Chapter 17 #2
San Francisco is wrapped in fog, the city softened into shades of gray and pearl.
From the window of the bedroom, even the Golden Gate Bridge has been reduced to a ghost, its towers barely visible.
The city seems reluctant to wake up, and the light that does filter through the tall windows is muted, suggesting there is no need to rush into the day ahead.
Perfect for staying exactly where I am. The sheets are a tangle of warmth around us.
I lie behind Cameron, my arm draped over his middle, heavy with the easy claim of sleep.
Our legs are threaded together without thought, skin to skin beneath the bedding.
His breathing matches mine without meaning to, slow and even, a steady and unconscious rhythm.
Cameron shifts, just slightly, the smallest stir of waking.
Instinctively, my arm tightens around him, pulling him back before my mind catches up.
I close my eyes, unwilling to break the moment just yet, unwilling to let the morning rush in.
He turns in my arms until we are face-to-face, and I can feel him there, the warmth of his body and the quiet alertness of him waking up.
His hand drifts across my chest, slow and unhurried, his fingers brushing over the faint roughness of hair.
His touch is absentminded, intimate in a way that comes only when someone feels safe enough not to pretend.
I open my eyes then, a lazy smile pulling at my mouth and I take him in.
Rumpled hair, soft mouth, eyes still heavy with sleep.
I’m struck, not for the first time, how quickly he has managed to do something remarkable, unsettling me completely, and steadying me just as much.
“Good morning,” I murmur, my voice low and rough with sleep, something warmer beneath it.
“Morning,” he replies, his lips curving faintly.
I glance pointedly at his hand, still resting on my chest, his thumb tracing idle circles. “Careful,” I tease, tightening my arm around him again. “You’ll spoil me if you wake me up like this.”
His smirk is immediate, familiarity making my chest ache pleasantly. “There are worse things.”
“There certainly are,” I say, pressing a lazy kiss into his hair.
We stay like this a while longer, neither of us in a hurry to move. The world outside might as well not have existed. Eventually, Cameron tilts his head and looks up at me, halfway into an idea.
“So,” he says lightly, “I was thinking about how we could spend a foggy San Francisco day.”
I chuckle, brushing my fingers over his arm, committing the feel of him to memory. “Oh, I’m at your mercy, then? What’s on the itinerary?”
He rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as though he were presenting a carefully considered proposal.
“Well, I figure you have to do all the touristy things. Get some air at Golden Gate Park. Ghirardelli Square. Maybe Coit Tower if the fog burns off. And,” he adds, glancing at me sidelong, “if you’re really good, I’ll let you get clam chowder in a sourdough bowl at the Wharf. ”
I rest my chin on his shoulder, smiling. “I’d follow you anywhere,” I admit honestly with a slight grimace. “Even to clam chowder.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” he laughs.
I kiss the corner of his mouth, soft and deliberately.
“With you,” I say quietly, “I’d try anything.
” I brush another kiss to his temple. “But,” I continue, glancing back at him, “I do have to see one of my investors, Daniel, while I’m here.
He wants to talk through some ideas for Wilmont. I was thinking a drink or dinner—”
“Take him golfing,” he interjects.
I laugh, the sound surprising even me. “Golfing? I haven’t played in years. I’d embarrass myself.”
“That’s the point,” Cameron teases, tracing a finger across my chest again. “You’re a businessman. It’s basically a requirement. You might lose your membership in the secret society if you don’t.”
I raise a brow and shift, draping myself over him, enjoying the easy familiarity of it. “And what,” I ask, smirking, “you’re going to coach me?”
“I could,” he says, rolling his eyes fondly as he wraps his arms around me. “I haven’t swung a club in a while, but at least I’ll look good pretending. Besides, golf’s less about the game and more about the deal, right?”
I shake my head, still smiling as I reach over and type out a quick message to Daniel. Leave it to Cameron to reframe something I’d been partially dreading into something almost… fun.
“You continue to surprise me,” I state, tossing the phone aside and looking back at him. “And you may regret giving me that idea.”
He grins.
“But,” I add, brushing my thumb along his jaw, “don’t expect to get me into plaid trousers.”
As the day unfolds, the fog finally loosens its grip on the city, thinning into pale veils that drifted away on the breeze.
Sunlight broke through in long, golden streaks, warming the city and our skin.
From the top of Coit Tower, the city opened itself to us, spilling out in every direction, rows of pastel houses tumbling down impossible hills, rooftops stacked like uneven thoughts, the bay glittered in sheets of silver and gold, and bridges stretched across the water like deliberate brushstrokes.
I stand close enough to Cameron that our shoulders brush, not by accident.
He points things out with an ease that feels intimate.
North Beach and the Mission, vibrant and alive.
Nob Hill, polished and aloof. Each name comes with a fragment of memory, some small narrative or smile, as though the city was speaking through him.
I listen, but I am equally aware of the way the light catches in his hair, the sharpness of his profile softened by warmth, the adoration in his voice.
There is something quietly disarming about that, about watching him belong so completely to a place.
Back in London, belonging had always felt conditional.
Like I had to earn it. Here, Cameron stands unguarded, rooted, and I let myself imagine what it might feel like to be known that way.
By late afternoon, we’d made our way down to Fisherman’s Wharf, stepping straight into the crush of tourists and noise.
The air is thick with the scent of fried fish crackling somewhere nearby, brine from the bay, and yeast and warmth from freshly baked sourdough.
Cameron is insistent, practically gleeful, pressing a bread bowl full of chowder into my hands like a rite of passage.
“Trust me,” he says, his eyes dancing. “You can’t leave without trying it!”
I laugh, already resigned to the cliché, but the moment I take a bite, every clever remark I’d crafted dies on my tongue.
It was… perfect. Ridiculously so. Cameron watches me with a triumphant grin that makes the whole thing even better, and before I can stop myself, I laugh openly and freely.
It startles me how natural it feels, how unburdened.
From the docks, the chorus of sea lions bellow, their calls rising above the hum of street performers and camera shutters.
The sound carries over the water, wild and unpolished, grounding the moment in something unmistakable.
I lean against the railing, the sun warm against my back, and think that in this noisy, chaotic place, I’d found a quiet kind of joy.
As the sun dips lower, it paints the bay in copper and violet, light breaking into ripples that shimmer and shift with every movement of the waves. We walk side by side, close enough that our arms brush, until our fingers find each other. And it feels absolutely right.
“So,” Cameron says after a moment, glancing at me with a soft smile. “What do you think? Did you have fun?”
I squeeze his hand, my gaze drifting back to the water. “More than fun,” I admit honestly. “It’s chaotic, a bit loud… but brilliant.” I looked into his beautiful eyes. “And seeing it through you? That’s the best part.”
He tugs my hand gently, pulling me closer to the railing where the breeze lifts his hair and flushes his cheeks. “I’m glad,” he says, quieter now. “It’s good for me to share this. I think it makes it feel like I’m not just passing through.”
His voice settles deep in my chest. I lean in, shoulder brushing his, the space between us charged.
I put my hand on his neck, caressing his face to tilt his head up, and kissed him.
It is unhurried and certain, soft without being hesitant.
The world around us blurs, the tourists, the noise, the barking sea lions, all of it falling away until there was only warmth and breath and the undeniable rightness of the moment.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
The voice slices through everything like a sword, immediately setting my teeth on edge.
Cameron pulls back sharply, and I turn to see Marc standing a few paces away, the sun at his back, expression unreadable, but the intrusion unmistakable.
And just like that, the quiet is shattered.
“Didn’t expect to run into you, I thought you were going down to San Jose?”
I feel Cameron tense beside me before he answered. I knew that tension, the way his shoulders stiffened, the fraction of a second where he weighed politeness against self-preservation.
“Erm… hey, Marc,” Cameron greets, recovering quickly. “I did, but then—”
“And I definitely didn’t expect to see you here,” Marc interrupts, his gaze slides to me with no attempt at discretion. “So far away from London-Town.”
“Indeed,” I say, meeting his stare evenly. “But when business calls, I have to answer.”
It’s neutral. Civil even. Exactly as much as the moment deserves.
Marc’s eyes linger anyway. Not curiously, though. Then they dart back to Cameron possessively with a smirk that tells me everything I needed to know.
“Well,” he says lightly, “I see you’ve been keeping busy. Sightseeing… and otherwise.” His chuckle that follows is quiet, but the implication is loud.
Cameron’s body goes rigid, and I feel it through the small space between us, through the hand I hadn’t realized I was already reaching for.
That was it.
I step forward, just enough to put myself squarely in Marc’s line of sight. “Careful,” I say, my voice calm but sharp. “Your words are starting to sound less like pleasantries and more like disrespect.”
For a heartbeat, Marc looks genuinely surprised. Then that stupid fucking grin returns, thinner this time.
“Of course.” He clicks his tongue. “Didn’t mean anything by it. Just friendly banter.”
I don’t move. Don’t blink.
My hand finds Cameron’s fully now, fingers lacing through his like an anchor.
“Friendly’s one thing,” I observe. “Overstepping is another. Don’t confuse the two.”
Marc’s smile tightens insidiously until it barely resembles one at all.
“Quién eres tú? What are you?” He sneers, stepping closer, squaring up to me. “His boyfriend now?”
He turns his venom toward Cameron, eyes flashing. “Damn, Cam. You move around fast.” He pauses, deliberate and cruel. “Your fiancé’s been dead a year and you’d really rather have this new fuck boy over me?”
Something in Cameron snaps.
“Fuck you, Marc,” he hisses, tugging at my arm. “Let’s just go. He thinks I owe him something, some kind of explanation—”
“No, it’s fine, guapo,” Marc cuts in smoothly, waving his hand, his eyes never leaving Cameron’s. “No explanation needed.” But then his dark eyes fine mine. “I don’t mind you having my sloppy seconds.”
The world narrows to a pinpoint, and I don’t remember deciding to shove him, only the sudden release of pressure, the sound of our bodies shifting, and the sharp intake of breath from passersby as Marc stumbles back toward the railing.
“Don’t you ever fucking speak to him like that!”
Marc recovers quickly. Too quickly. He surges forward, slamming both hands into my chest, driving me backwards.
“Or what, dude?” He hisses, breath hot with anger. “You think you’re some kind of hero? You don’t know the half of it, pendejo!”
“Stop it!” Cameron shoves himself between us, palms out, panic threading his voice. “Both of you, this isn’t—”
I barely hear him. All I can see is the way Marc looks at him. It isn’t anger, not even jealousy. It’s a look of entitlement.
And that is when my control finally gives away.
My fist connects with Marc’s jaw before I realize it, the impact cracking through the air, sharp and unmistakable. Marc staggers back, hand flying to his mouth. He regains his balance and takes a step toward us, but stops, spitting blood to the pavement.
He doesn’t look at me, instead, he looks directly at Cameron.
“You’ll regret that,” he states softly, lips curling into something twisted and intimate, like a promise he’s already decided to keep.
Then he turns and disappears into the crowd, swallowed by the noise and movement of the wharf.
Cameron stands frozen beside me, his chest heaving. For the first time since I’ve met him, I feel something dangerously close to fear, not for myself, but for the shadow Marc had just left behind.