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And, he reminded himself, he didn’t know that Marcus was a liar. Maybe he was super affectionate with his female friends. Maybe it had been his sister. It would explain the terrifyingly Stepford similarities between him and his dinner partner. They’d been like Malibu Ken and Barbie, fresh out of the box, complete with matching smiles and spray tans. Then again, Ambrose had a sister, and he couldn’t remember ever sliding his hand down her arse when she got up from the table to use the bathroom. But it was possible he’d misinterpreted that. Maybe it hadn’t been her arse, but her lower back, or maybe he’d been brushing lint off her skirt, and Ambrose had only assumed they were sleeping together when it had all been perfectly innocent. After all, who knew better than Ambrose that first impressions could be entirely mistaken?
Still, it ate at him, enough that when Grandad Billy waggled a wine bottle at him in query, he held his glass out without thinking twice. Maybe another drink or two would quiet his brain, stop him from saying something he shouldn’t about Marcus and his mystery blonde.
He focussed instead on listening to the conversations going on around him, trying to keep track of all the different threads as ten different people dipped in and out of them at will. In the end, he just paid attention to Grandad, because that was easiest. Currently, it looked for all the world like Grandad was doing his best not to get into an argument with Marcus over closing down for renovations.
“I mean, how much are you missing out on not being open this weekend?” Marcus asked. “The whole area is crawling with tourists right now, and that’s money that’s not coming your way.”
Grandad Billy narrowed his eyes and drew a deep breath for what Ambrose hoped would be a scathing reply.
“We decided it was less of a liability to close down for construction,” Will put in smoothly. “And sure, we miss out on a big weekend now, but we’re ahead of schedule, and we’ll be open to tourists again in time for summer, which is our peak season here in the Valley.”
Ambrose was distracted when Liam slid a plate of olives in front of him.
“Chilli and garlic,” he said.
“Pretty sure they’re olives, actually.”
Liam rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he did it. “I meant they’re stuffed with chilli and garlic.”
Ambrose took one and popped it in his mouth. “And now I’m stuffed with chilli and garlic.” He liked the way that Liam’s eyes shone when he laughed. “Seriously though, don’t let me eat anything else. I’m too full already.”
“But your dinner!” Fi exclaimed, head whipping round like a meerkat’s at the mention of someone refusing food.
Ambrose blinked. “The lasagne wasn’t dinner?”
Fi flapped the hand not holding Balian on her lap at him. “There’s more to come. That was just the starter, to put a lining on your stomach.”
Liam grinned and murmured, “Resistance is futile.”
“I’d love some more lasagne, Fi,” Marcus said, holding his plate out, and everything about the way he did it grated on Ambrose’s nerves.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one. “Have they not heard of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ where you’re from, city boy?” Grandad Billy asked loudly, fixing Marcus with a hard stare.
Marcus’s smile faltered just for a second, but then Liam’s mum was on her feet, taking the plate. “Now, Billy, there’s no need for formality here. Marcus is almost family.”
Billy scowled and muttered something into his glass, and even though he couldn’t hear what it was, Ambrose was right there with him.
Liam stood and extended his arms toward his mum. “I’ll take Balian,” he offered, and Fi gave a grateful smile and slid the baby into his waiting arms.
“You’re a good boy, Liam,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek. “Ambrose is very lucky to have you.” Her eyes flicked to Ambrose, and he knew what she was thinking—that Ambrose wasn’t nearly good enough for her boy. Ambrose wished he could say she was wrong.
He popped another olive in his mouth, and Liam grinned. “What happened to not eating any more?” he teased.
“They’re right there. It was instinctive,” Ambrose protested.
Grandad got a twinkle in his eye and filled Ambrose’s glass again, which had somehow become empty without him noticing. “That’s the boy. Take what’s put in front of you.”
“That’s my philosophy,” Marcus agreed. “Take what you can get, when you can get it.” His laugh was a little too loud, and Ambrose thought again of the blonde. He took a swig of wine in an effort to keep himself from saying something, and Grandad topped his glass up again. Ambrose briefly wondered if this was what it was like for the parents of his bad dates and felt a pang of guilt.
Then Marcus opened his mouth and said, with a narrow look at Ambrose, “So, Liam and Ambrose, how long have you guys been dating?”
“It’s very new,” Liam said, before Ambrose could answer. “We’ve only known each other a few weeks.”
“A few weeks,” Marcus repeated slowly, and curled his mouth into a smug grin, and Ambrose knew that he wasn’t the only one that remembered they’d seen each other in the restaurant only last week. Marcus either thought he had dirt on Ambrose now or, even worse, that they were both on the same page.
Ambrose shot Marcus a look and picked up his glass of wine.
Fuck this.
