Tempt Our Fate: A Small Town Enemies To Lovers Billionaire Romance (Sutten Mountain)
Tempt Our Fate: Chapter 14

Camden looks incredibly uncomfortable sitting in the passenger seat of my old truck. Despite looking completely out of place, he looks pretty freaking good with his dark hair being tousled by the wind. I couldn’t resist rolling the windows down, knowing it’d probably piss him off to ride around town with the wind caressing our cheeks.

There’s no better feeling than traveling down the winding roads of Sutten with the wind in your hair and the cold air tickling your skin. But I believe that because I grew up here. He grew up with dirty streets and air pollution. He probably never drove around with the windows down in New York. I wonder if he ever drove at all.

“Can you drive?” I blurt, risking a glance over at him. I have to raise my voice to speak over the wind.

He’s as far away as he can physically manage in the truck. The look he shoots my way is scathing. “What the hell goes through your brain at all times?”

I can’t fight my smile. “I don’t think you really want to know that. I’ve thought about killing you often.”

“That makes two of us.”

“So?” I continue, turning onto a side street. “Can you drive, or is that not a thing where you’re from?”

“You say ‘where I’m from’ like New York is the worst possible place to live.”

“It’s not the worst, but I can’t say I see the appeal.”

From the corner of my eye, I can see his finger running over his top lip. He seems to be deep in thought with the gesture and the slight furrow of his eyebrows. “Tell me why New York doesn’t seem appealing to you.”

His voice is demanding, leaving no room for questions. Typically that would annoy me, but right now, it doesn’t. It intrigues me. I want to know why he cares about my opinion of where he lives.

“It just seems so…crowded.” I’m so distracted by his questioning that I almost miss my turn. I try not to, but I have to slam on the brakes before I miss it. Feeling his brooding scowl aimed right at me, I pretend to pay close attention to the road.

Silly mistake.

He shockingly makes no comment, instead choosing to stay focused on our conversation. “Something tells me it gets pretty crowded here during ski season.”

He isn’t wrong. Once November hits, Sutten gets very packed. But it’s just people on vacation. They’re happy and carefree. New York City seems like a different kind of packed. Full of people who live there and aren’t happy with their lives. They’re lost in the hustle of everyday life. It doesn’t feel like that here in Sutten—at least to me. I try to think of a way to describe the difference to Camden to make him understand.

I pull into a crowded parking lot and park at the very back. Before I look over at Camden, I feel him already looking at me. He’s waiting for an answer, and I guess I’ll just have to do my best to put what I’m thinking into words.

“I think there are different kinds of crowded,” I begin, turning my body so I face him completely. “In my mind, I think of it this way… You can have a huge group of people who are giddy and ready to begin their vacation. They’re away from work and the sorrows of everyday life. They get to just experience life in the moment and not think about anything else. And then you have another group of people. They’re having to push themselves every day of their life to make ends meet. They’re tired and looking forward to the weekend so they can just take one minute for themselves. Both are groups of people. Both could seem crowded when you’re standing in the middle of them. But which group would you rather be in?”

He says nothing. It’s silent for so long that I begin to feel stupid because clearly, I’m not making any kind of sense. My fingers play with the loose strings from the hole in my jeans. I twirl the threads of denim around my finger, biting my tongue to not say anything else to make more of a fool of myself.

Why do I suddenly care? I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t give a damn what he thinks of me, of this town, of anything. But I’m stubborn. And for some terrible reason, I want to prove to him that maybe he shouldn’t hate the town of Sutten. If he won’t leave, I want to teach him how to embrace the slower-paced lifestyle that comes with the town I’ve lived in my entire life.

“I’ve never questioned which group I want to be in,” he finally admits.

“And are you now?”

His head cocks to the side. It’s with this simple movement that I realize his hair isn’t as perfectly styled as every other time I’ve seen him. It’s nowhere near messy, but I don’t think Camden is ever unkempt. He strikes me as the kind of guy who wakes up in the morning and immediately gets ready no matter what he has planned for the day.

“I’ve only ever known the one.”

His answer makes me smile. Maybe it’s his hesitant tone, so unlike his typical commanding and sure one. Maybe it’s because our day hasn’t even really started, and I feel like today could change things for him. But mostly, I think it’s because Camden is proving to me that he isn’t what I thought he was. And I’m curious as hell to replace out more about the man who makes a terrible first—and second, and quite honestly third—impression.

“What is all of this?” Camden asks, looking along the community center’s gym, which is lined with vendor booths and people.

I take a step forward, trusting that he’ll follow me. My instincts are right. I don’t have to look over to feel him a step behind me.

“This, Mr. Hunter, is our community art show. Well, more like a vendor fair, but you’ll replace a lot of art here. And I think it’s important for you to see that beautiful art can come from all kinds of places—and that maybe there’s a lot of talent for your gallery right here in Sutten.”

“Pippa!” a familiar voice calls from a few booths down. I smile at Miss Mary and her booth of handmade soaps. They’re my favorite to use, and even though I pretty much have a stockpile of them at home, if she asks if I want to buy one today, I won’t be able to say no.

“Hi, Miss Mary,” I say with affection as we come to a stop in front of her table.

“I’m shocked you left that bakery of yours to come to the event today.” She wraps her arms across her chest, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “And what handsome man do we have here?”

“I’m not always all work and no play,” I answer, eyeing a new scent of soap and lotion I haven’t seen from her before. I look over at Camden, who looks incredibly uncomfortable here with his hands tucked in his pockets and his eyes roaming the space. “This right here is Camden Hunter. He bought the Richardsons’ gallery. He practically begged me to take him here today. He’s been impatiently waiting to check out the local talent.”

It’s only a small lie. He did pretty much beg me to help him with his opening, which I traded for bringing him here today, but he had no idea the things I had in store. Despite the little white lie, I do think he’ll be impressed by what some people here in Sutten have to offer.

Mary clutches her chest as if I just told her Camden saves the lives of babies or volunteers at a homeless shelter. “Wow,” she says in awe. “That’s so kind and thoughtful of you.”

I have to rub my lips together to keep from smiling and blowing my cover. It’s just so funny to see her look at him in wonder, knowing that his skin is probably crawling at the fact the attention is on him. “He’s a very, very kind man,” I lie.

Camden Hunter isn’t kind. He’s a man of power, a man who will do anything to get what he wants, including creating a gallery that goes against all of the small-town values of keeping things local in Sutten.

Miss Mary is completely unaware of the type of man Camden is. She seems to be mesmerized by his charm already, and he hasn’t even said anything. It must be nice to have a face so perfect that you don’t have to say a word for people to fall at your feet.

“Pippa here is the sweetest girl,” Miss Mary admonishes. Now, her bright eyes are pinned on me. “She’s as sweet as they come. I’ve known her since she was in diapers, running around church trying to get naked while Pastor Mark gave a sermon.”

My eyes go wide because she’s supposed to be on my side. No one except for the people in the church should know about me running around at two without any clothes on in the middle of a service. I blame it on my mom. Dad still to this day loves to tell everyone that my mom found it hilarious and wasn’t the least bit embarrassed by my antics. That was my mom. She was vivid and full of life. She could make a joke out of anything, and there are just days that I wish she wasn’t ripped out of my life without warning.

“Pippa sure is sweet,” Camden drawls. He flashes his straight, white teeth, his incisors slightly sharper than the rest of his teeth. “Kind of reminds me—” He pauses as if he’s having to think through his next words. “—of shortcake…”

My eyes turn to slits. His smirk tells me he thinks he’s funny, but I don’t replace it amusing in the slightest.

Meanwhile, Miss Mary is eating up every second of it. She stares at Camden with stars in her eyes. Like she just said, she’s known me since I was an infant, and Camden says one complete sentence and she’s clearly head over heels for him.

“Shortcake is my least favorite dessert.”

Miss Mary whips her head in my direction. I didn’t know she could move that fast. “You’ve won awards with your strawberry shortcakes. I thought you loved it.”

She’s betrayed me. Camden snickers while my face heats with embarrassment. I’m going to go home and toss out every single one of Miss Mary’s soaps because she’s supposed to be on my side. She wasn’t supposed to tell him that the little nickname he’s given me isn’t as bad as I make it out to be.

“Well, we’ve got to get going,” I lie, pulling on the sleeve of Camden’s button-up. “So many vendors to see, so little time.”

“Oh, why don’t you just get one bar of soap, honey? Or lotion? In the spirit of strawberry shortcake, I do have a few bottles left of my sugar strawberry lotion.”

“I’m really o—”

“She’ll take it,” Camden interrupts. He pulls his wallet from his pocket and thumbs through hundred-dollar bills. I want to laugh when he pulls out two of them, as if one single little bottle of lotion would ever cost that much.

“I hate strawberries,” I argue, watching Miss Mary wrap the pink bottle of lotion in white tissue paper.

“Lying is a sin, darling,” Miss Mary scolds, looking at me with slight disappointment. “You’ve bought this lotion from me before.”

My cheeks puff out in frustration because I’ve been caught in a lie. Worse, in front of Camden, who beams so wide I might actually replace it charming if I didn’t know the smile was at my expense.

Miss Mary gets us all packaged up, and Camden listens to her talk about her five grandchildren. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who does small talk with strangers. In fact, his harsh, rude personality strikes me as quite the opposite. I always thought he came off as entitled, meaning he thought he was better than everyone else. Instead, he’s showing little glimpses of himself that make me question what I really do and don’t know about him.

I reach to grab the little bag from his hand as we walk by a few more additional booths, but he pulls it from my reach. “I’ll carry it.” His tone makes it seem like there’s no further room for discussion.

“I can carry my own bag.”

He stops in his tracks, disrupting the flow of traffic for a minute. Shoppers funnel around us as Camden looks down at me. “You can do a lot of things. It doesn’t mean you should have to.” And with that, he begins to lead the way toward something that’s caught his eye.