Love, Scars, & Shooting Stars

Chapter Three

Cameron turned slowly around to find a petite, sandy-haired woman standing directly behind him. She wore jeans and a t-shirt, faded but clean, and though she wore no makeup or jewelry of any kind, there was something about her appearance that Cameron found appealing—a plain, organic sort of beauty that he doubted she was even aware of. Her hair was pulled back into a tidy ponytail, save for a few wispy tendrils that had escaped to frame the curve of her face, and it was these that she tucked behind her ears as she shifted nervously in his sights. A faint blush rose up into her cheeks, and eyes the color of toffee widened slightly before she dropped her gaze to the floor, clearly embarrassed.

"The first part, I mean," she clarified. "The job. Not... the other thing."

Cam slid a glance over his shoulder to Bill, who quirked one thick white eyebrow in response, and then back to the woman standing before him. He guessed her age to be around thirty, give or take, although there was a weariness in her eyes that was suggestive of someone much older.

Like someone my age, he thought wryly, acutely aware of the stiffness in his forty-year-old muscles.

He looked past her to the glass doors and noted the beat-up little sedan parked outside at the gas pumps. Maine plates, but she wasn't from Lloyd's Harbor, of that he was certain. She might do okay at the customer service part, but judging by the size of her, he doubted she'd be able to lift the cases of meat and cheese that came in on the freight truck every other Thursday. Hell, she'd probably throw her back out on the first day and sue him for everything he owned! Cameron didn't want to be rude, but there was no way he was going to hire this woman. Why would she even want the job in the first place? He hadn't exactly sold it as an appealing opportunity.

"Don't you want to know what the job is, first?" Cam asked, tossing a roguish half-smile to Bill behind the counter. "I mean, how do you know you're even qualified?"

Her brown eyes shot up to meet his gaze, any trace of insecurity washed away by his dismissive sarcasm.

"Well," she said haughtily, stepping around him to slide a five-dollar bill across the counter before continuing. "From what I overheard, it doesn't sound like the job requires all that much in the way of qualifications, other than integrity and the ability to show up, both of which I happen to have." She shrugged. "Anything else, I'll learn as I go..."

Cam could only stare back at her, speechless.

"Okay, but..." he finally managed. "I can't just hire you on the spot, right here. Tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know anything about you, that's 'why not'."

She shrugged. "Fine. What do you need to know?"

Cameron blinked, caught off guard by her rapid-fire responses. She was the one who wanted a job, so why did it suddenly seem like he was the one being interviewed?

"Well, for starters," he said, regaining his equilibrium. "Where are you from?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, if it's going to affect your availability..."

She hesitated, but her eyes never wavered from his. "It won't."

Cam stared back at her, trying to determine if she was impulsive, desperate, or just plain crazy.

Probably all three, he decided.

Breaking away from her penetrating gaze, Cameron grabbed his coffee from the counter and nodded a farewell to Bill. He was too tired to indulge this woman's whims any further, and if he didn't get out to the old house soon, he'd be finishing that roof in the dark. Starting toward the door, he slid a sidelong glance to the brazen woman still standing to his right, patiently awaiting his decision.

"Fine. Interview, tomorrow morning at eight," he said, fairly certain that he was making a mistake. "Don't be late."