Cameron Wants to Be a Hero (Love Austen 2)

“Really!”

“This can’t be that interesting.”

“Trust me, Cameron, everything you’ve said to me this evening has been interesting. Besides, I want you to like me. So I’ll make extra effort to sound enthusiastic.” A wink.

Cameron laughed. What a delightfully strange man.

“Let’s continue. What’s your story?”

“You pieced it together as you took in my office. Painfully correct in all assumptions.”

“Then I’m correct in thinking we’d get on well. How do you take your coffee?”

“With oat milk. Once a week, with a shot of vanilla.”

Henry smirked, as if he’d guessed Cameron would indulge on a schedule.

Cameron turned his head, unsure whether he disliked being easy to read, or liked that Henry could. “Now for my most pressing question: Why are you playing along with this gate-crashing, snooping English teacher?”

“When you say English teacher. Do you mean because you’re from England, or do you teach the subject?”

“Deflection. I could have guessed.”

Every drag of air felt thicker than the last. Warm too, as if heated by Cameron’s constant blush.

“Both interpretations are correct. I have dual citizenship. I lived in Port Ratapu until I was thirteen. When my mother . . .” Henry broke off, swallowing. The sad weight in his pause had Cameron rubbing his thumb against the outside of Henry’s. Henry gave a light, acknowledging squeeze. “My dad sent my siblings and me to boarding school in the UK. Hence the accent. I also happen to teach the subject. Now. Why do you play along?”

“I don’t know. Chasing after an adventure, I guess.”

“Was it as exciting as you hoped? Will I make an appearance in your journal?”

Holy hell, could Cameron flush any harder?

Twinkling eyes studied him. “‘While hiding from my own party, I was ambushed by a despicable English intruder, who snooped through my things and made the most scandalous move to waltz with me.’”

“Not what I’d say. Wrong, finally. How relieving.”

“Want to know what I hope you’ll write?”

“Go on, then.”

“I danced with a friendly man and indulged in titillating conversation. His quick wit and bountiful humor agree with me—I hope I bump into him again. Maybe chat more over coffee.”

“Maybe I would. But my journal is only for script ideas. For letting my imagination run wild.”

“I’m wrong again.” He stopped waltzing and palmed his forehead in mock disappointment. “A sub-par sleuth after all.”

Cameron’s chuckle was interrupted by a hair-wrecked, lip-reddened Lake barging into the office in stocking feet.

“Cameron, there you are. You wouldn’t have any spare socks, would you? Knightly accidentally tipped his red wine, and my feet caught the worst of it.”

They’d been balancing wine as they’d devoured each other’s faces? No surprise something spilled. “Why didn’t you have your boots on? No, wait—don’t answer that,” Cameron blurted as Lake began to color.

Henry donned a sympathetic wince as Lake displayed the stain. “On such nice Happy Socks. What a shame.”

Lake’s eyes flickered curiously from Henry to Cameron. “You like Happy Socks?”

Henry shoved up the leg of his jeans, revealing green socks printed with cute gargoyles. “All my socks are Happy ones. My sister bought me two pairs a few years ago and I’ve never looked back.”

Lake stared at Henry like he was his hero. “A man of good taste.”

“Thanks to my sister.”

“Have you checked out Cameron’s?”

Henry bit back a laugh. His glittering gaze slid over Cameron. “I’ve not yet had the honor.”

To his mortification, Lake reached out and unzipped his boot.

Henry eyed his sock thoughtfully. “Rainbow hearts. Socks can tell you a lot about a person, too.”

“Oh, my God,” Cameron said. “You guys are so—” He bit back ‘weird.’

“It makes gift-giving easy,” Lake added. “Everybody needs socks.”

Cameron sighed, perched on the couch, and removed his rainbow hearts. “Here, Lake. They’re yours.”

“But then you’ll have none.”

Henry joyfully removed his own shoes and peeled off his socks. “I come to your rescue.”

Cameron blinked at the offered gargoyle socks. “Now you have none.”

Henry grinned and leaned toward him, adopting a secretive whisper. “Now I have a reason to meet you again.”

“How long do I have to wait before you spill?”

Cameron curled his toes—snug in Henry’s socks and warm in his boots—and shivered. He jotted the names of a few added guests Brandon needed to thank in his speech. “Spill what?”

“I asked around, and Olivia recognized Henry. Apparently his dad is a big deal. Did you two hit it off?”

Cameron’s pen jerked, slicing an inked line across his cue card. “Like, romantically?”

“Yes,” Lake said with amused exasperation, tossing himself across Cameron’s couch. Never mind they were due downstairs soon for Brandon’s speech. How long did Brandon need to freshen up, anyway?

“Where did your other half disappear to?”

“Better half. He has a million tasks to finish at work before our trip. Back to Henry . . .”

“He snuck into my office, Lake.”

“But did he sneak into your heart?”

“I hardly know him.”

“Come on, Cameron . . .”

“I’ll admit the whole thing took me by surprise. He was quite . . . different.”