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“No, I just called to ask about the audition because I knew it was today.” She sounded justifiably proud of herself for remembering. Ambrose took a moment to appreciate the fact that she’d cared enough to call, and somehow hadn’t made it all about her for a change. She really was trying.
“Thanks,” he said, meaning it. “Are you still coming to the vineyard with us next weekend? Grandad Billy’s very excited to meet you. He’s a big fan,” he added, knowing hearing it would make her day.
“I wouldn’t miss it. They do know I can’t drink with my pills, don’t they?” she asked, even though she’d already checked, and Ambrose felt a flare of unfamiliar pride at how seriously she was taking the doctors’ instructions this time.
“They know,” he assured her, “but Grandad Billy makes a lovely ginger beer, and they’ll feed you enough cheese platters that you’ll start to moo from all the dairy. It’s how they show they care.”
“They sound like lovely people,” his mum said.
“They are,” Ambrose said. “We’ll collect you on Friday afternoon, okay?”
They had the luxury of a car now—Liam’s dad had insisted Liam take his unused RAV4 back to Sydney so he and Ambrose could have their own transport and visit more often. It was kind of great.
“I’ll look forward to it. I have to go. Mrs Ahmadi’s coming over to take me shopping, and I don’t like to make her wait.” The unexpected consideration in that simple statement made Ambrose smile as his mum ended the call.
Ambrose slumped back against the couch, and when he looked up it was to find Liam watching him, a soft smile on his face. “She’s really doing okay, huh?”
“Yeah. It’s weird, not worrying about her all the time,” Ambrose admitted, “but I also like that I don’t have to.”
“It’s okay to be happy that the stress is off you,” Liam reminded him, and Ambrose was overcome with a wave of affection. He shoved the blanket to the floor and scrambled so he was straddling Liam’s lap. He cupped Liam’s face in his hands and dipped in for a kiss that went on until they were both slightly breathless, and when he pulled back, he asked, “How long until you have to leave again?” as he rocked his hips forwards.
“Oh, ages,” Liam said, grinning brightly.
Ambrose kissed him again, then climbed off Liam’s lap and drew him to his feet and led him to the bedroom, making sure the bedroom door was closed against feline invasion. Then, just when he had his hands down Liam’s pants, Liam started vibrating.
“My phone,” he muttered, tugging it out of his pocket.
“Oh, thank God,” Ambrose said. “I thought your dick was about to explode.”
“And not in a fun way,” Liam said dryly before Ambrose could, and answered his call. “Hello?” He listened for a moment and made a face. “Yeah,” he said at last. “Okay.”
“What?” Ambrose asked when he finished the call. “Was it your dad? Your mum? Does Grandad Billy need some kind of specialist antique tractor part, but the only seller is here in Sydney, and he wants us to go and get it for him and then drive overnight to take it to the vineyard?”
“That only happened once,” Liam said. “So far. And no, that was work. They’re short, and they want me to start early.”
“But—” Ambrose looked down at his tenting jeans. “But my dick is about to explode!”
Liam shrugged. “Sorry, babe, but you’ll have to take care of that yourself.”
“Ugh.” Ambrose put more annoyance into the word than he actually felt and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly for good measure. “Fine! Go off and be a good provider! I’ll just stay here and be sad and lonely.”
Liam tugged his closet open, searching for his work clothes. “You have Tobermory. And isn’t Harry coming over for pizza?”
“No, he has a thing,” Ambrose said. “Harry, not Tobermory. Actually, I don’t know if Tobermory has a thing or not. He plays his cards very close to his chest, the sneaky devil.”
From outside, Tobermory yowled.
Wednesday night at Bayside wasn’t usually too busy, but with Katrina out sick, it was down to Liam and Alastair to manage all the tables. It meant a lot of running back and forth to the kitchen and the bar, and Liam’s feet were sore by halfway through his shift. Mum had texted a few times, checking in to see if he and Ambrose were still coming up on the weekend—she promised the cabin door was fixed, then said that she doubted he and Ambrose would mind too much if it wasn’t anyway. She ended with a winky face, which was disturbing, but at least it wasn’t an eggplant.
Riley had texted too, reminding him to measure up the spare room for her. It was still six months until she graduated high school and moved to Sydney for uni, but apparently she and Mum had decided they were going to redecorate the room for when she moved in. Ambrose, who’d moved in with only a duffel bag, a pillow and a box of books, seemed delighted by the idea of helping out, and kept sending Riley links to the ugliest furniture he could find.
It was going to be weird living with his little sister and his boyfriend, but Riley had promised not to bring Monopoly, so at least they wouldn’t kill each other in the first week.
Liam strode into the kitchen for what felt like the millionth time that night, barely stepping back in time to dodge Alastair coming the other way.
“Seafood platter for table four,” he said to Gregori, the chef, and Gregori grunted and swore, which Liam understood to be the main way chefs communicated in the kitchen. And outside of it, too.
He took a moment for a breather, heading over to the dessert station where Julie, the pâtissier, was building something delicate out of cream and wafers.
