Page 13 of The Leaving Kind
As he glanced at his phone, two more points occurred: he couldn’t remember how much fuel he’d had, and no dash meant an electrical short somewhere and those were generally a bitch to find. That was his Sunday taken care of.
One of the double doors at the rear of the shop banged open, and Nick poked his head out. A crooked smile quickly lit his face, and Cam strode forward with his arms extended. As he always did, Nick waited to be hugged rather than moving into the gesture. That he didn’t shrink away meant he was into it, though. Nick wasn’t shy about letting people know when he didn’t want to be touched.
When his little brother’s arms folded around his back, Cam breathed out a deeply held sigh. A release he’d probably needed for a week. Before letting Nicky—Nick go, he pressed a kiss to the side of his head. Nick endured. In fact, he might have leaned in. After they separated, he still wore his wonky smile.
Then, “You’re twelve minutes early.”
Cam shrugged. “Not a lot of traffic at eight on a Saturday. Got some coffee on?”
“Sure. Come on up.”
Nick led the way into the shop and toward the stairs that connected to the apartments above. He and Oliver lived on the second floor. Nick’s custom dollhouse business occupied most of the ground floor, which had been divided into three sections. A shopfront and small gallery for houses that more resembled models and replicas than children’s toys. He also stocked handmade miniature furniture and fixtures for other enthusiasts. Behind the gallery sat Nick’s workshop. The final, rear slice of the ground floor was taken up by Oliver’s kitchen and the huge walk-in refrigerator he used to store the meatless, cheese-less pastries and pies that had proven so popular, he’d been able to start his own business.
The world truly was a strange place.
The scent of coffee caught Cam halfway up the stairs and he quickened his stride. Oliver had the carafe and a mug in hand when they reached the open apartment door.
“Cam.” Smiling, Oliver filled the mug and handed it over. “Milk’s on the counter.”
Deciding it was another black coffee morning, Cam lifted his mug in salute and drained about half of the near-scalding liquid in one gulp. Immediately, the world seemed brighter, and not only because his tongue and throat had banded together in a chorus of what-the-fuck. Caffeine, oh blessed drug, was seeping into his bloodstream and working minor miracles. Right in that moment, Cam didn’t feel as though he’d barely slept the night before—that it’d been a light sleep week. His brain cells were in concert, making anything possible.
Cam smiled.
Oliver did not smile this time. Nick appeared beside his lover, leaning against Oliver’s side in the unconscious way he had, and he wasn’t smiling either.
“What?” Cam asked.
“Late night?” Oliver asked.
“Yeah. Caught up with a few friends,” Cam blithely lied. “You know how it is.”
Nick would remember the rotating schedule of company Cam had kept when he’d first moved back to Milford. He liked to let his brother believe he still played around. There’d been a stage—about a year ago—when Nick had decided that because he was coupled up, Cam should be too. Cam’s only defense had been to point out his need for variety. That and the fact he was too old to settle down, which, according to Nick, made no sense.
Whatever. As long as Nick was worried about Cam’s romantic future, he wasn’t thinking about why Cam didn’t sleep well at night.
“So, we going to load up this house? Get on the road?” Cam gestured in the vague direction of the shop.
Nick picked up a mug. “In a minute.”
Turning to Oliver, Cam asked, “What’s on your schedule for the day?”
“I’m catering a wedding if you can believe it. In fact”—Oliver put his mug down—“I need to start baking. The reception doesn’t start until three, but I want to make sure I have enough time to make up for any mistakes.”
“I hear you.” Cam clapped Oliver on the shoulder. “Good luck with it. If you need a hand when I get back, I’ve got nothing on this afternoon.”
Oliver frowned. “Sorry I’m not doing a market this weekend. I find they’re not as well attended in July. It’s too hot or people are away.”
“It’s all good,” Cam assured him. “I can use the time to catch up on my sleep.”
In fact, an afternoon nap could work out for him. He wasn’t fond of sleeping in the middle of the day; there was something wrong or decadent about catching zees when the sun was up, though he’d learned to sleep whenever and wherever. He seemed to have lost that ability after leaving the military, though. Along with several other essential life skills.
But right now? The idea of a nap was all kinds of inviting. Cam finished his coffee and followed Nick and Oliver back downstairs.
The house Nick had to deliver to Doylestown was beautiful. Three stories, the upper one housed in the attic, the white-painted dormers framed by dark blue tile. Cream-colored siding wrapped the lower two stories with the same wide-framed windows. Columns and a low triangular portico staked out the front door. The shutters matched the roof tile. Cam could see a bit of the inside through the windows: miniature hardwood lined the floors and curtains hung from brass rods. Fireplaces, kitchen cabinets, built-in bookshelves.
Next to the house, two taped cardboard boxes held the furniture.
Cam placed the second one into Nick’s pickup and glanced over at his brother, who was nudging the first toward the side of the bed so that it lined up with the grooves running along the floor.