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“I’m studying Drama,” he said.
Her face lit up. “Oh, I love the theatre! I’m always telling Will we need to come down for more shows, but he hates them, don’t you, Will?”
“Hate is a very strong word, Fi,” Will said. His expression was stern, but he couldn’t hold it. He sighed and gave an apologetic shrug. “Yeah, sorry, Ambrose, I hate the theatre.”
“What do you hate about it?” Ambrose asked curiously.
“The seats are uncomfortable, and there’s no popcorn,” Will said.
Ambrose raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so it’s not the shows you hate, it’s the actual theatre itself.”
“If they can put armchairs in cinemas, they should be able to put more comfortable chairs in theatres,” Will said. “And allow popcorn.”
Ambrose was fascinated and delighted. Where had Will Connelly been that his arse had objected so strongly? He was about to ask, when suddenly he became aware of movement over his shoulder. He glanced over and saw Liam approaching at a rush, looking wide-eyed and frantic as he realised that Ambrose had already met his family.
“Hi, babe,” Ambrose said with a grin, patting the empty seat beside him. “You made it! What was the hold up?”
“Oh,” Liam said, sitting down heavily. He looked rumpled and flustered. “My study group ran late, then when I finally got out, my bike had a flat tyre.” He looked around the table suspiciously, then back to Ambrose. “I see you’ve met everyone.”
“Yeah,” Ambrose said, and beamed at the Connellys as they beamed back at him. Liam’s hand was resting on the table, so he reached out and took it and threaded their fingers together. Liam, to his credit, didn’t flinch, but his fingers twitched against Ambrose’s, and Ambrose squeezed them. “We haven’t got to your embarrassing childhood stories or the baby pictures yet, so don’t worry.”
Liam shot him a panicked glance, so Ambrose squeezed his fingers again.
“Your father was just telling Ambrose his thoughts on the theatre,” Fiona said to Liam with a bright grin.
“Oh, Jesus,” Liam mumbled.
“No, he’s got a point,” Ambrose said. “I’d go to a theatre with comfy armchairs. Who wouldn’t like that?”
“And popcorn,” Will added.
“And popcorn,” Ambrose agreed. He liked the Connellys, he was surprised to realise. He’d been expecting them to be at least a bit stuck up—they were wealthy and owned a winery. If Ambrose were wealthy and owned a winery, he’d be stuck up, and he’d enjoy every minute of it. But the Connellys were nice and warm, and Ambrose was sitting at a table with three generations of what was clearly a welcoming, loving family, and it felt good. It ached a little, but it felt good too.
He didn’t even feel as though he had to act—he wanted to make a good impression for once, which meant that through the course of the evening he brought every ounce of charm he possessed to the table—which turned out to be a considerable amount, if the pleased glances and soft smiles Liam was giving him were anything to go by.
It worked, too. The Connellys loved him, although Ambrose suspected they would have loved anyone who’d turned up as Liam’s date. The mysterious Marcus hadn’t appeared yet, despite Neve sending a string of texts, which meant that all attention was on Ambrose, not that he minded in this case.
They were just so friendly and warm, and the way they interacted so naturally, clear affection layered over sarcasm and cheekiness, spoke of years of familiarity and love. And they didn’t treat Ambrose like an outsider—they just pulled him right into the middle of their conversations like he’d known them his entire life, too.
By the time dessert came, Ambrose wished he had.
Grandad Billy cleared his throat and caught the eye of a waiter.
“Oh, no,” Bridget said fondly. “He’s going to do one of his toasts!”
“Yes, he bloody is,” Grandad Billy said without any heat. He pulled his reading glasses out of the top pocket of his button-up shirt and perched them on his nose as he scanned the wine list. “Have you got the Shiraz? The Connelly Cellars Shiraz?” Then he looked around the table. “The Shiraz, everyone? Oh, Ambrose, what do you prefer? Now, it has to be Connelly Cellars, of course.”
“I…I honestly don’t think I’ve ever bought a bottle of wine that cost over ten bucks,” Ambrose said. “So I have no opinion.”
“Except for the ‘Don Paragraph’ you ordered last week,” Liam said softly, his lips twitching.
Ambrose’s face heated up. He elbowed Liam in the side.
“Oh, we’ll have to teach you then, won’t we?” Grandad Billy said. To the waiter, he said, “We’ll get the bottle of Shiraz, thanks.”
“I’ll stick to my water,” Bridget said.
“Oooh, anything you want to tell us, Bridget?” Fiona asked excitedly.
