You’re the safest person I know.
I wasn’t. Sure, I could be. I’d made a religion out of being safe, solid, reliable. But the request cracked another door open and let memory spill through it.
It wasn’t the leather bar memory that rose first.
This one was older. Sunburned.
Four years ago
The summer smelled like cut grass and sunscreen and the kind of heat that turned cheap beer into syrup. I remembered the sticky back of Gary’s plastic patio chair, the oscillating fan in the kitchen that turned lazily as though it really couldn’t be bothered, the way the afternoon light cut across the deck.
“Come by,” Gary had texted. “Cam got his A-level results. We’re doing burgers.”
I’d gone because that was what I did, because it was easy and familiar and the right amount of noise in my head. I’d caught the bus to Didsbury, walked up the slab path, rung the bell, and told myself not to remember the kid who used to shadow us, all limbs and questions and hero-worship eyes.
The door swung open on Cameron Walters, and the breath caught in my throat. The kid I remembered was gone, submerged in someone with broad shoulders, longer, sun-lightened hair, his grin still reckless but edged now with self-possession.
Cameron had grown into a gorgeous man.
“Hey, Theo. It’s been a while.” Cameron grinned. “Gary’s in the kitchen murdering onions.”
My smile came automatically. “He’s been attempting that homicide for years.”
“Come save us.” Cameron led the way through the hall toward the kind of kitchen every British family had at least once. I knew exactly how it looked before the door opened, because it hadn’t changed in all the years I’d known Gary. Colourful magnets covered the fridge, a bowl of bananas on the edge of too ripe sat on the worktop, and the doorframe was marked by lines where someone had marked Gary’s and Cameron’s heights at varying stages of their lives.
“Congrats on your results. Are you happy with them?”
Cameron paused at the kitchen door. “Yeah. Now all I have to do is find an art college. And save up a ton of money to pay for it, because a student loan is gonna kill me.” Then he pushed it open, and my eyes watered instantly.
“Fuck, Gary, how many onions are you massacring?”
Gary’s eyes gleamed. “Can’t have too many onions.” He pointed at Cameron with the kitchen knife. “Did Cam tell you he got a B in English Language?”
Cameron rolled his eyes. “Did Gary tell you I got an A* in Art and Design, another in History, and an A in French?”
I chuckled. “If he teases you too much, ask Gary abouthisA-Level results.”
Gary glared. “Just for that, you get to make the salad.”
I headed for the fridge, bristling as Gary told me to make sure I rinsed the tomatoes properly, while Cameron went out onto the patio to fire up the barbecue.
“Be careful!” Gary yelled. “Remember last time?”
Cameron’s voice floated back to us. “You’re never gonna let me forget that, are you?”
Gary snickered. “Nope. It’s an older brother thing. Unless, of course, you do it on purpose, because you’re dying to have a hot firefighter rescue you?”
“Who says I want that?” Cameron retorted.
I stared at Gary. “Is he gay?” I whispered.
Gary snorted. “If he is, he hasn’t said a word, but then again it’s none of my business.” He grinned. “I just like teasing the little bastard.” He cupped his mouth and shouted, “Because he makes it so easy.”
Cameron didn’t respond, but a hand appeared around the doorframe, two fingers raised.
I leaned against the counter, chilling, while the radio burbled in the background. When all the food prep was done, I helped Gary carry the burgers, buns, onions and salad outside, where Cameron had put up the parasol over the table.
Gary rubbed his hands. “Cameron, you’re in charge of burgers, so get your arse in gear. I’m starving.”