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Just like that, everything was good.

In fact, everything was fucking great.

33. Cameron

It was weird, but that day felt like the first day I really sank into my work with joy again. For weeks since my return, there was a desperation in my attempts to bring my career back to where it was pretravels and Greig Wallace, trying to pick up new clients and engage with old ones who I knew were constantly redesigning their homes or working on new developments.

I hadn’t had time to enjoy designing again.

At uni, we were taught there are seven principles of interior design. Balance, unity, rhythm, emphasis, contrast, scale and proportion, and details. My process was to, at first, go with my instincts when it came to designing a space and then apply those principles to help tweak and shape the design.

Quinn had told me a few nights ago that the developer of the luxury homes his company was building outside Oban was looking for an interior designer to design the show home. He’d gotten permission to share the plans with me and photos of the site, and today I was putting together a portfolio in the hopes of getting hired for the project.

Work was fun again. I’d mirrored my laptop to the TV and was putting together a mood board. Once I’d tweaked those ideas, I’d use my 3D modeling to build out the house with Quinn’s plan measurements so I could create a walkthrough video that I was confident would wow the developer. While I could be extremely adaptable to my client’s taste, it was my job to give them something they might not have considered on their own. However, my love for the coastal Victoriana—a bright, airy take on Victorian aesthetic—wasn’t right for this house or the site.

The houses were ultramodern with lots of glass to take in the views, so I was going for a contemporary art deco. I was inspired by the black window frames on the exterior of the home and was pulling those in through black steel internal doors that were typical in the early twentieth century and had found a real foothold in current trends. The great thing about them was they had a timeless coolness to them. They’d never not be cool, so I wanted everything else to have that same quality in the design.

I was so lost in creating that when the knock sounded on my front door, I glanced at my phone, shocked to discover it was past lunchtime. My belly rumbled as if to remind me now too. There was a text notification on the screen from Mum, letting me know she was popping over. My stomach fluttered. We hadn’t talked since she basically called me a drama queen.

“Mum?” I called out as I got up off the couch.

“Aye, it’s me, sweetheart,” she called back.

The new door Quinn had installed had no glass but there was a peephole so I could check who was on the other side before I opened it. Miraculously, between my extraordinary first night at home with Forde and finding pleasure in my current project, I had been too distracted to worry about being home alone.

As I opened the door, I was relieved to realize that with time, I could feel safe here again. I quirked a brow at the sight of the brown paper bags and tray of coffee in her hand.

“Brought lunch and caffeine.” She gave me a somewhat pleading look.

Not one to hold a grudge (okay, I could hold a grudge, but I tried not to), I stepped aside to let her in.

Her eyes flew to my TV screen. “Oh, what are you working on?”

I explained the project as she unloaded the bags onto the coffee table. I could smell the gourmet sub from the deli. It was crispy chicken breast, melted Monterey Jack cheese, jalapeño relish, chipotle mayo, salad, and dill pickle.

My mouth watered as I sat down to eat. “Aw, you got my favorite.”

Mum gave me a sheepish look. “I asked in the deli if they knew what you liked best.”

“Thanks.” I decided not to use that moment to prove my point about us not knowing each other very well, even though we lived on a tiny island together.

As Mum unwrapped her sub, she let out a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry about what I said to you. It was … it was awful and I can’t believe I said it.”

I eyed her as I ate, not sure how to respond. I was having a fantastic day, and I didn’t want to spoil it by getting into another argument with Mum. I swallowed. “It’s okay. It’s water under the bridge.”

Her shoulders slumped with relief. “Good. That’s good.”

We talked about more mundane things as we ate and then as we were finishing up, she broached tentatively, “Bryan told me something interesting when I was in the bakery.”

Amusement twitched my lips. “Oh?”

Mum’s expression turned droll. “Don’t be coy, Cameron McQuarrie.”

I wiped at a blob of chipotle mayo on the corner of my mouth and shrugged with more nonchalance than I felt. “Forde and I are together. We’re taking it slow.” Though we’d taken it pretty fast against the living room wall this morning. My cheeks flushed at the memory.

Mum snorted. “Oh, aye, I’m sure. You’ve only fancied the boy since he came to live here.”

So she’d at least noticed that about me. “I’m happy.”