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Cameron—Cam—McMorrow was having a big, serious conversation with his sister.
Rob glanced over at their table a few times as he waited for Val to complete the food order and he got the coffees sorted. He couldn’t see Cam’s face at all, but the girl’s expression looked sad, then concerned, and she kept putting her hand over his. Cam’s shoulders were hunched over. He looked...defeated. It was a picture that didn’t fit with the idea Rob had of Cam, and for some reason, he found that bothered him.
Before today, Rob would have said that Cam was super-confident, bordering on arrogant. The type of man who unapologetically went after what he wanted. There was a directness to him that Rob had liked when they first met—at least till the day Pete Bruce from the Council had gone down to the boatshed to serve a formal warning on him. On that day, Cam’s directness had brought him barrelling into the café in such a temper that he’d walked right past the counter to confront Rob, muscling into Rob’s personal space without so much as a by-your-leave. That was probably why Rob—who was normally so laid back—had lost his own temper. He probably wouldn’t have stuck up for what Val had done otherwise. As it was, he’d been so pissed off, he hadn’t even denied Cam’s accusation that it was he, Rob, who’d made the complaint.
It was weird to see the man looking so different today. Rob glanced over again—Cam was scrubbing his hands over his face while his sister spoke, her expression earnest and intent. Rob felt the oddest pang in his gut. Somehow seeing Cam so stressed and tired-looking was making Rob feel unsettled.
He was glad of the distraction of the kitchen bell, announcing the food order was ready. The plates were already waiting when he went to the hatch and Val was on the other side of the kitchen, her back to him as she stacked the dishwasher, a job she usually moaned about. She was staying right out of Cam McMorrow’s way then.
Without a word, Rob grabbed the plates and closed the hatch, then loaded everything onto a tray and made his way over to Cam’s table.
Eilidh spotted him before he reached them—she did that thing people do when a waiter approaches, drawing a social veil across her face, her expression becoming both more cheerful and more distant at once.
“Here we go,” Rob said, lowering the tray.
Cam had been leaning his elbows on the table but now he moved back, sweeping aside the shreds of a napkin he’d been mangling.
Rob felt absurdly aware of the man’s eyes on him as he doled out the plates and cups. It was ridiculous to feel self-conscious at such scrutiny, but he did. Finally, though, everything was unloaded and he straightened, tucking the tray under his arm. “Enjoy your lunch,” he said, intending to make a swift exit, but just as he was about to turn away, a flash of hot pink and turquoise on the table snagged his gaze, the swirling, golden “G” icon in the middle of the glossy card immediately familiar.
“Oh, Gomorrah!” he exclaimed. “God, I haven’t been there in years. Are you going to the Hogmanay party?”
He glanced at Cam, his smile fading a little when he spotted the man’s wary expression and it dawned on him that this might be confirmation of something he’d wondered about more than once back when they were still talking—whether Cam was gay.
Whether Rob had imagined those occasional, slightly lingering looks ...
After what felt like a very long moment, Cam finally spoke. “Yeah—I’m looking forward to it. I used to go to Gomorrah practically every weekend—it’ll be good to catch up with my old crowd.”
Gomorrah’s every weekend? That had to mean that Cam was gay, didn’t it?
“It’s my Christmas present to him,” Eilidh said. Her comment broke the odd, new tension and Rob shifted his gaze to her gratefully. “He needs a good night out,” she added. “He’s been all work and no play for far too long.”
“Well, he’ll have a good night at Gomorrah, I’m sure.” Rob made an attempt at a relaxed smile, though he suspected it looked strained because, right now, all he could think about was Cam McMorrow laughing and drinking shots and dancing, bare-chested, in a sea of hot, willing bodies. God, they’d all be after him—he was undeniably gorgeous.
“What about you, Rob?” Eilidh asked. “What are you doing for Hogmanay?”
“I’ll probably go up to The Stag,” Rob said. “The landlord usually invites the locals for a lock-in.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could call them back, because, of course, Cam was a local now, but he hadn’t been invited.
Cam didn’t look up at Rob’s words. He just grabbed a couple of packs of sugar from the bowl on the table and began doctoring his coffee with them—busy, busy. He was acting like he hadn’t heard, leaving Eilidh to carry on the conversation alone, though Eilidh wasn’t even looking at Rob anymore. Her attention was all for her brother, her gaze concerned.
“I’ll, uh, probably just stay in actually,” Rob added awkwardly. “It’s not like it’s a proper party, just a few people, having some drinks.”
He was protesting too much. He knew it, and Eilidh did too—when she finally spared him a glance, her expression was cool. “Well, have a nice time, whatever you do,” she said politely.
It was a clear dismissal and Rob took the hint, urging them to enjoy their lunch—again—before turning on his heel and heading back to the counter where another customer was waiting to settle his bill.
For the next half hour, Rob watched Cam and his sister on and off, his glances surreptitious but frequent. He watched as Eilidh pressed half her sandwich on her brother and most of the cupcake too.
Once they’d eaten, and Cam had gone to the gents, Eilidh jumped up. She was already putting her coat on as she crossed the floor to the counter and by the time she reached Rob, she was opening her purse.
“Keep the change,” she said, handing Rob fifteen quid—enough for the bill and a generous tip besides.
He wondered whether Eilidh knew what had happened between him and Cam. If she did—if she’d heard Cam’s version—she’d probably think Rob was petty and small-minded. It wasn’t a nice thought, and Rob wished he could refuse the tip—but there wasn’t a way to do that that would sound anything other than churlish and bad mannered, so instead he just murmured his thanks and dropped the coins into the tip jar for Val.
“Will you tell Cam I’ve popped into the Spar for something when he gets out?” Eilidh said then. “I’ll see him outside.” Before Rob could reply, she was off, flying out the front door just as Cam emerged from the gents.
Cam glanced at the empty table for a moment then he approached the counter, that wary expression on his face again that looked so wrong to Rob.
“How much do I owe you?” he asked, reaching into his back pocket.
“Nothing,” Rob replied. “Your sister already paid. She said she had to get something at the Spar and she’d see you outside.”
Cam looked weirdly embarrassed at that and a little colour stole into his cheeks, but all he said was, “Okay. Thanks.”
Just as he turned to go, Rob found himself blurting out, “Hey, um—Happy New Year when it comes. You’ll have a great time, in Gomorrah I mean. We used to love the New Year party there.”
We.
As though he was speaking for him and Andrew, although in fairness, the last time Rob had been in Gomorrah, Andrew had been with him. That must’ve been six or seven years ago now.
Christ, he was ancient. A widower, for God’s sake.
Cam’s eyebrows furrowed in a faint frown. “Yeah—um, thanks. You too. Enjoy your lock-in.”
Rob could have done without that reminder. He gave a weak smile and after another moment of raw silence, Cam turned and walked out.
**
VAL SLUNK BACK IN FROM the kitchen a few minutes after Cam and his sister left.
“Has he gone?” she asked carefully.
Rob didn’t look up from his mindless task of wrapping up pairs of cutlery in Christmas napkins.
“Yup.”
There was a brief silence, then Val said, her voice subdued, “You’re annoyed.” Her deely-boppers were flickering red-green-red-green in Rob’s peripheral vision but he didn’t glance her way, or answer her at all.
“What happened?” she asked after another pause.
“Nothing.” He could feel her gaze on him, wary and careful.
“If nothing happened,” she said quietly, “why are you giving off angry vibes?”
Rob sighed at that, not a soft sigh but a hard, impatient exhalation of air. “Because I feel shitty,” he bit out. “Cam was—I don’t know, he just seemed really down.”
“Since when do you call him Cam?” Val asked, somehow managing to home in on the least relevant part of what he’d said.
“That’s what his sister calls him.”
“The girl who was with him, you mean?” Without waiting for a reply, she added, “Well, I don’t see why you should feel bad about him feeling down. How is it your fault?”
“Jesus, Val,” Rob snapped. “Don’t you feel at all bad about what happened?”
“What do you mean?”
Rob set down the cutlery he’d been wrapping. “His sister—the woman he was having lunch with? She was making conversation with me and then suddenly she comes out with all this stuff about how nice it is to meet one of Cam’s friends at last.” Rob rubbed the back of his neck. “I could’ve died when she said that. You know what, Val? I don’t think Cam’s got a single friend in Inverbechie.”
“Well, that’s not your bloody fault!”
“Yes, it is!” Rob exclaimed, frustrated. “Mine and yours! If you’d spoken to me instead of taking it upon yourself to make a fuss with Pete Bruce over that coffee nonsense, I’d’ve gone to see Cam and sorted it out like a normal person. But no, you had to make a huge drama out of it.”
“I don’t see what that’s got to do with having no friends,” Val muttered mulishly.
“Really? Are you forgetting that after our fight, you went gossiping about him to everyone that would listen? He couldn’t come in here after, and it wasn’t long before he stopped going in The Stag too.”
“Well, he shouldn’t have come in here throwing his weight around, should he?”
“What did you expect him to do?” Rob asked, throwing his hands up. “You called the bloody Council on him!”
“Well, he started it!” Val exclaimed. “What about our café?”
For a moment Rob was silent, then he said quietly, “It’s not our café. It’s my café.”
Val just stared at him, seeming wounded, but for once Rob didn’t care about her feelings. Not enough to let this thing with Cam go on any longer. He liked Val a lot—she was a loyal friend and a bloody good manager—but she’d made a mistake in calling Pete Bruce and he’d made a worse one when he’d not admitted as much to Cam McMorrow.
“You know what else his sister said?” he asked her.
Val looked wary. “What?”
“She asked what I was doing for Hogmanay. I didn’t even think about it before I spoke—I just blabbed out that I was going to The Stag for a lock-in with the rest of the locals.” Rob sighed. “It couldn’t have been more obvious that Cam knew nothing about it.”
Val’s face fell then. As much as she could be a gossipy old drama queen, she was a softie at heart and Rob knew that the thought of anyone, even Cam McMorrow, being excluded would bother her.
“Kenny wouldn’t have deliberately not asked him to the lock-in,” she said, a little defensively. “He’s not like that. It’s just that he only asks the regulars and Cameron doesn’t go to The Stag.”
“Not anymore,” Rob agreed, “but he used to. And the only reason he stopped is because of our argument. Before that, he used to go in for a couple of pints every Friday night.”
“Oh, yeah. He did, didn’t he?” Val frowned. “Now you mention it, I seem to remember him looking your way a few times. I wondered if he might fancy you, actually.”
Rob huffed out a laugh, though it sounded unconvincing even to him.
Thankfully, Val didn’t press the point. “Maybe we should invite him to come to The Stag on Hogmanay with us?” she said instead, her tone tentative. “That would be an olive branch, wouldn’t it?”
“I gather he’s got other plans for Hogmanay,” Rob said. “But let’s ask him to come with us another time. New Year’s a good time to make changes.”
The wind chimes tinkled then, heralding the arrival of Cathy and Mary, a couple of old dears from the village who came in most afternoons. Mary carolled out a quavery greeting and they headed for their usual table. Val acknowledged them with a wave then pulled her pad and pen out of her apron pocket in readiness to go and take their order.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s ask him out for a drink next week. I might even be able to bring myself to apologise to him, after a few pints.”
She’d probably try to snog him under the mistletoe too, and decide he was her best friend, and make plans to go on holiday with him—but that was Val.
“It can be your new year resolution,” Rob suggested, only half joking.
“Yeah? And what’s yours going to be?”
“The same?”
“Hey, no copying,” Val teased. “Besides, I’ve got another one for you.”
“What’s that then?”
She patted his shoulder as she walked past him on her way to take Cathy and Mary’s order, leaning in to murmur in his ear, “It’s about time you gave someone new a chance. It’s what Andrew would’ve wanted.”
She sashayed away, skirts swinging, to greet the old ladies with her usual chatty banter while Rob stared after her, chest empty and aching.
A sneaky hit, that one. It was a point she made periodically, lately with increasing frequency.
For the first couple of years after Andrew’s death, Rob had just felt...numb. There had been no one else at all—he couldn’t even have considered it. And since then, well, he hadn’t been entirely celibate, but he’d certainly not formed anything that could be described as a relationship either. These days, he limited himself to carefully selected hook-ups with like-minded men. Men who weren’t looking for anything beyond an emotion-free sexual encounter.
Val disapproved. Not because she had a thing against meaningless sex—on a personal level she was quite a fan—but because she was convinced that Rob was unhappy. And lonely.
And right then, for the first time, Rob began to wonder if she might be right.