With the maître d’s attention focused on finding a suitable booth for the foursome ahead of him, Jordan allowed himself a minute or two to indulge in the past before he’d have to confront the present.
Cam kept her hair longer in those days, way past her shoulders, in gentle waves of spun gold that tickled his chest or caught the wind and tickled his nose. He, of course, wasn’t sentenced to live in this cursed chair yet, and his standing height gave him a few inches over her, lending him the appearance of wielding the power in their relationship. Funny how he’d thought that so important in his youth, the whole mien of being in charge—especially with a dynamo like Cam.
Because, no matter his height, a person couldn’t be in Cam’s orbit and not realize she was a force of nature. Being tall didn’t mean squat when you faced off against the whirlwind that made up the woman he once loved, a woman who could be frostier than February one minute, hotter than August the next. She was the hope of New Year’s Eve, the love of Valentine’s Day, the whimsy of St. Patrick’s, the fireworks of the Fourth of July, the bounty of Thanksgiving, and the joy of Christmas. She was, in essence, the personification of every month of the calendar, all rolled up into one fantastic woman.
He’d thought she’d stay by his side forever, but he’d lost her to...
God knew what.
A football trade? Hard to imagine the love they once shared could be destroyed over something so petty.
“Mr. Fawcett?” The stern-faced maître d’s prompt jerked him back to the present. “Ms. Delgado is waiting for you. I’ll show you to her table.”
Jordan waved off the man’s stiff manner. “No need. I see her. Thanks.” He maneuvered his chair around the waiting area, noting the other tables he passed seemed squished together more than should be comfortable.
The thought struck him and gave him pause. Cam had obviously asked the staff to give him more space, so as not to embarrass him in front of the lunchtime crowd while his wheels caught on furnishings as he made his way to the table—not their usual booth, which was another example of how she’d considered his weakness when planning this meeting. Probably because the last time they met, he’d reminded her of the challenges of maneuvering a chair in a crowded place.
He didn’t know whether to be pleased at her insight or resentful that he needed that kind of insight. This, she could do: order furniture arranged to give him more room to move in a crowded restaurant. No doubt, she assumed the public would see and quietly remark to each other what a kind, thoughtful woman Cam Delgado was. But when the spotlight disappeared, and no one watched, the kind, thoughtful woman had left him floundering with no support whatsoever. He swallowed the sour memories and transformed the ensuing grimace into an uncomfortable smile.
“Hey, Cam,” he greeted her with forced cheer. “It’s been ages since I’ve been here. The old place still looks the same.”
She started to slip out of her chair, but stopped halfway, as if realizing the bad optics of standing over him and having to stoop to meet his level. Resettling in her seat, she waited for him to situate himself opposite her and then extended her hand. “Jordan. Thanks so much for meeting me here today.”
He wrapped his fingers around hers in a no-strings-attached clasp. “Happy to.” He had no idea why she’d asked him to lunch, but he sensed it couldn’t be good news. She must have decided against buying the Loughlin site after all. This was the kiss-off meeting, he could sense it in the air.
How would this turnabout affect him? Susan had been dancing in her office for days now. He doubted she’d take the news well.
So much for any possible fumblerooski to save this game.
Their waitress approached the table and asked if he wanted a drink. His first instinct was to order a scotch, but he quickly reconsidered and went with an iced tea instead. After she left, he pushed the menu to the side and leveled a steady gaze on Cam. “Now, that the drinks are out of the way, why don’t you tell me why I’m here?”
She shook out her napkin and placed it on her lap. “Well...”
She wiggled in her seat, as if trying to get comfortable, which didn’t bode well for what she was about to say. He steeled himself in his chair, his hands gripping the arm rests with white-knuckled strength.
“Normally, I’d just have Marty or Rose call you,” she continued, “but I think I owe you more than a faceless conversation with one of the foundation’s legal representatives. This news should come from me directly.”
Here it comes, the gentle rejection...
He decided to head her off before she could dive into whatever speech she’d rehearsed to let him down easy.
“No problem. If you’re not interested—”
“We want to buy the Loughlin site,” she said at the same time.
On a series of rapid blinks, he relaxed. When he spoke again, his tone came out hushed and roughened with renewed hope. “I’m sorry. Did you just say you want to buy the place?”
She laughed. “Of course. You don’t think I’d call you all the way down here just to say no, do you?”
“I’ll be honest,” he replied. “I wasn’t sure what to think.”
“Then I suppose this is a happy surprise for you.” She tilted her wineglass toward him before taking another sip. “Would you like me to signal the waitress to come back so you can order something stronger to celebrate with?”
Well, that came out a little too condescending to Jordan’s ears. Curling his lip, he waved away her offer. “I’m capable of flagging a person’s attention when necessary on my own, thanks. But since I don’t have the luxury of a private car and driver to chauffer me around Manhattan, I’ll stick
