Perhaps sensing Jamie’s dilemma, Marc briefly covered Jamie’s hand with his own. “Don’t tell me you’re not hungry. I don’t like eating alone.”
He said it with a grin, but the idea of disappointing him did strange things to Jamie.
Jamie picked up his menu and scanned it, absorbing all the British dishes he’d craved while he’d been gone. “Oooh, they’ve got black pudding. I tried to describe it to some people I worked with in America. They thought I was a bloody cannibal.”
Marc chuckled. “It’s an acquired taste. I love it, but I’ll pretty much eat anything. You don’t get a lot of choice when you’re out in the field.”
“‘The field’?”
“Operations. I was a soldier, once upon a time.”
A piece of the Marc-themed puzzle in Jamie’s mind clicked into place. Soldier. Doctor. Marc’s unflappable calm on the plane now made sense, even if Jamie had googledturbulenceenough over the weekend to know that it really wasn’t dangerous. “When did you stop being a soldier?”
“For good? Three years ago.”
“Were you a doctor at the same time?”
“As much as I could be. It was nothing like what I do now.”
A waitress came to their table. Marc ordered a full English. Jamie deliberated over a sudden craving for some greasy meat, and ordering a more sensible plate of toast and jam.
Marc nudged his leg under the table. “Don’t be shy, mate. I’ll put away anything you don’t finish.”
Fuck it.Jamie held his menu out to the waitress. “I’ll have the same.”
The waitress left. Marc poured another round of tea and regarded Jamie across the table. “So what did you do for work in California? Rock star? Model?”
Jamie snorted. “Do me a favour. I cooked noodles six days a week in a factory canteen.”
“What kind of factory?”
“Clothes and surfboards. I worked for Sea Rave.”
“Wow.” Marc’s eyes flickered with recognition. “That sounds like a good gig.”
Jamie couldn’t deny it. “It was. I cooked a hundred bowls of posh ramen a day in exchange for free food, health care, and more money than I’ve ever had. They did other stuff for me too—art courses and book clubs. I liked it.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Dunno.” Jamie shrugged, reached for a packet of sugar, ripped it open, and tipped the contents into his cup. “I was there for a year, but it never felt real, you know? I always knew I’d come back eventually.”
“Back to Matlock Bath?”
“No, to England. I hadn’t been farther north than Norwich before I rolled up here on Friday night.”
“It’s a nice place,” Marc said. “I avoided it for decades, but I’ve learned to love it over the last few years. It’s peaceful... if you let it be, though I reckonyoucan find a storm just about anywhere.”
Jamie slowly stirred his tea. “What makes you say that?”
“Am I wrong?”
“Are you ever?”
“Yes.”
Jamie blew out a breath and sat back in his seat. “I don’t find storms. I am the storm. I fuck everything up.”
“Did you fuck up in California?”