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“Oh my God, you weren’t kidding about your ability to cook a steak.” Ambrose made an orgasmic noise as he looked up from his plate. Suddenly, I was less concerned about getting him to talk and more concerned with finishing our late lunch. I wanted to drag him to the nearest flat surface.
“Yeah, well, your fancy-schmancy grill didn’t hurt any. That thing has got more knobs and settings than a nuclear sub,” I teased to see if I could get more of a smile from him.
“I do like my gadgets.” Damn. He was still as wistful as he’d been prior to his shower and lunch.
“And your weird vegetables. Which turned out pretty decent, even the purple parts.” I was determined to get him laughing.
“My compliments to the chef.”
“You can kiss the cook anytime you want.” I laughed and then had to shake my head at myself. Funny how far I’d go to earn a smile from Ambrose and how little I cared about looking like a doofus if it made him happy.
“Sorry,” I said when he didn’t join in my laughter. “I was laughing at how sappy you make me. If my buddies could hear me now, they’d give me such hell. And I’d probably deserve it, as much shit as I talked about relationships.”
“I like making you sappy. And silly. And everything else.” He sighed like he was about to tell me about some dire diagnosis.
“Okay, boss. You’re killing me here. What happened? Are they canceling the show anyway? You can tell me.” I leaned toward him, resting my forearms on the table. Perhaps my fandom of the show was the issue. Maybe he was too worried about letting me down along with everyone else, which made my chest ache because my only real concern was for Ambrose himself.
“No, not canceling. Well, not exactly. I laid out my case for letting the show close out the planned character arcs, more closure than simply some last-minute tacked-on final episode. I talked about the passionate fans and how the controversy the show has stirred up isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s raised the show’s profile and brought in new viewers.”
“All great points.” Reaching for his hand, I gave him an encouraging smile. He let me take his hand, but his grip was far from sure.
“And they had a counteroffer. Two more seasons as we’d always planned, but a lower budget. Streaming rather than a primetime network slot.”
“Ah. And you’re mad about streaming?”
“No, that’s not it.” Taking his hand back, he rubbed his temple. “Or at least not all of it. Cressida is insulted by the streaming offer and wants to turn it down for that reason, but a majority of our core audience already has streaming. I’ve had other non-network shows, and honestly, the creative possibilities can be more exciting without the primetime restrictions and pressure.”
“So?”
“So, my main concern is that they also want some cost-cutting measures. Namely, they want to move filming to Atlanta and reduce the overall budget for the show.” He picked up Hercules, who had wandered over, staring down at the dog as he pet him rather than meeting my gaze.
“It’s the move that has you upset?” I guessed. New place. New people. Way outside his comfort zone. Naturally, he’d be reluctant to uproot himself.
“Well, yes.” He sighed, corners of his mouth drooping down.
“Atlanta’s not a terrible city, boss. I know you get nervous. But I’ve done a few trainings near there. You can keep your house here and find a nice rental there. There’s even a pretty big uh…what do you call it…” I struggled to think of the right term that Ambrose and his friends might use. “A queer community. Bars and businesses with year-round pride flags. That sort of thing.”
“You think I care about clubs and cruising?” His well-groomed eyebrows danced up toward his silvery hair.
“You like dancing,” I pointed out. “And eating out. There’s a lot of great restaurants.”
“I’m not worried about my social life. I’m worried about us.” His patient yet exasperated tone made me shift on the patio chair, not sure exactly where I’d gone wrong.
“Us?” I wrinkled my nose, trying to follow.
“This is so new. I don’t want distance to be the reason we fail.”
“Oh.” I looked down at my half-eaten steak. Distance wasn’t going to be the reason we didn’t make it. More like my own shortcomings and inexperience with relationships, but I wasn’t sure how to express that. “You can’t let us be the reason you turn this down.”
“Distance is a death knell for relationships, and you know it.”
Actually, I didn’t, but that was the problem. I only knew these things from an outsider’s perspective. I’d seen enough relationships fall apart on deployment to accept that he had a point, but I’d also seen relationships like Duncan and Ezra’s where frequent business trips didn’t seem to slow them down.
