Take A Chance With Me (With Me in Seattle 18)

“Well, hi there.”

“I brought dinner.” He holds up a bag, and I sniff the air. “I just have to pop the lasagna in the oven for thirty minutes.”

“Is there garlic bread?”

“I’m not a monster, Mags. Of course, there is.”

“Then you may enter.” I gesture for him to come inside and make a mental note that I’ll have to sing that last song tomorrow before I go to work. “You didn’t have to bring dinner.”

“It’s your night off,” he says simply. “You shouldn’t have to cook on your day off.”

I blink at him and then watch as he unloads the bag. There’s another paper bag full of crusty bread and a disposable pan that Cam slips into my oven before setting the temperature to heat it up.

“I have to use your restroom,” he announces and walks out of the kitchen. He’s halfway down the hall when it occurs to me that he’s headed for the master. I run after him, slipping in front of him before he can open the closed door.

“Not this one.” I swallow hard, short of breath. “You can use the guest bath.”

He narrows his eyes. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“It’s uh—” I search my brain, frantically looking for an excuse to keep him out of this bathroom. “I’m having it remodeled.”

“No, you’re not.”

“It’s a mess. I haven’t cleaned in a month.”

He doesn’t flinch. He gently wraps his hand around my throat and jawline and leans in, pressing his lips to my ear. “I’m going in this bathroom, Mary Margaret.”

My core tightens—I’ve never been so turned on in my life. Before I can reply, he turns the knob and opens the door behind me. I close my eyes and lean my forehead on Cam’s chest.

But he says nothing.

I open one eye and look up at him.

“The camera is pointed toward the shower,” is all he says.

“Yeah.”

“Please tell me you’re not letting people watch you take a shower for money because I’ll have to hunt every single one of them down and kill them.”

I feel my lips twitch, so I press them together. A giggle bubbles up in my chest.

“Ew, no.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just waits.

“So, you’re welcome to use the guest room,” I say lamely.

“Are you going to tell me what this is?”

Well, damn. I glance back at my setup with the lighting and candles and my phone still held in the slot for the optimum angle and sigh.

“I sing songs for social media, and the shower has the best acoustics.”

He glances down at me, then back up at my stuff, and grins. “Cool. You have a beautiful voice. Why is this a secret?”

“It’s not a secret.” I shrug a shoulder. “I just don’t talk about it because it’s something I do just for me. It’s kind of my therapy, which I know sounds weird, but—”

He kisses my forehead. “It doesn’t sound weird. Were you in the middle of this when I arrived?”

“I was about to sing my last song for the week.”

“Well, go ahead and sing it. I have to finish getting dinner ready anyway.”

I blink up at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Sure. Do what you need to do, Mags. I interrupted your evening, not the other way around.”

“It shouldn’t take me longer than about five minutes.”

“Hey, take your time. I’ll be in the kitchen. After I use the guest bathroom.”

And with that, he kisses me softly and then wanders away. I watch his backside in those jeans and bite my lip.

The man has been right under my nose all this time. A considerate, caring, sexy man. And what did I do? I was sarcastic and a pain in the ass.

“I’m an idiot,” I mutter as I walk back into the bathroom, shut the door, and get myself situated once again. Just like I said, it only takes me about five minutes to record the final song for the week, and then I blow out the candles and tuck everything away in my closet until next time.

I’ll edit the videos tomorrow and then get them scheduled. That’s the part that takes the longest anyway.

I can smell the lasagna as I return to the kitchen and see Cameron sitting at my kitchen island, reading something on his phone.

“Thanks, I got it all taken care of.”

He locks his phone and sets it aside, giving me his undivided attention. He doesn’t ignore me or make me feel like his phone is more important than what I have to say.

A girl could get used to this kind of treatment.

“Tell me more about this. Not because I’m being nosy, but because I really want to know. If you love it so much, I want to know about it.”

“I’ve always loved to sing,” I remind him as I check on the lasagna. It’s just starting to get bubbly. God, I love cheese. “Damn, that smells good. I’m hungrier than I thought.”