“I’m not that kind of girl.”
Cam covers his face, muffling his own words. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, this is good, now I have something to put in ‘hopes and dreams,’” Maggie says.
“Oh god,” Cam says. He takes a deep breath and tries to manage his laughter. His sides hurt from it, which is pretty rare. “Okay, you first, since you’ve apparently already started.”
Maggie rolls her shoulders and pretends to crack her neck. “Your name is Cameron Vargas, but never call you Cameron, Cam all the way. You are nineteen years old, majoring in environmental studies. Um, let me see…”
“You’ve still got the heavy hitters coming,” he reminds her when she pauses.
“Damn. Well, I know you like tea,” she gestures to the iced tea in front of him, “and that you dislike wobbling tables. You hope to get into my pants.” She winks again and he tries to smile—he really has no idea what he wants in that regard. He tries to guide the conversation forward.
“Family?”
“Well, you told me you have a twin sister named Peyton… as far as genealogy, damn. I’m not sure I caught that part. Do we have a family tree I can reference? Is this an open book test?”
“I don’t know,” he says, “you made it.”
“Well…” Maggie taps her fingers against the table and pretends to think. “I think you said your parents are Venezuelan? I guess the only question I’m really sure about is that your toenails are pink.”
“Pink?” he says.
“Yup, cotton candy pink.”
He looks away from her then, pretending that he’s been caught. Outside, clouds are rolling in and the sun is fading behind them. It looks like rain. Cam had been hoping to go for a run tonight.
“So how did I do?” Maggie prompts when he doesn’t look back at her.
“You’ll have to wait and see.” It’s very bright in the cafe—at least it seems so, with the sky dimming outside. “So is it my turn? I’m pretty sure I can win this.”
“Oh, we’re competing now?”
“Well, what’s the point otherwise?” he jokes. She makes a you may have a point sort of face.
“All right then, do your worst.”
“Maggie Hall. Nineteen. Psych major, one older sister. Guessing from your last name, there might be some English roots to your family tree. You like your coffee sweet, chocolate chip cookies and spaghetti.” He thinks back on his observations for a second. “Though I’m pretty sure you don’t like the spaghetti at the cafeteria, and I have a hunch that you don’t like wearing a coat if you can avoid it, because you weren’t that one day it was so cold last week.”
“Damn,” Maggie says with a smile.
“I have no idea about your blood type and I’m going to take a shot in the dark and guess that your toenails are painted something in the purple family.”
“Okay, how did you know that?” she demands.
“You wear a lot of purple.” Cam explains. She narrows her eyes thoughtfully and scrunches her brow. Finally her face clears and humor floods it again.
“But not purple coats.”
Cam laughs with her, then, and it’s easy; it’s easy and not peculiar that he knows all of this about her, and he senses that she’s flattered by his observations.
Chapter Five
“What kind of movies do you like?” Cam drops into the chair next to Maggie, interrupting her reading. She pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth; tiny droplets of salad dressing fall to her plate. She flips her book face down and pushes it away.
“Hi, Cam, how are you today?” she says, eyebrow arching—a look that’s somehow lovely despite the sarcasm.
“I am great,” he says, and pauses. He really is. Usually Cam responds to questions like this automatically; people never really expect an answer other than fine . But it’s been a good day.
“Wonderful,” she says. “I like all kinds of movies. Well, no,” she gestures with her index finger, “I take that back. I don’t like scary suspense-type
Cam covers his face, muffling his own words. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No, this is good, now I have something to put in ‘hopes and dreams,’” Maggie says.
“Oh god,” Cam says. He takes a deep breath and tries to manage his laughter. His sides hurt from it, which is pretty rare. “Okay, you first, since you’ve apparently already started.”
Maggie rolls her shoulders and pretends to crack her neck. “Your name is Cameron Vargas, but never call you Cameron, Cam all the way. You are nineteen years old, majoring in environmental studies. Um, let me see…”
“You’ve still got the heavy hitters coming,” he reminds her when she pauses.
“Damn. Well, I know you like tea,” she gestures to the iced tea in front of him, “and that you dislike wobbling tables. You hope to get into my pants.” She winks again and he tries to smile—he really has no idea what he wants in that regard. He tries to guide the conversation forward.
“Family?”
“Well, you told me you have a twin sister named Peyton… as far as genealogy, damn. I’m not sure I caught that part. Do we have a family tree I can reference? Is this an open book test?”
“I don’t know,” he says, “you made it.”
“Well…” Maggie taps her fingers against the table and pretends to think. “I think you said your parents are Venezuelan? I guess the only question I’m really sure about is that your toenails are pink.”
“Pink?” he says.
“Yup, cotton candy pink.”
He looks away from her then, pretending that he’s been caught. Outside, clouds are rolling in and the sun is fading behind them. It looks like rain. Cam had been hoping to go for a run tonight.
“So how did I do?” Maggie prompts when he doesn’t look back at her.
“You’ll have to wait and see.” It’s very bright in the cafe—at least it seems so, with the sky dimming outside. “So is it my turn? I’m pretty sure I can win this.”
“Oh, we’re competing now?”
“Well, what’s the point otherwise?” he jokes. She makes a you may have a point sort of face.
“All right then, do your worst.”
“Maggie Hall. Nineteen. Psych major, one older sister. Guessing from your last name, there might be some English roots to your family tree. You like your coffee sweet, chocolate chip cookies and spaghetti.” He thinks back on his observations for a second. “Though I’m pretty sure you don’t like the spaghetti at the cafeteria, and I have a hunch that you don’t like wearing a coat if you can avoid it, because you weren’t that one day it was so cold last week.”
“Damn,” Maggie says with a smile.
“I have no idea about your blood type and I’m going to take a shot in the dark and guess that your toenails are painted something in the purple family.”
“Okay, how did you know that?” she demands.
“You wear a lot of purple.” Cam explains. She narrows her eyes thoughtfully and scrunches her brow. Finally her face clears and humor floods it again.
“But not purple coats.”
Cam laughs with her, then, and it’s easy; it’s easy and not peculiar that he knows all of this about her, and he senses that she’s flattered by his observations.
Chapter Five
“What kind of movies do you like?” Cam drops into the chair next to Maggie, interrupting her reading. She pauses with her fork halfway to her mouth; tiny droplets of salad dressing fall to her plate. She flips her book face down and pushes it away.
“Hi, Cam, how are you today?” she says, eyebrow arching—a look that’s somehow lovely despite the sarcasm.
“I am great,” he says, and pauses. He really is. Usually Cam responds to questions like this automatically; people never really expect an answer other than fine . But it’s been a good day.
“Wonderful,” she says. “I like all kinds of movies. Well, no,” she gestures with her index finger, “I take that back. I don’t like scary suspense-type