I pull into the parking lot, finding a slot close to the door, and jog inside. I find her in the nail and screw aisle, her nephew Steven standing next to her, fuming.
“I’m telling you, Cami, those screws are too small. The shelf won’t hold.”
“Don’t yell at me!”
Steven looks up and sees me. “She called both of us.”
I reach out and shake his hand, then turn to Cami. “How’s it going, Bob Vila?”
“I want these screws.” She’s frowning, her lips twisted in frustration. “But Mr. Know-It-All says they won’t work.”
“What are you building?”
“I’m redoing my pantry.”
I nod. “Why did you call both of us?”
“Because it’s always better to get more than one opinion,” she says reasonably. “And he didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear.”
“Oh my God, Cami, I’m out.” Steven pulls at his hair and looks up at me. “She’s all yours.”
“I love you,” she tells him sweetly.
“Yeah, I love you too, and it’s a good thing because otherwise I wouldn’t put up with your shit.” He grins and leaves as she blows him a kiss.
“Steven grew up,” I say, surprised.
“He’s in college now,” she says with a nod, still staring at the screws. “He’s working at the restaurant a few days a week.”
“Awesome. Still living at home?”
“No, he’s living with his girlfriend. Amanda and Brock moved to Seattle about a year ago for a job opportunity, and Steven wanted to stay here. I offered him my guest room, but I think he likes having a little freedom. He checks in with me.”
“Okay, tell me more about your pantry.”
“Okay. So, I want to redo the shelving and paint it. It currently has wire shelves, and whoever put them in there should be hung by them.” She scoffs, making me grin. “I can’t put granola bars on them. Or little packets of taco seasoning. They fall right through!”
“So you want wood shelves.”
“Yes.” She nods. “So what screws do I buy?”
I survey the packages of screws on the wall and pull a few down. “These.”
“Okay. Now I need shelves.”
“Let’s go.” I take her to the organization aisle and we pick out the shelves she wants, along with brackets and bins.
“Now, since you’re here . . .” She bats her big green eyes at me.
“Yes?”
“I need paint and a door.”
“A door?”
“I really want to replace the plain one with one of those pretty ones with the glass in them that says ‘pantry.’”
She bites her lip and looks up at me, and in this moment, I’d give her just about anything she asked for.
“Okay, a door it is. This way.” She follows me all the way to the other side of the store, stopping on the way to pick out a paint color, brushes, and other painting supplies. After we’ve chosen her new door, we make our way to the checkout counter.
“I can’t fit this all in my car.”
“I have the work truck,” I say, leading her to it. “I’ll just take this stuff with me and meet you at your place after work. I’ll help you put it together.”
“Well, at least let me take the paint and I’ll get that done before you get there.”
“Good plan.” She helps me unload the flat cart, takes the paint, and sends me a winning smile.
“Thank you, Landon.”
“You’re welcome.” Before she can walk away, I grab her hand and tug her to me, lower my head, and kiss her softly. “I’ll see you a little later.”
“Looking forward to it,” she breathes. She sends me a sassy smile, then turns and walks to her car, a little extra sway in her step, her pretty blond hair bouncing around her shoulders.
I want her.
IT’S LATER THAN I anticipated when I pull up to Cami’s house, thanks to a bunch of snafus at work this afternoon and then getting tied up at my dad’s office discussing a new job.
Work is really interfering with my love life.
I use the key Cami gave me to let myself in, and find Scoot lying on the back of the couch, sleeping soundly. He opens his eyes when I walk past, but then falls right back to sleep, not caring in the least that I’m here.
Suddenly I hear . . . giggling. I walk into the kitchen to find a war zone. Food, bins, and appliances cover every surface. The pantry door is standing open. I can’t see inside it, but I hear a loud thud, then Cami giggle, and another female voice says, “Ow! That was my knee!”
“Sorry.” More giggling. I quietly walk around the island until I can see inside the pantry, then stop, fold my arms over my chest, and watch the show.
Because it’s quite the show.
All of the old wire shelves have been taken out. Cami’s on her hands and knees, painting along the baseboard. Kat is rolling up high, and they’re chattering away.
“Dick size is important,” Kat says, as if she’s talking about the weather. “I mean, if it’s too small, it’s like, Are you in yet? And if you have to ask that question, it’s not a good sign.”
“Definitely not,” Cami says, slurring her words. She sits back on her haunches, giving me a prime view of her back and ass, and takes a sip of wine, right out of the damn bottle. “And if they’re too big, it’s like, ouch! I prefer a medium-sized dick.”