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Ambrose couldn’t help laughing as he took in Liam’s mortified expression. “No,” he said, “he’s not too bad at all. I did all right there, I reckon.”
Liam ducked his head.
“And what about your father?” Grandad Billy asked. “Was he an actor too?”
“No,” Ambrose said around a mouthful of pizza. “He was a magician. Right after I was born, he disappeared.”
He wasn’t sure if the sudden silence was because of that little revelation, or the terrible joke he’d wrapped it in for delivery.
“Oh,” Fi said at last. Her forehead was creased with concern. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Ambrose. It’s his loss, I’m sure.”
Jesus. Even when she didn’t know what to think about him, she was still so nice. Who the hell were the Connellys, and why were they so kind? Ambrose had grown up watching families like this on TV and realising from a very young age that like everything else on the screen they were just made up. They were no more real than Daleks or werewolves or superheroes. Except here they were, trying their hardest to take him under their wing even though he was waving more red flags than Stalinist Russia.
“Eh,” he said, and shrugged, like it didn’t matter. And it shouldn’t have mattered, not to him and not to anyone else. Most times Ambrose didn’t give a fuck, but then some cute guy like Liam Connelly came along and shoved his big, happy, loving family in Ambrose’s face and all of Ambrose’s hard-earned indifference got a little shaky.
“I’m sorry,” Liam said quietly a little while later as they walked back to the cabins, their path illuminated by the bouncing light of the torch that Ambrose carried. “My family are busybodies.”
“It’s all good,” Ambrose said lightly, even though it wasn’t. It wasn’t Liam’s fault, though, or his family’s. He was glad he couldn’t see Liam’s expression, because he had the idea he could see right through him.
“Okay,” Liam said, and they continued on in silence to the cabin, along the curving path that wound through the trees and bushes and around the edge of the pond.
It was cool and dark, and quiet apart from a rustling in the trees and the distant soft hoot of what Ambrose assumed was an owl, but really had no idea. He was used to a different symphony of night-time noises—brakes squealing, sirens, bottles breaking on the street, the occasional drunks shouting and yelling to one another as they stumbled by.
Ambrose stepped up onto the front porch of the cabin and wedged the torch under his arm while he unlocked the door. For a moment he was almost nervous about going inside, about being in a small space with Liam Connelly when the lights were on and there was nowhere for him to hide. He was afraid of what Liam might see. He was afraid he might also see nothing at all. Then, shaking off his stupidity, he turned the key. There was a second where he didn’t think the door was going to open, but then the tumblers clicked smoothly into place, and he pushed the door open. He stepped inside and slid his hand up the wall to find the light switch. He flicked it on, and a moment later the cabin was filled with soft, warm light.
“Well,” Ambrose said with a grin, “here we are in the honeymoon cabin. Just you, me and most of a jar of body chocolate. Shall I ravish you first, or the other way around?”
Liam gave an awkward wince. “How about we just go to sleep?”
“Boring, but okay,” Ambrose said. “Will you hold me if the drop bears attack?”
Liam mustered up a smile for that and rolled his eyes. “Sure, in the unlikely event of a drop bear attack, I’ll hold you.”
“We’ll both still die because drop bears are vicious, but at least I’ll die wrapped up in a cute boy,” Ambrose said, and regretted it immediately, because now he was thinking about what it would feel to be wrapped in Liam, and that wasn’t where he needed his mind to go, not right before bed.
He kicked off his shoes and dug around in the closet, pulling out a spare blanket.
Liam frowned. “What are you doing?”
Ambrose indicated the dainty armchair in the corner of the room. “I was going to sleep in the chair?”
Liam’s frown deepened. “You won’t fit.”
Ambrose was fairly certain that he’d have to fold up into a pretzel, but he could make it work. He shrugged. “For five hundred bucks, I can cope.”
Liam bit his lip. “You, um, don’t have to do that,” he said, ducking his head. “We can share. The bed’s massive.” Ambrose stared blankly, and Liam added, “How can I hold you while we await death by drop bear otherwise?” His smile was, Ambrose was pretty sure, ninety percent nerves and one hundred percent fucking adorable.
“Sure,” he said. “For drop bear protection purposes.” He opened his bag and pulled out his toiletries, a pair of sleep pants, and an old tee with a faded AC/DC print on the front, then they took turns in the bathroom to shower and change.
When Liam emerged, the ends of his hair were curled and damp, and a stray drop of water trickled down his neck and across the collarbone that was peeking out of his sleep shirt. It was too fucking cute, and Ambrose had to look away for a second as he fought the urge to kiss the droplet away. He found himself wondering if Liam would like that, then he found himself wondering where else Liam might like to be kissed. He reminded himself that it was none of his business what Liam liked, because whatever it was, it sure as hell wasn’t Ambrose.
Chapter Ten
Liam
Liam awoke to the sound of rain on the tin roof, and the feel of a warm body pressed against his.
When they’d climbed into bed last night it hadn’t escaped Liam’s notice that Ambrose had scootched over to the farthest edge of the bed and kept his back turned to him, and he hadn’t been sure if he should be insulted or not at Ambrose’s apparent reluctance to get within touching distance.
