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Three and a half hours into the drive, they approached a blocked-off part of the highway.
“Google says the detour and congestion will add another hour and a half to the journey,” Brandon said. “We won’t make it to the movie. We’d better turn back.”
John grunted.
“It was a spontaneous idea. Maybe another time.”
“Shit.” John U-turned with screeching tires. “Without this roadblock, the trip would have been perfect.”
Perfectly miserable.
Isabella insisted on stopping an hour later to eat, not at all accepting Cameron’s idea to drive through so they’d arrive faster. She didn’t seem to care how much Cameron needed to get home. Brandon sided with him, but John had the deciding vote. It was his car.
When they finally made it back to the studios, Cameron jumped out of the car. Brandon followed him.
“I’m sorry, Cameron. That whole trip was a disaster the moment it started.”
“I need to get my phone.”
His brother unlocked for him, sighing. “I should have done more. I’ve not been myself lately.”
“You’re in love.”
“And you know what they call people in love.”
Fools. “A little less sensible, maybe.”
“‘I shall ask for brains instead of a heart; for a fool would not know what to do with a heart if he had one.’”
“‘I shall take the heart. For brains do not make one happy, and happiness is the best thing in the world.’”
They smiled at each other.
Cameron found his phone and sank miserably into his chair. Dead. He searched his drawers for a charger to no avail.
Tired, cold, miserable, he drove home and plugged it in next to his bed.
Of course, his phone started updating. That was exactly the sort of day he was having.
He’d lie down for five minutes, and then message Henry.
Five minutes. Max ten.
Cameron scrambled into a sitting position and shoved on his glasses. Bright morning light shafted into his bedroom through the gap in his curtains. He grabbed his phone and keyed in the SIM pin and password. One unread message:
Henry: Running late, sorry. There in ten.
Time-stamped three twenty-six yesterday, just after they’d left his office.
Cameron’s call went straight to voicemail and he left a chaotic message explaining himself. Apologizing.
In case he didn’t check his voicemails, he wrote messages too, but none of them showed they’d been delivered.
This heavy weight in his stomach wouldn’t lift until he’d explained himself. But it was already late, there was no time; he needed to get ready for today’s double-feature.
God, he hoped Henry still came.
He’d never been so impatient.
Dressed in full black tie, he and his brother attended the pre-party held in a private room adjacent to Arch Theatre. Cameron smiled and nodded and raised his glass, one eye on the door. Minutes dragged like hours.
A gaggle of finely dressed latecomers crowded into the room, blocking his escape.
Then Brandon called upon him to answer some questions.
By the time they arrived at the theatre, the audience had been seated.
With a jumpy heart, Cameron scanned the rows as he walked down the aisle. Isabella and John were seated at the back. But where were the Tilneys?
Had they come? Or had they thought Cameron wouldn’t want them here? Had Henry heard his voicemail? Read his messages?
Butterflies flapped in his stomach and a sigh bubbled out of him. They’d come.
There, in the space for wheelchairs, sat Georgie. Next to her Mr. Tilney, and next to him, Henry.
Henry. Six steps away.
Their gazes caught in the dim light.
Cameron paused mid-step, while his brother sidled to their seats.
Mr. Tilney followed his son’s gaze, and Henry looked away.
Cameron’s stomach fell. What did that mean? He’d not received his apology? He’d not forgiven him? He’d only come because Georgie and his dad had wanted to see the films?
He shuffled toward his seat; a heavy voice stopped him. “Excuse me, young man.”
Cameron swiveled around, coming face to face with Henry’s dad. Tall and broad, with a similar crop of dark curly hair. His eyes were narrower, though, nose sharper, prouder. He smelled faintly of pine needles. “You know my Georgie.”
Cameron nodded. “Yes.”
“I’m happy to swap seats with you, if you’d like to sit with her?”
“Excuse me?”
“It seems silly for me to sit with my kids when their friend sits so close.”
“Oh, um, I wouldn’t want to take—”
“I insist.” Mr. Tilney steered him across the aisle. “Let’s chat during intermission.”
Agape, Cameron watched Mr. Tilney take his seat and introduce himself to Brandon.
Georgie and Henry eyed one another, trying to make sense of what their dad had done.
Georgie offered Cameron a short smile, and Henry pushed the free seat down.
The theatre darkened, cloaking Henry’s expression as he lifted his head.
Cameron sat between them, the velvet-cushioned chair the only thing keeping him from melting into a puddle of nerves on the floor. The heat from Henry, whether real or imagined, made his left temple burn.
If Henry put his arm on the armrest, that would signal that he was okay with . . . this.
