‘Yes,’ he admits after a beat, looking me straight in the eye. ‘I was.’
There’s such vulnerability, such raw honesty in those three simple words that I can’t possibly give them the reply they deserve. Not here in the clinic, anyway. The urge to pull him into my arms hits me with a ferocity that I almost act on, and I have to shove my fists deep into my pockets to stop myself reaching for him.
‘I get it,’ I say. ‘Itisscary.’
‘It is, but that’s not an excuse.’ He leans towards me. I don’t know if he knows he’s doing it. ‘I was a dick to you, and you didn’t deserve it. So I’m sorry.’
That makes me smile. ‘Apology accepted.’
His brow quirks. ‘Just like that?’
I manage to hold in my laugh but can’t stop my smile from widening. ‘I can make you walk through fire, if you’d prefer?’
This time when he grins, it’s the bright, unchecked version that brings out his dimples– the version that makes him look a little less like Josiah. Two very conflicting emotions rumble to life deep in my belly.
‘I’d prefer to just accept your help,’ he says earnestly. ‘If it’s still on offer?’
Warmth pools in my chest. ‘Of course.’
‘And that,’ Cam says, whipping back the curtain and striding into the bay, ‘is where I come in.’
I look at Cam, at Quinn, and then back at Cam, my face pulling into a frown. ‘Were you eavesdropping out there?’
‘Florence, no!’ Cam says, aghast. ‘I wassupervising.’ He straightens his lanyard, the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. ‘It is my job, after all.’
A look passes between them, like something’s happened to which I’m not party. I eye them both suspiciously. ‘Is one of you going to clue me in?’
‘Absolutely,’ Cam says, a boyish grin on his face. ‘If you wouldn’t mind taking a couple of samples from our patient first, and then I’ll meet you both in consultation room two and we can discuss where we go from here.’
We hear Cam’s name being called somewhere across the clinic. Before he leaves, he hands me a Post-it note, nods a quick goodbye at us and darts back through the curtain. Written on the note are three sample request codes, and then Cam’s delicate cursive:NOT to go via the lab. Hand directly to me. ‘Not’ is underlined twice.
I pull some gloves from the cart and snap them on, wheeling my stool over to the chair Quinn’s sitting in. ‘Here we are again,’ I say gently. ‘You ready for this?’
He takes a shaky breath but meets my gaze head-on. ‘No,’ he says, smiling through obvious anxiety. ‘But I guess I’d better get used to it.’
* * *
‘Cam was at Bitten last night,’ Quinn says the second the consultation room door closes behind us. ‘I didn’t know how to get in touch with you, short of turning up here like a weirdo, and then he walked right in and sat down at the bar next to Creepy Perm Guy. ‘I couldn’t believe it.’
He’s back to his usual mile-a-minute chattering, and it makes me smile. ‘Creepy Perm Guy? Do I want to know?’
His grin is wide and a little lopsided. ‘He’s one of our regulars. Wasverytaken with Cam.’
I huff a singleha!of a laugh. ‘You’ve got to watch Cam– he’s a terrible flirt. Man, woman, mortal, immortal… he’s not fussed.’
Quinn’s face falls at that, a small groove appearing between his eyebrows. ‘He doesn’t flirt with you?’
I shake my head, more pleased than I should be at this show of what looks a bit like jealousy. ‘No, not with me. Wegrew up together. It’d be like flirting with your sibling.’ I bite back a smile. ‘He’ll probably have a go with you at some point, though.’
That dimple smile returns, beautiful and bright. ‘I think he already has,’ he says in such a way that makes it seem like he’s proud of it. I beam back at him and then there we both are, grinning at each other like fools in that overly sanitised consultation room for just a beat too long.
There’s a charge in the air, then, some invisible force between us that I can’t even begin to name. I wonder if he feels it, if his mostly human senses are sharp enough to detect the change. He seems to feel something because his smile falls, his gaze dipping to my mouth for a moment before he looks away, down to his feet and then somewhere else entirely.
‘I really am sorry, you know,’ he says. His voice is rougher than before, a thread of vulnerability running through it again. I want to reach out, to trail my finger along the groove in his cheek that so easily pulls into that dimple.
‘I know,’ I say, shoving my hands into the pockets of my tunic again. ‘For what it’s worth, I understand.’
He’s confused. ‘You do?’