ask my parents for more and get a lecture on responsible drinking. The two reusable grocery bags I’d purchased were loaded to the brim, and the two block walk in the frigging spring blizzard became as long and arduous as a trek to the North Pole.
By the time I got home, I was puffing like a steam engine going uphill. My face was numb, my gloved fingers were frozen, clenched around handles to bags now weighing fifty pounds each, while my arms had to have stretched two inches. Good old gorilla arms—just what my five-foot-frame needed.
I struggled up the front steps, opened the outer door, wrestled with my key in the lock of the inner one, and finally stepped into the foyer. I stood at the base of the steps, letting the bags rest against the bottom one, praying for the strength to climb my very own version of Everest.
When the door opened behind me, I turned to see who it was. Of course it had to be Cam and his irresistible smile.
“It must be Karma. Here, let me help you with those.” He reached for the bags and grabbed them as if they were filled with feathers.
I was too tired to protest, so I mumbled a “thanks” and followed him up the stairs.
He set the bags down outside my door, arranging them carefully next to my doormat. The mat had been a gift from Jesse; it portrayed a grumpy cartoon blonde and was captionedOh crap, it’s you again.
Cam laughed and reached out to straighten the crooked doormat with his foot. “This is cute. I should get one when I move into my own place. By the way,I’m supposed to return this to you.” He fished the key I’d given him from his jeans’ pocket.
I reached for it. “Don’t you need it anymore?”
“No. Sebastian gave me one of my own.”
“That’s nice of him. I thought you might be staying with your brother, Luke’s dad.”
“No, Craig and Carley’s house is too crowded right now, and they’re doing some redecorating. Sebastian’s place is small, but at least it’s quiet.”
“I get the need for silence. Have you known Sebastian long?”
“Yeah, we were at MIT together. Our careers moved in different directions, but we stayed in touch.” He smiled. “I think I’ve seen you around here a time or two.”
My lips parted. “Really? I don’t remember seeing you.” And I sure as hell would have remembered seeing this Greek god around.
“I used to have shorter hair and a beard.”
I winced.
He laughed, looking chagrinned. “It seemed like a good idea back then, okay?”
“I’m not judging,” I lied.
And to think I never noticed him just because he had a beard. What was it with men and beards lately? I mean, beards looked good on some men, but not on Cam. All it did was hide his gorgeous features.
“Wouldn’t blame you if you did judge,” Cam said, as though reading my mind. “If you teach seventh grade English, you must teach my nephew, Luke.”
“I do. Luke is a great kid. He’s one of my star pupils and my go-to guy when the software orcomputers act up. I suppose you take some of the credit for that. You did say you work in tech.”
He shrugged. “Could be. The passion for complicated things runs in the family.”
He gazed down at me. His eyes, as warm and inviting as a cup of hot cocoa on a cold day, drew me in. Before I drowned in them, I fished up my key and unlocked my apartment door.
