Epilogue

Three months later

" I wish I didn't have to work tonight," Liam said. He looked like a sad little matchgirl as he gazed at Ambrose and Tobermory who were curled up on the couch under a fuzzy blanket.

"You don't have to work for hours yet," Ambrose said. He lifted the edge of the blanket. "Get in here and snuggle with me."

Liam sat down beside him, pulling the blanket over his body and putting his arms around Ambrose. Tobermory grumbled as they squished him.

"How did your audition go?" Liam asked, curling his fingers around Ambrose's.

Ambrose wrinkled his nose. "Good? I think so, anyway. Who even knew the Arts Council was still a thing? This time next month I could be driving around in a van, rocking up at primary schools and scaring young children with song and dance numbers about stranger danger."

Liam laughed .

"Like, I don't know," Ambrose said. "Is the smartest way to teach kids to be wary of strangers really by encouraging them to play along with weirdos in costumes who ask them their names and give out lollies? Seems counter-intuitive to me."

"But it's a paid gig," Liam said.

"It is a paid gig," Ambrose agreed. "And Jeanette, she wrote the songs, has some really good connections with the local theatre scene too. She's crowd-funding to make her first short film, and she reckons I'd be good in it."

Liam's face lit up. "That's fantastic."

Ambrose drew a breath. "I mean, maybe nothing will come of it. But who knows?"

Ambrose still didn't like to think too hard about what would happen if he didn't make it as an actor. Because while on one hand, the last few months had taught him that he wasn't a total fuck-up and things could always turn around, on the other, he still didn't have a backup plan. Liam said he didn't need one, but that was because Liam was his biggest fan and he seemed to think it was inevitable that Ambrose would eventually get his big break. Ambrose was a hell of a lot more jaded than Liam, but it felt nice to have someone on his side who, unlike Mum, wasn't actually delusional. And meanwhile, the Arts Council gig, which he was pretty confident he would get, was money for jam, plus an entry on his resume that wasn't over a decade old. He'd take it.

And, even without a plan, for the first time in his life, contemplating a future where he didn't make it as an actor didn't scare the fuck out of Ambrose. Because there were other things in life that were just as important. Like Liam. Like being around people he loved—Liam, again, Harry and the Connellys—who loved him in return, and who didn't care if his face wasn't on the cover of TV Week , as long as he was happy.

So he didn't have a plan, but that was okay. Everything was, surprisingly, okay. It was more than okay, really. It was great. Ambrose was loving his life right now, and not just because he'd moved out of his shitty share house and into an apartment with harbour views and a cat. Although that didn't hurt, of course. And the hot, nerdy boyfriend who knew way too much about soil and grapes and would tell Ambrose about them until Ambrose threatened to smother him with a pillow was a definite added bonus.

Said hot, nerdy boyfriend snuggled in closer. "Even if this doesn't come to anything, there'll be other chances," he said, echoing Ambrose's own thoughts, "and there's no rush. You're still at uni. You aren't meant to have it all figured out yet." He leaned in and kissed Ambrose, long and slow, and Ambrose responded eagerly. It was the kind of kiss that could easily have turned into something more if Tobermory hadn't started making that low, angry caterwauling noise that meant he was going to claw someone soon if he didn't get his space on Ambrose's lap back.

Liam sighed and pulled away, giving the cat space. "I still can't believe my cat likes you better than he likes me."

"In fairness, I'm an absolute catch, and Tobermory's an excellent judge of character," Ambrose said. The cat meowed his agreement and started kneading Ambrose's lap, sharp claws digging in and making Ambrose glad of the protective layers of blanket. Just because Tobermory liked him didn't mean Ambrose wasn't sporting an impressive collection of incidental scratch marks. The ones on his backside were mostly healed, but it had been one hell of a shock and an absolute mood killer to have Tobermory suddenly sinking his claws into Ambrose's naked arse while he was balls deep in Liam.

They'd laughed about it pretty hard afterwards, but they were also careful to keep the bedroom door closed now.

Ambrose was just debating whether there was time for him to coax Liam into bed for the afternoon when his phone buzzed where it was sitting on the coffee table, the screen lighting up with the word Mum.

For once it didn't fill him with a low-level dread, and he tipped the protesting cat to the floor so he could take the call.

"Hey, Mum, what's up?" Ambrose asked, and it was more of a relief than he liked to admit to know he didn't have to brace himself. Her last trip to the hospital had resulted in Isadora coming down to stay for a couple of weeks and taking charge of the whole situation. Her application of polite but persistent pressure had resulted in Mum seeing a different doctor and getting a reassessment and adjustment of her medications, as well as finally agreeing to see a therapist, and all those things combined meant that she was on her way back to being her old self. Or rather, her new self—Ambrose didn't think he'd ever really known his mum when she wasn't a mess, to be honest. The road to recovery wasn't linear, he was painfully aware of that, but it really did look like she'd finally turned a corner. She still loved recalling her glory days, because that was part of who she was, but she was trying her best and taking her meds and she seemed happier. That was all Ambrose could ask for.

"Ambrose! How did the audition go?"

"Pretty well, I think? They asked when I'd be available, so that's a good sign, right?"

"It's a very good sign," she said, her voice alight with excitement. "I'm sure they'll hire you. After all, excellence is in your genes! "

Ambrose rolled his eyes, but at the same time he was glad his mum's meds hadn't dampened her personality down to nothing, the way some of them did. "Well, I'll let you know as soon as I hear. Did you need anything?"

"No, I just called to ask about the audition because I knew it was today." She sounded justifiably proud of herself for remembering. Ambrose took a moment to appreciate the fact that she'd cared enough to call, and somehow hadn't made it all about her for a change. She really was trying.

"Thanks," he said, meaning it. "Are you still coming to the vineyard with us next weekend? Grandad Billy's very excited to meet you. He's a big fan," he added, knowing hearing it would make her day.

"I wouldn't miss it. They do know I can't drink with my pills, don't they?" she asked, even though she'd already checked, and Ambrose felt a flare of unfamiliar pride at how seriously she was taking the doctors' instructions this time.

"They know," he assured her, "but Grandad Billy makes a lovely ginger beer, and they'll feed you enough cheese platters that you'll start to moo from all the dairy. It's how they show they care."

"They sound like lovely people," his mum said.

"They are," Ambrose said. "We'll collect you on Friday afternoon, okay?"

They had the luxury of a car now—Liam's dad had insisted Liam take his unused RAV4 back to Sydney so he and Ambrose could have their own transport and visit more often. It was kind of great.

"I'll look forward to it. I have to go. Mrs Ahmadi's coming over to take me shopping, and I don't like to make her wait." The unexpected consideration in that simple statement made Ambrose smile as his mum ended the call.

Ambrose slumped back against the couch, and when he looked up it was to find Liam watching him, a soft smile on his face. "She's really doing okay, huh?"

"Yeah. It's weird, not worrying about her all the time," Ambrose admitted, "but I also like that I don't have to."

"It's okay to be happy that the stress is off you," Liam reminded him, and Ambrose was overcome with a wave of affection. He shoved the blanket to the floor and scrambled so he was straddling Liam's lap. He cupped Liam's face in his hands and dipped in for a kiss that went on until they were both slightly breathless, and when he pulled back, he asked, "How long until you have to leave again?" as he rocked his hips forwards.

"Oh, ages," Liam said, grinning brightly.

Ambrose kissed him again, then climbed off Liam's lap and drew him to his feet and led him to the bedroom, making sure the bedroom door was closed against feline invasion. Then, just when he had his hands down Liam's pants, Liam started vibrating.

"My phone," he muttered, tugging it out of his pocket.

"Oh, thank God," Ambrose said. "I thought your dick was about to explode."

"And not in a fun way," Liam said dryly before Ambrose could, and answered his call. "Hello?" He listened for a moment and made a face. "Yeah," he said at last. "Okay."

"What?" Ambrose asked when he finished the call. "Was it your dad? Your mum? Does Grandad Billy need some kind of specialist antique tractor part, but the only seller is here in Sydney, and he wants us to go and get it for him and then drive overnight to take it to the vineyard?"

"That only happened once," Liam said. "So far. And no, that was work. They're short, and they want me to start early."

"But—" Ambrose looked down at his tenting jeans. "But my dick is about to explode! "

Liam shrugged. "Sorry, babe, but you'll have to take care of that yourself."

"Ugh." Ambrose put more annoyance into the word than he actually felt and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly for good measure. "Fine! Go off and be a good provider! I'll just stay here and be sad and lonely."

Liam tugged his closet open, searching for his work clothes. "You have Tobermory. And isn't Harry coming over for pizza?"

"No, he has a thing," Ambrose said. "Harry, not Tobermory. Actually, I don't know if Tobermory has a thing or not. He plays his cards very close to his chest, the sneaky devil."

From outside, Tobermory yowled.

Wednesday night at Bayside wasn't usually too busy, but with Katrina out sick, it was down to Liam and Alastair to manage all the tables. It meant a lot of running back and forth to the kitchen and the bar, and Liam's feet were sore by halfway through his shift. Mum had texted a few times, checking in to see if he and Ambrose were still coming up on the weekend—she promised the cabin door was fixed, then said that she doubted he and Ambrose would mind too much if it wasn't anyway. She ended with a winky face, which was disturbing, but at least it wasn't an eggplant.

Riley had texted too, reminding him to measure up the spare room for her. It was still six months until she graduated high school and moved to Sydney for uni, but apparently she and Mum had decided they were going to redecorate the room for when she moved in. Ambrose, who'd moved in with only a duffel bag, a pillow and a box of books, seemed delighted by the idea of helping out, and kept sending Riley links to the ugliest furniture he could find.

It was going to be weird living with his little sister and his boyfriend, but Riley had promised not to bring Monopoly, so at least they wouldn't kill each other in the first week.

Liam strode into the kitchen for what felt like the millionth time that night, barely stepping back in time to dodge Alastair coming the other way.

"Seafood platter for table four," he said to Gregori, the chef, and Gregori grunted and swore, which Liam understood to be the main way chefs communicated in the kitchen. And outside of it, too.

He took a moment for a breather, heading over to the dessert station where Julie, the patissier, was building something delicate out of cream and wafers.

"Hey," he said, and grabbed his water bottle from the shelf beside her station.

"Motherfucker," she muttered as a piece of wafer slid off the tower.

Liam took a drink and screwed the lid back on his bottle. He checked his watch. Two hours to go, another half hour to get home, then he could shower and collapse in front of the TV, and Ambrose would make him a toasted cheese sandwich because he was secretly an incredible boyfriend, and not a bad one at all.

The kitchen door swung open again, and Alastair bolted inside. "Holy fuck!" he exclaimed. "Some arsehole wearing a tie with a naked lady on it just called me gar?on!"

Liam felt a flush of unhappy recognition.

No.

No, he wouldn't .

Liam hadn't asked him to, but Ambrose had said that he was finishing up Bad Boyfriend. He'd been too busy lately now he was getting more auditions, and he'd got a job at one of the million coffee places around campus. He worked mornings now, to keep evenings free in case he got any theatre gigs. And even if he was still being a bad boyfriend for money, there was no way that he'd do it at Bayside again, surely…

With his heart in his mouth, Liam pushed open the door and stepped back outside into the restaurant.

And there was Ambrose, sitting at the bar, bright-eyed and unfairly gorgeous.

Liam stalked over to him.

"Hi!" Ambrose said with a grin.

"Did you just?—?"

"Shh!" Ambrose jabbed him gently in the ribs. "Look!"

Liam turned and saw, at table three, a group of people picking through the complimentary bread basket. An old couple with grey hair and matching tortoiseshell glasses. A middle-aged couple who looked like they'd rather stab themselves than be here, a pretty young woman with straight dark hair and?—

Harry.

Ambrose's best friend Harry, wearing a nervous smile and a tie with a naked lady on it.

"Oh," Liam said. "Oh, no. This is Harry's thing ? You didn't!"

"It seemed a waste to throw all the business cards away, and Harry needs the money," Ambrose said, and bit his lip as he looked at Liam beseechingly. "He called me in a panic at the last minute and asked if I'd be here for moral support. It's his first time. I couldn't say no!"

"Why here though?" Liam asked as Alastair re-emerged from the kitchens and headed over to the table to fill their water glasses.

"Um, Mia's parents booked it. And we figured you'd be least likely to call the cops, honestly." Ambrose wrinkled his nose. "Look, he's not going to— Oh. Oh no."

Liam watched, his horror rising, as Harry cleared his throat and tapped loudly on his glass with a fork.

"Mia," he said to the girl, "and Mia's mum and dad, and Mia's dad's olds, I wanted to thank you for inviting me out with you tonight. It's an honour, really. Like, not many people would give a guy who's on bail for drug offences—which were totally trumped up, by the way—the okay to date their daughter, but I'm super happy you did, because Mia's really hot."

The parents and the grandparents looked mortified.

"Anyway," Harry continued, "I don't actually have any money to pay for dinner tonight, because my bitch of an ex is bleeding me dry on child support, and I'm not even sure the kid is mine, but anyway, as a show of my appreciation for you guys welcoming me into your family, I'd like to do a trick."

He stood and gripped the edges of the tablecloth.

"Holy shit!" Ambrose said under his breath. "He's going straight for the finale!"

"No," Liam said. He hurried over to the table. "Sir!" he called out. "Sir, please do not attempt that! It never works!"

Harry threw him an obviously terrified stare that he tried to mask with a wonky smile. "I know what I'm doing, mate."

He wrenched the tablecloth free.

Everything shifted and rattled, Mia's grandmother let out a warbling shriek, then Harry was standing there with the tablecloth in one hand, blinking down at the table, where everything was, incredibly, still upright and in place.

"Holy fuck ," Ambrose said in a disbelieving tone from behind Liam.

The other diners laughed and clapped. Someone cheered.

Harry's jaw fell, and he stood there for a moment like a kangaroo caught in headlights. Then, possibly because he panicked and didn't know what else to do, he picked up his glass of water and upended it in Mia's dad's lap.

Liam darted forward to drag him away before Mia's dad punched him.

"I think he'll do well," Ambrose said later as he climbed into bed beside Liam. Then he took in Liam's expression. "Don't be mad. Nobody got hurt or arrested."

"Not getting hurt or arrested isn't a good thing," Liam said. "It's the bare minimum standard of expected behaviour!"

Ambrose attempted to soothe him by rubbing his hand along his arm. It had about the same effect of doing it to Tobermory when he went the wrong way up his spine instead of down. Liam glared at him. "Okay, so he's not very subtle, but he'll get better at it."

"You're banned from Bayside," Liam said. "You and Harry. I emailed our manager your photographs."

"That's actually very fair," Ambrose said. He stroked Liam's arm again, and this time Liam relaxed a little, so Ambrose leaned in and stole a kiss off him as well. He was delighted that Liam wasn't really angry at him. "Oh, huh."

"Huh, what?"

Ambrose took another kiss. This one was freely given. "If I'm banned from Bayside, where will we have our engagement dinner?"

Liam cocked a brow. "Our what now?"

"Our engagement dinner," Ambrose said, flashing that cocky smile he knew Liam loved. "You know, for when you finally realise you can't possibly envision living without me, and you decide to make an honest man out of me."

"Oh, that," Liam said. He reached out and brushed his knuckles gently down Ambrose's cheek, a tender gesture at odds with his suddenly bright smile. "Well, that will be at the vineyard, obviously."

Ambrose felt warmth burst inside his chest. "Oh," he said. "Well, obviously. Now hurry up and ravage me. I have an early start in the morning."

Liam laughed and pulled the doona over their heads.