Love for All Time Page 5

  “It was a kiss, Sierra. Nobody said you had to marry the brotha just because you kissed him.” Jazmin chuckled. “Although, you could use a little you-know-what.”

  “Oh, quit.” Sierra giggled in spite of her mood. “I’m going to take a shower. Bye, Jazmin.”

  “Okay, girl. Let me know how this turns out, though.”

  She disconnected the call, shaking her head at her friend’s comments. Still, she had gleaned one truth from Jazmin: a kiss could mean as much or as little as she wanted it to mean.

  And I’ve decided it doesn’t mean a thing.

  * * *

  The smell of coffee brewing awoke Campbell from his sleep. He didn’t hear any rain, so he assumed the storm had passed.

  Sitting up on the sofa, he started to stretch, but stopped midway due to the stiffness in his neck and shoulders. As he stifled a yawn, he looked around the room for any sign of Sierra. He didn’t see her, so he tossed off the blanket, got up and trudged to the hallway bathroom.

  When he emerged, having taken care of his needs, and washed his face, he found her sitting in the armchair across from the sofa, with a magazine on her lap. She looked up when he walked in.

  “Good morning.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Almost afternoon. But good morning.”

  He chuckled. “Sorry I slept so late. I must have been pretty tired.”

  “I’ve been up for a bit. I went out to get my bags from the car, then took a shower and changed.” She closed the magazine and set it on the coffee table. “After that I started the coffee maker and went to find my latest issue of Newsweek.”

  “So, you’ve been outside, then.” He glanced toward the front window. “How bad is it out there?”

  She shrugged. “Not too bad. The far end of the parking lot, closest to the inlet, is flooded.”

  “You know, if you’d have woken me up, I would have carried your bags up for you.”

  She waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  She gestured to the mug of coffee sitting on the table. “Coffee is made from beans. Does that count?”

  He shook his head. “No dice. It’s made from beans but it’s a beverage, not a food.” He clapped his hands together. “Why don’t you let me whip us up some omelets?”

  One of her flawless brows lifted. “You cook?”

  “Yeah. I’m in my thirties, and at some point, it was either learn to cook or spend all my time ordering takeout.” He started walking toward the kitchen. “Do you have a favorite type of omelet?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’ll leave the particulars up to you.”

  “Got it.” In the kitchen, he washed and dried his hands, then began assembling everything he would need. He buttered a large skillet and set it on medium heat on the stovetop, then quickly chopped a green pepper, a red pepper, a sweet onion and a few strips of grilled chicken breast.

  She entered the kitchen while he was whisking eggs with a dash of milk. Setting her mug on the dispenser of the single-cup coffee brewer, she set the machine to make her a second cup. She looked around at the ingredients he’d pulled out. “This looks promising.”

  “It’ll be the best omelet you’ve ever had.” He winked, then ladled some of the eggs into the bubbling butter in the pan. On top of that, he tossed veggies, chicken and a healthy handful of sharp cheddar cheese.

  She lingered by his side while her coffee brewed, and he stole a glance or two as he took care of the omelets. “Can you grab a couple of plates, please?”

  “Sure.” She reached to the upper cabinets and pulled down two white ceramic plates.

  When they were at the table with their omelets and two tall glasses of orange juice, he waited while she cut into hers. After she took the first bite, he saw the satisfied smile spread over her face. But he wanted to hear her say it, so he asked, “How is it?”

  “Great. Thanks for cooking.”

  “You’re welcome.” He dug into his own food.

  They made small talk between bites, and by the time he set their empty plates in the sink, he realized she had no intention of bringing up what had happened last night. He strolled to the sofa where she sat and asked, “Are we going to talk about last night?”

  With a sidelong glance and a flat tone, she said, “No.”

  He sat down on the opposite end, assuming she’d want the distance. “Why not, Sierra?”

  Her long sigh followed his question. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “I think there is.”

  “It was just a little harmless kiss.” She stared toward the television, even though it wasn’t turned on.

  “If that’s the case, then why don’t you want to address it?”

  She spun around then. “What exactly should I be addressing, Campbell?”

  He looked her right in the eyes. “Why you pulled away so suddenly. Why you ran out of here the way you did. What you meant when you said, ‘I can’t.’”

  She pursed her lips tightly. “You’ve known me all of two days. I don’t think I owe you any explanations, Campbell.”

  “You do recall that you kissed me, right?” He placed strategic emphasis on his words, to remind her of just how things had gone down. “That’s the only reason I’m asking. You went from wanting to kiss me one moment, to running away the next.”

  She shrugged, as if it meant nothing. “The fact remains. You don’t know me, and I’m not obligated to explain myself to you.”

  He sat back against the cushions, more confused than before. He’d wanted to think he was getting to know the real Sierra Dandridge, the woman behind the many roles she’d played. Now he knew better. The Ice Queen thing was real, because he was starting to feel the chill rolling off her. “You know, you’re right, Sierra. You don’t owe me anything. You let me stay here during the storm, and I made you breakfast. Guess that makes us even, huh?”

  Her expression changed then, and she looked conflicted. “I didn’t mean to be—”

  He stopped her midsentence. “Don’t apologize for being who you are.” He stood then, and started folding up his blanket. Then he walked around the room, gathering his wallet, keys and phone. “I’ll get out of your hair, since I’ve clearly worn out my welcome.”

  She frowned. “You don’t have to rush off.”

  He went to the front door and opened it, looking outside. “The sun’s out, and I don’t see anything too bad from here.”

  “The news this morning said there’s localized flooding and downed tree limbs and debris on some of the roads.” She stood then, lacing her fingers in front of her. “It may not be safe.”

  He watched her, shaking his head. She was as fickle as the weather on the island. One minute as warm as a summer day, and the next minute colder than a polar bear’s toenails. “I’ll take my chances out there. I’ve dealt with hurricanes and tropical storms before. You, on the other hand, are a whole different issue.”

  And before she could say anything else, he walked out, shutting the door behind him.

  Behind the wheel of his car, he had just enough time to see her open the door before he backed out of the parking space and drove away.

  As he headed south and west toward home, he encountered a few blocked roadways, forcing him to take a longer route. Along the way, he chastised himself for thinking there could be something between him and Sierra. He’d let his feelings as a fan of her work bleed over into the reality of the situation. She was a client, and nothing more. No matter how beautiful and savvy he found her, there was no real reason to believe they could have anything more than a business relationship.

  This was the problem with women. Just when he thought he understood one of them, she’d introduce a new variable to the equation. He’d been with his ex-wife for five y
ears, and in hindsight, he could see that he’d never really known her, either. Even sharing a home, a bed and a life with her hadn’t revealed all her secrets.

  Sierra had shown him who she was, and he knew he should just accept it.

  But parts of him still wondered if he would ever get the chance to rediscover the heat he sensed in her, burning deep beneath her cool exterior. He’d gotten a taste of it when she kissed him, and now, he didn’t think he’d ever forget it.

  Chapter 6

  Sierra spent most of the day curled up on the armchair in the living room, going over her script for The Shores. Even though she didn’t know when filming would resume, she decided that reading up on her lines would be a better use of her time than moping around all day.

  After finishing her third read-through and her second cup of hot tea, she set the script aside and got up. It felt good to be on her feet again, and she took a moment to stretch before going to the kitchen to put away her mug.

  On the way back, she passed the sofa. Her eyes moved to the spot that Campbell had occupied only hours earlier. She sighed. Riding out the storm with him had been crazy, unexpected and, at times, pleasant. She’d enjoyed his company and his conversation. But while she felt she’d done the right thing by not sending him home during the storm, she wondered where this turn of events would lead.

  She scoffed as she went down the hall to the master bedroom. What does it matter? I’m pretty sure he never wants to talk to me again. Making things awkward between them hadn’t been her intention, but that’s just what she’d done. Searching through her clothes for a jacket, she thought back on how frustrated he’d seemed that morning.

  I guess I understand why he wanted answers. The thing was, she didn’t have any answers for him. At least, not any he’d find satisfactory. The kiss had been unplanned, and her bolting from him had been the natural reaction when she’d finally come to her senses. Explaining the whys of that, though, just wasn’t going to happen.

  Locating the black windbreaker she’d been looking for, she slipped it on over her black tee. Once she’d added black leather boots that extended over the knees of her black jeans, she added a bright red beret atop her hair. To her mind, the pop of color kept her from looking as if she were about to attend a funeral.

  With her keys, wallet and phone in her jacket pockets, she stepped out onto the landing. The warm air still held some of the dampness from the rain, but the sky was much brighter. The sun peeked through the thick, light gray clouds.

  Looking down over the railing, she saw that the front lot where she’d parked was fine. The few deep puddles she’d seen earlier had either dried up or been drawn down into the storm drains.

  She turned and locked the door, then walked down the steps. On the ground again, she went to the side of the building and glanced around back. There was still a good amount of standing water near buildings four and five. Thankfully, she didn’t have to go that way. Deciding to take advantage of the fresh air and get a little exercise in, she set out on foot, walking west down the road toward Tracemore Plaza.

  She stepped over several fallen limbs on the sidewalk, and dodged more than a few piles of leaves and debris, as well as a few puddles. The flat boots were comfortable to walk in, and kept her feet dry as she made the trip. She inhaled the rain-scented air, then blew it out through her lips. She’d spent only a day and a half trapped inside, but it had seemed much longer. Now she relished being outside, with the warm sun caressing her face and the birds’ songs ringing in her ears.

  She arrived at the plaza and let her eyes sweep over the cluster of businesses located on the manicured strip of pavement and grass. The picture there was similar to what she’d seen elsewhere in the neighborhood: scattered branches and leaves, windswept litter and rain-slick pavement. The accessories boutique on one end of the plaza wasn’t open. When she went to the door to read the sign, she saw that the owners had closed the place due to “a storm-related power outage.”

  Della’s was on the far end, and a loud buzzing sound, as well as a crowd gathered around the front door, drew her attention. She made her way down the walk, and as she approached, she saw the large tree that had fallen there. The tree blocked three parking spaces, and one end of it rested against Della’s front door.

  She discovered the buzzing was coming from a chain saw, wielded by a muscular man in a white tank top and jeans. She stood out of the way of the flying sawdust and watched as he expertly divided the tree into sections.

  Della walked over then. “Hey, Ms. Sierra. How’d you make out in this storm?”

  “Just a little water in the parking lot. Nothing too serious.”

  She gestured to the tree. “You see what happened here. We built in this area very purposely, and left as many of the existing trees as we could.” She shook her head. “When the storm knocked this one down, the old girl took the electric line down with her. Knocked out power on this whole block.”

  “Uh-oh. Sorry to hear that, but I’m glad my power stayed on.” While she spoke, she kept her eyes trained on the chain saw–wielding brotha. While she couldn’t see his face, something about him seemed...familiar.

  * * *

  Having turned the entire tree into a pile of firewood, he stood up and lifted his safety goggles.

  The moment he turned to look where she and Della stood, Sierra’s breath caught in her throat.

  Campbell? Of all the things she could have imagined him doing, and there were plenty, using a chain saw wasn’t one of them. But now, she doubted she’d ever get the image of his bare arms and shoulders working, his hands controlling the equipment like a pro, out of her mind.

  When he saw her, he nodded in her direction, his expression flat. “I’m gonna get the guys to help me stack this up, Della.”

  “Thank you, Cam.” She smiled at him, then turned back to Sierra. “What’s wrong, honey? You look pretty stricken.”

  Shaking herself free, Sierra laughed it off. “Sorry. I just checked out for a minute.”

  “Well, anyhow, I’m glad to have Campbell and Savion nearby. I just called them up and they came right on over. Even brought a few of their friends along to help.”

  “You’ve probably known them for a while,” Sierra remarked, watching the group of men haul the logs around the side of the building.

  “Yep. I’ve known those Monroe boys since they were knee-high to a piano bench. Good boys, always have been. Love ’em like my own.” She patted Sierra’s shoulder. “You didn’t come down to eat, did you? Power’s still on the fritz.”

  She shook her head. “No. Just wanted to get out of the house. You know, get some fresh air, clear my mind.”

  Della nodded, a knowing look in her eyes. “Some things press on your mind for good reason.” With a wink, Della slipped away to supervise the guys.

  Sierra started walking back the way she’d come, wanting to avoid running into Campbell.

  She’d taken about five steps before he tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey.”

  Stopping, she glanced back at him. “Hey.”

  “Headed home?” He pulled off a pair of thick canvas gloves, shoving them into the pockets of his jeans.

  She nodded. “Yeah. I just came out to get some air.”

  “Why don’t you let me drop you off? I’ll pass your place on my way home.”

  “I don’t want to trouble you.”

  “It’s no trouble.” He looked into her eyes, and she thought she saw a ghost of a smile.

  She acquiesced. “Okay. Thanks.”

  He started walking, and she followed him across the parking lot to his car.

  * * *

  Campbell let the top down on his convertible once he and Sierra were belted in, then slowly backed out of the parking spot. Once on the road, he enjoyed the feeling of the wind on his face.

  He glanced at his silent passenger and shook his h
ead. She seemed to be making a point of not looking in his direction. Placing his own focus back on the road, he spoke. “I know you don’t like me asking you questions, but could I ask just one?”

  “If it’s not pertaining to the last day and a half, go ahead.”

  He shook his head. “Okay. So, in terms of your career, I see you playing the same kinds of roles all the time. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a brilliant actress. But you’re always playing variations of the same character.”

  “This is the longest question ever.”

  “Do you feel like you’ve been typecast?”

  Even without taking his eyes off the road, he knew she was looking directly at him. “What made you ask that?”

  “I always see you mentioned in the media as an ‘ice queen.’” He’d experienced a bit of the chill for himself this morning, but he left that out. “Even if you don’t follow reviews and stuff, you have to know how that image of you is always being pushed.” He stopped at a red light. “So, do you feel you’ve been typecast?”

  She gave a slow nod. “Yes. Every single day.” She ran a hand over her hair, then blew out a breath. “But how can I complain, really? I’ve made a great career playing the cold antiheroine or villainess over and over again.”

  The light changed and he pulled through the intersection. “Then we have something in common.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean.” She sounded genuinely confused.

  “In a way, I feel typecast. I’m not an actor, but my family sees me a certain way, and it’s very hard to get them to change their views.” He made the left turn off the road and into the driveway, approaching the security gate to The Glenn. After getting buzzed in by the guard, he pulled through the open gate. “See, at work, they think I’m lazy, when I’m really just unfocused. Property management isn’t all that exciting, but I get my work done. I care about the family business just as much as they do, but they never see that.”