We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. Then Cameron’s soft voice broke the quiet.
“You don’t have to keep being careful, you know.”
I looked up, startled. “Careful?”
“With me.” He hesitated before continuing. “You keep… measuring your words, as if you’re afraid to put a foot wrong.”
My throat went tight. “I’m not?—”
Cameron’s gaze was steady. “You are, and you know it. Well, apart from that crack about Mum. And I think that was only because you couldn’t resist having a dig at me.”
For a long moment, we looked at each other, the mooing from the freezer filling the space between us.
It was hard to be serious when it sounded as though there was a cow hiding out in the kitchen.
But he’s right, isn’t he?
I forced a breath. “I’m trying to be respectful.”
“I know. That’s what makes it so hard.”
I stared at my plate, my pulse hammering. “Cameron?—”
“Okay, too serious. Abort mission,” Cameron interjected. He leaned back with a crooked smile. “I believe I mentioned dessert? I bought ice cream.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty this time. If anything, it felt alive, fragile, almost warm.
I finished my meal and stood, gesturing, for Cameron’s empty plate. “Thank you. For the dinner. And the shopping.”
Cameron’s smile softened. “Anytime.”
I stood there for a moment, unsure whether to move or speak or breathe.
At last, I cleared my throat. “I think I’ll leave dessert. I should get back to work. I have a little more to do before I can call it a day.”
Cameron nodded, his voice light again. “Sure thing, Maestro.”
But as I sat down at my desk, the code on my screen blurred once more into meaningless lines, and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that no amount of work was going to save me from this.
I glanced at the clock.
Where the hell did the time go?
Cameron sat on the couch, his attention focused on his sketchbook. No music this time, and I got the feeling that was because he didn’t want to disturb me while I worked.
Cameron was a disturbance all on his own.
Across the room, he yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “I’m calling it a night,” he murmured.
I nodded. “Good idea. I think I’ll take my tea to bed.” I stood, mug in hand, and headed for the bedroom. I paused at the door. “Goodnight, Cameron.”
“’Night, Theo.” Cameron got up from the sofa and began the task of opening his bed.
I went into my room and closed the door. Beyond it, I caught the creak of the couch, the flush of the toilet, the tiny sounds of Cameron getting ready for sleep. Finally, the light under the door winked out of existence.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the faint glow of the streetlight through the window. I didn’t move until the soft rhythm of Cameron’s breathing evened out.
It was as if every one of my senses was attuned to him.