Cameron frowned. “He’s not nice.”
“Then why would you care how you let him down?” She laughed.
“I mean that he’s more than that. He’s smart, witty, affectionate, caring—”
“—and if he likes you at all, he’ll be thrilled you’re taking every opportunity possible to have new experiences. To grow. Or does he not value growth?”
“Of course he does.”
“I don’t see what the problem is. Call him now. Plenty of time to explain.”
“I’m not going to Christchurch.”
“I’ve already demanded that John take us to the best secondhand bookstore there. It has the cute café above it and I thought we should eat lunch there.”
Cameron stood firm, shaking his head.
Isabella flopped onto his bed, feathering a hand over the clothes Cameron had taken out of the duffel bag. “I thought we were friends?”
“Isabella—”
“No, listen. I’m cheerful and easygoing on the outside, Cameron, but I’m sensitive on the inside. It hurt yesterday, at the theatre. We came to cheer you on and first we weren’t allowed to the exclusive pre-party, and then you walk right past us in the theatre without so much as a wave, only to sit next to your other friends and whisper in each other’s ears throughout the evening.”
She stood, sighing. “I was sure you were avoiding us during intermission, but I kept telling myself you’re too nice to do that. I had to be imagining it.”
Guilt and shame stretched up Cameron’s throat. “Isabella, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I know it was stressful for you. John and I have had a hard week too, and that’s why we thought today’s trip would be perfect.”
“I still can’t come.”
Her gaze hardened. “Your friends are selfish to keep you to themselves.”
The doorbell chimed.
Again, Cameron raced through the house, Isabella sulking after him—
John.
And his very white set of teeth and trimmed goatee. “Packed, then?”
“I can’t come,” Cameron said, throat sore from repeating himself.
Isabella sighed, dejected beside him. “I’ve tried convincing him.”
“What if we went tomorrow?” Cameron suggested reluctantly. “I have the day off, and you would have stayed overnight anyway. We can go to that bookstore?”
“No!” John exclaimed. “We’ve already paid for the hotel rooms.”
“I’ll pay my share.”
“Go without you?” John shook his head, paused. “Dancing isn’t fun without a partner.”
“You want to dance again?”
“And again and again until you’re screaming never to stop.”
“I’m not a nightclub guy, and I hate getting home too late.”
John winked. “This dancing would be at the hotel, honey.”
As if that made the prospect of having his feet stomped on all night enticing. “As fun as that sounds, I have to raincheck.”
John paused. “You’ll really raincheck?”
“Sure. As I said, I’d even do tomorrow.”
“Belle,” John said. “Maybe we can wait until tomorrow.”
Isabella squeezed past Cameron to her brother, throwing herself into a hug. She sniffed. “Fine. Have a fun day with Henry then.”
John stiffened and his eyes flashed to Cameron’s. “Henry? Again?”
“He won’t hurt me, John.”
“He woos men, Cameron. Woos them, makes them fall in love with him, and then breaks their hearts. Mike told me that, too. You’re better with someone solid and open like me than a man who only wants to fuck you in secret.”
“John!”
Cameron’s phone rang from the kitchen. Henry?
John shrugged his sister off and charged inside. Cameron, shocked, needed a few seconds. He chased after John.
“Do not touch my phone.”
“I can make an excuse for you. I’ll take his heat.”
“God, do neither of you listen?”
“Do you hear yourself? Do you want your heart screwed over?” John picked up his phone and Cameron jumped onto his back, flailing to reach it. “Stop it.”
“Missed it,” John cursed, and planted the phone back down. “But this is nice.” He grabbed handfuls of Cameron’s thighs, hitching him higher.
Isabella flew into the room at Cameron’s shocked squeal.
“Put me down.” His leg shot out, hitting stacked mail and takeout leaflets, and they rained to the floor. “Tell him to put me down.”
“Promise you’ll be careful and I will,” John said.
“John. Let him go. He clearly wants to make his own mistakes.”
The doorbell rang.
He shoved and scrambled off John as he lessened his grip. For a third time, he hurried toward the door. Finally this horrible morning was over. Henry would know exactly what to say to Isabella and John, and in minutes they’d be off in his SUV.
He ran his hand through his hair, straightened the hoodie, and flung the door open.
He halted abruptly, smile fading.
“Dad.”
“I heard your ruckus from the sidewalk,” his dad said.
He gripped two suitcases, the larger one resting against the threshold, and returned his tired gaze to Cameron. “I’d hoped to crash in my clean, quiet home.”
Inside the entryway, Dad made efficient work of his dress shoes while Cameron panicked. He’d promised he’d have moved out already, and he should’ve concentrated on figuring that out rather than getting swept up in emails and the thrills of a British accent.