Cameron Wants to Be a Hero (Love Austen 2)

“Brandon, I’m so sorry.”

“She saw me and her laughter drained, and I knew immediately it was because she felt guilty. She trotted over—the man she was with hoofed off without looking back—and she tried to tell me how much she’d missed me. The duplicity. I told her to tell me what was going on and she waved it off, said it was nothing. Just burning off the pain in her heart.

“I’m embarrassed to say I almost bought it. For a wavering second, I thought maybe I should give her a chance.”

Cameron shook his head. No, don’t. But—he glanced at Henry—not his place. “I’ll come by, spend the evening with you.”

“Would you?”

“I’m sure I can get a ride.”

Henry squeezed the arch of his foot, nodding.

“Not right away, though,” Brandon said. “Give me a few hours to get a grip on myself.”

“Of course.”

They said goodbyes and Cameron dropped his phone onto his lap.

“I overheard most of it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not you who should be saying sorry,” Cameron said.

Henry’s hand paused on his foot, and then he made little circles with his thumbs. “I’ll tell Fred to stay at a hotel.”

“You can’t do that. This is his home.”

“I can and moreover I will. He cannot keep going like this without consequences.”

“Did you hear my apology?” Cameron whispered.

“I heard.” Henry’s face tightened into thought, its sharp lines glowing in the lamplight. “But I’m not sure you owe me one.”

“I snooped in his office, Henry.”

Minutes passed in thought, and Henry’s hands shifted below his ankle bone to his achilles. Cameron surrendered to the touch, humming into it. With half-lidded eyes, he studied Henry’s concentration. He was working something out in his mind.

“You were inspired by curiosity.”

“It grew too bold.”

“What did it feel like, sneaking in?”

“My heart was in my throat.”

“How long were you in there before I came?”

“Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

“That’s a long time to choke on your heartbeat.”

“At the time, it felt worth it.”

Henry set Cameron’s foot on the floor with great care. “I was startled. Caught up in my own reactions. But . . . I’m glad you did it.”

The significant words settled in his chest; he was on the cusp of grasping their deeper meaning.

Henry stood abruptly and moved to the stained-glass window. He opened it and a spring breeze curled into the room. He stared out toward the chapel and the graveyard.

He kept his back to Cameron. “I promised Georgie a trip to our cottage.”

Cameron nodded, stood. He couldn’t bring himself to offer to take the bus to Brandon’s. “Do you visit often?”

“The current owner is my old primary school teacher, and she was also my mother’s. She lets us help her tend the garden.”

“Sounds nice.”

Henry’s back swelled with a deep breath, and the curve of his cheek rose. “Something about it reminds me of here. Only warmer, cozier. More free.”

“Sounds like a wonderful place to . . . be.”

“It really is.”

Cameron palmed his nape, hesitated, and crossed to Henry at the window. “I have time before heading to my brother. Would you show me?”

The cottage lay low in a wild garden, bathing in sunlight, comfy, sated, a little misshapen. Like it had just passionately made love and could now sleep for a hundred years.

Georgie rolled up the uneven brick path and Henry, holding the gate open with the backs of his thighs, gestured Cameron inside.

Breathing in the salty ocean air and the perfume of roses, Cameron moved toward the cottage.

It felt familiar. Like something he’d known in the past. From a book, perhaps?

Quietly, Henry procured gardening tools and they freed a rosebush of weeds.

As they worked, Cameron pictured Henry taking breakfast on the picnic bench in the back garden, with coffee, toast, orange juice and all the fresh air in the world. Georgie would roll down from the detached mini-cottage at the back of the property. They’d go for walks, have barbecues, grow herbs, and attempt to make their own pesto sauces. They’d play Scrabble in the sunshine. Read in the shade of an umbrella.

Henry watched him daydream. A tingle sluiced through his body on repeat.

“What do you think?” Henry said an hour later, voice tickling the back of his neck.

“I like it from the outside, but I’ve barely seen inside.” Cameron lifted a brow. “Does it have a library?”

“Not yet,” Henry said. “But it will.”

Cameron spent Saturday night with Brandon, and Sunday too. They ate, took long walks through town and along the beach, and analyzed Brandon’s journey with Isabella in detail. Turning over every word she’d said, they saw them for the lies they had to be.

There were hugs and silent sobs in Cameron’s arms.

He wished he could take Brandon’s pain away. Wished he’d never met Isabella.

Brandon refused to agree. Now he knew, he understood. She might be all confidence, but with no principles to stand for, she’d take down anyone in her path. Brandon vowed never to fall for it again. “‘It is such an uncomfortable feeling to know one is a fool.’”