Chapter 15 #2
The mashed potato topping is whipped, fluffy, and creamy all at the same time—in other words, the best thing I’ve eaten in England so far.
I consider pretending it’s not my cup of tea just to mess with him, but he looks so adorably anxious I decide to go easy on him.
Better to go easy on him here now than on-track later, anyway.
“It’s delicious. I’m so glad we’re eating here.”
He lets out the tiniest of sighs, one he almost succeeds in hiding with a confident smile. “Don’t let Nan hear you say that. She’d make you have three more helpings.” He shovels an overflowing spoonful into his own mouth.
“I would love that. I’ve been eating steamed chicken and kale for dinner all week.” Mom always makes sure to remove all the good parts, like the skin and the wings. “How often do you have dinner with your grandparents?”
“I try to come by every week.”
“I don’t blame you; this place is incredible.” My gaze wanders around the room. The wallpaper is yellow with an intertwining floral pattern. The mantel above the well-worn fireplace is crammed with photos, most of them featuring Cameron and his older sister.
I get up to take a closer look. The pictures are arranged in age order—the outermost features little Cameron in a sweat suit set, entry bib pinned across his front as he beams next to a kart.
There’s one toward the middle of him and Pat, both holding trophies.
This must have been before Cameron hit his growth spurt, because they’re the same height in the photo.
“That’s from Super 1 a few years ago.” Cameron comes up behind me.
“Was this the time you got mad because you had to share the prize money?”
He laughs. “I was thirteen. You think I was still throwing tantrums?”
“For all I know, yes.” I suppress a grin. “I was doing ROK Junior that year, and the boys there were definitely throwing hissy fits.”
“Was that the one where you finished hundreds of points up from the next bloke?”
I beam. Timmy Harris, who was all charm and etiquette when parents were there, had muttered “Make me a sandwich” as soon as their backs were turned. I waited for him in parc fermé just so I could whisper “Only winners get sandwiches” into his ear while hugging him for the cameras.
Then another memory—much more recent—springs to the forefront. One that doesn’t quite add up. “If you know about my FWT record, how come you didn’t recognize me?”
“What d’you mean?” Cameron says in a too-casual tone that sounds like he knows exactly what I mean.
“At Season Opener drinks?”
“You still remember that?”
I fight the urge to tell him it’s not every day you meet a boy who looks like the lovechild of Alain Delon and Gregory Peck. “I looked up everything on you to prepare for F3. And you couldn’t tell me apart from the marketing intern.”
That was the start of his villain origin story. Why I wrote him off as a posh, aristocratic boy dabbling in racing as a low-stakes lark.
He groans. “God, I was an arse.”
I shrug, trying to look like it hasn’t bothered me since the day we met.
“Okay, this is going to sound petty,” he says.
“That day of the party, I’d just got told by a potential sponsor, this home security company Nan and I had been talking to forever, that they were going to wait to make a decision.
They wanted to see if they could sign something with the female driver—you. ”
My mouth goes dry. “I’ve never even heard of them.”
“They’re pennies compared to your roster. Your mum probably deleted the email.” He laughs ruefully. “They signed with me eventually, after you rejected them.”
“I’m sorry” is all I can think to say, as my core foundational memory of him is turned on its side and twisted and looped.
“Don’t apologize, not like it’s your fault. Besides, I should be the one apologizing. I wanted to take you down a couple of pegs when I ran into you, so I pretended I didn’t know who you were. Not very cool of me.”
“I get it,” I say quietly. “I was off base about you too.”
His dark eyes sweep over my face. “I’m glad you stayed for dinner.”
“Me too.”
We smile at each other. I don’t know if it’s wishful thinking, but I could swear he’s taken a step closer.
I turn back to the photo so I have something to focus on other than my own beating heart.
“Spotted the treasure trove, I see.” Nana Evans joins us in the living room.
She smiles and straightens the Super 1 photo.
“It was all so fortuitous—if my boy hadn’t stumbled across a discarded kart at the tip, we would never have gone down this road.
We had no idea it existed!” She plants a loud, smacky kiss on Cameron’s cheek.
“Working multiple jobs and remortgaging the house was tough, but it’s all been worth it.
We’re so proud of Ron-Ron for coming up on sheer talent.
Not so many of those anymore in the racing world. ”
“Nan.” Cameron rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.
The beaming pride on Mrs. Evans’s face and the wall-to-wall photos of young Cameron, his parents, and grandparents make me feel some kind of way. I’m simultaneously envious and I want him to succeed, all the more because of what his family has sacrificed.
After we help with cleanup, Nana Evans walks us out to where Cameron’s motorcycle is parked.
“Drive safe tomorrow,” he tells her. “And make sure Granddad doesn’t forget his meds.”
“Don’t you worry, we’ll get to Glasgow in one piece. Now you lot go on and enjoy the rest of your evening!” Mrs. Evans kisses him one more time before she toddles back toward the house.
Cameron looks after her with a soft smile on his face. He’s gentle with her, in a way I’ve never seen him.
“I like your grandparents; they’re really, really cool.”
“They are, aren’t they?” he says fondly. We watch the front door of the house close behind her.
“You’re so lucky.” Mom refuses to see anyone from Dad’s side of the family and my laolao died years ago, so the closest I get to grandmotherly presence is old episodes of The Golden Girls.
His eyes go soft. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“No.” I shake my head. “It was so nice. I’m going to dream about that shepherd’s pie every night this week.”
“Her cooking is divine,” he says proudly. “Between me and you, I think she took a shine to you, so feel free to come around anytime.”
“Really?” It makes me all kinds of pleased to know someone so obviously important to Cameron likes me. Somewhere along the way, it’s become important to me that he likes me.
Because I like him. As much as I don’t want to—the irritation certainly helps fuel my aggression on-track—he’s just too damn likable, especially now I know he’s overcome as many, if not more, hurdles as I have.
His phone buzzes. A picture of Pat, hugging the world’s cutest beagle, pops up.
He ignores the call and turns back toward me. “I’m supposed to meet some of the lads at the funfair tonight. Fancy coming along?”
My eyes widen. I’d long given up hope of finding someone to go to the carnival with—it’s not really Roz’s scene, and I felt too bad about the Motor Sport situation to twist her arm. “Seriously?!”
“I know, it’s a bit naff, but Pat’s new bird wants to go.”
“That’s not what I was gonna say at all! I love carnivals.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re a surprising one.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just didn’t think corny funfair rides would be your cup of tea. Though, now that I think about it, I can see you enjoying every kind of unhealthy, greasy crap there is.”
“Don’t hate until you’ve tried it.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” He laughs.
How have I never noticed the way his entire face lights up when he’s having fun?
The carnival is held at the National Bowl, a grassy events venue ten minutes from Orbital Campus. The evening sky is lit up bright orange, summer breeze balmy with honeysuckle. The faint aroma of salted popcorn and fried foods lingers in the air.
Cameron and I make our way from the parking lot toward the mishmash of pin-striped tents and twinkling carnival rides. I make us stop at the first cotton candy booth we come across. The vendor swirls a giant pink cloud on a stick for me.
I take a bite and moan, the fluffy sweetness melting in my mouth. “It’s been too long.”
“Such a little child.” Cameron shakes his head, but he’s smiling from ear to ear. “I haven’t eaten one of those since primary.”
“Well then, you, my friend”—I shove the stick at him until it’s almost touching his nose—“have been missing out.”
He gives me a slight eye roll, then shrugs and eats a piece. “This isn’t bad, actually.”
“Told you.”
“Much better than I remember.” Cameron peels a strip of cloudy pink fluff off and slurps it down.
“That’s enough.” I pull the stick away. “Leave some for me.”
“But how will you reintroduce me to the joys of cotton candy without letting me properly sample?” He grins devilishly. While my heart’s distracted skipping a beat, he snatches another chunk off my stick.
“Quit it, get your own.” I swat away his arm.
“Fine.” He taps my nose softly with the tip of his finger. It’s warm and smells like the best combination of his fresh-grass scent and delicious sugary confectionery.
“Cam, there you are!” Pat calls over the crowd. His Canadian accent cuts through the tangle of British voices like a foghorn.
He emerges around the carousel, followed by Georgios and two intimidatingly pretty girls. I’m suddenly very conscious of my sweatpants, still streaked with grease and grime from earlier.
“All right?” Cameron exchanges a series of complicated high fives and fist bumps with Pat and Georgios. If the guys wonder what I’m doing here crashing their hangout, neither of them asks.
“Justine, this is Savannah and Chloe,” Pat says.
“You race with Orbital too, right?” The girl that’s next to Pat—Savannah—asks. She, like her friend, is model gorgeous with Bambi eyes and long wavy hair.
I nod, and they both let out excited squeals.
“I thought that was you.” Chloe smiles. “My little sister karts. She’s obsessed with you.”