Page 69 of Merry & Bright
And so what if they were attracted to each other? Wasn’t that just what Cam had been looking for tonight? All right, he’d pictured finding it in the pulsing, anonymous crowd of sweat-dampened bodies on Gomorrah’s dance floor, but what was wrong with finding it here instead? In the nearest cottage to his own, on the edge of the loch where he’d spent all his childhood summers.
Just then, the door swung open and Cam turned, starting almost guiltily. Rob walked in, a wide, shallow bowl in each hand.
“Here we are,” he said, handing one to Cam. “I hope you’re hungry.”
The scent of lemongrass and coriander rose up from the creamy broth, rich and fragrant, and Cam inhaled it pleasurably. “This smells amazing.”
Rob looked pleased. “Tuck in. I’ll put some music on.” He pulled an iPhone out of his pocket and after a few swipes at the screen, a folksy tune began to drift out of a pair of wall-mounted speakers Cam hadn’t noticed before. He didn’t recognise the music but he liked the sound of it, even though it made him think of the sort of earnest beardie who’d hire one of his kayaks and bitch about wearing a life jacket because it would cover up his hand-knitted jumper.
Not that he had anything against beards, he thought irrelevantly, glancing at Rob’s heavy stubble. He liked that look, the contrast of dark beard and pale skin, tender and rough.
Rob was too busy settling himself down to notice Cam’s sidelong glance. He burrowed into his corner of the big sofa and stretched his legs out, propping his feet up on the coffee table before digging into his curry.
Cam turned his attention to his food then too, humming appreciatively at the first mouthful, only to declare a little later, “Wow, thisisspicy.”
Rob grinned at him. “Too much chilli?”
“No, it’s delicious—really fresh-tasting.”
“That’s ’cause I make my own curry paste. It’s not the same if you use a jar. The flavours are never as lively.”
Cam lifted the bowl to his lips to slurp at the broth, giving a little moan of pleasure. “So good. You should do stuff like this at the café.”
Rob laughed at that. “Hmm, I’m not sure my regulars would go for it. Besides, the café does all right as it is, money-wise, and I’m not really interested in developing it into anything fancier.”
“No?”
“No—it’s income, but it’s not what I like to spend my time doing. I see myself as an artist who ended up owning a café rather than a café owner who likes to paint.”
They chatted easily as they finished their meal, sinking the rest of the wine while the album Rob had put on played out. When the music ended, Rob picked up his iPhone again, and moments later another song began, a little more mellow this time though still with the same vibe.
“You like folk music?” Cam asked. He’d loosened up with the wine and now his pose mirrored Rob’s—he lounged back against the opposite corner of the sofa from Rob and his long legs were stretched out, bare feet resting on the coffee table. If he moved his left foot just a little, he’d be able to brush Rob’s sock-clad one. It was stupidly tempting to do just that, but he wasn’t sure how the man would react.
“Yeah, I love it,” Rob said. “Don’t you?” His look was curious, like he really wanted to know the answer, and something in Cam responded to that interest like a plant to sunshine, craving more.
The feeling alarmed him. How pathetic and lonely was he to react like this to the slightest show of attention? Defensively, he resorted to an indifferent façade, shrugging his shoulders and mumbling, “It’s okay.”
Rob did a funny little frowny-smile at that, like he was puzzled and amused at the same time. “Just okay? What don’t you like about it?”
Cam struggled to find a response to that, but at last he said, “I find it a bit...earnest, I suppose.”
“I like the fact that it’s earnest,” Rob replied. “I like enthusiasm. I like people who do what they love without worrying about whether it’s cool or not. I hate coolness, actually. It’s got a lot to answer for, coolness.”
Cam laughed. “What do you mean?”
“Just, the idea of coolness—it inhibits kids from enjoying stuff. The arts, especially.”
“Didn’t seem to put you off,” Cam said, hitching a brow.
“Well, no, but my mother was a total free spirit—we moved around a lot when I was a kid, so at school I was always either the new boy who was trying to make friends or the boy who was about to leave. That meant I ended up hanging around with my mother and her friends quite a bit. They were mostly artists and musicians so I spent a lot of time with creative adults when I was young.” He sent an amused look in Cam’s direction. “You can probably imagine how weird the other kids at school thought I was.”
Cam’s lips twitched in response. “Do you have photos? I’d love to see them.”
“A few,” Rob admitted. “None that I’m willing to share—not tonight anyway.”
“It doesn’t sound like the easiest of childhoods.”
“Well no, it wasn’t, and I’m not going to say there weren’t times when I was pissed off at my mother for her choices, but overall it was good. I got to spend time with some amazing people and I was free of the tyranny of coolness.” He flashed a grin at Cam. “I bet you were one of the cool kids.”