Stray for You (Rainbow Rescue Cat Café #3)

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Julian

“WINE, SIR?”

I jerk my head up too quickly. I didn’t hear the server approach, too busy anxiously scrolling through my phone hoping for a message from Cameron. It takes me a moment to parse the woman’s words.

“Yes, actually, whatever your best is,” I say. “Bring the whole bottle.”

“Right away, sir,” she says before retreating.

I sit at the nicest table in the nicest restaurant I could find in downtown Seattle. Conversation occurs at a sedate murmur. Chandeliers cast a warm, pale glow through a large dining room decorated in shades of white. The servers wear impeccable black head to toe.

I’m only a block from my hotel, but I arrived here a full half an hour early, my frayed nerves turning my room into a prison that I paced like a captive tiger. Part of me believes I’ll sit here and drink this overpriced bottle of wine alone, the same part of me that keeps re-reading the message Cameron sent in which he agreed to this meeting. Surely, that wasn’t real. Surely, I made that up. Surely, he isn’t actually going to show up. The guy hates me. He’s hated me for a long time. The attraction and fun only goes one direction here.

But that kiss…

The memory of him kissing me back in that parking lot the other night wars with the empty seat across from me in this restaurant. I never did understand Cameron. Was his anger real? But then what is that crackle that’s always existed between us? It can’t just be me who feels the shift in energy whenever we’re around each other. For as much as Cameron holds himself back, that kiss was real. I know what I felt. That wasn’t a guy running away from me. Quite the opposite.

A flicker of black passes the windows outside. My gaze snaps in that direction. Cameron didn’t say a word, didn’t look at me, but my eyes flew to him regardless. I watch him walk along the side of the building, check his phone, then enter the restaurant at last. He approaches the host cautiously, scanning the dining room as he does.

I shouldn’t, but I rise regardless, striding over to the host before Cameron can run away. I’m in the suit I wore for the conference today, my blond hair swept back, my face freshly shaved, but Cameron sports a bit of five o’clock shadow as he shifts awkwardly in his black jeans and T-shirt.

“There you are,” I say, flashing the smile that has won me more than a few new contacts and fun adventures during these stupid conferences.

It doesn’t work as well on Cameron.

“You didn’t tell me I had to dress up,” he grumbles.

“You don’t. Relax. You look great. Come on.”

I’m not sure if he believes me, but I do mean it. He’s like some classic Seattle grunge musician, complete with the perpetual scowl on his pouty lips. He suits the gray skies outside, though I’ll admit he stands out a little in this glittering, aggressively cream-colored restaurant.

He sits across from me at our table, eyes still darting around like he expects the staff to kick him out any moment. When the server approaches, he flinches, but she simply pours us each a glass of rich red wine from a decanter.

“You ordered wine,” he says.

“Yes, do you like it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t drink stuff like this.”

“Well, try it,” I say, waving at his glass. “I’m told it’s their best.”

I sip from my own glass. The wine is thick but not overwhelming, with a pleasantly sweet aftertaste that lingers on my tongue after I swallow.

“This is … actually okay,” Cameron says.

“I’m so glad their best wine ranks as ‘okay’ in your estimation,” I say.

Cameron rolls his dark eyes at me, but that moment dispels some of the tension. We’re back to being us, back to teasing and poking. Sure, there’s been times when it turned heated, especially when our moms were dating, but the banter always felt more playful than sincere. To me at least. Is the same true for him?

The server returns and refills our glasses. When she asks for our orders, I step in, swiftly ordering for both of us while Cameron fumbles with the menu.

“Is that really okay?” Cameron says when the server leaves.

“What? Ordering? It is what one does at a restaurant, you know.”

“I mean you ordering all that stuff,” Cameron says. “I don’t even know how much it costs.”

“Don’t worry about what it costs. It’s all going on the company card.”

I try a smile, but Cameron’s scowl deepens. Of course. I should have known. A play like that works great on other sales reps, but Cameron isn’t like those people. He isn’t here to dance with me. He doesn’t care how much money my bosses let me throw around. I attempted to do something nice, but in my arrogance all I really did was annoy him even more.

This night is going great.

I shift tactics.

“Anyway,” I say, “what have you been up to since leaving New Jersey?”

Cameron shrugs. “Living.”

“Come on. We haven’t spoken in years. When was the last time we talked — graduation? You definitely weren’t in a band the last time I saw you. You’re incredible, by the way.”

Cameron’s mouth pulls taut for a moment, but I don’t get the sense that it’s anger. It’s more likely he’s fighting off a smile. How dare I of all people pay him a simple compliment? God, this man is infuriating, yet my eyes don’t leave his lips as he tip toes through a response.

“Okay, fine, sure, I joined a band. I was studying music in college. It’s not that much of a surprise, is it?”

“I guess not, but I thought you might become a teacher or something.”

“I don’t have the temperament for teaching,” he grumbles.

And it’s just so him that I can’t stop the laugh that bursts out of my mouth. His scowl deepens, but before he can yell at me, two perfectly cooked Pacific halibuts arrive at our table. His anger widens to surprise as he gapes at the meal.

“I’m told Seattle has some of the best seafood in the country,” I say. “It’s not quite the right season for halibut, but I’m willing to make that sacrifice. Do you like it?”

Cameron shakes his head at his dinner. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anything like this. It’s expensive.”

“Company card,” I remind him, though the truth is that I could treat him to this meal myself even without the company card.

“They let you buy fancy meals for your enemies with company funds?”

“Cam, I’m injured. You aren’t an enemy. You’re my long lost almost-brother.”

He screws up his face like he wants to yell at me, then glances around the restaurant and apparently thinks better of it.

“Not your brother,” he says, spearing his fork into his fish.

I hide my smirk by cutting into my own meal. The halibut melts the moment it’s in my mouth. The seasoning is delicate and light, allowing the freshness of the fish to shine through. And the wine serves as a perfect complement, adding a dash of sweetness as I sip every few bites. Within moments, even Cameron’s constant complaints have fallen away in the face of this exquisite meal.

“I wish I could take Mom here,” Cameron says, almost to himself. “She loves fish.”

I take my opening. “How is she doing these days? I obviously haven’t seen her at all since college.”

Our moms broke up shortly before graduation, but everyone attended the ceremony, so I had an opportunity to see her there. Cameron looked ready to leap through the aisles and murder me back then, and it seems the mention of his mother has rekindled that desire. He glares up at me, his cutlery frozen.

“She’s fine,” he says curtly.

“Do you two still live together?”

“No.”

“Nearby?”

“Yes.”

“How is she? Doing well and everything?”

“Yes.”

I’m clearly not going to get more than a single syllable at a time, so I let the matter drop. I know Cameron is protective of his mother, but this is above and beyond, even for him. I’d face less resistance questioning the Secret Service about the president. Does it still bother him that our mothers dated for a few years? They were in a serious relationship, but it seemed to end amicably enough. What more does he want?

“What about your band?” I say, attempting to change the subject. “How’d you meet them? When’s your next show?”

He heaves a sigh. “They had a guitarist, but he flaked on them. They were desperate when they put up the ad. I auditioned and the vibe was right so they brought me on.”

“I’d guess it was more than a vibe,” I say. “You’re really incredible. I mean it. That bar the other night went silent when you started playing. I don’t know if they even breathed until you were done.”

Cameron’s throat bobs. He casts his eyes down, pushing a bit of fish around his plate, and my heart clenches at this accidentally charming display. I can turn on the charisma as needed for my job, but with Cameron, it’s all natural. He couldn’t fake it even if he wanted to, and I’m sure he doesn’t want to when the person across from him is me.

My chest is so tight I could be back in that bar struggling to breathe as his fingers fly along the neck of his guitar. I need a moment to gather myself before I can speak again.

“You guys are going to be famous some day.”

He shakes his head. “We can barely get a gig at a festival. It’s just for fun.”

“You say that, but people notice talent like that,” I say. “Some day, the right person will be in the crowd, and then you’ll be destined for the big time.”

Cameron scoffs, but he doesn’t actually argue with me. He’s studying his plate, his dark eyelashes hiding his eyes from me. I want to peer closer at him. I want to brush his hair off his forehead for a better look. But I’ve already made enough missteps tonight.

The server returns and collects our plates. I send her away with the company credit card, but the realization that this night is coming to an end settles heavy as lead in my chest. I still know so little about Cameron’s life out here. He’s barely allowed me to scratch the surface, and my stomach is rumbling from the crumbs he offered me tonight.

The server comes back way too quickly. I sign the check. Cameron and I sit awkwardly at the table, the obvious end of the meal weighing on us. This should be the moment when I make some kind of offer or swing in with a smooth line, and normally that would be no problem at all for me, but tonight my tongue glues itself to my mouth. Cameron stands, and I jerk up like I might have to chase after him. He seems ready to leave, but loiters at the table. Maybe he’s being polite, but when his eyes meet mine, a wild hope swirls in my chest.

“My hotel room is right down the block,” I say. “If you wanted a nightcap.”

My mouth is numb. My legs are numb. My heart stops beating as I wait for his response.

At first, Cameron stands there looking at me, his dark eyes as inscrutable as ever. This night was miracle enough already; I’m greedy to ask for more.

But then he nods.

I don’t know if he doesn’t want to hear himself say yes or if he can’t bring himself to speak, but either way, when I head out of the restaurant, Cameron follows me — to my hotel.