“It’s a good house,” Mia says. “I like it.”
“Me too,” Landon says, and brushes his hand down the back of my hair. “Thank you, Camille.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Mia and I were here too,” Addie reminds him with a sweet smile. “Just in case you forgot.”
“Thank you too, smartass,” Landon says, ruffling Addie’s hair the way he knows she hates it.
He follows us out of the house and stands on the porch as we all climb into Mia’s car and pull away.
“So, what’s up?” Addie asks from the passenger seat. She turns around to smile at me.
“Well, we just helped Landon unpack, and now I’m going home.”
“No, jerk, with you and Landon,” she clarifies.
“We’ve been friends for a long time. Do you have amnesia?”
Addie rolls her eyes and looks over at Mia. “Help me out here.”
Mia looks at me in the rearview mirror. “You’re being obtuse.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
“Didn’t look like nothing to me,” Mia says, and turns down my street. “Especially when I caught you two all cozied up in the closet.”
“They were cozy in the closet?” Addie asks, her voice shrill.
“We’re friends,” I insist. “I almost tripped on the box and he caught me. That’s all.”
“He kept watching you all day,” Addie says. “And not in the friends way, if you know what I mean.”
“Then ask him what’s up,” I reply. “Also, I need to talk to you about Steven.”
“Trying to change the subject,” Mia mutters as she pulls into my driveway.
“That’s just a side benefit,” I reply. “I want to hire Steven to bus tables. He could use part-time work.”
My siblings are both significantly older than me, and have children that are closer in age to me than they are. I was an afterthought for my parents. Despite my not having a close relationship with my brother and sister, Steven and I are super close. He’s more like a brother to me than anything, and I feel an obligation to look after him, especially since his parents moved to Seattle last year.
“No problem,” Addie says. “Can he start this week?”
“He can start whenever you tell him to. I’ll text you his number. It’ll seem more official if you’re the one to call him. Use your scary-boss voice,” I reply as I climb out of the car and wave on my way through the front door.
“Meow.”
“You know, you could give me three minutes to take my shoes and jacket off before you start demanding food,” I inform Scoot, who simply watches me shrewdly. “Not gonna wind between my legs, huh? You only do that to humans who don’t feed you?”
Scoot blinks, not finding me humorous at all, and follows me into the kitchen just as my phone rings.
“How was it?” I ask immediately.
“Well,” Brian replies with a sigh, and I know immediately that it didn’t go well. “I left before dessert.”
“Why?” I frown and shake cat food into Scoot’s bowl, then grab a bottle of water from the fridge and lean against the counter, listening.
“Because when you texted me during the date, she wasn’t impressed that I’m still friends with my ex-wife.”
“This is why you need me to find you someone new!” I insist, and slap the counter. “Anyone I set you up with won’t care that we’re still friends.”
“Cami, you really need to stop trying to set me up,” he says with a laugh. “I don’t need the help.”
“Whatever. The bimbo you dated two weeks ago tried to date-rape you and the chick from last night was a jealous bitch.”
“Both of those points are exaggerations,” he says, his voice dry.
“I just want you to be happy, B. Like, seriously happy.”
“You let me worry about my happy, and you just worry about your own, Cam. You deserve it too.”
Maybe.
“I’m happy.”
“You know what I mean.”
I shrug, not caring that he can’t see me. “I can help you find the perfect girl.”
“I don’t want your help, Cami. Seriously, I’m fine. I date more than anybody I know.”
“I’ll just keep my eyes and ears open, just in case the perfect girl for you comes along and I need to tell you about her.”
“Can we change the subject now?” he asks, resigned.
“Sure.”
“What’s up with you?”
“I just got home, was gonna do some work before Riley comes over to watch our show.”
“That’s not what I mean,” he says calmly. “I can hear it in your voice, Cami. What’s going on?”
Absolutely nothing that I feel comfortable telling you about.
“I’m great.”
“You’re a bad liar.”
“Why does everyone keep reminding me that I’m a bad liar?” I ask, pacing the kitchen. “I’m not lying. I am great. Business is good. Friends are healthy. Steven’s gonna work at the restaurant part-time. I have no complaints.”
“When was the last time you got laid?” he asks, making my jaw drop.
“I think there’s a law written somewhere that says that you should never, ever discuss your sex life with your ex-husband.”