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* * *
Henry: I didn’t know you were a moaner.
* * *
Cameron: Not my most attractive trait. But I just get so tight.
* * *
Henry: I should go. Have a sudden situation myself . . .
* * *
Cameron: Nothing you can’t handle, I hope?
* * *
Henry: I’ve a grip on it.
* * *
Cameron: Would you like to come?
* * *
Henry: God, yes.
* * *
Cameron: Just you and Georgie? Or would your dad like to come too?
* * *
Henry: What are we talking about?
* * *
Cameron: Both features, we’re not splitting audiences. Three-and-a-half hours with one intermission.
* * *
Henry: Of course. I should have known.
* * *
Cameron: No worries, you’re not the first to have wondered.
Henry: Isabella and John arrived 30 mins ago. She dressed as a vampire and he came dressed in what I can only assume is a BMW racing uniform.
* * *
Cameron: He really went for that? Wasn’t a joke?
* * *
Henry: What’s your evening looking like?
* * *
Cameron: Frozen dinner, bottle of wine, bed.
* * *
Henry: No.
* * *
Cameron: No?
* * *
Henry: That will not do.
* * *
Cameron: What do you mean?
* * *
Cameron: What are you up to?
* * *
Cameron: Henry?
Cameron shook his phone, like it could miraculously produce Henry’s response. He chewed his lip and removed his piping hot lasagna from the microwave. His nerves were hoppy, and a ticklish shiver spread through his belly.
The shiver shot to the balls of his feet when his doorbell chimed.
He wiped his hands on the dishtowel, gripping it hard as he made for the door.
Henry stood shadowed on his lightless porch. Glittering lampposts, white picket fence, and purplish sky served as his backdrop. He smiled, amused at the two-inch parting of the door, and drummed his fingers on the timber, a plea to open.
Cameron did, and Henry stepped into the light. Polished dress shoes, navy jeans, cashmere sweater, and—“Elbow patches.”
“I take my jokes seriously.” That twinkle felt like wildfire in his chest—expanding throughout his body when Henry splayed a hand over the hoodie—oh crap, over Henry’s hoodie—Cameron wore. “Nice.”
“It smells like you.” A mortified fidget of the dishtowel. “I mean, you must have been on your way when you messaged.”
“Already parked.”
Henry swept past Cameron into the house, following the slightly overcooked scent of tomato and cheese. He prodded the lasagna and gave him an unimpressed look, lips a crooked smile.
Cameron loved the intensity of Henry’s amusement. Loved that he could witness Henry’s expressions, not simply imagine them. But he was nervous; what was coming next?
“When I asked where you were, Isabella and John said they’d tried to lure you out and you’d refused.”
“Isabella tried. John didn’t seem quite as enthusiastic as usual.”
“Bet I can guess why.”
Cameron swallowed. “So you drove all the way over here.”
“Debating how I might persuade you.”
“Good luck.”
“Thank you, but I’m confident.” Henry picked up his dinner and dropped it into the trash. “A king’s feast awaits us.”
“I’m not that hungry.”
Henry rounded the kitchen island. Cameron mirrored him, keeping the island between them.
“What are you afraid of? Neo-Gothic architecture? Or socializing amongst people you don’t know?”
“Yes.”
“Old wood creaks sometimes. Doors open on their own only when there’s a draft. Socializing can be tedious, true.”
“You’re doing a terrible job of convincing me.”
“You sound disappointed. I think you want me to convince you.”
Cameron gaped, and his no didn’t feel as honest as he hoped it sounded.
Henry drew nearer. Cameron drew away.
“I’ll pull off the mask of any costume that disturbs you. We can enter through the side door and avoid the horror hallway.”
“Staged horror doesn’t bother me.”
“What does, then?”
“The rest of it.”
“Like, what?”
“Like scaring you off with my overactive imagination.”
Henry paused. “I have a rampant one myself.”
“Have you ever scared yourself with it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Really?”
“I’ll tell you all about it if you join me tonight.”
“Well played.”
“In that case, let me get a little nearer?”
Henry moved until he stood on Cameron’s side of the island.
“How about a game, Cameron? You win, I’ll leave you alone. I win, I get to sweep you off your feet.”
A nervous thrill punched Cameron’s lower stomach. “I suspect you don’t play fair.”
A devious grin.
“I choose the game.” Cameron flustered. “An Austen quote-off.”
Henry patted his elbow patches. “This is what I earned my degree in English literature for. Commence.”
“‘It isn’t what we say or think that defines us, but what we do.’”
“Sense and Sensibility. ‘Indulge your imagination in every possible flight.’”
“Pride and Prejudice. ‘There is safety in reserve, but no attraction. One cannot love a reserved person.’”
“Emma.” Henry took a step forward, mischief in his eye. “‘The distance is nothing when one has motive.’”
Cameron gulped. “Again, Pride and Prejudice. ‘The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.’”
“A fact I entirely agree with. Northanger Abbey—probably my favorite.”
“Really?”
“All her potential thrives in its pages, yet she doesn’t quite unleash it. I love the book for what it helped her write later. As a teacher, I have a soft spot for growth.” Henry stepped toward him and Cameron gripped the kitchen island. “‘Give him a book, and he will read all day long.’”
