Cameron Wants to Be a Hero (Love Austen 2)

Cameron sagged against him.

Words rumbled softly. “This is no reflection on who you are. I only want to help you improve. I like you, Cameron. Very much.”

A sob pushed up Cameron’s throat and it hurt swallowing it. “I like you too.”

“Nice.”

“You hate that word.”

“Not with you.” Henry pulled back, dragging his hands to Cameron’s hips and meeting his eye. “No more talk about leaving, okay? Stay as long as you need.”

“Georgie will be happy we’re eating in,” Henry said as he tossed a salad in the kitchen. Stained cupboards sat against pinot-noir-colored walls; black marble, polished wood, and fine china surrounded them. The fruit bowl, extra bright and juicy against the darkness. “I always feel bad for leaving her out. She doesn’t have many friends.”

Cameron fondled an apple. “Why not? She’s funny and kind.”

“She and Alicia are thick as thieves. It’ll be better when she arrives.”

“Why is she moving here?”

“She signed a two-semester contract with the university theatre department. I suspect she wants to be closer, too.”

Cameron stopped bruising the apple and set it in the bowl. “Will she stay with you at the manse?”

“Dad would like that.”

His head shot up. “You wouldn’t?”

“I would, of course. There’s history between us. One minute we’re the closest of confidants, the next we’re at each other’s throats. It’s all very dramatic.”

Dramatic, or passionate?

Henry plucked a stray piece of lettuce off his sleeve. He felt the ghost of those fingers sliding into his hair. He wanted that fiery thrill again.

He had to remember that they were like candles. They might burn brightly, but eventually the light would be snuffed out. “Why are you and Georgie living here?”

“I’m saving for a deposit on a place for Georgie and me.”

“Saving? I thought . . .”

“My dad has offered to buy us a place.”

“But?”

“I’d feel like I owed him. Like he’d control how I live.” Henry looked at him. “I need to do this without his financial help. There’s a place by the water with easy access to stores, only a fifteen-minute drive into town, with a semi-detached cottage. I want to buy it.”

Georgie entered the kitchen, “I want a cat, Henry.”

“You remind me every other day.”

“Was my Halloween costume too on the nose?”

“And on everything else.” Henry handed her the salad bowl. “I’ll bring the chicken and we can feast.”

They arranged details for Fred’s party over wine at dinner, and then migrated to the library.

Encouraging and comforting, the library was a cocoon of stories to last a lifetime; a collection of words that had educated and continued to. Georgie and Henry bantered as they pulled out the Scrabble box, friendly and loving.

Every inch of it reminded Cameron of Henry. Inviting, thrilling, eye-opening.

Georgie slung herself into their mum’s armchair and Henry moved a coffee table before her. The Scrabble board was set up; Henry stopped Cameron from kneeling on a cushion, and instead guided him into an armchair he had dragged over. He sank into its comfort and Henry took the floor between him and his sister.

Henry rolled up his sleeves and eyed the bag of letters keenly. “Ready for complete and utter annihilation?”

Georgie was a good player, but no match for Cameron. Neither was a match for Mr. English Teacher.

“I’ll eat my socks if sthenia is a word,” Cameron said, glaring at him across the board.

“Don’t, I like those socks. They make me happy.”

“Georgie, pass me the dictionary.”

“Can I hit him over the head with it first?”

“Let’s save it for after.”

Henry threw up his hands. “Be my guest. Looking up the definition,” he added to Georgie, who’d gleefully raised the fat book.

Cameron flipped through the ‘S’ section.

Henry’s grin glittered under the chandelier light.

“It’d be far quicker to search on my phone.”

Henry shook his head. “No phones over the Scrabble table.”

Ah, crap. Sthenia. Here it was.

He eyed Henry’s smug expression, and shut the book. “What does it mean?”

Henry hooked his hands behind his head. “A condition of exceptional strength and vitality.”

“Or vitality,” Cameron grumbled.

“I believe I’ve won this game. Do you want to continue?”

Cameron smartly set out E-L-A-N.

Henry eyed it.

“With an accent on the E but I’m sure the Scrabble dictionary would allow it.”

“Elan.” Henry smiled. “I like it.”

“I’d like it more.”

After another two rounds of Henry trouncing them, Georgie resigned for the night. Cameron stayed up, determined to try for one more match.

“Forget about it,” he said tossing his letters down thirty minutes later, after Henry scored big on kex. “This will only make me feel worse than I already do.”

Henry packed and gave him a hand up from the armchair. That firm squeeze had him lifting to his feet like a newborn foal.

Henry walked Cameron to the guest room, where his bag waited for him. “Bedtime routine. You can take your time in the bathroom.” Henry hesitated. “When you’re done—”

“Reading time!” Cameron yelped. “I mean . . . In bed, I like to read and write ideas in my journal.”