Chapter 8
None of those one-star reviews mentioned this place being a fire hazard. There’s so much tinsel it must be. I guess it’s meant to be a sparkling distraction from the fact that this restaurant is empty, apart from a hostess who turns out to be its namesake.
“Hey, Penny.”
“Calum! I didn’t expect to see you again!” She kisses his cheek and hugs him like he’s family.
“I had to come back.” He isn’t in any hurry to let her go. “Because you were busy when we left the other night. I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
“I was so sorry to miss you, love!”
Everything she says is an exclamation. I guess it’s contagious when Calum lifts her off her feet. “Me too!”
She blinks fast after he sets her down. “You must have gone while I was caught up in a kitchen crisis. Just a tiny little fire!” That accounts for the smell.
Her laugh tinkles. The damp gleam of her eyes tells a less happy story.
“Please, Lord, don’t let there be a repeat tonight.
I could do without any more bad publicity.
” She presses her palms together, sending a prayer to the God of food reviews maybe.
“It’s so good to see you again. And with a lovely friend too! ”
Calum doesn’t correct that friend label. He just says, “Merry Christmas, Pen.”
“And it will be merry now that I’ve got two customers!” Her smile brightens. “Please sit in the window. Maybe that will encourage some evening shoppers to come in.”
“You have time?”
It takes a moment to compute that he means me.
“You want me to stay? I thought your evenings were booked solid.” It’s great news if he’s free this evening.
I can double-check that he’s fully on board with me using his footage for my entry, then seal the deal by getting horizontal somewhere that doesn’t smell as smoky.
He dashes that dream. “I do have to be somewhere else soon. Eat with me first?”
Penny swoops in to pull out a chair. “Let me take your jacket, love.” She freezes at the sight of my camera, that bright smile dimming until Calum gets explicit.
“Valentin isn’t here to photograph your food. He’s videoing me.”
“Yes,” I cross my heart. “I only have eyes for Calum.”
“Well, that’s understandable.” Her smile returns to full force.
“But if you do have eyes for me, try to catch my good side.” She cocks her chin and flutters her eyelashes.
“Still living in hope of attracting a chef I can actually keep. Bonus points if he’s a silver fox who can cook decent pasta.
Sit, both of you!” She lights an extra candle, smiling so hard that both her eyes and her nose wrinkle. “There. Much more romantic.”
It is. Once she leaves us, this table for two is an intimate setting for me to take a turn at getting explicit.
Because this does need clarifying. “Just for the record, you definitely agree that I have free rein with all of your footage?” I even place my camera on the table, leaning it against the candlestick to face Calum so that no flickering light can blur his agreement.
I bet my GoPro catches his frown. “Free rein. Why would I give you that?”
“Because I need the extra content if I’m going to win my contest.”
He frowns even harder. “But that’s why I ordered the boat for Reece. To get you to your target.”
“I didn’t hit it.”
“Yes, you did. I placed the order before I’d even left the marina.
Thought it would cover those repairs you wanted.
” He must have listened hard the night we lay in darkness broken by those firework flashes.
“It sounded like winning your contest was a last chance. Me ordering the boat means you don’t need to win it. ”
The only thing he’s confirmed is that Dad has no intention of setting me free anytime soon.
“The order didn’t go through before midnight. There must have been a website glitch.” I’m almost certain there wasn’t. “I’ll need to win my way back to my own life.” I meet his gaze. “I’ve edited what I have. It isn’t enough. Give me free rein to fill my gaps with you.”
“With my ice-rink visits?”
“No. With you. I know what the judges want. Unique journeys. Raw authenticity. That means not holding anything back. Nothing can be off-limits. It’s everything.” I reach for my camera. “Or nothing.”
He grabs my hand as it closes around my GoPro, which Penny coos over like she’s caught us having a special moment. “Sorry, sorry!” She delivers a carafe of water and a plate of scorched bruschetta. “On the house! I’ll be back with menus.”
As soon as she’s gone, I nudge his foot under the table and tell him what I really want for Christmas.
“You’ve set your time limits. Been clear about where I can and can’t follow you.
I’ve agreed.” I point at my camera with my free hand.
“The footage of this conversation can be our contract, but only if you agree that I get to keep whatever I do record. All of it.” I’ll need every single minute if I’m gonna make a split screen like I keep visualising.
“You’re virtually Reece’s mirror image.”
Splitting the screen between their lifestyles would be confronting. Jarring. Potentially contest-winning.
I’ve never needed anything more than his agreement.
“That’s what you’re agreeing to—me picking and choosing what I upload, not you, oui?”
If he does agree, his nod is so slight that I can’t be sure my camera caught it.
“Say so out loud. We have a deal?”
He opens his mouth. Looks down at both of us holding my GoPro. Calum lets me go and snaps his mouth closed, hesitation flickering like the extra candle Penny left as a romantic gesture. There’s fuck all romantic about him stuffing his mouth with burnt bruschetta to avoid committing.
He mumbles something that Penny interrupts. “How is it, boys? Good?”
Calum gives her a thumbs-up, even though good is the last way I’d describe food that looks and smells like it deserves a lower than one-star rating. Her gaze swings my way, and I recognise this expression. It’s a reminder of Dad wondering if Calum will buy more boats from him.
Her hold on a pair of menus tightens. “And it’s good for you too, love?”
Like Calum, I take a hasty bite instead of being truthful, and she beams while I chew on bread tainted with ashy basil. “Mmm.”
This bruschetta should taste of Italy in summer. It’s flavoured with disappointment. With regret. And if regret is the reason Calum shovels more into his mouth instead of answering me directly, I’m gutted.
He’s about to say no.
Somehow that’s worse than Dad delaying repairs when I know he has the tools and skills to help me.
He’s deliberately chosen not to. Calum choosing to yank away another lifeline is an unwelcome reminder that I want to push away from.
I shove away from the table instead, and he swallows in a hurry. “Where are you going?”
I don’t know.
I stand up regardless, needing more distance between me and someone else opting out of helping.
I mean, I know he tried to—that he’s dropping six-figures on a speedboat for just that reason.
I’m not saying I’m rational. I just can’t breathe is all.
Can’t inhale or exhale at the thought of another year of boat shows for the world’s rich when little kids are at risk of sink—
Penny asks, “Looking for the loo, love?” She gives cheerful directions.
I follow them, ending up in a hallway leading to some bathrooms. That’s where I get my shit together under yet more Christmas decorations that have only just stopped spinning when the hallway door opens a minute or two later.
It closes behind Calum.
“Hey.” He snags me by the elbow. Unlike Lito, there’s no shaking him off. He doesn’t let go until I face him. “Yes,” he blurts. “Yes, you can use the content any way you want.”
I fumble for my camera, realising a beat too late I left it leaning against a candle. I fish out my phone and set it recording. “Say that again.”
His voice pitches so much deeper. His agreement is almost subvocal. “You can use the content.”
“I can?”
He nods.
“All of it? Even if I can’t promise to—”
“Use it to get me off the hook?” He scrubs at the back of his neck. “That was never my idea. It was Jack’s. A long shot. The footage is yours, okay?”
Relief swamps me.
A way out opens ahead, this lifebelt thrown by a saviour who grumbles, “I was overthinking. Running through legal scenarios before they even happen.” He huffs. “Where’s a coach with a game plan when you need one? The numbers I’m risking are so big that I . . .”
His face does something complex, and a true documentary maker would focus on this conflicted visual.
I should step back so my phone can catch yet another reason to include a split screen in my final entry.
His creased expression is such a contrast to his determined game face. It tells a whole other story.
He’s lost.
I reach up without thinking to trace forehead furrows.
And sad.
I skim caring lines that must be genetic—I saw them so often while shadowing his brother.
Why is he so worried?
Calum’s eyelids lower. Dark gold spiky lashes cast shadows I last saw in my cabin. In my bunk. And great, now I’m thinking about what we did together: about him touching me with shaking fingers, about fireworks casting light on hidden bruises, and about spiteful sex that absolutely wasn’t.
Most of all, I can’t stop replaying how warm he left me.
I’m warm all over again when Calum whispers, “Why can’t I stop thinking about you? About what we did.”
I squash a grin and aim for solemn. “Because your last performance was so very disappointing? I understand. Some people are naturals.” I point at me. “Others need a lot more practice.” I point at the ceiling where spinning decorations include a sprig of green leaves and white berries.
He looks up at the mistletoe, then lowers his head to meet my gaze in a reminder of the videos I watched with Dad this morning. Calum commits to a kiss, and I don’t even care if he’ll taste of regret and ashes. I’m pretty sure I’ll be one-star flavoured, which will make us even.