She sipped her wine. “Of course. I never want to do anything that affects your job or your safety. But I have to admit that I’m curious. Is there anything you can tell me about what you’re working on?”
I pondered her question for a minute, thinking about what was technically okay to reveal to her and what wasn’t. The bottom line was that I trusted Cammie, and I’d probably tell her anything she asked.
“It has to do with a large organized crime family back east.” I shifted in my seat, a little uncomfortable now that I had actually begun talking about it. “One of the guys is out here right now, and so we’re following him around.”
“Why is he here?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” I said, skirting around the whole truth.
“So you’re taking pictures and stuff? Like surveillance?”
“Exactly.” I hesitated, and she definitely sensed it.
“I have a million more questions, because this is really fascinating,” she said, “but I’ll stop.”
“I don’t mean to be rude. It’s just that I can’t talk about most of the case, and I haven’t been in this kind of situation”—I waved my hand between the two of us—“in a long time.”
“You’re not being rude. And it’s okay, I totally get it,” she reassured me, and I wanted to leap over the table and kiss her for being so damn understanding.
A change of subject was called for, and for whatever reason, a certain memory popped into my head. Making a quick choice, I decided to put it all out there—every misunderstanding, every action or inaction, word not spoken, thought not shared—all of it. I wanted there to be nothing standing between us anymore.
“You know, I came to your house the night before I left for New York.”
“You came to my house?” Her brows drew together as she squinted at me.
“I waited across the street in my car for three hours. I wanted to at least tell you good-bye. You still weren’t speaking to me, but I had to try.”
“I never saw you.” She shook her head as she refilled her wineglass. “I mean, I don’t remember seeing your car or anything.”
“You came home with another guy.” I still remember how I felt when she pulled into her driveway and a strange guy jumped out of her passenger seat, laughing and racing her to the front door. The smile on my face had instantly changed into a frown, and that was when I knew it was really over between us.
“Another guy?” Her eyes narrowed at my words. “But I wasn’t dating anyone. That doesn’t make sense. Are you sure it was me?”
I barked out a sharp laugh. “Yes, Cammie. It was you. It was your house, your driveway, and your car. But I didn’t know the guy, though. He didn’t look familiar.”
She tapped the side of her head with her finger. “I’m trying to remember. I don’t even know who it could have been.”
“Well, I wanted to kill him,” I admitted, and she huffed out a laugh.
“Oh my God!” Cammie blurted. “I know who it was! It was Kristy’s stupid boyfriend at the time, Glen. He went to the other high school, and he didn’t have a car. I picked him up a lot.”
“Well, now I wish I would have gotten out of the car and talked to you,” I said, wishing I could kick my eighteen-year-old ass all the way from here to Wisconsin as her gaze dropped to her plate and my heart sank. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” she said softly, but I didn’t believe her for a second.
Prom Nightmare
Cammie
We moved our conversation over to the living room after I insisted on cleaning off the table.
“Please let me do the dishes,” Dalton said, but I swatted him away and shoved him toward the couch.
“It’s literally two plates and two wineglasses. I think I can handle it.”
“You’re so damn stubborn,” he said with a whine as he tossed the empty wine bottle into the trash.
“And you’re bossy,” I shot back, not really