Look at You

Chapter 22

22

"Oh, Loveeeee!"

I stir, slightly.

"Wakey wakey, 6 miles and bakey!"

It's his feet pounding on the basement stairs that jolt my body upwards. I hear Cam groan from the other half of the couch. "We fell asleep," I mumble to him.

He snorts. "No shit. It's 8 a.m."

Trey materializes in front of me, dressed head to toe in black running gear. Not the best choice for an early winter run. I slam my head back down on the couch. "No. Absolutely not."

"Love. Come on. We do this every week." I presume he notices Cam. "Hey. Never seen you before."

My eyes are closed, so I can only feel Cam's weight shift as he removes himself from the couch. "Cameron. I'm a work friend."

"Trey," knowing Trey, he pauses for a handshake. "Simon's best friend from high school. And his fitness coach."

"Okay," I open my eyes and push myself upward. "You're my motivational partner. I am plenty fit on my own."

Cam is standing next to where I'm lying, pulling his button-up back on over his undershirt. He eyes me, a small smirk on his lips.

"Well come on." Trey's already bouncing from foot to foot. "Go get changed." He turns to Cam. "You're welcome to come too, of course. If you don't slow us down."

Cam holds his hands up in defeat. "Not a runner. Thank you, though." I kick off the blanket clinging to my legs and attempt to get up. Cam watches me with intense care. "I'll probably head out when you do," he says.

I nod. I am too tired and so not in the mood for this run, so English words aren't coming easily to me. I head for the stairs wordlessly, leaving Trey and Cam to their own devices.

Once I've (slowly) dressed, I head for the kitchen. Mom is zipping Trey's quarter zip up to the highest level. "Stay warm boys," she says, nodding approvingly as I pull on my high socks.

"We will," I mumble, lacing up my sneakers. I look up to find Cam staring at me. "I'll see you later," I tell him.

"Yeah," he nods. He gives a smile reserved just for me. "Later."

I assume later is going to be tonight for dinner, but after 6 miles and an entire Poland Spring bottle from the garage fridge, I walk into the kitchen to see Cameron and my mom sitting across from each other, two towering plates of French toast in front of them.

In hindsight, his truck was still out front, but I was too tired to think much of it.

"What the hell," I snag a piece from Cam's plate, bare handing it with syrup and all. "You still here?" I ask him, but I'm a mouth full of toast, so none of it is decipherable. Cam laughs.

"We made breakfast."

"I can see that." This time, I think, it comes out in intelligible English.

"Trey didn't stay?" My mom eyes the garage door. "I made extra."

I shake my head. "He had errands or something."

"Boohoo. He knows I hate it when he leaves the house without eating." Trey's parents have retired to Florida, so mom's the closest thing he has to family in Baker. And she knows it.

"I'll give him the message." I grab another piece from Cam's plate and receive immediate swatting from my mother's infamous dish towel.

"Get your own, piggy!"