CHAPTER 15
Watching Camille make dinner for them at his place was usually the most relaxing thing ever for Wyatt. There was something about the fluid way she moved from sink to stovetop to cutting board, something about her confidence and carelessness.
She’d usually wing the spices and it left him baffled. Wyatt would have bet good money Camille didn’t wing anything in life and yet he regularly got to watch her toss around cumin and garlic and God only knew what else. It was fascinating.
Or maybe it was the wine she always gave him.
Or the way she looked at him from beneath lowered lashes as he helped, well, tried to help. He’d nearly lost a finger while chopping vegetables. In his defense, he’d looked up to see her sucking sauce off her thumb, holding his gaze as she did. Cooking had
